#Mrs. Saint Writes

[wide-nose-and-wonderful]

SNOWFALL SEASON 3 Franklin.

Pairing: Franklin Saint x Black Fem Reader!

Warnings/Type: Established Relationship. Hurt, Comfort, A little bit of Fluff, Use of the n-word. Prequel to RockABye Saint. ONE SHOT!

Summary: You loved your brother Leon dearly, but damn could he be super over protective! No guy you brought home to meet your mom or talked to was ever good enough for you according to Leon. Hm. Not even a childhood friend who went by the name, Franklin Saint? Never in a million years would you consider it. Well, until one night. 

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Had there been any way to get in touch with Leon, you would have called him to pick you back up. He and Eva were likely already at their destination by now. Wherever that might be. You never got around to asking about his plans for the evening, too preoccupied with the concerns of a now ex boyfriend for any useful details that might have helped the situation. Damn the cloudiness of your thoughts, and damn Darnell.

The direction in which you faced seemed ominous. The walk home would be a long one, descending the almost pitch black street with a gown you hugged to your chest like a childhood security blanket. Your single benefit of protection. One that had failed you. 

For weeks, you saved the bit of money you’d gotten from your part-time job at the ice cream shop in order to get the one that caught your eye. The first time you tried it on, you felt like you were stepping out of the pages of some fairytale where princesses and knights lived. The color sat breathtakingly against your skin tone, and most importantly, a result of your own effort. No help from your mother, and not Leon, who held his disdain for Darnell since the first day you’d introduced them. Funny how, after tonight, you would carry that same sentiment. 

The argument, which happened no less than twenty minutes before, persisted, playing like a never-ending VHS tape on repeat, and you understood all too well why fictional stories were confined to the pages of books. 

“Liar. Didn’t even have the decency to cover your tracks! How long were you fucking her? Be man enough to at least tell me!” 

Anger stirred within you, which undoubtedly caused you to lose control for a brief moment and swim in an emotional turbulence. Leon always warned you to keep your hands to yourself. Both you and Leon inherited your mother’s temper. “Listen,” he said one time on a casual Wednesday afternoon, “I love you to death, sis, but don’t put yo hands on no nigga when you mad, less you ready for what comes next. I don’t give a damn how big and bad you pretend you are. He’ll fuck you up. If that happens, I’ll be in jail.” 

You halfway thought Darnell would haul off and hit you clean across the face. The impact of his back knocking against part of the TV and dresser caused some things to fall to the floor as the girl scrambled to gather her clothes when you pushed him. The sheets were still ugly and tangled with the scent of after sex. The bed. Once upon a time you both laughed together on it, played games and watched movies, sometimes in each other’s arms before his hands reached your pants zipper, and the kissing was just too much tongue that you urged him to stop. 

“Whole time. Fuck you gonna do about it? I know one thing, you better keep ya got damn hands to yourself.”

You were glad you held your composure and headed the warning, both from Darnell and Leon. The last thing you wanted was to be the reason your brother went to prison, but it didn’t stop your mouth and its taunting invites. You felt a glint of satisfaction in challenging him. 

“Or what? What are you gonna do? Tell me?”

He smirked, and you balled your fist in response to his arrogance and lack of remorse. 

“Nothing. I’ll tell you what you bout’ to do though. Get yo ass the fuck up out ma house.” 

“Are you serious right now?” 

“As a heart attack.” 

“Why? Just tell me why? I deserve that at least, Darnell.” 

“Because I’m tired of waiting for you. Shit, you act like a nigga gotta marry you to get some pussy. Shit’s sickening. I shouldn’t have to go through that as your nigga. All the bread I spent on yo’ ass. Time and attention. I literally gotta beg you! You won’t even let me taste that shit without yo’ ass being scary. Bottom line, I realized that stuck up prudes aren’t my thing any more.”

“Oh, and that is.”

You knew her. Not directly. Some girl you briefly saw around. If you cared enough, you would have heeded to the whispers about the reputation she carried around the neighborhood. Why bother? You assumed you were far removed. Had nothing to worry about when it came to your boyfriend. But he decided to put the cherry on top and defend her. Brooklyn Shepherds. She lived two buildings down. 

“Don’t be mad. Shit, at least she’s living her life having fun. Not acting like she better than ever’body. Stuck up!” 

“I never acted like that. You did all this because I wouldn’t have sex with you. Typical though.That’s all you ever fucking thoght about Darnell. I just wasn’t ready, damn!”

“Whatever man. No explanation needed. We done.”

As a brief bit of wind passed by, you shut your eyes momentarily before heading on. You’d held suspicions after the phone calls became less and less, although your heart wouldn’t let you believe it. Darnell, your first serious boyfriend falling out of love with you. 

In the beginning of the relationship, you spent almost every day with one another. That’s why you loved beginnings. With things so new and fresh, forever could be a real possibility. After spending months learning one another, you had developed a habit of taking mental notes of what different facial expressions and certain body movements meant for him. What he liked and didn’t. 

Nearing the end, you sensed some frustrations when you rejected his advances a little too often, or made excuses for them not to happen. The furthest it had gotten was him fingering you in the back seat of his dad’s car. An experience you wanted to forget. A mundane occurrence really, like some forgiven object had ended up in places it shouldn’t have been. Shame on you for not listening to your instincts. What they called a woman’s intuition. You forgave him. Some guys just needed practice. Of course, that strange love thing had a way of blinding logic. Fear ruled both. If worse one way, then surely he’d be downright terrible where it counted. If nothing else, you wanted the first time to be special. Or, at least something you wouldn’t mind talking to your friends about with some type of smile that wouldn’t be forced. 

A glance down at the dress, and tears burned down the side of your cheeks. Frantically, you located a dumpster and made your way to shove the dress inside, inch by inch. The pretty lilac would be solid by grease and grime from the years of remaining remnants of stinking residue the dumpster accumulated. You cursed, over and over again, haunted by those sweet words, smiles, and gentle touches. Everything! 

When the dress disappeared you found a ledge nearby and sat down. The end of a relationship was like a close death in a way. All the evidence of the breakup would live on your face. Puffy red eyes would be hard to explain away, unlike a missing ball gown. Whimpers turned into sobs. With no way to see what contorted facial expression you held through it all, you covered your face.  

“Beanz?” 

You shot up, scanning the area for whomever called out your nickname. Your gaze landed on a car, although the darkness didn’t help you identify who it belonged to right away. From where you sat, a face didn’t register from beyond the window that rolled down. The car door opened. You stood to your feet. The exposure the streetlamp provided had the tension in your shoulders loosen, extinguishing your fight-or-flight response. “Franklin….” you uttered before wiping away any trace of tears. 

“What are you doing out here?” 

His face looked every bit suspicious and concerned under the dim lightning. You shrugged. Your mind ran a million miles a minute. 

“Uh. Just walking. Getting some air.” 

Franklin lifted his chin. With his eyes, he seemed to scan round about the area you’d stopped to throw away the dress. 

“You know it’s not really safe to be out here like this, B.”

“It wasn’t intentional. No phone to call for a ride. I was at Darnell’s House just now.” 

Franklin cocked his head to one side. “So he couldn’t drive you?” 

You rolled your eyes up to catch any tears. “No. See, we um, we kinda got into it, so I left.” 

One of his eyebrows lifted. “What do you mean, got into it?” His dark gaze traveled. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”  

Franklin took two steps forward. His tall frame blocked more of the light. 

“You sure? He didn’t put his hands on you or anything, did he?”

You shook your head. He held a concerned older brother type of tone when he’d asked. It brought a bit of comfort. The same kind that Leon would have whenever you hurt yourself, falling off your bike, or accidentally standing too close to the pan when frying chicken and getting popped by grease. In that way, you felt like you had two brothers looking out.

“No, no, he didn’t.” 

“Alright. What’s this?”

Your eyes found the place on your arm. There, over pretty brown skin, different colors mingled together. A little red, and a hue that resembled a faint purple. 

“Damn. Um…”

You hadn’t noticed. It probably happened when Darnell had to drag you out the front door after you refused to go on your own. You bumped into walls and door frames during all the pushing and shoving, trying to resist his attempts. He’d gotten frustrated. With a shrug, you locked eyes with your brother’s best friend.  

“It’s nothing.”

He didn’t blink or move. 

“Doesn’t look like nothing. He still home?” 

Franklin faced the direction that led back to Darnell’s block. You turned to face the same path. 

“What? Why?” 

He shrugged. “Just wanna talk to him.” 

“What do you mean by that? Why would you talk to him?” 

