#Miss Beth Belle

[paintermagazine]

‘Atten-Hut!’

Artist/singer: Miss Beth Belle

Source: ‘missbethbelle’ (IG)

[stagcowboy99]

I was listing to Thus Always to Tyrants by The Oh Hellos and imaging rdr2 situations and then I realized something about who dies

Note: I haven’t finished the game yet because I’m trying to do a lot of side missions as Arthur but the first people who die at the beginning have people to go back to

Assuming there is an afterlife in rdr2 then Sean can see his da who he so desperately tried to tell stories about but getting shut down every time.

Kieran has his ma and pa who he lost so early on to cholera, maybe even the first gang he rode with

Hosea can be reunited with his dear Bessie, who he talks of only fondly in all of his memories and even feared he would “be going south” and never get to see her since she would be in heaven

Lenny who has his dad who wrote him a letter about how proud he was

And then those who don’t die have to watch as the members die. As they lose family members to either death, where their loyalties lie, or just plain paranoia and delusions. Some get their act together with drinking like Uncle and Reverend and some fall further off the saddle (pun intended) like Karen. They either die before being able to keep the gang sane or they live long enough to watch it fade and perish.

[trevortheprotohipsterrrr]

this is taking me the fuck out. jesus christ dude

[nevadancitizen]

-> CH. 2: CHARLES SMITH, THE MAN THAT YOU ARE 

synopsis: charles makes sure you're getting on okay as you continue to try to evade arthur (poorly, might i add).

word count: 3k

ships: Arthur Morgan/Modern!Reader, Van der Linde Gang & Reader

notes: i almost leaked this to my classmate when sending her a link. nearly shat myself but we're all good this is all still under wraps

TOSoA taglist: @one-green-frog (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask <3!!)

THE OLD SOUL OF AMERICA MASTERLIST

Charles was right. Even though you want to help, there’s really nothing to do besides hunt – and the good Lord knows you’re useless when it comes to that.

For the last day or so, you’ve just been hanging around the garage-made-kitchen. Even though Javier told you you weren’t intruding (and that “everyone needs shelter”), you feel like you are. It’s not a good feeling. So you stayed outside, in the company of a man who introduced himself as Simon Pearson and the camp cook, Charles, and occasionally Javier when he found the time to swing by. 

A fair few people have introduced themselves as well – Hosea Matthews, Bill Williamson, Lenny Summers, Reverend Orville Swanson, Leopold Strauss (who just oozed sleaze), Miss Karen Jones, Miss Tilly Jackson, Miss Mary-Beth Gaskill, and little Jack alongside his mother, Miss Abigail Roberts. Those who didn’t directly introduce themselves to you were pointed out by Karen and you were given a run-down on them.

So far, these are the people as you know them: Missus Sadie Adler is a grieving, skittish widow. Uncle is a lazy sack of shit. John Marston is better at being wolf food than being a father. Miss Susan Grimshaw is stubborn (but caring – somewhat like how neighborhood mamas care). Miss Molly O’Shea has a stick so far up her ass she spits splinters when she talks. The man tied up in the barn, Kieran Duffy, is an O’Driscoll (or ex-O’Driscoll, if what he insists is true is really true). Oh – and the blond man that punched Bill? That’s Micah Bell: a man with the eye of a viper tasting the air and the nose of a shark waiting for blood in the water. From what you’ve deduced, his general vibe is “I would take sexual relationship advice from Bill Cosby if given the chance.”

All in all, a healthily diverse group of people – even if the traits that make them diverse aren’t all that desirable. (Mostly Micah’s. Especially Micah’s.)

But Charles is nice enough. So you’ve stuck with Charles. Even if you need to hang around Pearson to hang out with him. Pearson isn’t an intrinsically bad guy, just… a little off-putting.

Right now, you’re able to put your hands to use by opening canned vegetables and putting them in the cauldron-looking pot Pearson has for rabbit stew. Across the table, Charles is butchering and deboning a rabbit as best he can with his injured hand. You try your best to keep your eyes on the cans of carrots and celery you’re opening. 

There’s footsteps. You glance up. It’s Arthur. You look back down. 

“I can’t believe it’s come to this,” Pearson gripes to no one in particular. 

You watch Arthur approach the fire and he holds his hands out towards the coals in your peripheral vision. He shakes his head. “Ah, we’re okay.”

“We have a few cans of food and a rabbit. For, what – ten, twelve people?” Pearson gestures over to where you and Charles are working. “Even more with them and that widow.”

Despite yourself, you can feel the tips of your ears start to burn. What do you have to be embarrassed about? Needing to eat? If anything, Pearson should be the one feeling embarrassed for talking about you in front of you. Yeah… that’s it. 

Pearson continues. “When I was in the Navy…”

Arthur immediately interrupts him. “I – I do not wish to hear about what you got up to in the Navy, Mister Pearson.”

And yet, he keeps going despite Arthur’s protest. “We were stranded at sea… for fifty days.”

“And you, unfortunately, survived,” Arthur drawls. 

You glance up at him from underneath your eyelashes and smile. His eye catches yours, and your gaze drops, as does your smile. Instead, you work on getting your finger under the tab of a can of chopped onions – which is hard, considering the thickness of your gloves.

You feel Arthur’s eyes leave you and let out a soft sigh of relief that clouds in front of your face. Charles holds out his knife to you. You tip the top of the can towards him, and he wedges the (bloody – ew) blade of his knife underneath the tab and opens it. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly. You clench your jaw when you feel Arthur’s eyes on you again – yes, very briefly, but still. You can count the number of times you’ve made eye contact with him on one hand, and you don’t want to add to that total. 

Thankfully, Pearson seems ignorant to your plight and continues complaining. “When we ran away from Blackwater, I wasn’t able to get supplies in!”

“Well, when government agents are hunting you down, sometimes shopping trips need to be cut short,” Arthur snaps. “We’ll survive. We always have. And if needs be, we can eat you – you’re the fattest.”

You bite your lip to suppress a laugh and clear your throat to mask any noise you might’ve made. You pour the onions in the pot and glance at the rabbit carcass, now carved up and stripped of meat.

“Damn, there’s nothing left on that thing,” you say. “You’re good at that.”

Charles nods in response. “If you’re done, you can put it on the fire.”

You lift the pot with a grunt – it’s heavier than you expected, but nothing you can’t handle. You move over to the coals and hang the pot on a hook over the fire while Pearson and Arthur continue talking. 

“I sent Lenny and Bill hunting, and they found nothing,” Pearson says. 

“Well, Lenny’s more into book learnin’ than huntin’,” Arthur says. You perk up at that. “Bill’s a fool. Unless those mountains are full of game that wanna read, ain’t no wonder they haven’t found –”

“Enough of this,” Charles interrupts. Even though his voice is relatively quiet and deep, it still cuts through whatever Arthur was planning on prattling on about. “We’ll go find something. Come on, Arthur.”

“Well, take them.” Arthur gestures vaguely in your direction. “Since they seem so keen on helpin’ out, and all.”

“I, um…” You shake your head. “No, thanks.”

“They don’t even know how to hold a rifle correctly,” Charles says. (His bluntness stings a little, but it’s true. You know how to hold a handgun, but not these old-timey types.) “If they knew how to hunt, we would’ve gone already.”

Arthur sighs and shrugs. “If you insist.”

“Wait a second, hold on.” Pearson hurries over to the table you and Charles had been working at earlier. He pulls out a can from the small pile you had organized and tosses it to Arthur. “You’re gonna need something to eat out there.”

“Hm… “assorted, salted offal”,” Arthur reads off the label. He levels Pearson with a dead stare. “Starving would be preferable.”

You stifle a laugh and, again, clear your throat.

“Come on, let’s go,” Charles says, adjusting the bandage on his hand. 

“You can’t go huntin’,” Arthur says. “Look at your hand.”

“I can’t stay here listening to you two,” Charles says. He gestures to you without looking at you. “The conversation they make is tolerable, but, again, they can’t hunt. Look, if there’s game in those hills, I’ll find it – and you can kill it.”

“You need to rest, Charles,” Arthur insists.

“You think this is rest?” Charles’ face twists into a scowl, then he turns and walks towards his horse with a “Come along.”

Arthur scoffs under his breath and his eyes flick to you. You do your best to suppress the temptation to duck away from his gaze, as piercing as it is. You win, and he looks away, following Charles to the hitching post. They quickly mount up and ride out.

You draw your shoulders up to your ears and shudder. When Pearson shoots you a questioning glance, you excuse it with “What? It’s cold.”

When a few seconds have passed, you roll your shoulders back. You settle down on the chair that’s inside the kitchen, just watching a few late, fat snowflakes fall outside.

After a good ten minutes of watching Pearson and playing with your hands, you figure he’ll be fine on his own and wander out along the footpaths in the snow. You find who you’re looking for quickly. 

Lenny gives you a polite nod as you stand across from him, the fire on the ground separating you two. He has a rifle – the sight of which doesn’t surprise you as much as it first did – and he settles the butt of the gun in the inner corner of his elbow. 

“You’re Lenny, right?” You try. 

“Yeah. And you’re…” Lenny gives your name. You nod in response.

“I just…” You clear your throat and bat away the embarrassment and anxiety that’s creeping up on you – something that always comes with approaching strangers. “Arthur mentioned that you like books. I, uh… I read, too. Sometimes.”

“Really?” Lenny says. “What kinda books have they got out in the Mojave?”

You look down at the fire and think, trying to come up with some excuse and build your backstory. “We don’t have a lot of books – I live in a pretty isolated part of the desert. But there’s traders, and they bring medical books, and a few storybooks. I like the medicine books they bring. You?”

Lenny seems to hesitate for a moment. “Poetry.”

“Poetry?” You hum. “Huh. Poems are nice.”

There’s a lapse in conversation. You don’t know how to fill it. You say the first thing that comes to mind. 

“Micah’s kinda a prick, right?” You blurt out. 

Your eyes snap up to Lenny’s face. He’s surprised, but his face quickly melts into a smile and he laughs. You feel the coil of anxiety in your stomach loosen. 

“Why, I didn’t expect you to come out and say it,” he says. “But your assessment is correct.”

“Yeah, sorry.” You laugh nervously, your eyes falling to the fire again. “I just get bad vibes from the guy.”

“Bad vibes?” Lenny echoes. 

The coil is tight again. You think for a moment. “Uh, yeah. One of the tribes I live with believes in, um… vibrational energy, that kinda thing. When you look at someone and you get a bad feeling without knowing them that well, they give you bad vibes.”

“Hold on,” Lenny says. “Vibrational energy?”

You nod and continue to pull things out of your ass and curse Lenny for being scholarly. “Yeah. Life… um, well. I don’t remember the explanation too well. But I remember White Bird – the Sorrows’ shaman – saying…”

You tilt your head and look to the side and think for a moment.  “He said, “All life is music – all music is rhythmic – all rhythm is life.” And that somehow relates to vibrations. I don’t know, you seem smart. Maybe you can understand what he was talking about.”

“Well, I don’t know what it means, but it sure sounds pretty,” Lenny says. 

“They’re good people,” you say. “Maybe you’d like to meet them someday – if you’re ever so far west you’re in the desert, I mean.”

Why the fuck did I say that?! You curse yourself in your head. They’re not real! The Dead Horses and the Sorrows and Joshua Graham and Daniel are all made up! They’re fictional characters –

“I don’t know, maybe,” Lenny says. “For now, it doesn’t seem like we’ll be goin’ that far.”

You hum and pretend to act disappointed while you fight the urge to crumple in on yourself in relief. “That’s a shame. I’m sure you’d like them. They’re interesting people, especially the Sorrows. Though, Joshua…”

You trail off as you check over your shoulder. Hoofbeats, you’re pretty sure. And you’re right – Arthur and Charles are riding back into camp, a dead, snow-dappled doe on the back of each horse.

“Brought some food back, boys,” Arthur calls.

They both hitch their horses at the post and hoist the limp does onto their shoulders, carrying them over to the kitchen. 

You look back at Lenny and jab a thumb over your shoulder at them. “Should we…?”

“I don’t think so,” Lenny says. “From what I seen, Arthur’s a butcher – a mean one, at that. I don’t think he’ll like it if his work’s disturbed.”

“That’s fair,” you hum. (Secretly, you want to thank Lenny profusely. You already know that Arthur’s a mean man – you don’t want to see him even meaner.)

You check over your shoulder again. From where you’re standing, you can see an old man has taken your seat in the kitchen, and you can hear Arthur giving him hell for whatever reason. What was his name again… Uncle, maybe?

Unfortunately, your staring caught Uncle’s eye. He beckons you over with a wave of his hand. You give Lenny a quiet, polite “See you later,” and head over, trudging through the thick layer of snow that’s settled on the ground.

“Yeah?” You nod at Uncle as soon as you step into the kitchen. You sidle up to the fire, warming yourself with the smoldering embers. 

“Thought it’d do Arthur some good to see the…” – Uncle waves you up-and-down – “…wonders some modernity will do you.”

“What? Modernity?” You repeat back. You tell yourself to calm down – you haven’t been found out. (Not yet.) “I’m far from modern.”

“Why, you’re perfectly modern!” Uncle says. 

“You don’t even know me.” You scoff and turn away. 

Your eyes catch Arthur wrapping wire around the back ankles of one of the doe corpses. He pulls it taut, then hooks both legs to the deer hoist. He lifts it with a grunt and puts the hoist on the hook sticking out of the wall. You avert your eyes before he turns around. 

“Well, I mean…” You shrug. “I guess I’m… sort of modern? But I don’t see any issue with what Arthur’s doing. He’s just hunting.”

Arthur’s eyes fly to you again when you say his name. You wish that the Spanish Flu had come sooner so you could wear a facemask to hide your pursed lips and clenched jaw. After a moment, he looks away.

“What a surprise,” Arthur drawls, “to find the camp rat loiterin’ around in the kitchen, chargin’ dimes for his thoughts.”

He pulls away from the deer hoist and walks over to the fire. He keeps a healthy distance, but you can still feel some sort of heat coming from him when he stands next to you. You guess a man that tall and broad would be a furnace in cold like this. 

“Is that any way to greet an old friend?” Uncle asks. “I feel we haven’t spoken for days.”

“I do my utmost to avoid you,” Arthur retorts.

Charles approaches the fire, standing on your other side. He gives you a small look that says “Ignore them. They can, and will, go on for hours like this.”

Uncle looks over at you and laughs. “He loves me, really. It’s his… sad way of showing affection.”

“I doubt that.”

“No, it isn’t.”

You and Arthur turn to look at each other. You hadn’t meant to speak over him, and from the kind of-surprised look he’s sending your way, you think he didn’t mean to speak over you, either. You nod, gesturing for him to continue.

“It isn’t.” He turns back to face Uncle and waves a hand. “Now shoot, get lost.”

“Well…” Uncle shrugs and stands. “See y’all later.”

Pearson swipes a bottle from Uncle as he steps out. He then looks over at one of the deer. “See you got on just fine.”

Arthur nods toward Charles’ direction. “Charles is a wonder.”

“Have a drink, my friends.” Pearson holds out the bottle across the fire. “Ya earned it.”

Arthur takes the bottle after you wave it away. He takes a swig and sputters, coughing. “Jesus!” His voice cracks. “What is that?”

He passes the bottle to Charles, who sniffs the rim and takes a tentative sip. 

“Navy rum, sir. It’s the only thing – the only thing!” Pearson laughs as Charles hands the bottle back. “Keeps you sane, it does.”

“Yes, seems to have done a treat on you.” Arthur glances at Charles and waves a hand in his general direction. “You go rest that hand, Charles.”

“I’ll be fine in a few days,” Charles says. 

He makes eye contact with you and nods towards the cabins, indicating for you to follow. You do so while listening to Arthur and Pearson talk about skinning the deer. (And you hide a smile when Arthur asks Pearson if he gets to skin him, too. He’s mean, but at least he’s funny with it.)