Franklin grinned, but it appeared to be laced with a type of malice. Some form of vexation lived behind his stare. The way he’d said it, nonchalant and casual, meant otherwise. You weren’t that dense. It wouldn’t be just talking. 

Franklin, more subtle, unlike Leon who, when mad, you could absolutely tell was mad, temper on one thousand! Franklin Saint, on the other hand, was the type to keep things chill until all the chill left and hell visualized in the form of a man. That hadn't been the case growing up, but Franklin wasn’t the same anymore. He’d made for himself quite the reputation, and you’d heard stories. Rumors you weren’t sure you believed but headed all the same. You were mad at Darnell. Hurt, even devastated with the way things had ended, but you didn’t want him physically hurt, or worse. Franklin proceeded to take another step forward, but you’d raised your hands to keep him in place. 

“Wait, wait. No, stop. Hold on!” 

Heart pounding, images flooded your head of how everything could end up if he actually went to Darnell’s house for real! 

“It’s fine,” you assured him. “I said I’m good.” You took a deep breath. “Listen. I’ve had a really eventful night already. Can we just go, please?”

…

The warm night air streamed through the open window of the car, carrying with it the distant noise and the occasional horn from the bustling streets of Los Angeles. Beneath the star-sprinkled sky, the city pulsated with energy. You sat in the passenger seat, a bittersweet smile lingering on your lips as the heavy bass thumped through the speakers. Lights flickered through the windshield, casting playful reflections on your forehead as you leaned your head against the glass. With the windows down, the sweet sound of Little Micheal Jackson and his other four brothers’ voices drifted through the car, reminiscent of summer days and carefree moments as one of their best tunes played. 

Don’t you know I sit around with my head hanging down and I wonder who’s loving you…

“Want me to change it?” Franklin asked, glancing at you from the driver’s seat. His tightly coiled mini afro had lifted and side burns grew in with the promise of a beard starting. 

You sighed, your gaze still fixed outside. “No, it’s fine. I like the Jackson 5,” you replied. 

You wouldn’t mind a more upbeat song. The melancholic lyrics were too close to your current situation. At Least it hadn’t been… Never Can Say Goodbye. 

Franklin turned down an empty side street, further immersed in the story of your heartbreak. “You sure you good,” he said, his voice edged with frustration. 

“I’m fine. Thanks again for driving me home.”

The drive became silent for a moment. The quiet punctuated only by the soft strumming beats filling the car. 

“I guess I was just really excited about tonight. Everything else came outta nowhere and ruined it.”

“Excited? Why? What was tonight?”

“Well. It’s silly because I don’t really do the church thing.” A short chuckle had you brushing off the idea of being some crazed religious fanatic. “If anything,” you added, “our mama made us go but. It might have been a month past, maybe. I’m not really sure of the date and time, but they were talking about this dance they’d been planning. It was supposed to be real classy, like ballroom Cinderella fancy.”

Franklin nodded, but kept his eyes on the road ahead. “Okay, I got a good mental picture. White folks speaking that proper English, like good, ay’ Morgan! With the pinky on the up and all that?”

You didn’t want to laugh, but his switch in accent came out unexpectedly. Warmth spread through your chest. The moment was fleeting, but it mattered. 

“Yeah, something like that. Real fancy, sept no white, just black folk.” 

A little grin lifted the side of his mouth and you noticed. 

“I could see it. You’re into all that stuff. Even back then.” 

You smacked your teeth and rolled your eyes. 

He chuckled and threw you a glance. “Don’t you remember? Chocolate on your face. Little fairy princess dress trying to follow me and Lee around.”  

You sighed with a purse of the lips and dismissed the memory, shaking your head. “Well, anyway. I kinda thought it would be different. You know something new to do aside from going to the movies or the skating rink.” 

Franklin caught your gaze, his expression serious for a moment. “Darnell was supposed to go with you tonight,” he implied, his tone genuine. 

Something about the way he looked at you felt so different from before, like he truly saw you. Not just as his best friend’s little sister, but as you, the girl with hopes and wants behind the surface.

 “Yeah. But I lucked out twice, right? No dance, and now no boyfriend either.” You sank down in the seat. “Oh well, huh, maybe it was all just stupid,” you muttered. 

The songs changed in and out. The night wore. The weight of the past was heavy as the car ride continued until Franklin had parked. You gathered yourself to move and open the door when you realized you weren’t looking at your house. 

“Franklin, where are we?” 

You were greeted with the large sign that read Amusement Park in the distance. 

“Well, what does it look like?”

The gates loomed ahead, vibrant and inviting. Each flickering with a promise of joy and thrill behind their standing. The scents of popcorn and cotton candy wafted through the air when you stepped from the car. 

“I thought you were taking me home.” 

Franklin got out. “Naw. It’s too early. It’s Friday, right?” He shrugged. “I figured since you missed the dance, this might make up for it.” 

“Oh. Okay listen…” 

“I was planning to come here by myself. Figured it might be fun with someone else, though.” He opened the door. “But hey, if you’d rather me take you home…”

The whoosh of the roller coaster and the delighted screams of riders soared. 

“Mm. Okay. Let’s go.”  

Franklin walked around to the other side, took your hand and led you forward. 

“See now, that's the spirit.”

…

Families and clusters of friend groups bustled around. Rides whirled in a kaleidoscope of colors against the dark backdrop of the night sky, and under a sprawling canopy of stars, the amusement park buzzed with life. The Smells were the first thing that caught your attention stepping past the gate. More specifically, the funnel cake window. One server handed an awaiting customer a large order of two! The white powder was enough to make you drool with envy for a taste. 

“Oh my gosh,” you pointed. “I haven’t had one of those in like what, how long has it been?” You tried to comb your mind for the answer while your feet guided you closer and closer. You were stopped by Franklin’s pull of your hand. 

“Hold up. We can do that later.” 

“Later?” The window appeared to stretch further and further with his halt. “But when would be a better time for funnel cake, Frank?” You couldn’t think of any. “Funnel Cake is the reason people come to these things.” You pointed again, your voice expressing much more urgency than before. “Please! I won’t even get a large one,” you bargained. 

Franklin laughed, but shook his head. “You never eat first. How can you ride the roller coaster if you eat? I love you n’all lil bean pie, but I’m not sure I want you to throw up all over my new shirt so soon. This not even two days old.” 

Only when he said it did you notice what he was wearing. Navy blue short sleeve Polo t-shirt with brown khaki pants, and those Adidas he liked. One word stuck out among your observation of his outfit. 

“Uh, Rollercoaster. Like right now?” 

“Yeah, why not?”  

“Franklin. I mean, we just got here. I don’t know, I was thinking something a little less extreme to start out with. Maybe those.” 

You pointed toward the tea cups. Franklin shook his head, a grin plastered on his face. 

“Nope. This is go big or go home. Plus, what was all that talk bout’ you being this Coaster Queen? Unconquerable and all that?”

You smacked your teeth. You remembered the conversation. 

“Franklin, I said that two years ago.”

“Right, reputation noted. So come on.” 

He threw his arm over your shoulder and directed you the opposite way of the funnel cake window and the line for tea cup ride. 

As you both waited, you couldn’t shake the fluttering anticipation in your chest. As experienced as you were, it never failed. The path ahead was lit by glowing lanterns, and you caught snippets of conversations. Eager chatter, some couples giggling. 

“Are you ready for the ultimate test of courage?” Franklin teased, nudging you with his elbow as you walked past a glowing sign that read ‘IRON RAIL’ in bright green letters. 

You turned to Franklin, a wave of determination washing over you. You had very much grown the kinda reputation he talked about as the Coaster Queen. Why be modest? 

“You mean, are you ready? I’m pretty sure I’ll be the one holding your hand when we plunge into the abyss,” you joked, flashing him a confident grin. 

You both meandered through the crowd, pushing past throngs of exhilarated fans of all ages. Nearby, a little girl screamed with delight as she spun around in a colorful spider ride. The first stop was the Devil’s Fury. A monstrous structure that twisted and turned at dizzying speeds.

“Just gotta remember, it’s not about fear. It’s about conquering it,” you said, leaning over the rails to gaze ahead of the line. 

“Exactly. And I’ll be right next to you making sure you stay fearless,” Franklin added, his voice playful and goofy.  

You flicked his arm. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Like I said.” 

The climb into the coaster broke down the binds of your worries with each click of the safety bar. Strapped in, you were surrounded by clanking sounds, the clicks of the roller coaster gearing up almost drowned out the pounding of your heart. 

“Here we go!” Franklin shouted over the clamor, his enthusiasm contagious. 