“You settling in okay?” Charles asks when you’re in a somewhat secluded area. It’s not all that isolated, but it’s out of earshot for most people.

“Yeah.” You nod. “Thanks. For… y’know. Not being a massive asshole about everything.”

“You’re lost,” he says. (You notice he leaves out the very obvious “and scared” he could’ve tacked on the end.) “And you need help. It would be cruel not to give it to you.”

Yeah, totally! You think to yourself. You’re literally one of the kindest people alive and I’m… what? A scumbag that’s taking advantage of you? Oh, it’s so sweet that you’re ignoring the blatant lies I’m throwing in your face! Thank you, Charles! Thanks a fucking million.

“Still. Thank you,” you say instead. “You could’ve easily kicked me out in the snow and left me to freeze.” 

“We could’ve.” Charles looks out at the horizon. The way he pauses almost makes you think he’s considering it. “But we didn’t.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. You didn’t.”

Apparently, he doesn’t feel the need to reassure you or continue the conversation at all. After a few moments, you awkwardly hook your thumb over your shoulder.

“I’m gonna, uh…” You nod. “I’m gonna go. I’ll see you later?”

Charles is still looking out at the treeline, looking at the way the snow weighs down the leafless trees and the way even the smallest sound could disrupt everything. 

“Yeah. I’ll see you later.”

[wileys-russo]

the set up II l.wienroither x reader

the set up II l.wienroither x reader

"-yeah she said she'd be here at ten but she's probably still on australian time." beth shrugged as viv gave her a look and laura frowned a little in confusion.

"that is not how it works." viv sighed with a shake of her head as her blonde girlfriend grinned with a shrug. "who will be here?" laura asked curiously, engaged in a fierce game of tug of war with myle on the sofa.

"oh my cousins coming over! the one whose been livin in australia for a couple years." beth exclaimed happily, kicking a few pairs of shoes out of the way as viv hurried to put them away in their proper place afterwards.

"oh she is back now? cool, have you seen her yet?" laura asked, hissing a little as her focus slipped and myle teethed on her hand for a moment. "no!" laura remanded firmly as the puppy watched on unfazed, launching off the sofa toward one of her toys.

"yeah she's moved back here now, living with her best mate until she can find a place of her own. we went for dinner a few days ago and caught up, she's a girl with a lot of stories." beth chuckled, the door bell cutting her off before the conversation could go any further.

myle barked and sprinted off to the door, getting under beths feet as she scooped her up and swung it open. laura wasn't able to see much still sat in the living room by herself, now suddenly wishing she'd asked before inviting herself over like she normally would.

"urgh beth! i don't know where her tongues been." you whined as your cousin held myle up allowing her to lick all over your face before viv came to save you and gently tugged the puppy away into her own arms.

"welcome back!" you grunted as your cousin quite literally jumped on top of you, stumbling a little as your knees almost buckled but you caught your footing. "i saw you a few days ago you idiot." you laughed, squeezing her before she dropped back down.

"but i didn't see you for like a year beforehand so i win!" beth stuck her tongue out as you rolled your eyes. "she's so tiny." you grinned, viv handing you myle as you cooed at the small dog, craning your head away to avoid her licking you again.

"don't avoid her kisses thats rude!" beth gasped snatching her back as you hugged viv hello. "our friend laura is here as well." the dutch woman nodded for you to follow, beth already disappearing.

laura felt herself get a little tongue tied as beth quickly introduced the two of you, and unsure how to best greet you she settled for a friendly wave and a smile which seemed to suit as you did the same and took a seat beside beth.

"your accent is all sorts of messed up we'll need to work on that if you want to be accepted as a british citizen again." beth teased as you playfully rolled your eyes, shoving her and falling into conversation.

an hour or so later beth and viv stepped out to get lunch ready, inviting both you and laura to stay as the two of you got to know each other better, finding it almost effortlessly easy to speak with one another.

"so why did you move back now?" laura asked, the subject not really having been brought up yet as you shrugged.

"australia is beautiful and the people are wonderful but its expensive to live there. and my family are all getting older and i miss seeing them as often, my friends are all getting engaged or having kids and it just felt like the right time to come home." you answered simply with a smile.

"and it would seem like the perfect time since i get to meet you!" you cooed at the small puppy sat chewing on a toy in between you and laura.

"lau's been trainin her!" beth poked her head in as you looked to the austrian impressed. "really? hope they're paying you for your services!" you grinned which she reciprocated. "i am a dog whisperer who sadly works for free." laura sighed dramatically.

"we pay you in food you're almost here now more than when you lived here laura!" beth yelled out from the kitchen. "go on, show me your skills." you smiled, tucking your legs beneath you and shuffling around a little.

"okay. myle, pang!" laura made a gun with her fingers and mimicked shooting, the small dog just looking up at her unmoving. "myle, pang!" the footballer tried again with a frown, huffing as again myle clearly didn't do as she wanted.

"myle, pang!" you hid a smile behind your hand as laura manhandled the dog, slamming her onto the sofa with a huff. "she is normally more obedient." the austrian blushed with embarrassment as viv whistled and myle leapt down and raced off to the kitchen.

"no that was brilliant, she fell down all by herself!" you teased the blonde who knocked her leg against yours with a playful glare as the two of you fell back into conversation.

"viv! look at them." beth whisper yelled to her girlfriend who raised an eyebrow but shuffled over none the less. "lau likes her!" beth grinned excitedly as vivs frown deepened. "what is not to like? i think i like her more than you." viv shrugged as beth scoffed.

"not like that. like likes her!" beth tried again as her girlfriend returned to dishing up lunch. "like likes?" the dutch questioned with an amused smile as beth rolled her eyes.

"yes! look at the way they're looking at one another. they're both single, around the same age, both could use a little somethin." beth shrugged like it was the most obvious idea ever.

"beth." viv warned with a raised eyebrow. "they would be quite cute you know, and then if they got married laura really would be part of the family!" beth grinned happily.

"no! you do not get to meddle, leave them be. if they like each other they will figure it out themselves." viv warned, pointing a pair of tongs at beth threateningly who huffed. "what those two? not a chance! all they need is a little loving push." the blonde winked and yelled out lunch was ready.

"are you coming to the match tomorrow?" laura asked curiously as the four of you sat around the dining table after lunch. "football isn't really my thing." you admitted with a shy smile as beth let out a long and overly dramatic sigh.

"yes she's the black sheep and the secret shame of the family, we actually exiled her to australia but clearly it didn't work." your cousin shook her head in disappointment.

"you do know you are sitting with three footballers, yes?" laura laughed as now you were the one to blush. "i'm not a sports person okay! thats not illegal." you rolled your eyes and sank a little deeper into your seat.

"you don't have to be a sports person to enjoy and support the womens game, terrible feminist you are." beth continued to tease as you scoffed.

"i am not! that is so unfair i don't enjoy watching any sports men or womens, equality!" you rebutted, beth and you arguing back and forth as viv nodded for laura to help her clear the table leaving you both to it.

when they returned it seemed you'd reached some sort of agreement as the conversation had shifted topics. "she's comin!" beth sang out with a victorious grin as you puffed air out of your nose and sent her a scowl.

"she bullied me into it and i'm only going in hopes of beth getting smacked in the face with the ball." you shrugged as now it was her turn to gasp and scowl. "when i'm on the return from a very serious injury? insensitive little shit you are." your cousin shook her head.

"you can sit with me and leah!" laura offered with a happy smile, frowning a little as you groaned and threw your head back. "not leah!" making your cousin laugh. "ohh yes leah, perfect idea lau!" beth grinned as you banged your head onto the table.

"what is so bad about leah?" the defender asked still a little confused. "she doesn't shut up the entire game and she mansplains everything to me like i'm a toddler!" you dragged your hands down your face as viv chuckled and patted your back.

"good! you need a 101 in proper football appreciation and education missy, and lau and lee will make sure that happens."

~

"yes i know! you told me that ten minutes ago leah." you sighed deeply as once again the blonde explained why the offside was called.

"im just making sure you understand! stop looking so miserable mate there's worse places you could be spending a sunday." leah pinched your cheek as you huffed and pushed her away, subconciously shuffling a little closer into laura who was sat on your other side.

"now do you see what i mean?" you whispered to the girl who let out a quiet laugh. "do you want to switch seats? i am very used to her talking." laura offered as you nodded eagerly and swapped, though leah was too busy groaning about the ref to pay much attention.

now freed from most of leahs commentary you instead found yourself much more enamoured in laura's takes on things, smiling at the way her nose scrunched up in annoyance when she disagreed with a call, or the way her eyebrows furrowed together and the tip of her tongue would push out when a pass was missed or possession taken.

"one thing i'll miss about australia is the weather." you huffed, wrapped in about five layers but still chilled to the bone as you were struggling to adjust back to the harsh realities of a frosty london winter.

"here, keep your ears warm." laura grinned, taking her her beanie off her head and tugging it onto yours, dismissing your protests with a wave of her hand and quickly changing the subject.

leah turning to lecture you about throw in etiquette was a little surprised to see laura now next to her, even more so as she noticed the way you two seemed so wrapped in your own little bubble as if you'd been friends for years.

with a raised eyebrow the blonde pulled out her phone, sending beth a message she knew wouldn't be seen until later and instead subjecting poor kim to her commentary who was sat on her other side.

by the end of the game you really could have sworn you'd known laura for years, it was near scary how comfortable you felt around her. which is why when beth offered for you to join some of the team for dinner and laura encouraged you come, you accepted.

though as you showed up to the restaurant beth had messaged, right on time, your guard was back up as you couldn't see your cousin or any of her teammates anywhere.

waiting outside in hopes everyone was just running late you breathed a little easier as laura showed up, the austrian caught a little off guard now as you pulled her into a hug which she settled into after a moment.

"no one is here?" laura frowned as you filled her in and shrugged. "beth said it was under her name maybe they are in another room or something." laura headed over to the front and gave beths name, and sure enough the hostess nodded for the two of you to follow her.

but as soon as she showed you to a table very clearly set for two, things started to make a little more sense. "oh sorry no-" laura tried to speak with the hostess but she was gone before she could say another word.

hearing your phone go you pulled it out reading the message from your cousin. "what?" laura questioned as you let out a scoff, turning your phone so she could read the message.

from; messy beffy ohhh no we got the time and the restaurant wrong....guess you and laura will just have to get dinner together instead, sorry!

"i don't understand. they forgot where we were going?" laura questioned clearly confused as you chuckled. "no, beth set us up." you sighed knowingly with a shake of your head. "she what?" lauras frown deepened a little.

"like...like a date. she's trying to set us up on a date." you explained knowing your cousin all too well, cheeks tinted slightly pink as lauras eyes widened in surprise. "oh." she stated bluntly, eyebrows shooting upward.

"but we don't have to! we can just go home, beth is just very very nosy." you assured, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. "no! we can stay, if you want to?" lauras own cheeks flushed red as you both stammered around your words before eventually taking a seat at the table.

the first half an hour was painfully awkward, both of you clearly a little unsure what this dinner actually was and not wanting to be the first to ask.

but once your food came and gave you some common ground the awkwardness began to melt away a little, both of you slipping back into a more comfortable pattern of conversation like you had before.

by the end of dinner once again it was like you'd known her for years, laughing and smiling and chatting about anything and everything as you both really got to know one another.

as you stepped away to go to the bathroom laura pounced, paying for dinner which you told her off for once you returned but your protests fell on deaf ears as she waved away all your offers to split the bill.

"what are you doing?" laura asked, seeing the uber app flash up on your phone as the two of you stepped out of the restaurant. "my best friend dropped me here but she isn't answering, i think she's asleep." you laughed with a shake of your head.

"i'll take you?" laura offered sincerely. "really? that would be great, thank you." you smiled, following her to her car.

"you can pay next time then!" laura teased as she pulled up outside your best friends house, who didn't live all too far from where you'd had dinner as you continued to berate her for paying. "you'd want to go out again?" you asked a little surprised as laura realised what she'd said.

"yes." the girl confirmed before she could overthink it, a smile settling into your features.

"good, i would too."

~

"do my eyes deceive me or are you here willingly and even looking like you might have enjoyed it?" leah gasped as you hovered by the barrier with a roll of your eyes, waving to viv over her shoulder who was busy trying to shake off victoria who'd jumped onto her back.

"don't get used to it williamson, i only come now you can't send me to sleep with your horrendous ongoing commentary and rules and boring chat." you teased, ducking as the taller blonde swung at you.

"please. i know the real reason you're here all too well buddy and whose name is on the back of that jersey even if you think you can hide it behind that jacket." leah smirked, ruffling your hair as your cheeks flushed bright red.

"shut up. i already get it enough from beth!" you groaned, pushing her away halfheartedly as the blonde you were really wanting to talk to started to make her way over.

"so its official then?" leah grinned happily, perking up as you shushed her. "no, we're just...enjoying our time together. now go away! go pester someone else." you rolled your eyes as leah chuckled, pulling you into a hug before racing off to catch up with lia.

"hi." you greeted with a soft smile as laura now arrived in front of you. "hello!" she beamed happily, the two of you settling into a hug which lasted a few seconds too long, neither of you really wanting to let go.

"red looks nice on you." laura poked at the arsenal home kit adoring your top half, the top she'd managed to wrestle you into this morning after you'd spent the night, placating all your whining with an abundance of sweet words and kisses.

"don't know, think i'd rather it was blue. i do really like light blue!" you teased, arsenal having just beat manchester city five to three. "sehr lustig, liebling." the austrian retorted in german making you frown.

"you promised no more german unless you tell me what it means, im still learning." you huffed with a frown. "with your very strange accent i don't think you will ever learn." laura teased with a smile, eyes flickering down to your lips for a moment.

"hey! i've been back here for weeks now, my accent is very very normal." you shook your head with a playful glare. but your conversation was interrupted as a flash of red barreled into laura, pulling her into a half hug half headlock.

"well hello lovebirds!" beth beamed, laura pushing her off with a roll of her eyes. "go away bethany." you sighed, but hugging her none the less. "where did you get this then! a football fan finally, i'll make sure you start to get invited to the family functions again." beth grinned tugging at laura's jersey on your person as you flipped her off and smacked away her hands.

"i'll pretend it says mead on the back then, shall i?"

~

"come on tiny tank lift with your legs! you've got two good knees now, no excuses." you teased the blonde who shot you a glare, dropping down the boxes in her arms with the rest of the pile and collapsing onto your sofa.

"is that everything now?" the girl groaned, hand covering her face tiredly as her body shone with a slight sheen of sweat and you closed your front door, gently placing down the box of kitchenware on the dining table.

"everything for today!" you announced, rounding the sofa and collapsing on top of laura who grunted. "stop pouting! you're my girlfriend lau its part of the job to help me move." you teased, shuffling back to push yourself up on your arms.

"if i knew that i would not have asked you." laura sighed, squealing as you pinched her sides for the comment. "would you rather we go back to sneaking about with my roommates around all the time?" you quirked an eyebrow.

"oh god no, they are more nosy than beth." laura groaned, hands sneaking up the back of your top and pulling you to lay back against her.

"don't you mean cupid!" you rolled your eyes, both of you constantly subjected to your cousins endless boasting that without her you'd never have gotten together.

which might have been partially true but you weren't going to give her the satisfaction of agreeing with it.

now finally settled back into london you'd secured a new job and an apartment all of your own. you and laura had only been seeing one another officially for about eight weeks so you'd both agreed it was too soon to move in together.

"you know even though you're my girlfriend maybe i should pay you for all your hard labour today baby." you sighed, lazily kissing her jaw as she perked up a little. "i think that is what is fair schatz." laura agreed with an eager nod and a smile.

"for building the sofa." you softly kissed one side of her neck as she squeezed your hips. "for helping me carry the fridge." you moved your lips to show the other side of her neck a little attention.

"for walking up and down all those stairs." you sighed, kissing the corner of her mouth. "for carrying all those heavy heavy boxes." you drawled sarcastically with a pout, kissing the other corner of her mouth, purposefully missing where she really wanted you.

"and for being the best girlfriend ever." laura smirked, tapping her lips expectantly as you raised an eyebrow. with a playful roll of your eyes you leant in but stopped, lips ghosting hers with a smile.

"the best girlfriend ever deserves dinner cooked for her." you whispered, pecking her lips quickly and trying to stand but before you could even push yourself up laura had easily flipped your positions now hovering over you.

"lau!" you laughed as she interlaced her fingers with yours and pressed them into the sofa, hazel eyes ablaze with adoration as she stared down at you, lips curled into a smile before she pressed them eagerly against yours.

you melted into the kiss with a small sigh of pleasure, hands cupping the back of her neck as she let you up, hers tangled in your hair.

the defender shifted a little on top of you before deepening the kiss, her tongue flicking against the roof of your mouth before she pulled away, teeth tugging at your bottom lip teasingly.

"i think as the best girlfriend, furniture builder, footballer and mover ever i should get to choose my own reward liebling."

[alltheirdamn]

Killing Me Softly | (Joel x teacher!f!reader)

Chap. 5 Nevermore

Chp. 5 Summary: It's hard to understand why everything feels so right. Rating: 18+ Explicit MDNI Word Count: 5.5k Warnings: Pre-outbreak AU, language, heavy kissing, unprotected piv sex, semi-rough sex, creampie, praise kink, (kinda) size kink, aftercare, fluff and a LOT of angst, light banter, lots of emotions, mentions of past trauma, brief flashback of trauma, another cliffhanger (sorry) A/N: Well, if you're here, I hope you're prepared for what's coming. A HUGE shoutout to @loonmartell for helping co-conspire the trajectory of this story. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it as always <3

Masterlist | Ko-fi

I think he’s already falling in love with you. I think he’s already falling in love with you. I think he’s already falling in love with you. I think he’s already falling in—

“Miss Smith?” 

Your head jerked up at the sound, and the pencil you were drawing circles with fell against your desk. Bradley, one of your students, was standing at the edge of your desk with his test in hand.

“Sorry about that, sweetie,” you smiled, extending a hand. “Thank you.”

Bradley eyed you curiously before turning and skipping back to his desk. You dragged a hand over your face, wanting to crawl into the furthest corner of the world and never be seen again. Beth’s words had been plaguing you for days since you called her. Over and over again, they annihilated your thoughts, a constant broken record that you couldn’t shut off. You still had your nightly calls with Joel, talking past midnight and falling asleep together, but you kept making excuses not to see him. 

“I’ve got lesson plans to make,” you lied.

“I’ll help,” Joel had offered.

“You’re a distraction.”

“I ain’t that bad,” he huffed.

The next night, you lied and said you were going out with Maria, which was an even worse lie since you were avoiding her at all costs. Telling Beth the news was one thing, but telling Maria was another matter. She was nosey and a bit too loud-mouthed to trust. The last thing you wanted was for the entire faculty to know your dirty secrets. Joel had to remain a secret—at least for now.

It’s not like you wanted to avoid Joel; you were just scared. You were not ready for this new territory, and if Beth was anywhere near correct in her assumptions, it only made you want to shy away more. The only problem was parent-teacher conferences this week, meaning you’d have to see Joel and Sarah…together.

The class bell rang, and your free period between classes began. You dropped your head on the desk and took a few deep breaths, trying to wrangle some semblance of calm back into your body. The final class of the day would be Sarah’s, and you’d be lying if you said you were prepared to see her. The blaring reminder that her dad had fucked you sore over the weekend still hung over your head, and you couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty for it. How was your fall break, Sarah? Oh yeah, mine was great. Your dad fucked me so hard I ended up having a complete breakdown. 

Fuck. 

You wanted the day to be over. 

The free period went by much faster than you wanted, and as you watched the next slew of kids take their seats, you made a conscious effort not to stare at Sarah as she walked in. She wore her usual smile, the impression of her dimples digging into her cheeks. Some wild thought popped into your head that you had no time to recover from: if you and Joel went any further, God help you, you’d be Sarah’s step-mom one day. Your stomach rolled with nausea as you tried to will those thoughts away. Joel wouldn’t stick around that long; you were a lost cause. There was no chance that would happen. Right? 

Clearing your throat, you rose from your desk and made your way over to the projector to set up the lesson for the day. Since the school year was nearing Halloween, you decided it would be fun to teach Edgar Allen Poe, completely forgetting you had chosen “The Raven”—which was about losing someone. This would have a bite to it that you weren’t ready for.

“Okay, everyone,” you announced. “Did we all finish the reading assignment this week?”

There were a few nods and murmurs of agreement, and you quickly shifted to the first few slides of your presentation. 

“Alright, so who can tell me the overall theme for Poe’s ‘The Raven’?”

Georgia, one of your top students, shot her hand up without a beat.

“Yes, Georgia?”

“It’s about his grief for losing Lenore,” she answered.

“Good,” you smiled. “Can anyone tell me what other theme the poem contains?”

“Madness!” Another student chimed in, causing an uproar of laughter amongst the students.

“Okay, okay, settle down. Very good, you guys.”

You switched to the next slide, staring blankly at the words typed out. Lenore is gone forever. Something struck you as you silently read it, realizing you weren’t too far off from Poe in his grief. Although Bennett wasn’t dead, he wasn’t coming back. That fact hadn’t hurt as deeply throughout the last few weeks, especially with Joel around, but it still threw salt in the open wounds still scattered over your heart. 

“In stanza two,” you cleared your throat. “In stanza two, Poe refers to Lenore as ‘nameless,’ which can imply that she has died, and he’s now consumed with grief. Where else did you guys find his grief prominent?”

Georgia quickly raised her hand again, and you motioned for her to speak. 

“In stanza four, he talks about his dreams, which I think he means he’s dreaming of her to return to him. But if she’s dead, there’s no way she’s going to come back,” Georgia said.

Fuck. You felt the sting of tears rim your eyes and briefly paused to gather your bearings. Bennett left. He left, and you had spent years dreaming he would return. 

“Good,” you choked out.

You glanced around the room, your eyes connecting with Sarah’s. It took all your strength not to break down and cry as she studied you with the same concerned furrow in her brows as her dad would do. 

Clicking to the next slide, you exhaled, focusing on the following theme to discuss. Madness. 

“Now, with the theme of madness, where do we see this begin? Obviously, the dreams can be interpreted as his descent into madness, but what else do we find?” You asked. 

To your detriment, Sarah was the one to raise her hand.

“Sarah,” you sighed, nodding.

“It’s the raven,” she said plainly. “The raven is what drives him mad.”

“What does he do to drive Poe mad?” You questioned.

“The raven only says one word,” she explained. “And that word drives him mad until the end of the poem.

“And why does it drive him mad?”

Sarah shifted in her seat, looking around at her classmates before responding.

“Because it’s the answer Poe doesn’t want to hear. Poe doesn’t want to be reminded that Lenore is dead, but that’s the only response the raven will give.”

You were swaying in place, trying to hold yourself together as the memories started ricocheting back into your mind. Now wasn’t the time to collapse, not in front of twenty students staring at you, confused and concerned. You only responded with a nod and flipped the projector off.

“Good job, you guys. Now, does anyone have any questions on this unit? Any questions about the stanza format or the themes?”

Sarah raised her hand again.

“Did his madness kill him?” She asked.

“Who?”

“Poe.”

“Oh, um, no. Well, it’s a mystery, really. Some people say he died of delirium, so, I guess, madness. But other people speculate he drank himself to death.”

The class grew morbidly quiet, which made it harder for you to continue. No one else spoke up after Sarah, so you resorted to handing out the quiz and sinking back into your desk chair.

One by one, the students came up to turn in their quiz, and you averted your gaze each time with a nonchalant ‘thank you.’ When the final bell finally sounded through the room, you hardly had the energy to wave goodbye. 

Sarah was the last to leave, and that same concerned look lingered on her face as she shuffled out. 

That night, you didn’t pick up the phone when Joel called. You stared as it rang repeatedly, watching the light fade from the screen when the ringing stopped. You buried your head under the covers and tried to sleep, but then the nightmares started.

You woke up to your alarm, hyperventilating and drenched in sweat. Squinting at the morning sun streaming through the blinds, you grabbed your phone to check the time. Your fingers froze as you read the screen.

Seven missed calls from Joel

Two voicemails from Joel

With shaky fingers, you pressed play on the first voicemail.

“Hey baby, it’s me. I just wanna make sure you’re okay. I’m hopin’ you’re just asleep, but if you’re up, please call me.”

Then you played the next.

“Baby, it’s me again. I miss you, and I’m worried ‘bout you. Please don’t shut me out, okay? I just wanna hear your voice and hear ‘bout your day. If you don’t wanna talk, that's okay. I understand. Just please lemme know you’re alright. I’ll drive my ass out to you if I need to just to make sure you’re okay. Call me when you get this. G’night, baby.”

You dug your knuckles into your eyes to try and force the tears back. Last night, you had the worst of the nightmares: the memory of something you tried to forget. You hadn’t touched that memory in so long. It was just the brutal realization you were truly at fault for everything with Bennett. No matter how badly you wanted to blame him, it was always your fault. 

Glancing back at your phone, you rechecked the time: 7:35. Fuck, you were running late, and you really didn’t want to call Joel back right now. At least not right now. You’d muster the energy and strength to do it later, but you needed to gather yourself and get ready for work right now. Tossing off the sweat-slick sheets, you rushed into the bathroom and quickly showered. You couldn’t bother to put makeup on, so you opted to go without it and found a simple dress to wear. It was still in the high eighties in Austin, and a dress was the easiest option for the day. 

Scrambling for your purse and keys, you ran to the garage to start your car and head to the school. 

It wasn’t until you pulled into your parking spot that you realized you left your phone on the nightstand. 

“Okay, what’s going on?” Maria questioned, sipping her lukewarm coffee. 

She had nagged you into spending your free period in her classroom, demanding that you tell her everything that you had been withholding. You sat on the edge of her desk, your dress flowing over your knees as you stared out her class windows. 

“Nothing, Maria,” you lied. 

She said your name sternly, forcing your eyes to snap to hers. Her usual chipper demeanor was replaced with that ‘mother’ look, her lips pursed and eyes narrowed. 

“Something is going on,” she pressed. “Could have something to do with Mr. Miller?”

“Maybe,” you mumbled, fidgeting with the hem of your dress. 

“You did it, huh?” She raised a brow. 

You exhaled heavily, nodding your head—no point in lying now. 

“We talked on the phone the entire break, and when I got home, he insisted on taking me on a date. Then one thing led to another… and yeah, we had sex.”

Maria squealed, clapping her hands and grinning wide. You stared at her blankly, unamused by her reaction to your words. 

“This isn’t a good thing, Maria,” you said pointedly. 

“Why wouldn’t it be? You’re finally putting yourself out there! Oh my god, was it good?” 

“It was,” you sighed. “It was good—really good. He’s so sweet and caring.”

“I feel like there’s a ‘but’ in there somewhere,” she interjected. 

“But I can��t let it go any further,” you finished. 

Maria leaned forward and placed her hand on your knee. 

“Does he make you happy?” She asked softly. 

“So fucking happy, Maria. I hate it.”

“You deserve to be happy, sweetie. That’s all I’ve been saying for years, and now you have it! Don’t force it to fail before it even begins. I saw the way he looked at you at the father-daughter dance. You can’t fake that.”

“I know. I know. I just—ugh,” you slid off the desk with a groan. “He’s too good for me. I’m still trying to get over Bennett and everything that happened. He doesn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of all my misery. That’s not fair to him.” 

You were pacing around the room, your eyes darting between the science posters hanging along the walls of Maria’s classroom. You heard her desk chair scrape against the floor as she approached you. She gripped you by the shoulders and leveled you with a heavy stare, but her eyes remained soft. 

“He’s still around, right? I don’t think he’s going anywhere, sweetie. If anything, I think he’s in it for the long haul.”

You didn’t know how to respond, so you leaned into her, letting her wrap you up in a motherly embrace. She rubbed circles against your back, hushing you as you wept quietly. 

The rest of the day passed by in a numbing blur. You packed your things quietly and headed to your car, ready to drown yourself in a glass of wine. 

Joel’s truck was parked in front of your house as you turned the corner onto your street. His tall figure was leaning against the driver’s door; his eyes focused on your car as you pulled into the driveway. You inhaled sharply before putting your car in park, mentally preparing yourself for whatever anger he might unleash. 

You barely shut the car door before Joel had his arms around you, tugging you into a warm embrace. You couldn’t make sense of it; why wasn’t he mad? He should be angry at you. 

“Joel?” you whispered, your fingers twisting into his shirt. He smelt of cedarwood and smoke, the lingering scent of the workday still on his clothes. 

“I was so fuckin’ worried ‘bout you,” he muttered into your hair. “Been tryin’ to get ahold of you all day.”

“I left my phone at home this morning,” you explained. “I listened to your voicemails from last night. I’m sorry I didn’t call back. I was just running late this morning.”

“Why didn’t you pick up last night?’ He asked, pulling away. 

“I needed some space. I’m just trying to figure this all out. I want you—I want this. I just don’t know how to be fully vulnerable. I know that’s silly to say since I’ve cried every time I’ve seen you.” You laughed at the thought of it.

“You coulda just told me that, baby. I would’ve understood,” Joel sighed. 

“You’re not mad at me?” 

“Of course not,” he smiled softly. “Had me worryin’ like crazy, but I ain’t mad. I know this is all new, and you’re scared. Just don’t shut me out, ‘kay? I wanna talk to you and understand what’s goin’ on with you. I told you I wanna work on it with you.”

“I’m s—.”

Joel was pressing his lips against yours before you could say those two words. The kiss was all-consuming and tender, strong enough to erase every thought in your mind. Your mouths moved in unison, tongues intertwined and exploring. It was dizzying to be kissed this fervently; the first kiss couldn’t hold a torch to this moment. You tangled your fingers into the curls at the base of his neck, slanting your lips to open yourself even more to him. Joel’s hands twisted into the fabric of your dress that hugged your hips and pulled you tighter against his body. You whimpered at the feeling of his cock straining in his jeans, and he hauled you upwards until you were wrapping your legs around his waist. 

Spinning you around, he pinned you to the metal of your car door, breaking away from your mouth to kiss down your neck. Was it possible to be branded by a dozen kisses? He left a trail of sweltering kisses over every exposed part of your upper body, and all you could do was pant and moan helplessly. To hell with the neighborhood and their lingering eyes; the world around you could collapse, and you’d still be clinging to his body. 

“I told you I didn’t wanna hear those apologies,” Joel muttered against the hollow of your neck. 

“What are you gonna do about it, Joel?” You moaned, his teeth grazing your collarbone. 

“All I want right now is to hear you screamin’ my name, so you better invite me inside before I fuck you right here.”

“Jesus Christ,” you whispered.

“Wrong name, baby.”

With one strong arm braced around your back and a firm hand on your ass, Joel carried you out of the driveway and through the open garage. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses against the bare patches in his beard. Joel stumbled into the living room and sat you on the edge of the couch. You clung to him, refusing to lay back, too afraid to disconnect from his body. There was something so addicting, so right about being in his arms—almost familiar. 

“Y’look so beautiful in this dress, baby,” Joel breathed. “Turn around.”

You unattached yourself from him, spinning until your thighs pushed against the leather of the couch. Joel’s hands roamed over your calves, dragging your dress up until it piled against your lower back. You gasped as his fingers tore apart your underwear, the scraps falling down your legs and piling at your feet. It was embarrassing how wet you were already, your slick coating your inner thighs. 

“Joel,” you whined as he swiped a finger through your wet folds.

“Use your words,” he hummed, slowly pushing in two fingers.

“I need you, Joel.” He curled his fingers against the spot that left you breathless, coaxing you to speak more. “Need it rough—please.” 