The ride took off, hurtling upward as the ground fell away beneath you. You squeezed your eyes shut, but you could feel the rush of wind whip across your face and tease the two small sections of hair you’d parted by each of the corners of your forehead, before making your low bun earlier that day. With some blue magic and a bit of water, you had created two curls that you were satisfied with, and as light as they were, you felt their frolic. 

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any higher, the coaster reached its peak, and then plummeted! You screamed, but laughter came soon after, a mixture of exhilaration and joy. You could hear Franklin laughing beside you. “WHOOOO!” He shouted over the rush of wind. Adrenaline sparked as the coaster plunged down for the second time. 

After the ride, both you and Franklin stumbled out, breathless. 

“See? That wasn’t so bad. Rollercoaster first,” Franklin closed space to pinch one of your cheeks. 

You gave him a light push. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into that. That was my first time riding in the front cart!”

“First time for everything.”

You stopped. A smirk began to form. 

“Let’s do it again!” 

…

With each ride, with every twist and turn, you found yourself bolder and more adventurous. From one attraction to the next, moments melding together, the exhilarating heights, the spiraling drops, the way Franklin would take hold of your hand during the scariest moments, you were immersed in the present. 

You got your funnel cake after the bumper cars, then a second that you ended up splitting with Franklin, not including the chili dogs and fries. You were almost full by the time you spotted the pink ice cream truck. Franklin stepped up, exuberantly placing the order while you stretched your arms out, relishing the cool breeze that wrapped around you like a hug. 

Balancing two oversized cones on his way back, neither of you managed to keep hands clean. Ice cream dripped down wrists, sticky and sweet. Another coster speed past and the park’s pulse reverberated.  

“Hey,” Franklin said, giving you a sidelong glance, one cone raised in a mock toast. “To the Coaster Queen. May she reign fearless.” 

“Much obliged,” you echoed, clinking your cone against his. 

The park still jumped with life by the time you both came across the games. All the windows lined perfectly on the boardwalk. Various challenges for prizes, big and small. Franklin took out his wallet, and in exchange for the green cash slapped down on the countertop, he’d gotten back a row of tickets for both you and him. 

He beat you at basketball, and the balloon darts, and you surpassed him at boat racing with a very close tie at throwing bean bags. Only when it came to fishing did your luck run out. You smacked your teeth by the second loss and pouted a little, which gained his attention. 

“What?”

“Oh nothing. No one ever wins. I was going for that big one right there.” 

Franklin averted his eyes to a large booth adorned with bright lights and plush stuffed animals hanging in every direction. 

“It’s the pink and purple one,” you said to clarify your choice of selection.

“Hm. Well, let’s see what we can do.” 

He extended the half eaten cotton candy your way, and you took it reluctantly as he reached in his pocket for the tickets he had left.

Hook the end of bottles and lift without the bottle falling off. Looked simple enough. You narrowed your eyes. Oh, how looks could be deceiving. You watched Franklin take the pole in hand. Your eyes stayed on his movements. 

A loss on the first try. 

“Shit,” Franklin spat with exasperation, yanking out four more tickets. “Let me do it again.”

You released a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “It’s okay, it’s harder than it looks.” 

You knew he wasn’t about to lose. If it took all the damn tickets and he needed to buy more tickets, he would find a drive somewhere deep down inside himself to win. Even when it came to a stuffed animal you didn’t need. Franklin closed his eyes and sucked in air. The employee over the game tossed a glance and shook his head before folding his arms to watch him attempt a second try. Franklin cleared his throat, moved his head from side to side and rolled his shoulders, this time moving his hand with more caution. 

Again, another failed attempt. 

You concluded the game had to be rigged, but the determination stayed with him and he ushered out more tickets as a couple people began to stop and stare. Franklin licked his lips, and with another exhale he was at it again. Refocused, he regarded the hook, his mouth falling open as he steadied his hand to rise. 

“There it is…” He mumbled, raising it carefully, higher and higher, until! 

“Yes!” 

You jumped up and down and squealed with delight. A triumphant smile found Franklin and he shot his fist in the air over and over. The employee grabbed the stuffed bear that cost Franklin three fails and several tickets to achieve. He took it and said a kind thank you to the worker before he turned, extending it out toward you. 

“All yours lil’ Bean.”

You reached for it happily, grinning from ear to ear as you cradled the stuffed animal in a tight squeeze. 

“It’s so soft. Just the one I wanted to, Mm! Thank you Frank N’ Franks.” 

You offered him his cotton candy just before his pager buzzed loudly at his hip. You watched his brows crease as he took it off his belt to look at the number. 

“Give me a second. Gotta make a call.” 

His voice had gone from playful to serious in a matter of seconds. 

Work Franklin had arrived. 

Your smile faltered. 

“Yeah. Sure of course. I'll meet you over by the garden.” 

He left and You’d found a weathered wooden bench that hadn't been occupied near by the small gated greenage that had potential to flourish into a full grown garden, with time. You sat, and absentmindedly began to trace the intricate designs of the promise ring that somehow escaped being tossed away with the same dress you had worked tirelessly for. 

Gaze drifting around the park, a couple in the distance soon caught your eye. Young, radiant, and oblivious to the world around them as they leaned into each other, fingers intertwined, whispering sweet nothings. Joy bubbled over, illuminating their surroundings. The girl’s smile, beautiful, unguarded as her lover, looked as if he held the universe in his hands. It could be a scene from a romance movie. You imagined that all girls wanted to be looked at that way.

A sudden pang of longing hit.

Had there ever been a time Darnell felt that way. Truly? 

With every gentle touch between them, the weight of grief and envy pressed down. A torrent of emotions swirled inside. Love seemed to evaporate. Or at least the thought that it could be real for you. 

The urge to remove the promise ring that had until that moment seemed like a part of your identity overcame your desire to hold on to the past. Trembling slightly, you slipped it off your finger, revealing the bare skin beneath. One night had changed so many plans. Unwoven dreams unraveled by a few careless words and a change of heart, and you found yourself biting at your lip in order to hold what whaled up from all the memories. In a similar manner, anguish resurfaced and, inexplicably, time suddenly became a crucial thing to be aware of. 

Upon seeing Franklin making his way back, you sat the ring down on the bench and got up. 

“Did you see a clock around when you went to make your call?” You asked. 

Franklin nodded. “Yeah, eleven o’clock.” 

That meant the dance had come to its end. Franklin’s voice made you grip the bear a little tighter.

“We Been here for a good five hours. Rode damn near everything, I think. We probably should start heading back to the car. I need to get you home, so yo’ mama don’t worry. Trip or nothing.” 

You nodded, but shifted your gaze eastbound. “We didn’t get everything. Just one more left.” 

…

Children chased each other around colorful booths. You shifted your feet, glancing at the entrance where the wooden structure of the Ferris Wheel loomed like a giant spinning dream. 

The line moved quickly, filled with the chatter of eager riders. 

When you both finally reached the front, the operator waved you on. You and Franklin climbed into a small enclosed car. As the wheel began its ascent, the sounds of the amusement park faded into a distant hum.

As the ride carried, you and Franklin settled into a comfortable banter, like slipping back into an old pair of shoes. As you reached the top the ride would pause periodically for a moment to let other riders board. The fairgrounds spread out beneath like an intricate tapestry.

“Member guy in bumper car number three was tripping? I mean, the ride is called bumper cars. You’re gonna get bumped. Like why even get in the line if you had any reservations?”

“Right, but he wasn’t hearing it. That’s why I kept bumping him.” 

You dropped your head as your shoulders bounced with laughter. The memory, still so clear. The guy would zoom by, careful not to collide with the other drivers, then Franklin came out of nowhere and side swiped him. 

“You was wrong for that. Just when he thought his life got on a good smooth path, here you come to bump him outta it.”

Franklin shrugged, but a grin stayed on him, smug and careless. 

“Aye. He can’t blame that on me.” 

Your head shot up, and you snapped your fingers in his direction, eager to share the memory before it passed. 

“No, my favorite was the one ride where, wait, what was it called? I don’t know but the one that went upside down and twirled. Now that, beside the roller coaster, was the best.”

“Yeah, I could tell. You screamed the entire ride. Damn eardrums still achy.”

You waved him off with a laugh. “Oh whatever. Good times though. Good times.” 

The phrase offered a pause. Franklin trying to hide his smile had you tilting your head and rubbing your lips together, unable to let the moment pass by. Almost instinctively, you and Franklin began to sing the familiar tune. It started softly, voices hesitant, but soon the lyrics flowed easily. 

Franklin bounced his shoulders and you tapped your foot. 

“Fish don't fry in the kitchen, beans don't burn on the grill, took a whole lotta tryin’ just to get up that hill, now we're up in the big leagues, gettin’ our turn at bat, as long as we live, it's you and me baby, there ain't nothin wrong with that, well we're movin’ on up to the east side to a deluxe apartment in the sky!” 