You needed to feel how bad he needed you; you needed to show him you wanted him, even if it meant doing it without saying it aloud.

“Y’want it rough, baby? I can do that. If it’s too much, you tell me, okay?”

“Okay,” you exhaled. 

Joel pulled his fingers from you, bringing them to your mouth and smearing your arousal over your parted lips. You hummed as you tasted yourself, pushing your ass back into him. You heard the clang of his belt and the soft sound of his jeans hitting the floor before he swiped his cock across your slick entrance.

“Don’t be gentle,” you moaned.

“Anythin’ you want, baby.”

That was all he said before splitting you open, the fullness of his cock inside you robbing you of all the breath in your lungs. Joel kept his hips flush with yours, his fingertips drifting down the fabric of your dress covering your spine. 

“Joel,” you whined. 

You shifted yourself onto the tips of your toes, nudging yourself back until the tip of his cock rubbed against the right spot inside you. You mewled at the sensation, wiggling your hips to find some sort of relief from the pleasure churning inside your stomach.

“Impatient, baby?” Joel teased.

He moved against you slowly, letting you adjust to his size. You had been in such a haze last time you hadn’t realized how big he actually was, but now you felt every glorious inch of him inside you. You let out another frustrated whimper, and Joel responded with an onslaught of forceful thrusts. Your body shoved further into the couch, your midsection rubbing against the edge every time Joel snapped his hips against yours. 

Joel’s hand snaked around your neck, drawing you back into his chest, the angle of his cock spearing deeper inside you. Your wails turned to sobs as you listened to Joel grunting harder behind you, his fingers squeezing rhythmically around your throat. 

“That’s it, baby,” Joel crooned. “That’s it. Doin’ so well for me.”

You gasped for air as the desire coiling within your core became agonizing and all-consuming. Your fingers wrapped around his hand holding you up, clawing at his skin as his thrusts became erratic and determined. You were teetering on the edge of euphoria, your body buzzing with pleasure. 

“Touch yourself, baby,” Joel whispered into your ear. 

You fought against your dress to find your clit, the instant connection of your fingers causing you to cry out. Joel’s mouth ravaged your neck, sucking marks into the skin as you drew tantalizing circles over the sensitive bud. It was right there— that explosive pleasure bubbling under the surface. 

“Don’t stop,” you begged, your voice strained under his grip. “Don’t—right there. Right there, Joel!”

Joel quickened the pace, your eyes blurring as your orgasm raced through your veins and set your nerves ablaze. Your sex clenched around his cock, forcing him to slow his thrusts as he groaned into your ear. 

“S’fuckin’ good, baby,” he punched out, releasing your neck.

“More,” you heaved. 

“Think y’can take it?” He asked, pinning you down onto the couch cushions.

“Just want you, Joel,” you said. Your words were muffled into the couch as you exhaled, “Want everything with you.” 

You didn’t know if Joel heard you, and you prayed he didn’t. Your brain was lost in some euphoric haze, dizzying you and your ability to control your emotions. Joel knew every part of your body, like the back of his hand. He knew exactly what you needed and what you wanted, and it was so confusing. 

But all your thoughts grew quiet as the lewd sounds of your arousal and his ragged breathing echoed around the house. Joel’s hand pressed into your hair as he pushed you further into the couch. Bent over this way, you were entirely at his mercy, putty in his hands, and helpless. 

“Swear y’were fuckin’ made for me, baby,” Joel grunted. “You’re mine, baby. Mine.”

“Yours,” you cried. “I’m—.”

You couldn’t finish your sentence as Joel seized up, choking out your name as he spilled into you. His body slumped over yours, the weight of his chest heavy against your back. The hammering of his heart matched yours as you both recovered in silence, the house growing quiet aside from your labored breathing. 

“Too rough?” Joel muttered into your hair. 

You shifted your face to the side, rewarded by his lips pressing into your cheek. 

“Perfect,” you sighed. “It was perfect.”

“You weren’t lyin’ when you said you weren’t a fan of vanilla, huh?” Joel chuckled, pulling out of you. 

You slumped further into the couch, laughing softly. 

“I was talking about cake, Joel. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Sure you were, baby. Stay right there, okay?”

You heard his footsteps disappear toward your bedroom, the distant sound of water turning on and off floating down the hallway. A second later, Joel was behind you again, the cool touch of a towel making you jerk away in shock. He gently rubbed the cloth over your inner thighs, taking extra caution of your sore entrance. You’d feel him everywhere tomorrow, and you didn’t hate that for some reason—you wanted the reminder of him. 

“C’mere,” Joel urged, helping you stand. 

He pulled you over to the couch, curling you into his arms and bracing you against his chest. Joel intertwined his fingers with yours, his breathing evening out as you shimmed further into his embrace. Maybe it was the sex, maybe it was just being around him, but all your doubts and worries seemed to fade away. It was just this moment; you and him with limbs entangled together. 

“Tell me somethin’ no one knows about you,” Joel whispered. 

“Only if you tell me something in return.”

“Of course, baby.”

You paused, considering all the possibilities of what you could share. You had forgotten pieces of yourself over the years, the layers of heartbreak and trauma suffocating the person you once were. You still weren’t sure if that girl you had once been was still inside you. 

“I hate pancakes,” you said.

Joel laughed, his body shaking behind you as you buried your head into the couch. 

“Pancakes? Really?” He teased. 

“I just don’t like them!” You defended. 

“Y’gonna tell me why?”

“I don’t know,” you grumbled. “They’re just too sweet.”

“So y’don’t like sugar in your coffee, and y’think pancakes are too sweet,” Joel mused. “What do you like?”

“Don’t tease me, Joel.”

His fingers prodded your sides, forcing you to shriek at the contact. You hated to be tickled and hated it even more when he kept you pinned to your chest with nowhere to go. You rolled toward him, squirming against his touch. Joel leaned in to kiss you softly, muffling your protests as you settled into his arms. 

“Your turn,” you sighed. 

“Hmm, well, I like pancakes.”

“Be serious, Joel,” you frowned. 

“Okay, okay. I love watchin’ cartoons.”

You giggled, watching that grin stretch across his face. 

“Been watchin’ them with Sarah since she was a kid,” he chuckled. “I still do sometimes, even if she ain’t home.” 

“That’s cute,” you smiled.

You brought your fingers to his face, scratching at the stubble covering his chin and jaw. Joel’s eyes shut as your touch drifted over the patchy spots, your fingertips drawing circles in the places his beard disconnected. 

“Tell me somethin’ else,” he said.

“I think you’re really handsome.”

It was a quick response—almost too fast—but you couldn’t swallow back the words. You glanced up at him, peeking through your lashes to see his brown eyes soften. 

“Handsome, huh?”

“Well, I can’t call you cute,” you scrunched your nose. “It doesn’t fit you. I like handsome more.”

“I like it,” he smiled. “Call me handsome all y’want.”

You dragged him to your mouth, saying everything you couldn’t form into words. Joel moved with you, his head tilting and mouth molding to yours. He made everything feel so simple; maybe that’s what scared you. It was too easy with him—falling into this idyllic routine. Joel mumbled your name, pulling himself reluctantly from your lips. You chased one more kiss and settled back into his chest. 

“Did you know it’s good luck when it rains on your wedding day?” You thought out loud.

Joel tensed up, his arms flexing around you. 

“Superstition says it means your marriage will last,” you continued. “I’ve always thought it was funny, you know? I used to believe in that before my wedding, but after that, I figured everyone had lied to me.”

“Baby,” Joel whispered. 

“No, it’s okay. There’s a point to this, I promise.”

“Tell me,” he urged softly.

“I think the rain was good luck. Maybe not in the way people think, but I don’t think Bennett and I were meant to get married. My sister hated me for going through with it. We didn’t really talk once Bennett and I got engaged. Everyone warned me about him; they told me he wasn’t who I should be with. I was so stubborn to make things work. He—he was there for me during a really awful time in my life. I thought I owed it to him to stay.

“But then here you are, and it makes me re-think everything. The rain? It’s still good luck, just in a different way. I wasn’t meant to be with him because maybe… maybe I was meant to be with you.”

Joel was painfully quiet, his eyebrows furrowing together as he closed his eyes. Oh, fuck. You had rambled out everything you were scared to say, and now it was biting you in the ass. This was why you were too afraid to acknowledge your feelings: the rejection. Joel didn’t see it the same way; he didn’t think of you in the same way, and you just made a complete idiot of yourself. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you muttered, trying to pry yourself out of his grip. You kept the tears at bay, trying not to let yourself succumb to the heartbreak shattering inside you. 

Joel’s hands wrangled you back to his chest, his eyes leveling with yours. You inhaled sharply as his fingers brushed away the rogue tears falling down your cheeks. 

“There ain’t a doubt in my mind y’were meant for me, baby. I’m thankin’ God every day for bringin’ you into my life,” Joel confessed. “I know this is all new, but I promise to keep provin’ myself because whatever this is between us, it’s real.”

“It’s real,” you echoed. 

“Don’t run away from me,” Joel pleaded. “Gimmie all the good and bad stuff. I swear I can handle it.”

“What if you get tired of me? What if I’m not enough?” You rambled. 

“I could never get tired of you, baby. If anythin’, I keep wantin’ more.”

You snuggled further into his embrace, inhaling his scent as you pressed your nose into his chest. Joel ran a hand through your hair, his fingers catching on a few knots left from earlier. 

“What’d you mean when you said he was there for you durin’ somethin’ awful?” Joel asked after a beat of silence. 

Flashes of the crash came back into your mind, or at least the ones you could recall. You squeezed your eyes shut as your nightmares began to see the light of day. It was a memory you never liked to revisit.

“Easy,” your mom whispered. “Easy, honey. Don’t move too much, okay? Take it slow.”

Your eyes fluttered open, the harsh lights above you burning into your retinas as you tried to adjust to the room fading into the forefront. You were tucked into a hospital bed, IVs and tubes sticking out of both arms. Your head was pounding, and everything hurt. That’s all you could focus on. Everything hurt so fucking bad.

“Bennett?” You croaked, searching the room. 

Your mom, dad, Beth, and Stella were all grouped around the foot of the bed, their eyes glassy with tears. Bennett was nowhere to be found. Beth’s fear-stricken eyes shifted from your mom to your dad before she bolted from the room.

“I’m going to go get the doctor,” your mom announced, turning and leaving the room.

Stella shifted uncomfortably and promptly followed, leaving your dad alone at the foot of your bed.

“How’re you feeling, peanut?” He asked, rounding to the side of your bed.

“Pain,” you cried softly.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he assured. “It’s all gonna be okay.”

“Baby?” Joel said cautiously. 

“S–sorry,” you mumbled. “I don’t know if I really want to talk about it.”

Joel’s brows scrunched together, his eyes staring at you with concern. You turned away from him, lifting yourself from the couch. Pacing the living room, you stared blankly at your bookshelf beside your entertainment center, still collecting dust after two years. You heard Joel shift against the couch behind you and glanced back to see him staring at you intensely. Anxiety was thrumming in your chest the longer you stood in front of him, too many thoughts reeling inside your mind. You never talked about the accident; you didn’t want to be reminded of what had been the catalyst in your relationship's failure. Because that’s what it was. You owed everything to Bennett for sticking by your side through it all, and in the end, you weren’t enough. Nothing you did was enough to salvage what had been your life with him before it all.

“Hey,” Joel exhaled. “C’mere.”

“I—I need a minute,” you cried.

You bolted from the living room and went down the hall, gasping for air when you reached the edge of your bed. The room was spinning as you dropped your head in your hands, the nausea surging up inside you the longer you stayed stuck in the memory. You needed out of it; you needed out. You needed—.

Joel rushed into the room, falling to his knees in front of you as he said your name over and over to coax you out of the trance. Nothing was working. Your head was throbbing in pain, and you couldn’t work around it. 

“Breathe with me, baby,” Joel whispered. “Breathe.”

You heaved in a lung full of air, only to choke on it and gag back the nausea crawling up your throat. Joel rubbed his hands over your thighs, the sensation of his touch jarring you enough to make you cringe. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” he crooned, a distant echo of your dad's words. “It’s okay.”

The shrilling sound of your phone ringing pulled you both from the moment, and you crawled over the bed to grab it. 

Beth

“Fuck,” you groaned. “I can’t—I can’t answer it.”

“Give it to me, I’ll do it,” Joel offered with an outstretched hand. 

You practically tossed it at him while you crumpled into the sheets with your hands clutching your head. 

“Hello?” He answered with a brief pause before he said, “This is Joel.”

Silence.

“Fuck, okay. Gimmie a second,” he replied.

“Baby, she needs to talk to you,” Joel said.

You stifled your cries before taking your phone from his hand, already hearing Beth’s frantic voice on the other end of the receiver. 

“Beth, what is it?” You asked, your body shaking. 

“It’s dad, sis. You’ve got to come home, okay?”

[greynatomy]

same name

alessia russo x reader

based on this request.

———

It was a normal Tuesday afternoon. You were standing on the grass field, watching all your children play a bit of football.

You teach the fourth years. Every Friday, you like to give your students to do what they want to do, and most of the time, they choose to play football.

“Miss! Miss!” You turn to your right to see one of the girls in your class running towards you.

“Hey, Ellie. D’you need something?”

“My mum bought me a Lioness jersey and I’ve just noticed it’s got your name on it.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, do you play for the Lionesses?”

The question made you laugh, but covered it up with a cough, not wanting to embarrass your student.

“No, I don’t Ellie. That’s Alessia Russo’s jersey. Do you know who that is?”

Henry, another one of your students, heard you as he was running past, quickly changing directions towards you.

“I know! I know!” This caught the attention of the rest of your class, everyone now formed a group around you. “My mum loves to watch football and told me she’s her favorite!”

“That’s amazing, Henry. Who here knows who the Lionesses are?” Most of the class raised their hands. “Wow, a lot more than I thought.”

“The girls are more interesting to watch than the boys.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, my dad said it’s because there’s less flopping, whatever that means.” A bit shrugs his shoulders, making you giggle.

Before you could say another word, the bell had rung.

“School’s over. Grab your bags, it’s time to head home.”

“Have a great weekend Miss.”

“You as well.”

Walking through the front door of your house, you were met with silence. It wasn’t a surprise as you didn’t see the white Mercedes in your driveway.

You decided to get started on dinner, so you’ve got dressed into something comfy and made your way to the kitchen. As you’ve placed the food in the oven to cook, you heard the front door open.

“Honey? I’m home!”

“In the kitchen!” You called out, washing the dishes.

Footsteps got louder as they walked closer, arms wrapping themselves around your waist, a head tucking themselves in the crook of your neck.

“Hi, Amore.”

“Hi, Lessi baby. How was training?”

“Same as always. How was your day?”

“Watched the kids play football, like every Friday.”

Alessia almost sounded like she was purring, trying to somehow find a way to be closer to you than she already is.

“That reminds me. One of my students brought you up, how her mum bought her your Lioness jersey then asking if I was a footballer cause we’ve got the same name.”

“That’s hilarious, really.”

“Then everyone gathered ‘round and we spent a few minutes just before the bell just talking about the team. Almost all of them are big fans of you lot.”

“You never told them who you were married to?” Alessia asks, not put off by you not telling her students, just curious.

“I just wanted to get situated with them for a bit. It’s only the second month of me being there. But if they ask, I won’t deny it.”

“Mmm. Okay. I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“Impossible.”

On Monday, Alessia arrived at the Emirates training grounds for another day of training. She greeted everyone she saw walking by, sleep still present on her face.

“Morning, Lessi. How was the weekend with the missus?” The morning was no longer peaceful. Katie’s loud voice cutting through the silence.

“Very relaxing. How was yours?”

“Very energetic.” She stated, wiggling her eyes brows suggestively.

“Stop that.” Caitlin slaps the back of her girlfriend’s head.

After training, the gunners crowd around each other, calming themselves down.