The cart reached its peak, and you and Franklin grew quiet for a moment as you both soaked in the breathtaking view. You were cradling the stuffed Teddy Bear in your lap, denim jacket clinging to your arms in a comforting embrace while the colorful lights glowed and the cart swayed gently in the breeze. You’d experienced a sensation of lightheadedness. The excitement of the Ferris Wheel mirrored the feeling of being with Franklin. He presented a sense of freedom from the worries and uncertainties that plagued your mind. You found yourself hoping for a longer ride. All of a sudden, you didn't want to go home. His laughter since arriving had lifted the weight from your shoulders, but the smile left you.

“You good lil Bean Pie?” His eyes softened when he looked at you.

“Yeah, why do you ask Frank N Franks?”

“Noticed the energy shift.”

“Oh, that.” You run your fingers through the synthetic animal fur.“Trust me it has nothing to do with this. You know I couldn’t leave without riding the biggest attraction.”

“Then what is it?”

“I remembered the dance. Crazy because the entire time we’ve been here I’d forgotten about it. Guess I’m curious how it turned out. If it was nice. This was kinda my way of avoiding that without even realizing it. 

There came a long pause. 

Franklin. Tell me the truth,” you said softly, breaking the comfortable silence. 

“Alright. Hit me. What you wanna know.” 

“You planned this, didn’t you? You were never gonna come this way. Be here tonight by yourself. Like you said in the car.” 

“Huh,” he laughed. “For real, yeah, I was. I love doing things by myself like this, all the time.” 

“Franklin….”

He threw his hands up toward the sky. “Okay, so I took a detour on the way to your house. Damn, can a nigga do a nice thing?” 

You sighed and smiled. “Okay, I just. I didn’t want you to feel sorry for me, is all. Like you were obligated or anything.”

He shifted slightly closer, the space between you both shrinking. 

“You still want me to be honest.” 

The air tingled with a charge that both excited and frightened you. Your heart raced faster than all the rides combined. 

“Yeah,” you answered, wondering what he would say.

“I was very much obligated.” 

“So I'm basically a charity case. Got you,” you held your breath, stomach fluttering with indifference.

Franklin looked over at you, his gaze filled with something you hadn’t seen in him before. Something deeper.

“Okay. So let me clean that up with some context.” 

You looked at him. The frown waning from your lips.

“I saw you,” he began, “a little before you made your way to the dumpster. I was following behind just to make sure you were good. I don’t know what it was, but the way you were holding on to that dress hit me somewhere right here.” He touched his chest over the place where his heart sat. 

Surprised by how deeply his words resonated, your eyes began to water. 

“You made it seem like it wasn’t that big a deal during the car ride, but you really wanted to go,” he said. His own eyes, warm and sincere. 

A silence fell over the conversation for a brief moment, punctuated only by the gentle swaying of the ferris wheel.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “I did.” You moved the teddy bear and let your hands sit in your lap. “It’s stupid. But I always thought girls like that were so elegant. The ones who got to go to dances. I thought I looked real good in the dress, too. Not trying to be funny. But I imagined myself a princess with it on. I imagined that he would find a nice suit to match it. I would walk down these long sets of stairs. And people would look at me like I belong there. They’d whisper. Who’s that? I wanna meet that young woman. After that my favorite song would come on, and Darnell would take my hand and bring me to the dance floor. And it would be like everyone disappeared, except him and the music. Maybe we’d laugh a little, looking into each other’s eyes for too long, but it would be our moment.” 

Franklin reached for your hand and searched your eyes for answers that had no words. Then with a reluctant nod, he lifted his chin and stared up at the night. 

You pulled the bear closer and pressed your face in its softness. “My Mama always said I dream too much. Anyway, I’ve enjoyed myself. I’m glad you made the detour,” you admitted. 

Realizing he’d pulled you closer, suddenly the world around you blurred. Franklin leaned in, and you welcomed the gentle kiss he’d placed on your cheek before he snaked an arm around you. 

Darnell but not Darnell. 

Pretty quickly the moment passed of being so close to heaven. The wheel began to turn again, the descent followed and there was nothing you could do to stop it. 

…

As you climbed out of the gondola, you could feel Franklin’s gaze linger on you. 

“Wait Beanz,” he said softly, stepping closer. 

You stopped, but didn’t turn to face him. Emotion came from nowhere and locked your baby blue canvas flats to the surface. Like being stuck in cement. 

He’d taken the stuffed bear. You weren’t certain where he’d sat the toy down when he brought his arms around you, bringing you into a hug you hadn’t expected. 

“You’re gonna be okay.” 

Scary how he could read your thoughts. The daunting question knocked in the back of your brain the entire night. You raised your hands up and pressed palms against his back to strengthen the embrace while his cologne danced on your senses. The amusement park’s vibrant chaos faded into a muted backdrop. The gravity of the earlier moment hanging. Such a sensitive part of yourself had been revealed, but the truth kept coming, more and more. 

“It’s crazy that in the entire time I was with him,” you countered, feeling the stirrings of anger and vulnerability. “None of that ever felt like tonight. Tried so hard to be perfect for him. Be what he wanted. I was blind Frank, I couldn’t see what kind of messed up relationship I was in, despite the warnings. But yet, I’m still sad it’s over. What sense can be made of that? Maybe I’m fooling myself. Maybe it’s really just the fear of being alone.”

The song in the above speaker over a section of the park shifted, becoming a soft ballad, inviting a different kind of intimacy. 

Golden touch, it happens every time your lips touch mine, there’s a feeling that’s so divine, there’s a magic in you... 

“Why you crying?” Franklin asked.

A place on his shirt had become wet with your tears. 

“Cause this is my favorite song,” you answered back with a shaky breath.

Why would it be playing right at the current place and time you found yourself? Some cruel joke? Golden touch, I wasn’t very strong till you came along. You made me realize that by your side, is where I belong…

“Dance with me,” Franklin whispered.

His statement caught you off guard.

“So what if it’s not quite like you imagined it would be. You believe you need a dress, but you don’t. Remember, Cinderella was still Cinderella without it by the end of the story. It's not quite midnight. We got some time to make a dream come true.” 

At first, hesitation held you back, but as the music surged, a bubble of spontaneity welled up inside. Franklin sang the next part of the song, maybe as a form of encouragement. He was a horrible singer, that much was certain. Rose Royce might even sue him for slander if he ever decided to do anything publicly embarrassing with their music, but it kept your attention. You giggled, not out of obligation but from the sense of freedom, and let him lead you into the rhythm of a dance. You and Franklin moved together, his hands warm on your waist, your growing smile blending perfectly with the melody. He spun you around, making you weightless as you twirled under the twinkling lights. You swayed slowly, lost in his gaze. The noise of the amusement park dulled into a background hum, leaving you in the midst. A flutter of uncertainty washed through you. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you found yourself having confidence in the potential of something new. 

But this was Franklin Saint, someone you had grown up with, Leon’s best friend! 

Then, it all replaced by an overwhelming sense of rightness. The weight of the breakup slipped away, and you let yourself float on some unseen cloud. The world became insignificant. Caught in the moment, you leaned, so close you could feel his breath warm against your skin. Before you had the chance to contemplate the consequences, Franklin closed the distance and softly pressed his lips to yours. Contingent at first, but the kiss deepened, and a wave of butterflies enveloped you. This new thing, bright and sparkling. 

You separated your lips from his. The world came rushing back. The sounds, the lights, reality, but Franklin’s hand found its way to your cheek, cradling your face as if to anchor you back in. You wondered what he was thinking. Your own thoughts swirled with confusion and curiosity. What might be going through his mind? What he felt. His steady gaze met yours, riddled with the same determination he held when trying to win the prize for you. Something shifted in the atmosphere as the weight of unsaid words lingered.

“Franklin,” you whispered. 

The intensity made your pulse quicken. He closed his eyes and so did you. His lips met yours a second time. Your heart raced. Delightful, the kiss tested the waters of possibility. It deepend, tender and sweet. A lingering moment where nothing else mattered. But just as you melted into the possibility to explore more of him, the harsh sound of your brother’s voice shattered the moment. Your heart sank. The spell of the occasion broke, leaving in its wake a swirling chaos of questions. You pulled away from Franklin, suddenly feeling the weight of Leon’s gaze on you. Just like that, the magic faded. 

Leon’s slurred words echoed across the rise as he stumbled into view, a goofy grin plastered across his face. His eyes, barely focused, settled on Franklin, narrowing with a protective instinct that only older brother’s could possess. 