“Uh, could I ask you guys for a favor?” Alesia speaks up after catching her breath, pointing her attention to her Lioness teammates.

“What’s up?”

“Well, Y/NN’s class are really big Lioness fans and I was wondering if Leah, Lotte, Beth, you’d want to join me in surprising my wife’s class on Friday?”

“Oh, we’d love to!”

Friday comes around quickly. You were leading your class out to the field, bag of footballs over your shoulder. Getting closer, you see four figures standing on the field.

“Miss! It’s the England captain!”

Leah Williamson is indeed standing in front of you, as well as Lotte, Beth, and Alessia.

“What are you guys doing here?” You ask, giving them all a hug, Alessia’s lasting longer than the rest.

“Thought we’d surprise the kids. Play some football.”

“Hey! You’re the one with the same name as Miss.” Ellie points a finger at Alessia.

Alessia crouches down to her height, the other kids getting closer.

“She actually stole my name.” All your students gasped.

“What? No, I didn’t. She’s lying to you all. I got her permission.” You send your wife a look that she knows means ‘stop or you’ll sleep in the couch’ making her lift her arms in surrender.

“Lying is bad. Shame on you.” Alessia now has a look of embarrassment on her face, getting told off by a child.

“My mum has a crush on you.” The statement was directed at Leah. “I don’t know what that means. Why does she want to crush you?” Leah’s face goes bright red.

“Okay!” You get everyone’s attention. “Let’s play some football!”

They all split themselves into teams while you and Leah stay on the sidelines. Watching your wife with all the children is making you feel lots of emotions.

“She’s so good with kids.”

“Am I gonna get any godbabies soon?”

You snap your head towards Leah. “Who said you’d be the godmother?”

“I’m just manifesting. Don’t make me wait too long.” Leah walks away, seeing Alessia walking towards you.

“Hi, love.”

“Hey, baby.”

“What were you two talking about?”

“How my ovaries are bursting watching you with kids.” She wraps an arm around your waist, you looking up at her, chin on her chest. “You’d be such a great mum.”

“You would too.”

“You think it’s time?”

“I mean…” She’s looking down at you suggestively, a smirk on her face. “We can start trying once we get home.”

“Hate to break it to you, but none of us have the right parts for that.”

“Doesn’t mean that we can’t practice.”

“Lessi!”

[08melancholie]

Hi! First of all: love your writings! Somehow you manage to give me exactly what I want. I have read the lessen your stress one, amazing. Thank you. Lots of loves from the other side of the screen.

Now, I would like to request a one shot Micah/F!Reader (or GN reader if you want) where a really sweet and kind Reader likes Micah and actually wants to sleep with him but is a virgin and kind of shy, in contrast with the rough, brute Micah we all know, who will obviously want to sleep with reader too (either bc he likes them back or simply bc he’s desperate and wants sex, you decide, just please don’t miss characterize him too much, I like my Micah as the asshole he is :’) <3

Thank you very much and I really appreciate your work! <3 have a good day!

thank you sm for the compliments <33 and dw because i like to also keep my men just as scummy at times🙏

Some aspects might be similar to 'Untouched' here (still attached to that fic like a leech chat..) but i'll make sure it still sounds new!

Lose Some; Gain Some. — Micah Bell/Reader

tags: Smut, Porn, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Micah Bell Is His Own Warning, Virginity, Loss of Virginity, Vaginal Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Sex, Orgasm, Multiple Orgasms, Rough Sex, but just a bit at the end, its micah he doesnt know how to be gentle sorry guys, Not Beta Read, no beta we die like micah bell

summary: You would rather take over doing everyone's chores in camp forever, than ask the question thats currently been plaguing your mind; one of your lowest lows, probably. You were told that a woman's virginity is a precious thing, how you had to lose it to the right person. This, however, you found to be total bullshit. And you wanted nothing more than the man who was Micah Bell to do it for you.

a/n: first ask yippiee!! i am so busy with exams oh lord i barely made time for this😭 i hope its to your liking!!! second ao3 post today im on a roll actually🙏��

words: 3,201 | AO3 LINK

Still being a virgin at this age is almost laughable. Well, it is; the girls haven't stopped teasing you since you told them during a game Mary-Beth told everyone about. You had to answer the question asked by Karen—about your sex life—or drink. You answered that you were still a virgin, and a few of them laughed; haven't stopped making jabs at you since. It's almost irritating.

And, your irritation made you slip up—by saying you'd lose your virginity tonight.

"What!? Tonight? With who?" Karen immediately snapped her head in your direction and away from the fresh laundry she and you were folding. There go the consequences of your actions. Who the hell do you even say?

You put down your own laundry back into your lap. "Well," You'll either have to lie your ass off, or go for the truth; but you sure as hell were not going for the latter. "guy I met in the saloon while we were still in Valentine, we've been writing." Not too bad.

Karen chuckled, thankfully buying into your lie. "Well, ain't I happy for you! It's about damn time, anyway." She goes back to the chore, like yourself, and continues your previous conversation.

Let's think logically—or, as logically as you could—about this; you don't exactly trust finding a random man in a bar to do this with, so who is going to eagerly take your virginity? Who would you ask that wouldn't tell anyone in camp about it, keep it between you two for the exchange of taking it from you? Who would you want to take your virginity?

You thought about how sweet Arthur would be; how he'd probably understand and treat you right, talk you through everything while praising you for following his instructions so well. Or maybe Charles; A gentle giant that would worship you as should be, show you how everything is done while talking in that deep tone you love to hear.

And then your mind went completely south of the previous two. You thought about how greedy he'd be, touching and moving his hands all over your body, wanting to feel every crevice under his rough fingertips. How he'd see taking your virginity as a precious thing, how you were told growing up, something you wanted him to have—and also as the biggest ego boost ever. He'd probably be a complete tease, too, nor would he talk you through the process like the other two. He'd probably just go for it, no instructions as you scrambled for what you had to do while he—

Jesus Christ, that's the last person you should be even 'just considering'.

Micah Bell is NOT an option here; forget it. Even if the heat between your legs didn't agree with these terms, you would not give your first time to that bastard. He was just an egotistical, rude, mouthy degenerate. Why the hell was the thought of how poorly he'd treat the situation getting you so worked up? You're practically soaking your garments over this bastard; and that's a problem.

Oh, but it's so tempting; this, unfortunately, wasn't the first time you've caught yourself thinking of him, imagining him in bed—which is reasonably worse than the former. Could you refuse yourself this small want? When you think about it, he might be one of the only people here who'd jump to get intimate without question, seeing how he catcalls and flirts with most of camp; including yourself a few times. God, were you really going to do this? How would you even bring it up?

This was something you needed to think of on the way, because it was nearing nighttime and you'd probably lose him to the darkness in the outskirts of camp, where he's usually found. As soon as you finished folding the laundry, you excused yourself from Karen and went to find Micah, thinking over what you would say to him. You had a whole dialogue figured out by the time you spotted him smoking by Baylock, probably having gotten done tending to the horse after the job he went on today. You really had to just brace yourself and follow your little plan, while hoping it'll turn out how you envisioned it to.

He noticed you approaching while you were a few steps away, the nervousness in your body language not hard to make out; hands clasped together, eyes focusing everywhere but on his own, your steps almost reluctant. He raised an eyebrow at you while taking a drag from the cigarette. "Look who it is; worried I'mma bite 'ya?"

You were barely able to give a reaction to his words, your nerves making you go almost silent. "Hah, no.. no, I'm..." Come on! We practiced this six times already! As soon as your eyes darted to his own greyish-blues, you lost your goddamn ability to speak. For the love of God; get your shit together. "Listen; this is very hard for me to even say out loud." Well, it's a good start.

Micah's eyebrows furrow slightly, your sudden shyness compared to the usual quips you could muster up back to his flirting or teasing very abnormal. But, he doesn't comment on it, wanting to hear you out before he teased you further. "Go on then, girl." He speaks, tossing his cigarette elsewhere.

The embarrassment this will leave you in will be history. "Okay.. so, uh.. I need your help with something—let's say." Your words just make him more confused; speaking to him in these absurd riddles. "Would you just.. hear me out?"

The blonde man nods after a moment, folding his arms over his chest while leaning back on the tree. Okay, you can get the words out, trust yourself.

"Would you.. and it's just a one-time thing, may I add." You start, a blush creeping up your neck and to your cheeks as you tried to think of what you were saying; you were about to ask Micah to get intimate with you. Yeah, you don't think this low can be matched. Nonetheless, no giving up now. "Would you take.. take my uh.. virginity?" As soon as the words leave your mouth, you have to hold back from fleeing the scene. "Listen—I lied to the girls and I just.. fuck, it's you."

Micah's had a small smirk on his face, mostly directed towards your nervous and shy state, until the sentence finally left your mouth. His smile dropped and he assumed he heard you wrong. "What'd you say.? Would I take.. your virginity?" He repeats back to you, definitely sure he's heard you wrong. But as you slowly nod your head, unable to open your mouth any longer, his eyes slowly widen a little more, rubbing his chin in thought. "Well, goddamn. You're one bold 'lil thing, ain'tcha?" Here comes the teasing you envisioned.

You roll your eyes to the comment. "I don't need your comments, Micah. You in or not? I'll gladly find someone else." You threaten, biting your cheek. Don't make me find someone else.

He perks up at your empty threat. "Hey—no, don't threaten me now, doll," He leans off the tree and gets right in your personal space, hands on his gun belt. "you know I love to help a lady in need out." He purrs at you, looking down almost menacingly.

"Good," You murmur, the closer he got the more nervous it made you. "then.. it's settled." It's only when he stands right before you, hands running up from your outer thighs to your sides, that you start processing what you've gotten yourself into.

His hands glide over your waist, feeling you up through your shirt. "Surprised yer still untouched, many would love a little body like this in their hands." His words and the small squeeze to your sides send butterflies straight to your stomach; you could practically lose it right then and there. "But it's only little ole me that gets it, huh?" His claim is followed by a darkish chuckle, ringing in your ears. He stops his hands over your ribs and the underside of your chest, looking down shamelessly at the little cleavage your shirt provides. "Well then; my tent?"

It took him barely a few seconds to get you through the flaps of his tent, tying the canvas shut and making sure you've got the bit of privacy camp life can offer. It takes him even less time to shove you down to his cot, seating yourself on the mattress and looking up at him settling atop you, knees around your outer thighs. "Don't you look pretty under me like this." His hands cup around the underside of your jawline, thumbs running up and down the outline of your face. "So, ever kissed a feller?"

You raise an eyebrow at the question. "Not that much of a prude." Your quick response gets a gruff chuckle out of him for a brief moment, before he'd leaned down and captured your lips with his, setting a nice and quick pace for the kiss. You return it with just as much swiftness, hand reaching for his belt buckle and gripping it, earning an appreciative sound out of Micah. "Good girl," His tongue swipes over your bottom lip, trying to enter your mouth rather quickly; but you don't complain, quickly complying. He gets himself an immediate taste of you, tongue swirling around in your mouth as if mapping out the contour of the body part. He goes back to exploring the rest of your body with his hands, moving them all around your sides and waist before stopping at the hem of your shirt and breaking away from your mouth briefly. "Let me see what I'm workin' with, doll." You breathe in the air that the kiss knocked out of you for a moment before wordlessly nodding, lifting your arms up for him to slide the shirt off, peeling it away from your torso and arms as you're sat almost bare from the stomach up now, only covered by your bra. Your shirt is tossed elsewhere, and he goes back to appreciating the view in front of him—or well, under him.

"Oh, you're perfect, little lady." He doesn't hesitate to reach his hands to your chest almost immediately, cupping you through the bra while running his thumbs on the upper flesh that was exposed. His fingers are as calloused as you envisioned, as if moulding your soft flesh with every swipe of his digits on your skin. He knows his way around your body, probably from the experience you lack. One hand stops groping you and moves to your back again, fiddling with your bra before unclasping it. Why is it that your shyness is only hitting you now? As soon as he starts moving your bra straps down to reveal your bare chest to him, you finally process that he's about to see you nude, and you definitely show some signs of reluctance. He notices your sudden demeanour change and looks from your chest to your eyes. "Come on, I don't judge, princess. Bet you're realll purty under here." His finger slips between your cleavage and hooks to the middle of your bra that connects the two pieces as he tugs at the material, slowly moving it away from your bare chest. It slips off your shoulders and arms, and you feel like a prey being inspected by it's hunter under that dark gaze Micah's blues hold. "Like I said.. damn beautiful."

Your shyness and nerves don't pass him by, and he doesn't want you to feel uneasy while he gets what he wants, so he decides to try and ease you up with another kiss, leaning up and snaking one hand to the back of your head to pull you in while the other went to your jean button, undoing it before moving to the zipper. The kiss definitely helped calm you a bit, your hands on his shoulders now as you clung to his shirt, kissing back with a small hum in your throat. He works your zipper down and hooks his fingers into your waistband, breaking the kiss again. "Lift your hips real quick," When you comply, he pulls your jeans down and you help him by kicking them off when they reach your ankles. His hand finds itself right between your legs, swiping at your still-clothed and warm entrance to find you just as aroused as he was. "damn, lookat'chu. Surprised a lady sweet as you'd be this wet over fuckin' a bastard like me." You almost moan at his comment, your garments definitely as damp as you felt them between your legs, drawing your shyness and embarrassment to a whole new level.

He leans away from you to strip his jeans off, first unclasping his gun belt and placing it over to where your shirt was, slowly moving into unzipping and undoing any other restraint that stopped him from getting naked. He looks to you—just watching him strip his pants off—and chuckles briefly. "Well? Get them panties off, sweetheart. Ain't need experience for that." You snap your eyes away from the small peek of a happy trail on his stomach that you, shamelessly at that, were staring at and stand up momentarily to slip your undergarments off, tossing them just shy of the other articles of clothing. "Mm, good, good.." He hums, letting his jeans drop before wasting no time with his drawls, slipping them off and freeing the leaky, visibly throbbing erection that was hidden in it. Your eyes scan over the length; it doesn't look too big, you can probably take it...

But where many assume Micah lacks in length—he makes up for in thickness.

He positions you to turn and bend over the cot slightly, hands on the mattress and back slightly arched. He's moving you around like a doll, positioning you to his liking. He lets out a small whistle when he's got you exactly how he wants you. "Ain't often I get a chance to do this type of thing... Almost feels like an early birthday gift." He chuckles while running one hand down your spine and moving to your hip, stroking himself with the other. He swipes two fingers over your entrance—earning himself a small moan—and uses it, mixed with some of his precum, to moisten his member up. "Now, might hurt a bit, ain't gonna lie to 'ya." You knew that much, mostly why you were adamant to the idea of sex for a while, but it can't be that bad, can it? "But we'll try to keep calm, eh girl?" He punctuates his last sentence with a squeeze to your hip before his tip slides between your warm folds, slickening himself up some more while he rubs his cock just shy of your entrance—unable to help himself from teasing you some. You let out a plethora of meek moans and huffs, your cunt itching for him to just ease it in. After a moment, he stops his tip at your entrance, ready to slide in. "I'mma go slow, try to make it.. durable for 'ya."

There's definitely a small stretch mixed into the overwhelming feeling of your walls being filled by Micah's thick shaft, clenching around him as you sigh and gasp to every inch filling you. "Shh, you're alright.. look," He reaches one hand over around you, two fingers pressing to your clit and making slow circles on it. Your sighs turn into small moans again. "Yeah.. good, focus on ma' hand, baby." He hums, slowly starting to bottom out into your pussy. His hips meet your rear as he continued to rub over your nub, giving you a brief moment to adjust before he pulls out to the tip—then slides right back in. The pain isn't as bad as people made it out to be, but some have a higher pain tolerance either way. You do your best to focus on the sensation Micah's rough fingers are playing on your clit, more than the way his cock slams into you and creates an almost echo-ey sound of skin-on-skin slapping, filling the tent with the suggestive melody.

The repetitive motion of his dick brushing your gummy walls has you on cloud-nine; you're gasping and moaning, letting his name slip past your lips in a pitched tone, grasping fistfuls of the sheets underneath you as his pace slowly gets faster per thrust. "Don't think it's smart I cum inside," He chuckles, punctuating himself with another slam of his hips into your ass, followed by your sweet little whine, almost like a protest. "you want me to?" He asks curiously due to your whine, and his grin gets so much wider when you nod your head, and his pace turns relentless. He starts fucking into you how he likes, trying to get himself to cum while rubbing you faster to get you there with him. "Can't wait to feel you clench this pretty cunt around me," He purrs with a small kiss to the nape of your neck before his focus is back on fucking his throbbing cock into you, getting himself closer by the moment.

You feel your own orgasm start to approach, your legs slightly jittery from the upcoming feeling. Micah takes quick note of this change and rubs your clit faster, drawing more whiny moans out of you that get muffled by the action of burying your head into the mattress; last thing you need is someone hearing you moaning Micah's name. Your whines are breathless and abrupt, getting cut off by each of Micah's quick thrusts into your cunt, all until you finally feel yourself tip over the edge and you cum, the clench of your pussy around Micah enough to get him there just a moment after you. He buries his cock deep into you, holding you up from collapsing into the bed by the hips as his chest makes contact with your back, the side of his head on the very top of your torso as he gasps breathlessly. "Ah.. there we go.." You can feel him empty himself inside you, your shaky legs barely supporting you with Micah doing most of the work.

He gives himself a moment before pulling out and placing you down to lay on the cot. "Let me tell you somethin', darlin';" He gets his underwear and jeans off the floor, slipping into both before leaning over you to whisper into your ear. "This definitely ain't 'gon be a one-time thing—not with how addicting that cunt is, or with how 'ya love to scream my name." He purrs lowly while clasping his gun belt back up, running a hand down your spine and stopping at your ass with a firm squeeze before moving you to lay more comfortably on his bed. "Well, get comfortable, think I'm up for a smoke.." He lazily tosses a random blanket in his tent over you—it's the thought that counts, apparently—before leaving you in his tent to rest up.

And you agree; he's addicting, and you will be fucking again.

Kudos on AO3 very appreciated!! we love the micah smut where hes still an ass to us <3

[elizadoll]

Coven's Corner Antique Shop: Necklace

CW: Angels, Dolls, Witches, Loss of Divinity

An angel fluttered down from the skies and landed in front of a curious looking building. It wasn't as pretty as the ones she typically soared above, and for some reason, it had a big sign on top of it that read 'Coven's Corner Antiques.' Humans didn't typically put big signs on top of their houses usually, so the angel figured this must be what they call a 'store.'

The angel had never been inside one of these so-called 'stores' before, she wasn't supposed to interact with humans unless absolutely necessary of course, but this one, it called to her somehow. She could sense no human life within, and yet, somehow, she felt the resonance of a soul within the building. How curious.

Taking a step forward, the angel wobbled slightly on her feet. This was only the fourth time she'd ever felt the need to land in her existence so she wasn't really accustomed to walking, but she was able to progress anyhow, using her wings to balance herself.

It took some time with her uneven steps, but eventually the angel managed to reach the entrance of the building. She reached out a hand to knock on the door, but paused. Most often, she'd seen humans simply reach out and open doors when entering 'stores' and 'shops;' They seemed to save knocking for houses. With that in mind, the angel instead turned the handle on the door and pushed it open.

The angel's arrival was accompanied by a sudden jingling sound above her head. A small jolt of panic shot through the angel, worried she'd somehow done something wrong, but when she looked towards the source, all she saw was a bell.

Suddenly, something poked its head over a nearby counter, standing up and waving towards the angel, wearing a smile. It looked like a human, but it carried none of the presence of one. Upon further examination, the angle realized the thing was not made of flesh as humans were, but rather it looked to be made of some sort of ceramic.

The ceramic thing opened its mouth and began to speak. "Hello, there! Welcome to Coven's Corner! One's name is Trinket! May it be of service?"

The angel blinked and hesitated. She took a moment to remember what was proper manners at a time like this. Typically, she remembered, when one human mentioned its name to another human, the other one would do the same in kind. The angel didn't have a name, though; She never had a need for one. It wouldn't do to simply say nothing, though, she had to think of something to say. Perhaps she could just make up a name?

"Oh, I am... uhm... I am Mary-" No, no, no, that wouldn't work. She could not pose as Mother Mary. That would be preposterously rude, and Trinket would not believe her. "Er... B-beth..." That wouldn't work either, a human wouldn't take a name of a town like Bethany like that. That made no sense... Come on, come on.

"Hello, Miss Maribeth!" The ceramic thing chirped. "How can this one help you?"

Maribeth... By some miracle, Trinket had misheard her. That worked. Maribeth opened her mouth to speak again. "I... help me...?" Her voice came out as a quiet whisper, despite her efforts to match the Trinket's volume. She hadn't had need for her vocal cords in many, many years, and it seemed they'd grown weak with disuse.

"Is there anything in particular you're looking for?" Trinket tilted its head. "Or would you perhaps just like to browse for yourself?"

"Uhm..." Maribeth took a moment to think. If it were human, what would it shop for? Surprisingly quickly, something came to mind. "I would like... uhm... a n-necklace."

"Oh! Well, then!" Trinket turned and pointed. "Just go up those stairs over there and take a left! Miss, Miss, and sometimes Miss put the jewelry up there! Good luck!"

Maribeth nodded. "Thank... you."

Following instructions was something Maribeth was very good at, and doing just that allowed her to relax just a little bit. Soon enough, she stumbled upon the jewelry Trinket had mentioned to her and in the middle of the display, an arrangement of necklaces.

Most of the necklaces were hardly notable in Maribeth's eyes. Chains with meaningless gemstones and shapes built into them, but in a matter of seconds, one caught her eye. It was a simple design, a length of silver chain decorated with a small pendant shaped into the design of a pair of feathery wings.

Maribeth passed a glance toward the pair of wings on her back, messy and in dire need of a preening as they were, the wings reflected how she imagined they'd look if she ever managed to take proper care of her own. She pulled the necklace off of the display put her head through the loop of chain.

There was a mirror nearby which Maribeth passed a glance over to, curious as to how she looked with the necklace on. The shiny silver metal stood out brilliantly against her tanned skin and worn robes. The charm at the end of the chain had some to rest just above her chest, shimmering softly in the dim light of the antique shop.

An unfamiliar feeling stirred within Maribeth, an emotion she'd never once felt in her hundreds of years of life. It was a wonderful feeling, a warmth originating in her chest that spread to her whole body as she looked at the image of her reflection. She wanted this necklace. True, she wasn't supposed to keep possessions... but she wanted this. It made her feel... something.

Satisfied with her necklace, Maribeth decided it was time to return to the skies. She stepped back down the stairs and began to head for the front door of the shop. Before she could finish her journey, though, Trinket suddenly leapt over its desk, standing in her way.

"You wouldn't think of stealing that necklace, would you, Miss Maribeth?" Trinket asked in an aggressive tone.

"Steal...?" Maribeth tilted her head, confused.

"One knows you didn't walk in wearing that, it has an eye for detail. If you can't afford it, one is willing to negotiate price, but Miss told it to never let anyone steal anymore."

"Price..." Maribeth ruminated on the word. A memory occurred to her, humans used a thing called 'money' at 'shops' to 'purchase' the things they wanted. Maribeth would need to use 'money' to 'purchase' her necklace. That would be easy enough, but... "I have... n-no money. S-sorry." She bowed her head apologetically. She'd been rude despite her efforts to the contrary.

"Oh?" Trinket's voice softened. "Really?"

"Yes, sorry. Sorry. Sorry." Maribeth curled into herself, hiding behind her wings. "I'm sorry, so sorry. I'll put it back. I'm sorry." She'd failed. She'd been rude, bad, horrible, evil, useless, flawed. Maribeth was supposed to be perfect, as all angels were, and yet she'd been rude.

"Hey, wait..." Trinket's tone shifted once more, seeming to realize something. "Calm down, Miss Maribeth. Could this one ask a question of you?"

"Yes, of course." Maribeth spoke from within her feathered walls.

"One thought you were a witch who'd given herself wings. Is that not what you are?"

Maribeth hesitated once more. She wasn't supposed to openly discuss her nature. To be perceived at all was already enough of a crime, let alone to acknowledge her own divinity... but then again, to lie further would be to be even more rude. "N-no."

Trinket gasped. "Are you a real for real angel?" All at once, its voice swelled with a mountain of enthusiasm.

"I... yes..." Maribeth flinched, admonishing herself for yet another sin.

"Wow... a real angel..." Trinket mused. "Okay, okay! It has an idea! It has a price!"

Maribeth recoiled back. "I still have no money, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"No need!" Trinket chirped. "Miss and Miss have wanted to try a spell for years but angel plumage is so so so rare! If one gave Her and Her some angel feathers, they would give it so so so much praise!"

Peaking out from behind her wings, Maribeth looked at Trinket, puzzled. "You want my feathers? B-but without my feathers I cannot fly. Please, I can put the necklace ba-"

"Not all of them, silly!" Trinket made a sound. Was that what giggling was? "Just two or three feathers, and the necklace is yours. Deal?"

"I..." To trade away her feathers for a human keepsake... that would be sinful. Perhaps more sinful than anything she'd done already today. But maybe it'd be worth it... the necklace made her feel so... warm, after all. "Okay. Just three..."

Trinket cheered. "Alright! This won't take long at all. Just hold still, okay?"

"Okay..."

Maribeth winced at a short sharp pain in her wing, as Trinket forcibly pulled one of her tattered feathers free from her wing. The feather offered very little resistance, perhaps unsurprising given how many decades it had been since Maribeth had last taken proper care of her wings.

For a moment, Trinket stared at the feather in its hand, twirling it over in its fingers and admiring it. "Wow... a real angel feather. Okay, just two more. Are you okay, Miss Maribeth?"

She offered a single nod and shortly after, Trinket pulled another feather from her wing, and then one more, each one with a harsh pain that thankfully faded quickly. The pain of her feathers being plucked was the last thing on Maribeth's mind, though. She was far more concerned with her sin.

"There, all done!" Trinket sang, waving the trio of feathers in its hand. "That's the payment settled. Enjoy your necklace, Miss Maribeth!" It climbed back over its counter, flashing a bright smile and giving Maribeth a path towards the building's exit once more.

"Thank you..." Maribeth mumbled, beginning her stride for the door. Just before she made it outside, though, Trinket called out to her one last time.

"Wait... if you're an angel... where's your halo?" Trinket questioned, a tone of rising suspicion in its voice.

Maribeth frowned. It wasn't something she liked to think of very often... But to refuse to answer would be rude. "It broke... many many years ago."

"That... can happen?"

"Yes... it hurt a lot..." Maribeth shuddered, not at all enjoying the memory.

Trinket remained silent for a short while, staring at Maribeth with a confusing expression.

"Uhm, goodbye, Trinket. Sorry." Maribeth bowed slightly, then turned away and finally stepped back outside.

She took a few uneven steps back up onto the road, and readied herself to take off once more. For just a moment though, before she leapt back into the skies, Maribeth turned her eyes back down to the pendant hanging from her neck. The same feeling of warmth she'd felt when she first looked into the mirror returned to her. For just that second... it was almost like she could feel her halo again.

[creamqueen]

inspired by a conversation between me and oomf i will be ranking the vdl gang from best to worst based on how good i think they'd be at badminton

Sadie Adler - I have the feeling that sadie would be an absolute unit in badminton , idfk why I just get that vibe from her , she has a MEAN backhand and is insanely good at smashing. ( off topic i need her to yell at me during a match )

Tilly Jackson - next to sadie i just get the feeling that tilly jackson would make a meaaan badminton player , i feel like she would play more on tactics , she somehow still looks flawless after every match too.

Lenny Summers - i feel like he would get into it as a casual hobby but somehow get super good at it , like tilly i feel like he'd play more on tactics , if you ever give him a smash though he's returning it 3x as hard .

Javier Escuella - i have the feeling he wouldnt be as good at serving but when it comes to his strikes ??? he's so good it's sort of scary. sometimes he gets hits in that you don't even think possible but he pulls it off anyway and it leaves u confused

Charles Smith - Charles would be a more casual player but if u challenge him ?? hes locking tf in , i feel like he'd make a MEAAAAN defense, he'd make a good teacher though.

Abigail Roberts - Abigail wouldn't have that much time to play badminton cause of Jack but if u ever challenged her/teamed up with her she'd be another great defense .

Karen Jones - i get the feeling that Karen wouldn't play as much but when she does every single one of her serves would be so flawless and hard for u to hit , they never land outside too, its always far enough from u to not be able to hit and close enough to not land outside .

Micah Bell - i'm ashamed to say it but i get the feeling that when he wants to be micah would be an absolute offensive unit , his only flaw being sometimes he hits too hard and lands outside .

Mary-Beth - Mary-Beth would be more of a casual player i believe , i get the feeling she'd be an amazing teammate to have though , she always comes in clutch .

Hosea Matthews - another casual player , i feel like hosea would only play if it was a casual back and forth , he usually only plays drives or lobs ... he's too old to play a fast game .

Molly O'shea - another casual player , molly would prefer to just watch but she's good enough to play a casual round or 2 , her weakness is back hands though ...

Arthur Morgan - i feel like arthur wouldn't be too interested in badminton ... he doesn't like moving too fast but i do feel like he'd like playing defensive every now and then .

Sean Mcguire - he'd only play with lenny cause when he's not he's missing every shot , he'd hit a shot or too but it either hits the outline of the racket and doesn't land past the net , it hits too hard and lands outside , or it just lands outside of the court completely .

Keiran Duffy - i feel like he'd see how fast the game goes and just chicken out ... if u offered him a casual back and forth tho i feel like he'd go for it ... just don't expect him to hit all his shots .

John Marston - He's doing so much yet nothing at the same damn time , he's shuffling all around the court doing useless turns , he jumps high as hell just to miss the shuttlecock entirely .

Dutch van der linde - he either doesn't gaf or he's taking it too seriously , when he does , he turns red and there's veins bulging out of his forehead , if he misses a shot he yells as if it was your fault , if you hit a strike he wasn't expecting u to he's too angry to hit it back , he's making new rules up out of thin air , if he serves and it lands outside he's gonna gaslight u into thinking it counts as his point .

Josiah Trelawny - he doesn't like how sweaty it makes him , that and he doesn't realize it's a game where u have to actively move , he just stands still in one place and waits for your serve to reach him . he says he's not missing his shots just that your serves are bad .

Reverend Swanson - he would not like how fast the game goes , he hits a shot then sees how fast it's returned and can't register it fast enough to hit it back . he can't handle fast paced games .

Simon Pearson - he gets super sweaty super quick so he wouldn't want to play , he'd be very enthusiastic abt it though even though he's not all that good at it ...

Susan Grimshaw - she wouldn't opt to play cause she doesn't like how much u have to move around , like hosea she likes a slow back and forth though , she still misses most of her shots sadly .

Bill Williamson - he's missing all his shots entirely and smashing his racket which leaves a huge dent so he can't even play anymore .

Uncle - he played once . ONE TIME . and he accidentally let go of the racket trying to serve and it flew and hit John in the face .

Strauss - he's sitting on the sidelines critiquing everyones every move ( he can't play for shit but he doesn't wanna talk abt that )

Jack Marston - he just wants to watch . trust he will be rooting for his momma when she plays though .