“Aye, the hell you doing here Beanz? Saint? Fucks going on?” 

You could smell the liquor on his breath, pungent and strong. Clearly he’d had the same kind of night you did, only he thought about Wanda Bell, his ex-girlfriend. You wondered if Eva knew she’d been a means to fill that void somehow. The first time you ever saw Leon cry over a woman. A thing you would keep secret all the way to the grave. You knew he loved Wanda. Really loved her. 

“Leon, it’s not what it looks like-” You began, but the mixture of concern and drunkenness in his expression cut you off. 

“Well then maybe y'all would like to explain. Explain Why you have me drop you off at that nigga Darnell’s house if you wasn’t gonna be at that dance tonight.” 

Your heart raced, torn between the urge to defend Franklin and the obligation to Leon’s suspicions. You glanced back at Franklin, whose expression was a blend of disappointment and concern. 

You hesitated. “It's kinda a long story Lee. One I don't think you're really up for right now,” you said quietly, wishing you had the courage to close the distance. 

“Oh, damn it, Leon! There you are,” Eva cried, running up in her yellow jumpsuit. “Sorry. He's drunk. Got away from me.”

“What happened,” Franklin's voice chimed in from behind. 

“A long island iced tea. Couple shots of vodka. Jin probably, after that I stopped paying attention. He just kept ordering.”

“Leon…” you started, the aftermath of the kiss lingering over your lips.

“Why you ain't stop him Eva?”

She folded her arms.

“Oh yeah right Franklin, stop him? Sure. You know better than anybody, Leon doesn't listen to no one but Leon.”

“Mama's gonna cuss you out coming in her house all drunk. You better hope she sleep.”

Leon shrugged. His eyes drooped as he sucked in air. “Man, so what. She act like I'm the only one who drink. Besides, she might be more concerned with why you weren't at that damn dance tonight.” 

“Okay okay, come on let's get you back. I'll drive us.” 

“Naw fuck that, no body drive ma’ shit but me, I got it.”

Franklin closed his eyes a second and exhaled a breath. “Lee man. Let Eva drive. Get home in one piece.” The sound of his beeper made him peer down down at his belt.

“Uh huh. In one piece. Who’s that Saint?” 

Franklin's eyes traveled over the number. “Not your concern right now. Go home. Get some rest. Peaches can go with me if it becomes necessary.” 

Leon chucked, then offered Franklin a glare. “If it becomes necessary. Nigga what?”

“Okay okay it's fine. Let's go. Bye Franklin. Have yourself a goodnight.” Eva rushed to Leon, who swayed alarmingly close to the edge of the pavement. “Lee, c’mon. Let’s get you some water and get to the car.”

Leon nodded. “Yeah Saint. We gon’ talk tomorrow so keep yo shit nearby cuz imma damn sho’ page you when I wake up. We family nigga, but ma lil sister need ta’ be the one thing off limits to you. No exceptions. Drunk or not, I'll still beat yo’ ass.”

“Yeah,” Franklin brought on a quick grin that faded out as he placed his hands behind his back and raised his chin. “Okay. Night Lee.”

Leon huffed, a snarl pulled his lip. “Hm, yeah, night motherfuckea’, you think I'm bullshitin’. Bring yo hot ass on, Beanz.”

You offered a glare to his comment. “My hot ass? Seriously Leon?” 

“You heard what the fuck I said, let's go!” 

You rolled your eyes, but didn't argue. The same temper your mother gifted you would only hold out so long in your brother. As you made your way through the park, you stole glances back at Franklin, who watched you leave, an unreadable expression on his face. The connection lingered in the air like the scent of fireworks, but now it felt distant, almost like a dream you were walking from too fast. 

When the three of you made it to Leon's Buick Regal, only then had you realized you'd left the stuffed animal Franklin had won for you behind. Probably the only real emblem that such a night ever existed between you both. 

The entire car ride back Eva had a finger pressed at the side of her forehead, indication of a bursting headache on the rise. Leon, who hadn't stopped talking, became repetitive in the reasons why falling for one of his homeboys was entirely out of the question. You hadn't heard a word. The only thing that danced on your thoughts was the Ferris wheel, your favorite song, a cotton candy kiss, and Franklin Saint. 

A/N: This one was fun to write. I couldn’t help it. At first I wasn’t going to bother. I mean RoackABye Saint was a ONE SHOT work that could stand alone so it didn’t require a sequel, but then the idea just started screaming at me to jot it down, and I was like, why not give the readers a look at what happened before that fateful day. So this is what you have my friends. I wonder if ya’ll feelings will change reading this one and then going back to read RockBye Saint now that you know what happened. Was he wrong, or was it a little more complex a situation? You be the judge. Happy reading Saintettes!

PLEASE DO NOT COPY OR CLAIM ANY OF MY WRITING. -Wide Nose And Wonderful.

[wide-nose-and-wonderful]

Yaaaaaas!!! That's what I'm talkin' bout. Found myself another one. 😌✨

And girl, same. Not part 2 but part 3. I definitely need to check out your story then 😯 Really I need to set aside some time for reading and nothing else. 🤔

The writing process be a whole monster sometimes, but you have fun moments along the way so it's worth it 😁

Thank you for the sweet words, I'm so glad you like the stories and the blog 🥺 Learning as I go, but learning none the less. Me? I'm doin' good. Can't complain. 💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

But tag me when your fic is ready to be gobbled up ma'am. 🧁😏

You know. Maybe I should look over profiles more often. Do my eyes deceive me? Or have I stumbled upon another Franklin Saint Obsessor?

Ayeeee' how you doin' sis?

🙌🏾💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

Heyyy sis and yes I am franklin saint obsessor I love your blog by the way it’s amazing the way you write about franklin it’s perfection 💕but I have been good I’m currently working on chapter 2 on my story but yeah I’m excited 🎉how you doin’ sis?

[jrueships]

sometimes i'll think abt a Fandom and wish it were bigger, and sometimes i'll read something from a fandom.. and wish it were smaller

[e-jewel]

"Bishop to G7" and "A Sermon for Everyone Else"

My submissions for the @fallenlondonficswap secret swap for @superoffbatter

So, funny story. Originally I was struggling a little bit to figure out what to write because Mr. Veils, Fingerkings, Fiacre's, and the Church in the Wild all fall outside my area of expertise when it comes to this game. I was familiar with them, just not quite familiar enough to be confident in writing about any of them. So I did some research and some brainstorming, and eventually came up with something I thought was pretty fun. Aaand I got about halfway through writing that story when this month's ES came out. And Fiacre's was in it. And I was immediately struck with inspiration for something entirely unrelated to my first idea to write about the Bishop. But I also didn't want to completely abandon my other story. So I ended up writing both! Here they are, hopefully at least one'll be to your liking

Bishop to G7

Word Count: 1890

Spoilers: Bag a Legend, Railway

Summary: On his weekly train ride to Burrow-Infra-Mump, the Bishop of Saint Fiacre's receives advice from an unexpected source

The Bishop of Saint Fiacre’s gazed drearily out the window as the train sped along to his destination. It was not that he wasn’t looking forward to giving his weekly sermon at the newly established Church in the Wild, in fact he quite enjoyed the variety that the difference in doctrine added to his otherwise familiar routine. Rather, it was the location of this new chapel that he found somewhat… drab. The “Hinterlands” as Londoners had taken to calling them were composed entirely of barren wastelands followed by small villages of esoteric outcasts followed by more wasteland. While the Bishop was himself a city man, and had been nearly as long as the Bazaar had been dragging them down to the Neath, he did at least feel some kinship with the outsider civilizations scattered across the Hinterlands. He himself had had millenia to work on and refine his identity, and yet still he faced hardships almost on the daily in London on account of what he was. So, perhaps visiting one of those enclaves wouldn’t be so bad, except, The Bishop wasn’t visiting an enclave. Or a town, or a village, or anything of the sort. No, for some reason when faced with the two parts of the Hinterland, rather than found their new Church in the “civilization” half, they chose to found it in the “barren wasteland” half. A baffling decision if you were to ask The Bishop, but then again they knew the Director well and knew that they could often be a baffling person, and not always in a bad way. For example, the recent outcome of the ordeal with The Youthful Naturalist and his studies had initially shocked him, but upon reflection the outcome that was reached certainly has the potential to be wondrous. If the Naturalist and Director continue to play their cards right, that is. 

The Bishop’s thought process was interrupted as the train horn blared loudly and the vehicle rolled to a stop. Soon after he heard the conductor shouting 

“Ladies and Gentleman, welcome to Station VIII, where Masters and Mysteries await! If you’re getting off here I hope you have a lovely rest of your day, and for everyone else we’ll be departing for Burrow-Infra-Mump here in just 15 minutes!”

The Bishop sighed and laid his head down on the table in front of him. Just one more stop, he thought to himself. One more stop and he can finally actually do the thing that makes this whole trip worth it. Perhaps rehearsing his sermon one more time would pass the remaining few hours till he arrived at Burrow. But, just as the Bishop was retrieving his notes from his coat, a large burly figure obscured in a flowing and silky robe appeared outside his booth.

“Excuse me. Is this seat taken?”

The Bishop immediately recognized that it was a Master. Specifically, the fine material the robe was made of would suggest this was the greatly feared Mr. Veils. And it was… asking to sit with him? Intrigued, The Bishop maintained his cool and responded with a simple

“No. It’s all yours.”

The hulking figure made its way into the seat across from the Bishop, lowering itself slowly onto the bench so as not to snap it in half with the force of its weight. Then, for a long while, the two sat in silence. The Bishop calmly reviewed his notes, trying to ignore the imposing presence of his seatmate, while Veils only stared directly ahead of itself, watching the Bishop intently. Eventually though, after the train was over halfway to Burrow, the silence was broken by Veils’ shrill voice. 

“You are giving a sermon today, Yes?” 

The Bishop looked up, startled, as he’d just nearly managed to succeed in forgetting Veils was there. But still he did not show this fright to Veils yet, he was not a fool after all.

“Yes I am. Why? Will you be attending?”

Veils let out what the Bishop could only assume was a laugh, but really more resembled a scream. He frowned, uncertain why Veils found his simple question so uproarious. The Bishop was not one to assume that anyone’s relative interest in attending Church, be they human or otherwise, and Veils was no exception to that. So the Bishop simply sat stoic and impatient, waiting for Veils to finish with its laughing fit and answer his question. Eventually, Veils recovered from whatever it found so humorous and replied

“No no my dear Bishop. I’m terribly sorry but I am rather busy and have no time to engage in such petty mortal things as religion, truly it is commendable that you yourself make time to do so. But that is precisely why I’ve sought you out. As I said, as skilled as I am in the art of persuasion, religion is not my forte, but it is yours. And today, there will be a number of… people of importance in attendance at your sermon, so I’ve simply come to ask what it is you’ll be speaking about.”

The Bishop’s eyes narrowed. This was clearly Veils the Intriguer, as some had taken to calling it, and was not someone to be dealt with lightly. Where other times Veils might tear you to shreds physically, when it got like this it was known to rend you in a psychological and political manner, moving the chessboard’s pieces with skill and ruthlessness not seen in some of the greatest agents of the Game. Luckily though, The Bishop did not seem to be the target of its current hunt, rather it was these “people of importance” that would be attending his sermon that Veils was after. Knowing this, and hearing the question implied by the end of Veils’ statement of “and what will they be hearing?”, the Bishop responded by saying

“It is funny you should ask that, as I myself have been struggling with finding the answer. I am not used to preaching with this doctrine, or to these people. It is beginning to feel like I’m trying to navigate through a maze without my eyes. Since you bring it up, and you seem to know the people who will be there, would you perhaps be able to assist me with some guidance?”

This was largely true. Despite having worked with it for some time now the Bishop was less familiar with the ideals and practices of the Church in the Wild and did often struggle to create sermons that felt as impactful as his usual ones. That being said though, on this particular week he had had a sermon planned which he was rather proud of and felt would truly connect with the congregation, but considering the circumstances he figured he could simply use that one next week and for now he should attempt to play to the desires of great power sitting before him. That great power was currently chuckling, pleased that the Bishop was so quick to play into its hand.

“Well my good sir, I am in fact intimately familiar with your guests this week, yes, so I suppose I could make a few speculations as to what they’d want to hear, if that would be to your pleasure.”

The BIshop turned his notes around and removed a pen from his pocket before looking to Veils, imploring it to continue. Veils grinned with a disgustingly human grin and said.

“There is a concept of which the two of us are intimately aware, dear Bishop: the many sides of a singular coin. In any given individual, countless personas and continuities can be found, coming together to form a singular ‘person’. I wonder then, if you wouldn’t be particularly well suited to bring that perspective to the Burrow Church? If I understand correctly it is quite relevant to the doctrine, to teach that a person needn’t be so rigid as to align oneself with a particular faith and cast out all others and, indeed, that same logic can be applied to a great multitude of things? That is to say, if you ask me, I’d wager a lesson in fluidity and flexibility could prove most fortuitous for you and the members of your congregation.” 

The Bishop finished jotting down what Veils had said and then sat there, stunned. That was all… remarkably good. He did know what it was like to wear many faces and still be one person, and that was very relevant to the beliefs of the Church in the Wild. He had expected some thinly veiled (no pun intended) political scheme that he’d have to bend over backward trying to work into a sermon, but he found himself quite liking what Veils had suggested.

Just then, the train slowed to a stop and the conductor could be heard once again.

“Ladies and Gentleman we’ve now arrived at Burrow-Infra-Mump! All those seeking saintly salvation, this is your time to get off! Everyone else, our next stop is Moulin and we’ll be leaving in 15 minutes. That's all for now; enjoy your day folks!”

The Bishop’s head snapped towards the window, surprised to see the large hill that the Burrow Church resided on directly outside it. Were they really there already? He could have sworn there was at least an hour left in their trip when Veils started their conversation. Unfortunately, before the Bishop could further ponder this apparent time skip, Veils spoke once more

“This is your stop, yes? I do hope your sermon goes well, and that you take my advice into consideration. While I won’t be attending nor getting off here, I have business further down the line, I am… truly glad that I could help you in your time of need.”

Its last sentence was punctuated with that same inhumanely human smile it had before, and for a moment the Bishop flinched ever so slightly, expecting an attack, but none came. The Bishop then gave his own small smile to Veils in return as a farewell, before quickly gathering his notes and making his way off the train. As he began his long walk up the hill towards the Church, he wondered if what he was about to do was really a good idea. Often the goals of the Masters were not aligned with the goals of the denizens of the Neath, and Veils in particular had a reputation of something of a sadist. On the other hand, by that same reasoning it likely wouldn’t be wise for the Bishop to directly contradict its desires lest he find that bloodlust taken out on him instead of its original target. And anyways, the more he thought on it the more he genuinely came to quite like the topic Veils had suggested he use. Something about it just… spoke to his very soul.

Meanwhile, as the train pulled away from the bottom of the hill, one of its passengers sat wearing a horrific smile which was growing ever wider. It wondered who would actually be in the Church with the Bishop; if there would actually be anyone of note or if it would be the same dirty nomads of the hinterland it always was? It didn’t trouble itself with that thought too much though, as really it couldn’t matter less. It had done what it came to do. The Bishop was now in place, and as Burrow-Infra-Mump became nothing but a speck on the horizon Mr. Veils whispered to itself “Checkmate.”

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

A Sermon for Everyone Else

Word Count: 668

Spoilers: Death and Tax Evasion

Summary: After the death of the Scabby Layrat at the Hands of the Oft-Offed Revenuer, the Bishop of Saint Fiacre's delivers a sermon at the rodent's funeral

“Hello, everyone. I would like to thank you all for gathering here today for someone whom many of you likely wouldn’t usually gather for. But this is a day to question that fact. A day to ask ourselves, why do we not mourn our fallen rat brethren just as we mourn our fallen man? Why has it taken the death of this poor Layrat, who wished nothing more than for us to accept him the very same way our loving God would and then died for that wish, for us to see the truth that we were blinded to? The fact is, my friends, we live in a time that is not the age of man. It is a time far different, stranger, and more diverse than the ones depicted in any holy text we read. And for too long now we have clung to these texts as tight as we could, making only the most undeniable of adjustments and remaining willfully ignorant of all else. But no more I say. No more do we choose to exclude the intelligent and compassionate beings around us from holding the same holy love that we do. No more do we insist that people are the only true children of God which all others should serve. We need to accept that these new beings are just as loved by God as we are, and I truly hope that this sermon can begin to make that change. As stated, it is a tragedy that it was not until an innocent had died that I came to help fight this issue, but it is a tragedy I will not allow again. Truthfully, on the very same day this rodent’s shining eyes sparkled for the last time, I was approached by the Archbishop of St. Algernon’s. He pleaded with me to request a synod, to begin the process of recognising the rats in the Bible and in the Church. Regrettably, he approached me whilst I was giving a sermon, and I became afraid. I was afraid of what associating with rats would do to my reputation, afraid that my congregation would no longer listen to me, and so I said no. That is something that will now haunt me to my grave. Knowing that a simple yes likely would have saved this young life from being extinguished in so awful a way, well, it is a sin that I can only pray has been forgiven by his now immortal soul, and it is something I will never stop trying to make up for. Starting with this: my sermon for everyone else. This is not a sermon for you who attend my church every Sunday, who attend balls on Saturdays and palaces on Fridays, this is a sermon for the drunkard, for the Rubbery Man, for the Rattus Faber, for the Cousin, for the Master, for the Drownie, and for all others who are intelligent, kind, and curious to know the word of God but have been told for some reason in the past that they cannot. My new friends,  Wish to assure you this: you will not suffer the fate of the Layrat. From this point on, should you ever approach the door of a church, any church at all, you will be welcomed in with open arms. We will sing with our hymns, say with you our prayers, and love with you our God. Perhaps this is merely me assuaging my own guilt, but our faith decrees that everything happens according to God's plan. Thus, I can only assume that this loss was itself an answer to the Layrat’s prayers for unity, a sacrifice he has made for the future of all those like him and all those not like him and all those not like anyone at all. And we cannot let that sacrifice be in vain. So, we will now commence the burial of the good Saint Rodere, the Patron Saint of Everyone Else. May he smile down on us indefinitely.”