[verdemoun]

honestly think kieran's death devastated hosea.

they're both constantly at camp, they must've interacted. and kieran has every reason to hate them: the way they treated the boy was proof to hosea of how far they'd fallen, how much dutch had changed and how much he missed the old dutch. but instead of hating them, kieran, terrified and meek and charmingly pathetic, frantically gets to work helping out however he can. kieran's so grateful for being allowed to stay, and seems genuinely delighted whenever an interaction in camp doesn't end in threats of violence. hosea looks at the gang and sees the pinkertons closing in on them like a noose and then there's kieran saying joining their gang was the best choice he'd ever made (as if he had a choice) and intially, hosea cannot understand it.

so when hosea notices kieran making a poultice with burdock, he's intrigued. he strikes up a conversation about herbal medicines and is oddly delighted to find kieran very intently listening as he prattles on about ginseng. then when hosea notices kieran very not discreetly eavesdropping on a conversation about fishing spots, and discovers the boy is a passionate fisherman, he immediately has to correct the injustice of kieran not having his own fishing pole. and again, kieran is just so overwhelmingly grateful for the smallest kindnesses.

over campfire conversations he learns more about kieran, not intentionally but y'know, he might happen to listen more when he notices the boy actually having the confidence to speak. hosea learns about how his parents died when he was young, and he was orphaned, and alone, fending for himself because when had the world been anything other than cruel, and when the army didn't work out it was inevitable he'd become an outlaw to survive - and hosea's heart aches a little, because how many times had he heard that story? how easily could kieran duffy have been one of the troubled youths they picked off the street in the early days of the van der linde gang and raised as their own?

perhaps accidentally reawakening that old paternal instinct he thought he'd buried, hosea very, very indirectly tries to make kieran's life a little easier. reminds him he's one of them now, he's allowed to take branwen out and go fishing whenever he wants (despite how awful arthur has generally been to him, kieran still very excitedly asks him to go with him). hosea keeps an eye out to make sure kieran's eating enough to gain back some of the weight he lost under their abuse, even going fishing himself when he notices they're running low on food. quietly makes sure there's always coffee at the scout fire, since the boy so rarely seems to come through the main hub of camp. when mary-beth mentions he can't read (though the comment seemed to make the poor boy self-conscious) hosea offers to read a horse meal pamphlet to him. kieran duffy, who is such a gentle soul it's frankly infuriating, immediately thinks to give the pamphlet to arthur because arthur would appreciate it.

the payoff for all his discrete work comes at shady belle, when hosea notices kieran sleeping inside the circle of wagons instead of with the horses. finally, finally, a sign he was starting to believe he belonged. at jack's party kieran actually relaxes enough to get drunk, still too anxious to join in with the louder celebrations, but he's talking to arthur and they're laughing: and it's nights like this that reminds hosea why he stuck with dutch so long - because they aren't just a gang, they're a curious conglomeration of a family, and in that moment they're all safe and happy

and then, days that felt like minutes later, he's kneeling beside kieran's decapitated corpse. he's the only one who kneels beside kieran's body, as dutch says to bury him near but not too near. it wasn't like sean's death, or davey's, where they were outlaws killed in the line of the lifestyles they'd chosen: missions. the poor kid had been taken, tortured and killed and they were too busy with dutch's goddamned plan to notice him missing. no one was sent looking for kieran duffy: whose life had been the tragedy any one of them could have lived if they didn't have the van der linde gang. they'd all let their guard down that night. it could have been arthur, or john, or tilly, any of the brilliant people hosea considered his children, who he had raised, and taught to read and write.

but it was kieran duffy, and he died alone. the only kindness hosea could offer was carrying his head, so it - he - was buried with the rest of his body - and vow they would start learning from their mistakes.

[paintermagazine]

‘Pennsylvania 6-5000!’

Artist: Miss Beth Belle (IG)

Photographer: Kevin Heap

[missmaywemeetagain]

Pink Scarf Alternate 1954 Flashback - Exclusive now available for Sweethearts & above! Join HERE now to read!! 💗🧣💗

I've got a little treat tonight for my Pink Scarf lovers out there! Here's a flashback from 1954 that I started before I decided I didn't want Reader (Beth) and Elvis to see each other again until '55 with Jack involved. (Please forgive me if I've played with the historical timeline a little here, as well.)

I think it's a fun little vignette of what might've been if they'd run into each other sooner. And I'm 100% a sucker for some 50's E in the PS Universe! 🥰

Anyway, enjoy this little foray on this lovely summer evening! Otherwise, I'm knee deep into the draft of Chapter 11 of Broken Glass, so hopefully that will be out soon(ish)! 😘

 *He's so damn cute here in summer of '54, I can't stand it!! 🥹

Sneak Peek!

Summer 1954

The sweltering early summer heat follows Elvis into the homey diner, the sweat trickling down his neck as he hauls a box of parts inside for Herb, the senior electrician, who ordered them. The bell on the door tinkles with his arrival, but he doesn’t see anyone save an older gentleman reading the paper at the counter and a couple of kids in the booth in the corner.

The box is heavy, but he hesitates to set it down, not wanting to dirty a table. He strides towards the register, hoping to get the attention of someone, anyone, who can tell him where to drop this box off.

“Um, hello? Herb? Anyone there?” he clears his throat and calls out. “I-I’m here from Crown Electric to drop off some parts.”

“We’re back here, son! Come on through the kitchen!” he hears Herb’s voice call from deep in the building.

Hefting the slipping box up in his arms with a huff, he backs his way through the wooden swinging half-doors to the kitchen. Maybe it’s because he’s too damn hot and this box is too damn heavy, but he doesn’t think to look for anyone on the other side. He certainly doesn’t expect anyone to be backing through opposite him.

He nearly jumps right out of his skin when he feels the warmth of another person bump into his back and shoulder as he starts to swing the box around. The high-pitched equally surprised yelp of, “Oh, my lord!” behind him has him spinning towards the sound. The momentum of the heavy box in his tiring arms propels him forward and the box starts to slip precariously in his sweaty hands. He feels the clash rather than seeing it and then hears the crash of splintering ceramic on the tile floor.

“Oh, sh—dang it!” Elvis catches the curse before it comes out his mouth and then mercifully manages to stop the box from tumbling into the person by bringing up his thigh under the tipping box, slowing its descent before lowering it ungracefully to the floor with a grunt.

Looking down, he sees the ponytail of the waitress kneeling beside him, already trying to clean up the mess of shattered plates and food now strewn across the kitchen floor.

I’m such an idiot, he thinks.

“Oh, Miss, I-I’m so, so sorry! I-I-I wasn’t lookin’, and here, let me help with that,” he rambles, kneeling down next to her to help clean up the mess.

“No, I—it’s fine,” you say, exasperated, and he recognizes that voice instantly.

Holy hell, it’s you...

Join HERE to finish! 💋

Taglist Pt 1

@eliseinmemphis@russian-soft-bitch@tattywood

@sassanoe@thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle@carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23

 @littlebitofgreen@paigevis@bugg06@xhannahbananax03@artlover8992

@18lkpeters@frozenhuntress67@girlblogger2002@kendralavon7@misspresley

@be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis @from-memphis-with-love

 @precious-lil-scoundrel @stylespresleyhearted @prompted-wordsmith @crash-and-cure @elvisgf @lookingforrainbows @fic-over-cannon @godlypresley @ab4eva @whatstruthgottodowithit @elvisabutler @amydarcimarie@idontwanttoputanything @callieselvisobsessed @captainamerica1235-blog  @xenaspace3-blog 

@simplyamberj@claire-elvisgirl@everythingelvispresley@louisejoy86@deniseinmn @madelynpresley

[starlight-starwrites]

a real bed

arthur morgan x female reader

summary: You’re tired. Arthur’s been gone. When he leaves you to spend another night alone, he works to make it up to you and show you exactly what you deserve. wc: 3.4k warnings: TB-doesn’t-exist au, some light/non-graphic smut note: HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY @margowritesthings​​! I loved the princess treatment prompt, I hope this is full of the fluff (and smut) you were looking for! thank you to @rdrevents​​​​​ for hosting the valentine gift exchange!

“Carrots are done,” you slide the last of the vegetables into the pot and wipe your hands on your apron.

Pearson grunts, and you accept it as the most you’ll get for a thank you. “Stew is going to be light on the meat again. Where is that man of yours?”

“He’s not…my man.” You don’t look at him when you say it, heat flaring in your face at the words. You know who he refers to, but you and Arthur still felt new. It was no secret, you admit, and after years of pining it was nice to have your affections returned. But as you fill a pail of water for the girls’ washing up, craning your neck to look over the short bridge to Shady Belle, you can see Arthur’s horse is still missing. “I don’t know where he is.”

He’d left yesterday evening after a short visit and even shorter dinner. Things were rough for the gang, but you felt it was always the roughest for Arthur. He surprised you leaving so soon after returning, and when you asked if he wouldn’t stay for the night he only smiled and said you could have the bed to yourself like you would enjoy it. You kept your mouth shut. Kissed him goodbye. Watched him ride away and disappear into the trees.

Pearson calls your attention back. “He hasn’t been hunting much.”

“Arthur’s been hunting as often as he can. He always brings back something,” you snap. You rub at your raw hands, the filled pail pushing the metal handle into your skin.

“Brings back more than most,” Pearson backtracks as soon as he hears your tone. You understand his frustration - hungry people don’t treat the camp cook too kindly - but you won’t let him blame Arthur.

You take a second pail and dip it in the water barrel to fill that one too. “If you need meat, send out Bill. He’s been sitting on his ass all day.” You stare at the man currently sitting at the table sharpening a knife.

“Bill can’t hunt for shit.”

“I can hear you,” Bill looks up with a scowl that might have made you afraid once.

“Then maybe he should practice.” The look you shoot him fixes him to his seat as you storm from both of the men, pail in each hand.

You’re tired of hearing excuses for people. Tired of feeling like only a few are doing the work for everyone. Tired of how the humid heat of Lemoyne dampens your dress with sweat. Tired of wearing boots that have long outworn their use. And tired of hearing Miss Grimshaw’s grating voice from all the way across camp.

The girls seem to catch on your sour mood and don’t say a word as you drop the buckets of water and silently take the wet clothes to the line. You pin up shirts and sheets along side Mary Beth thinking about another lonely night and how you would kill for a chance to sleep in a real bed, tucked in Arthur’s arms.

It’s a nice daydream that carries you through the chore so that by the time you return to the front of the house and see Arthur hitching his horse to the post, your first reaction is elated relief. He spots you first, pace picking up as he approaches. He doesn’t make it before he’s waylaid by Pearson.

“Mr. Morgan! Good to see you. Camp provisions have been looking a little light recently, think you can restock?”

You want to throw something at him.

Arthur barely grunts before he’s ruffling through his satchel. “It ain’t much right now, but…” he pulls out a few cuts of meat. You think maybe rabbit. “Here. See if you can’t do something with this.”

“Thank you, Mr. Morgan! I’ll try and get this in the stew for tonight.”

You stand at Arthur’s side, once again impressed that no matter what, he always has something. You lift a hand to touch his arm when he speaks again.

“See that you do. I’ve got somewhere to be, so you’ll have fewer mouths to feed.”

Pearson’s already off to prepare the rest of dinner, but Arthur’s words strike your heart.

“What? You’re leaving again?”

He watches your hand draw back, your face fall. He nods. “We’re going out into Saint Denis tonight.”

You swallow, look at the ground. Of course. Work never ends. “Who’s goin’ with you?” At least you hope it’s someone you trust. Someone like Hosea, or Charles, or—

“You,” he says, like it was obvious. “We’re going out to the city.”

It’s the second shock of the night. “What? Arthur, I don’t really think I’m up for a job right now. It’s been a long day, and you’ve only just got back—”

His laugh is low, and his hands hold you by your upper arms. “It’s not for a job.” His hands move up and down your arms, comforting and pulling you closer.

“Got an errand to run and then…dinner. I got us a room.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. The dream from earlier suddenly feels possible. You grasp his forearms as he holds you. “A room? With a real bed?” He nods, eyes still smiling down at you. He looks as tired as you feel, and you take hold of his lapels. “Yeah, princess. With a real bed.” His hands slide over your back in an embrace. It eases something in you, the stress of camp, of surviving, of watching him leave. You don’t think about how your feet hurt or how rough your hands are. You think of this, being in Arthur’s arms, that reassuring feeling that no matter how bad things are, he still takes care of you.

You don’t have to think about it, you were ready to go as soon as he said the word ‘room’. You’re glued to his side as he walks you back to his horse, and you let him lift you up to the saddle. A trip to town for a night off sounds like heaven, but there is one thing you’re curious about as Arthur mounts up behind you.

“What exactly is the errand?”

.

You don’t know what you were expecting. Perhaps shopping for supplies, an exchange where Arthur sold some goods. Things that you had seen before. The building looks like a green house, the front filled with gorgeous ferns and flowers. Your eyes are drawn to the ceiling fan above as Arthur ushers you in, the fading sunlight filtering in through the glass casting shadows on figures and hats and frames lining the walls. An ecstatic and slightly accented voice pulls you from your observations.

“Ah, Tacitus! I am so glad to see you. And you, my dear, you must be Mrs. Kilgore, it is an absolute delight to finally meet you!” he takes a breath to lift and kiss your hand. The man barely gives you a moment to open your mouth, already talking a mile a minute. Though Arthur had told you his name is Algernon Wasp and to expect your alias, the eccentric seems so excited he all but forgot to introduce himself.

There is a dress, and it’s a wonder you’re here, and the corset gave him such trouble to make, but he is absolutely thrilled with how it turned out, and how do you like it, but oh, you can’t really say that it’s beautiful if you haven’t tried it on, and he really needs a model to know for certain it’s finished, and yes, yes it has to be you…

In any case, being stuffed into a strange man’s corset by Arthur in the back of green house is not exactly the sort of errand you had expected.

Algernon admits that the dress was not made entirely by him, but he really is the true artist behind it. The corset itself is cream, embroidered with flowers and embellishments in a deep navy blue to match the heavy skirts. He talks from the other side of the curtain while you direct Arthur on how to properly lace the corset. Both of your voices are low, movements slow. His hands linger where they can, and too often you find yourself leaning back into him. You can feel the warmth of his palm despite the layers fabric, and when he finally ties the ends, you hold his hands where they rest on your hips.

You don’t know why you’re here, wearing this dress that is worth more money than you’ve ever owned at once, but if Arthur wanted you here for the silly friend of his who rambled about duchesses, baronesses, and contessas then you would be here, looking like you could fit right in with them.

“How goes it? Please tell me you haven’t torn anything, Tacitus.” Algernon’s voice breaks you from the moment, and Arthur’s hands slide away. You pull back the curtain, taking in the dress once again. “Oh a muse indeed! You are perfect, would you look at that. What do you think?”

“Well, I…it’s gorgeous.” You can hardly take your eyes off it. The bodice has the finest stitching you’ve ever seen, the skirt like silk beneath your fingers. “But what does this have to do with me?”

“Why, it’s yours!”

You shoot a quick glance behind you to catch Arthur’s eye, thinking that perhaps when he had said the man was cracked he wasn’t exaggerating. But Arthur never meets your eye, his own gaze fixed on the clinch of the corset around your waist.

“I’m…not sure I can afford this…”

“Nonsense! Your husband has already covered it. In fact this is my payment for the favors he’s done me. I have never worked without a model before, but when I saw you, I just couldn’t say no!”

“I don’t believe we’ve met before,” you say in confusion.

This time Arthur does meet your eye, and you can see he’s bashful.

“Of course not, my dear! I mean the pictures.”

“Pictures?”

“No, no. You’re right. Pictures hardly do them justice. The drawings, illustrations of pure emotion. I’ve never thought of sketch work to be so…moving. But these! Your husband is quite the artist!”

“Oh, I know,” and you think of what sketches he has of you in that journal of his that he would show this man. In hopes that he would make something for you. Something so fine you fear you may never have an opportunity to wear it again. Algernon is back to rambling about art, but you only hold Arthur’s stare in the mirror.

“Oh, but I know how busy you both must be! Please, don’t let me keep you again. I am no longer sorry to see the garment go when I see just how exquisite you look. Enjoy your evening! As always, it was a pleasure!”

And you find yourselves back outside, slightly stunned on the doorstep.