[vinkumakkara]

losing out on the civil war plot drives me up the fuckin wall it would’ve been the absolute perfect way to continue from sr2. it’s the ideal sr3. this should’ve been something Boss would feel deep in their BONES

[supercutszns]

rotten to the touch; luke castellan

series masterlist

wc: 3.2k

pairing: pre-tlt luke castellan x f! reader

synopsis: you’re pretty sure you’re an awful person. you’re pretty sure luke castellan is too. and you’re pretty sure you want to make out with him.

warnings: reader is flawed & not the greatest, luke is ... a little dark🫣, small mention of blood, swearing, lots of making out but no explicit nsfw, a bit toxic, & no more more ‘i can fix him’ or ‘i can make him worse’ it’s ‘he can make ME worse’

notes: this is… sluttier than my usual stuff so it’s not as good but i’m trying, feedback is appreciated! also i wonder what cabin we think this reader would be in, let me know where you’d place her im curious :) maybe i’ll write more of her in the future she’s interesting!! and thank you for 100 followers i am so grateful<3 designated song for this fic is crush by ethel cain

You are a miserable, wicked, asshole of a person, and everybody knows it. Including you.

It’s unclear to you why you turned out this way—every reason to blame never satiates the fury searing your insides. All the campers hate you. The counsellors, too. Even Chiron looks down on the viciousness inside you. You are Camp Half-Blood’s black sheep; a mean, bitter person with no love for the people around you. And it’s not just for show. You know you’re rotten. You know the anger will never go away.

It’s evident in the things you think about other people—the way you pick them apart in your head, toss them aside, because they just don’t see it. This miserable, unforgiving world, with children sleeping on wooden floors because the people who created you think you disposable. Because they can just make more of you. More, more, more, until one of you comes out rotten, born of all the ugliness they have inside them. You are the worst parts of Godly blood. The wrathful parts.

Everyone hates you. Everyone hates a person with an unquenchable anger.

But everyone loves Luke Castellan.

He’s a saint at Camp Half-Blood if there ever was one. Handsome, generous, kind. Goes out of his way to help out the new kids and gives them homes in his cabin. He’s the best swordsman in camp by a mile. Shit, you’d even love Luke Castellan if you didn’t know any better.

But you do, and you don’t, and it’s complicated, okay?

Because there’s something you know about Luke Castellan that nobody else does: he’s miserable and wicked, too.

You see it in his eyes sometimes. The way they look at you at dinner, when you’re picking at your food away from anyone else at your table. Something familiar rises in them, and your stomach twists. His body tenses whenever someone mentions his father, but the smiles he flashes are so charismatic nobody notices. But you do. It’s exciting.

During sword practice, he quips back and forth with the kids and laughs whenever they take a jab at him. He’s light, easy, carefree. But you see how he holds back, the tension in his shoulder, the way the arc of his sword never fully finishes. So you wait until everybody leaves and he’s alone, with the training dummies and the setting sun. And you. Hiding.

He slashes through them and spears through their heads. You see it, the gnashing of his teeth, the sweat curling down his cheeks. There’s something there. A chasm he’s hopeless to fill.

Before you know it, you’re going out of your way to catch him training alone. It’s creepy, you know, and awful, you know, but the more you watch him the more you see a sort of violence scabbed under his skin.

Whenever you see him now, the feeling you get is entirely foreign to you. It’s almost . . . longing.

Wherever she is, you’re pretty sure Aphrodite’s having a cosmic fucking laugh. And you’re sure she’s laughing double tonight.

The Aphrodite cabin is hosting some secret party for the older counsellors. You’re definitely of age to be a counsellor, but you’ve never been made one because that would probably make half the campers drop out. Chiron and Mr. D don’t know what to do with you. You’re sure you’ll be kicked out of camp soon for good.

But you’re here anyways, for a reason you don’t want to admit, and you stay tucked in a corner as the world around you mingles. Luke is on the other side of the room, lovely as always, laughing with a few other counsellors. He brings a drink up to his lips, and you have a startling thought of what it would be like to kiss him. And you’re fucked. You’re so fucked. Because for the first time in your life you want something tangible, something real. You want to hear him and feel him and pry him apart, and a part of you wants him to actually see you, see all the awful things that might make you the same. You feel like a teenage girl with a crush, and it is infuriating.

An Aphrodite girl comes up to you with a foolish smile. “Hey, sorry, you want a drink?”

“Fuck off, you idiot,” you snarl.

You wait for her to leave. She doesn’t. “You know, you don’t have to be so mean all the time,” she says evenly. “If you’re here, you might as well enjoy it. So yes, I want to give you a drink.”

“Have you ever thought that I’m not being mean? Maybe I just am.”

You glare at her. She looks you up and down. “Sure,” she shrugs, walking away. There’s a vivid picture in your mind of her falling through a hole in the cabin floor. It doesn’t soothe you, but at least the fantasy is there.

The night drones on. You’re sick of the smells and the laughs and the heat. And you’re sick of yourself. You can’t believe, underneath all your sourness, you came here to stare at a boy you barely know, and you don’t even know why. He’s fascinating, and you resent him, and he’s also beautiful. But he’s looked back at you all of three times tonight and you’re sick of the way your skin crawls when he does.

Leaving the cabin brings the relief of the cool night air, and the singularity of your body. You are the only one who feels this rage. You are the only one who hates.

To stave off your discomfort you walk around to the back of the cabin, to the crest of the hill facing the water. The stars above twinkle at you in spite. There’s a bitterness in your throat you want to wash down with something worse (maybe you should have taken that drink), but you know it won’t matter. Nothing matters. Those stars and whatever they hide are apparently the only important things in the universe, so why should anyone care about anything?

They stars only get brighter. It’s probably their goal to piss you off. You grunt, “Oh, fuck you,” to them. It’s not enough, never nearly enough to expel the rotten part of you. “Fuck you. Fuck off!” You groan at the sky. Nothing happens. Until:

“I’m guessing you’re not having a fun night.”

You whirl around. It’s hard to see in the dark, but whatever light is left catches a long scar on a cheek. Your stomach knots.

“Yeah, me neither,” Luke Castellan says, hands in his pockets as he meanders towards you.

Even when he’s close enough, you don’t say anything. If you do, you’re afraid it’ll be something ugly. Like I kind of want to make out with you. Are you awful too? I need a lobotomy.

The thoughts almost make you laugh. Been a long time since you’ve been funny.

He nods at the sky. “Those things don’t talk. You do know that, right?” He’s still so captivating, so self-assured, even when there’s no one around but you.

“Gods, you’re the worst,” you scoff. You really mean it, so you can’t look him in the eye.

“Then why have you been staring at me all night?”

It catches you so off-guard that you whip back to face him. He has an eyebrow raised and the itch of a smile that makes you burn with shame. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He shrugs, leaning against the cabin wall. “I’m not stupid. You’ve been brooding in the corner watching me the second you came in.” He cocks his head to the side, adding, “Actually, you stare at me all the time. At meals and stuff. I really hope you don’t think you’re being subtle.”

You huff. “Okay, if we’re really being honest here, you started that! You do it too! All the time!”

His hands shot up like he was being arrested. “Hey, I never said I minded it. A guy’s . . . just gotta wonder. What’s up with you spying on me when I’m training alone, anyways?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You watch me when there’s nobody else around. I’m not blind. It’s weird. If you want tips you can just ask me. Or if you like what you’re looking at, at least be upfront about it.”

You speak before you can take in that last sentence, or the way his smile took pride in itself when he said it, or how embarrassed you should probably feel. “You didn’t answer my question about why you started staring at me first.”