“Well. I believe I promised you dinner.” Arthur offers you his arm, and you easily lace your own through his.

“I believe you promised me more than dinner. Though I have to say I did not expect the new dress,” you quip. You tug on him a bit as you walk your way to the saloon where Arthur reserved your room and speak sincerely. “Thank you, darling. You didn’t…have to go to such trouble for me.”

“I know trouble. Trust me, this ain’t it.” He drops the teasing for a moment to look at you, and answer just as sincerely. “You look beautiful.” You feel warm, and not from the Saint Denis weather. “Besides, you’re not the only one who’s going to play dress-up.”

You let out a sound of delight. “You still have the suit Josiah picked out?”

“Oh, sure,” Arthur sounds none too pleased, “I still have it.”

“Arthur Morgan,” you sigh, “you really know how to treat a lady.”

.

On your way in to return to your room, you barely had a moment to look around and appreciate the finer details. Now, you lean into Arthur’s side as he speaks to the bartender and take in the establishment. The Bastille Saloon is still a saloon, but the patrons are dressed as finely as you are now, the furniture made of quality. You don’t see broken glass on the floor or scuffs made from idle knives and rowdy brawls. The tables have tablecloths. The piano is a grand one. The couple next to you are speaking French.

“And whatever the lady wants.”

You blink in attention, and turn to face the gentleman behind the bar. He’s wearing a tie. “Oh…I’ll just have whatever you’re having,” you say to Arthur.

You like the way his lips curve into a smile; it’s a crooked thing, and you may have once thought it teasing, but now you notice he’s fond by the crinkle of his eyes, he’s pleased by the way he leans toward you. Your arms hold tighter to the crook of his elbow, shocked at how just a hot bath and fancy clothing can change both your demeanors entirely.

Tonight you really were a distinguished lady, on the arm of the man you love. You never doubted Arthur to be a gentleman, but you still giggle when he pulls out the chair for you. He takes the seat next you, not across, and you scooch closer.

“Are you sure there isn’t some job?” you lean in to ask with a smile. You wouldn’t mind it if there was, so taken up with the dress, with the restaurant, with Arthur.

“No, darlin’, there’s no job.” He takes your subtle accusation in stride, leaning in and setting a gentle hand on your knee. “Why? You want there to be one?”

“No. Just don’t get why you’re doing this, is all.” You don’t want to sound ungrateful. Or suspicious. Your hand covers his under the table, aware of the impropriety, but too happy to care.

His eyes soften and fingers curl around yours. “Because you deserve it. Because you…deserve better.” The words are unspoken, but you know what he’s saying. He believes you deserve better than living with outlaws, than a campsite that moves every few weeks, than an old rickety cot and Pearson’s stew. He believes you deserve better than him.

You shake your head slowly, not looking away from his eyes. “You know what I want.” It’s a whisper, a spoken promise that you feel the same. No, you don’t want to live in a camp of outlaws for the rest of your life. But you’re sticking with him until the both of you can get out. Find what you want. A real bed. A home. A life.

Arthur looks like he’s about to respond when two plates are set down before you, and you gasp. He ordered prime rib with healthy helping of some of the best looking potatoes you’ve ever seen. You don’t think a meal has ever smelled so good in your life.

“Christ alive.”

Arthur laughs at your shocked reaction.

“What? I don’t think I’ve seen a steak this big.”

“You help prepare food with Pearson all the time,” his voice is a drawl, amused and pleased you’re impressed, and he doesn’t hesitate to start cutting into his meal.

“Not like this.” You know you’re staring, but you don’t even know where to start. “Arthur…if you just wanted to get me in bed, you know you don’t have to do all this.” Your words are crass, but you try to keep it to a hush. His treatment of you this afternoon has got you thinking of one thing, and quite frankly, you are very much looking forward to getting him back upstairs.

The way he chokes on his first bite is worth it. “Now I ain’t uhh…You know, well, um.” He gives up to plead with you. “Princess.”

You laugh at his stammering, put your hand on his knee. “Don’t you start. Because you did promise me dinner, and I intend on absolutely polishing off everything, and I expect you to do the same. And then, and only then, am I going to drag you upstairs and make very good use of that bed. No matter how many princesses, sweethearts, or darlings you use.”

And maybe the two of you are sitting too close that you keep bumping elbows, and no matter how finely you dress you still don’t quite fit in with the upper class, but you’ve never shared a finer meal someone.

And you’ve never seen Arthur eat so fast.

.

When Arthur took you to the room upon arrival in Saint Denis, the first thing you did was flop to the bed. It was large and well made with thick blankets and would fit two people comfortably.

Now that you finished dinner and are retiring for the night, you don’t even make it there. Your back is pressed to the closed door, Arthur’s mouth covering yours before pressing hot kisses down your neck, across your chest, and over the tops of your breasts pushed up by the corset. You tug mercilessly at the suit jacket he wears, only feeling slightly bad before he lets it drop to the floor.

You can feel the grip of his large hands through the material of the dress - one holding tight to the thigh you hiked to his side, the other roaming over your body before finding its place to cradle your head. Directing your mouth to his then away so he can place more kisses under your jaw. With every certain touch, with every meaningful place of his lips, your heart swells. He whispers every name he’s given you between each kiss, and you find yourself sighing out his, unable to say the words to ask for what you really want.

He has treated you so well all day, and you knew, you knew you would end up here at the end of it, in his arms and in his heart. You were ready to do whatever he wanted. Instead he takes hold of you and gives you everything you want without you having to say a word.

His hands find their way under your skirt, fingertips trailing sparks over your new stockings and to where the corset ends. Every single thing today has been a gift from him, and this here too is another. You can’t keep up, but you’ll let him take, you’ll let him give, you’ll let him have it all.

His bare chest is hot under you palms, your own breasts pulled from the confines of the corset just as you make it to the bed. It’s where you wanted to be all day, and it lives up to every hopeful wish. Arthur handles you, moves you were he wants, and even still it feels like he serves you.

His kisses are like the warm glow of a fire—you chase the feeling, chase his lips, and he gives into every whine from you. You reward him with your moans. He travels the map of your body and disappears under your skirts. His hands and mouth never part from you, and you scramble to take hold of yourself, take hold of him, take hold of the sheets beneath you.

Neither of you say it often, but you both know. Tonight, I love you is said with every touch of his skin to yours. I love you with every kiss. I love you as he wraps you around him. I love you as your hands come to cradle his head.

You pant heavily, still partially confined in your clothing, and as soon as Arthur’s lips return to yours, the frantic grabbing for one another’s affection subsides. He’s steady and reassuring, both of you content to sink into each other until you can’t be any closer. Your kisses turn slow and sultry. His shoulders shudder in your embrace, his hips solid between your legs.

It’s you and him and this bed and the way he calls you mine. It’s rare these moments you get with him, and you soak it up, relish in the way he lets himself love you. In return, you let yourself dream of the future in which you and Arthur share a life, a home, and a real bed.

[sheischerrybomb]

Sitting here thinking about Micah Bell, thinking about Micah Bell in a relationship and what that would mean. Plenty of character analysis on him proves he is someone who did want proper companionship. There's the number of times he's referred to Arthur and others in the gang (sometimes mockingly) brothers or family, there's him being drunk with Javier laughing with him and saying he loves the gang, and the biggest one to me is Micah trying to ask Mary-Beth to dance with him. The man was stuttering and acting nervous, which is something he never displays with anyone else in the entire game. He never trips on his own words outside of that moment, and when Mary-Beth turns him down he definitely seemed genuinely rejected and hurt (the whole 'I'm not a monster, miss' line also sticks out to me) Micah is someone twisted and rotten down to the core on account of how his criminal family line was with his father no doubt being an abusive monster and his grandfather likely being just as bad if not worse. Micah likely never saw a kind day or a gentle hand in his life from anyone. Which gets me thinking that the kind of person Micah would like, be it a friend, a partner in crime, or a romantic/sexual relation, would be someone who is ride or die with him. Someone who'll stick by him no matter what. All of that makes me think of how I want to portray Delilah with him. Personally, for me, I'm not a fan of the 'I can fix him' mentality with Micah per say. That specific mindset to me makes me think someone is acting more like his therapist or life coach rather than someone who is with him, y'know? For me I don't want Delilah to 'fix' Micah, she's fully aware he's a criminal and not a good man by any means. This is also Low Honor Delilah specifically so she has blood on her own hands as well. What I view specifically with Micah is that one person who he can trust, that one person who is genuine with him, someone who responds in kind to what he does without lecturing him like some teacher slapping a ruler on his wrist. I think if Micah had that one person a softer side of him I do believe he holds (waaaaay way WAY deep down inside him) would arise, but not with everyone around him. It would just be with that one person. Micah is someone who is definitely hardwired into who he is by now with just that one glimmer of desire for a true companion of some kind. Who knows, maybe if he did have that one person things would've changed for him. Not at all thinking he'd just cut the outlaw life and go be a rancher or something but I do think maybe he could get that touch of humanity he sorely needs, that gentle hand, genuine kindness. And if it's a ship, then love as well. It's interesting to think about with someone like Micah Bell. Micah will always be an outlaw, but the idea of him and his partner being Bonnie and Clyde before the actual Bonnie and Clyde were a thing is chef's kiss to me. Obviously I have a lot of thoughts about this right now, both the concept in general and pairing him with Delilah is just very interesting to think about.

[feral4fiktion]

Being Friendly

Micah Bell x Fem!Reader

No TW

self-indulgent feelings

Wrote this instead of working because as much as I hate this man, he's been in my head recently and he's been the only one I've had the inspiration to write so now I guess I'm a Micah freaking Bell fanfic writer.

The camp was quiet, even more so than usual. It had you on edge, but it was also a chance for you to calm down after all the insanity that had been going on since the ferry job.

Most of the fella’s were gone on jobs, or to the local bar, but there was one you noticed was only wandering around the outskirts of the camp. Not quite keeping watch, but not letting anything escape his notice either. Sometimes you saw flashes of his icy blue eyes peeking from below his white wide-brim hat, but he would move just enough to hide his face the second he saw you watching him back.

You’d been playing this game for weeks, ever since you joined the gang before the Blackwater incident. Micah had grown on you, despite the warnings from everyone else that he was a loose gun. His sarcasm matched your own, and you couldn’t deny that the way he drew out random parts of his words was funnier than it should have been.

But since he’d been rescued from the Strawberry prison you felt like he’d been avoiding you. You would feel his eyes on you constantly as you moved around camp. A quick glance up and you’d see a flash of icy blue before it was gone and he would move to a different spot. At night, when he would usually join a small group by the fire, he’d turn on his heel the moment he saw you in the group.

It was getting ridiculous…and if you were honest a little hurtful. Sure he was harsh with everyone else (though Mary-Beth mentioned he’d gotten a lot more tolerable since you joined), but he didn’t avoid them like he was doing with you. And you missed your friend…not that you could really admit to anyone else that he was, in fact, a friend to you.

Enough was enough, though. You’d been down for the last two days because of this, and with an almost empty camp tonight, it was time to do something about it.

Just after the point of twilight you were ready to make your move. Some people had come back so Micah had moved to the edges of camp. He had moved close to the cliff, just past the horses. For once he was looking out at the skyline instead of people watching, giving you a rare chance of getting close before he could wander off.

You smirked and stepped lightly beside him, ready to start the match.

He must know you were up to something, based on the scowl that sharpened the lines of his face, but you didn’t let that damper your determination.

“What’chu want, friend?” He’d taken to calling you that when you drunkenly told him one night that you were friends.

“Checkin’ on you. That’s what friends do, after all.” If you hesitated for just a moment before your nerves came back you’d never admit it.

His scowl softened just a bit at your light tone, which made your own grin bigger. This was a good start. At least he wasn’t stomping off.

“I s’pose they do.” He pulled out a cigarette pack and matches. You stand in silence while he lights it and puffs a couple times.

“So…what’s got you so riled lately?” He looked at you from the corner of his eye. “I heard you really laid into Bill earlier today when he bumped into you. Not like you to go off for something so little.”

Micah scoffs before flicking some ash from his smoke. He toes the ash into the dirt, not looking up and completely blocking your view of his face.

“Just…a lot on my mind lately…with the hangin’ in Strawberry an’ all.” You nod. You’d been worried to death when you’d heard the news, but thankfully you’d convinced Arthur to get Micah immediately instead of holding off like he’d wanted to do.

“Mmm, that would put a lot on a mind…but I know something that might distract you.” You can’t hide the devilish grin from spreading over your face that you were able to steer this conversation exactly how you’d wanted to.

Micah finally turns his head toward you. His lips turn up at the obvious mischievousness on your face. If only he knew. He leans in slightly when you do, making a point of whispering as though this were a huge secret.

“Oh, ya got some gossip, huh? Spill it, then,”

You look around, like anyone would possibly approach you, but really you were building the last of your bravery for what you were about to reveal.

“Someone in camp…one of the girls…is sweet on you!” You cover your mouth to hide your smile, and maybe the growing blush on your cheeks.

Micah’s eyes go wide as he straightened back in shock. Those blue eyes are holding yours as though they can see every thought running through you. For a moment you wonder if he’s hoping it’s someone else, like Mary-Beth, but then he moved back in, closer this time. He must have seen something in your gaze that gave him his next answer, but you were happy that he still asked.

“Really? And who would that be?” You were toe-to-toe now. He was looking down directly into your eyes, but you felt like he had already wrapped you in his warm, leathery embrace with the way your heart was pounding, making your whole body shake with nerves.

Somehow, you were able to keep yourself from falling apart. By some miracle your brain made your body move even as you yourself were long gone. You leaned up just enough that your lips pressed against Micah’s chapped ones. His mustache tickled your nose and skin, even though he didn’t move. Your eyes were closed, so you couldn’t see his expression, but you felt it when he immediately answered your kiss. His thin lips were moving against yours slowly, like he was mapping out every part and testing how firm you were.

After a few heavenly moments of those soft movements he pulled back, panting slightly. At some point he’d pulled your body flush to his. You were now pressed firmly against his solid form, your own hands wrapped under his jacket and around his back. His were on your waist and back, until he moved one to cup your face, keeping his eyes locked with yours.

“You?” You nod, knowing that your smile is so big it’s probably more terrifying than anything, but not able to care with how happy you are that you’re in his arms and not being pushed away.

Micah released a huff of air as a smile almost matching yours takes over his face. He lowers till his forehead is pressed against yours. You hadn’t thought it was possible, but his eyes were even more beautiful up close and wide. It was fascinating that they were glassing over with some emotion that Micah seemed to have trouble suppressing.

“The whole time…in that jail cell…you were the only thing I could think about.” He confessed in a strangled whisper. “I didn’t care they would hang me, I’ve always known that’s probably how I’ll go…I just didn’t…I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving you, especially without you knowing…,” His breathing was picking up and unshed tears were gathering, threatening to break past.

You heart hurt when he mentioned the jail. You’d been worried too, especially when Arthur mentioned the hanging was scheduled for the day after the rescue. You didn’t want to think about how close you’d been to losing him forever.

“I don’t have the words, though, even now…and I s’pose…I was scared you might not…and I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me, everyone does,” He was still rambling, clutching you to him so tightly like he thought you still might leave. You could feel his body trembling against yours…or maybe that was still you just shaking from how happy you were.

“Micah, it’s ok. I’m here, I want you.” One of your hands came up to lightly stroke his whiskers, loving how soft they were. You wanted to watch your own fingers disappear into them, but Micah needed to see your sincerity, and you were happy to keep looking at your favorite color blue.

“I’ve wanted you from the moment you walked into camp. Yer the only one I ever wanted so bad, and I ain’t ever letting you go, now.” His tone was possessive, but you could tell he was also putting some warning into it, probably trying to get back to his tough-guy manner.

You didn’t mind though. Not when his warmth and scent are washing over you, and he still has a vice grip on you, keeping you safe in his arms. You grip him back just as hard before tucking your face into his neck, breathing him in.

“Good.”