The anger (shame) blinding you made you forget how close you are to him right now. Close enough to touch, but not enough to see. But almost there. Almost.

“People think you’re mean,” Luke says after a moment, his dark eyes probing you. The words curl out of his mouth slowly, like he’s choosing them all with care. “You’re rude. You never listen to anyone. You judge everything. They all think you’re awful.” Again, he looks you over. “I’m not so sure.”

“If I’m awful, then you’re awful,” you spit before he can say anything else.

He just shrugs. “Well, I guess that’s why I’m not sure.”

It’s irritating, his calmness. He has the same anger you do. How come he can just . . . shove it down? You try to unearth any fury in his eyes, but it’s too far back. Simmering. “Jesus,” you mutter, “You’re worse than me.”

He looks genuinely taken aback by this. His scar deepens when his brows wrinkle. “What?”

“You’re a pretender—that’s what you are.” It’s your turn now, to step closer, to make his skin crawl. “Look at you. Everyone loves you. You’re this perfect golden boy and you’re sweet and attentive and whatever the fuck but you know it’s one giant lie. At least I’m honest, but you just sit pretty and act like you don’t have that . . . thing that I have. Resentment. Insanity. Whatever you want to call it. We’re the same, but I’m the only one getting shit for it.”

Now, you are close enough to really see him. The patterns on the wood behind him frame the vision of his ever-shifting face. You realize that this, like most things are to Luke Castellan, is a challenge. You also can’t remember the last time you saw him lose one.

But when you play, you play to win.

“You don’t know that,” he dares.

“Oh, I do. You’re rotten, Castellan,” you sneer, index finger jabbed into his chest. You can feel his heartbeat if you concentrate. “And you’re not owning up to it, so you’re also a coward.”

However scathing you look, it isn’t enough. If anything it only makes Luke’s manner more playful. Nothing feels playful anymore. Everything, inside and outside of your mind, feels like constant, exhausting war. Maybe that’s why you don’t slap his hand off you when it wraps around your wrist, keeping it pressed to the middle of his chest. His heartbeat thrums through you.

He tilts his face towards you, grinning, “Then why do you want to kiss me?”

All right. What the fuck. It feels like you’ve been electrocuted.

“What the—what are you talking about?” You blunder, but he knows, of course he knows, because there’s something between the two of you that has been formed and understood by eye contact alone. He can probably read your mind. As much as you don’t want to admit it, you’d like to read his just as much.

He cocks his head. “I mean, you did call me pretty,” he teases, and it’s almost endearing. “You’re pretty like this too.” His other hand comes up to your face, and you’re surprised you don’t flinch when his thumb gently smooths the crease in your eyebrows. “Don’t call me a coward, heathen. Then we’ll both be embarrassed.”

The nickname makes you want to fight, but the touch makes you dizzy. “You don’t want to kiss me, Luke,” you say with all the control you have, which, right now, is increasingly sparse.

“You’ve gotta stop telling people what they want,” he muses. The hand on your wrist traces further down your forearm. The one on your face snakes around your hips. “One of your more disagreeable qualities.”

His words fan over you. That fire simmering in his eyes has finally come to the surface.

“One of?” You challenge.

“You let me make out with you and I’ll give you a whole list.”

You snort, hoping it hides the shortness in your breath. “What a charmer you are.”

His lips brush yours. “Well, that’s what makes me so rotten, isn’t it?”

There’s hardly time to unravel if that’s a question or a statement because you grab a fistful of his shirt and he kisses you. Your heart detonates. It is not rotten in the slightest.

His body is warm and firm. You smell the cabin wood and the drink on his breath. It all matters, and none of it does. You’re warm everywhere as he wraps both arms around your back, and the way he kisses is, unfortunately, exactly how you thought he would. Your hands are tentative in his hair. So is your mouth on his. But Luke is so deliberate in the way he kisses that you know he’s thought about this, too. It makes you all the warmer.

His hand takes your jaw and tilts it up. You know your neck is shaky with breath, and you’re pretty sure he’s admiring it. You don’t complain when he presses a kiss to your jaw, then another one, like he’s testing the waters. “You’re so nice like this,” he mutters almost to himself, thumb running across your neck. “If only people could see you.”

“Then they’d see how mean you are too, no?” You huff. “You don’t want that.”

Another kiss to your jaw. “Not yet, sweetheart.”

Whatever feeling is harbouring in your body right now, it’s so fulfilling it almost makes you uncomfortable. You want to reject it. You’re not supposed to want things. Worse, you’re not supposed to get things. Luke starts marking a path down your neck and you are so determined to enjoy this that you’d kiss a fucking baby if someone asked you to. You might as well be a saint.

He bites the pulse point on your neck, sure to leave a mark, and a shudder rips through you. You’re pretty sure the bastard starts laughing. You hit his shoulder in retaliation.

“Easy, heathen,” he reprimands in your ear, and you know he’s still smiling.

“Don’t—don’t call me that.” You hate that you start to smile, too, and that your stomach burgeons with butterflies when he pulls back to look at you.

He touches the corner of your upturned mouth, kiss-bitten and red. His expression is boyish. “Hard to when it makes your face do that,” he goads. “I thought it was impossible for you to smile.”

“Be quiet.” You thread a hand through his camp necklace and bring him closer. You can almost taste his mouth on yours, but he sweeps past you at the last minute.

He gently tugs your earlobe with his teeth and whispers, “Yes ma’am.”

Fuck him. Seriously. You might have to.

It’s a tangle of teeth and hands and smiles kept hidden, as you slip your fingertips beneath his shirt and he does the same, and you’re both angry and greedy and incredibly destructive, but it doesn’t matter yet. Now you’re just teenagers fooling around at the back of a party, and it’s the first good thing either of you have had in a long time. Luke leaves you gasping whenever his mouth hits certain places, maybe too many places, and he teases you accordingly. “So sensitive,” he taunts, pressing his knee between your legs so he can see you squirm. You rake your nails through his scalp and he tilts his head back to groan. It shuts him up for a while.

He bites your neck until you say his name. You trace lines on his stomach till he takes your hand in his own. You’ve been hungry for something your whole life, and you finally have something to sink your teeth into. For better or for worse.

After Hades knows how long, laughter floats out from the front of the cabin. Sounds of feet tripping over each other and muffled goodbyes. You pull away from Luke, chests heaving together. His hair is wild, his shirt crumpled, and he looks entirely satisfied with it. Smug little shit. “Party’s letting out,” you mutter.

“What a damn shame.” His hand rubs your jaw, and it’s too tender a gesture so you angle your head away to peek over the side of the cabin. You barely pay attention to the kids straggling back to their bunks.

“Is now the time you tell me all my horrible qualities?” You ask once you’re ready to look at him again.

He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Actually, I came up with more since I said that so I’m pretty sure it’ll take more than one night.” He fakes a wince, “Might have to spread it out for a few days.”

You roll your eyes, “Oh, you ass.”

“I’ll give you one for starters.” You feel like a tornado when he kisses the juncture between your jaw and your neck. “Your hands are too cold.” They’re tucked underneath his shirt right now, pressed against his back. You don’t move them. “And,” he adds, “you’re incredibly crass.”

“Thanks, dipshit.”

“Thank you for proving my point, heathen.”

The commotion at the front gets louder, and you know your time to go undiscovered runs short. “You meet me again tomorrow, and I start telling you the rest?” He raises his brows.

The prospect both repulses and excites you, although perhaps they’re hand-in-hand. You tentatively reach up to trace the scar on his face. A faint, jagged line that holds scripture within it. His eyes flutter shut for a moment. “Even though I’m rotten?” You ask, and there’s an echo of mischief in your voice, too.

He’s got a strange expression when he looks at you. “That’s not true.”

He leans down, angles his head to kiss you. It’s slow, but bitter, and he bites down on your lip until you’re pretty sure there’s blood. “Luke,” you murmur, and he kisses you softer. You lean into him like a hapless, lovesick fool.

After you part, he loosens his grip on you. The bumbling campers have gotten louder. He stares at you, and you see the chasm in his eyes again, brimming with fire. Same as yours. You know you’ll see him tomorrow.

He says, “You’re not rotten. You’re right.”

And damn it, you really do believe him.

[tinycoffeeroom]

you and i | lando norris

face claim: bela juliana ♡

request: here !

pairing: lando norris x leclerc!reader

requested: Can I request a social media AU leclerc reader x lando based off of the song ‘You and I’ by Rita Ora Thanks so muchhhhh

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liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 679,154 others

y/nleclerc oh to be the girl someone writes love stories about

fan I WILL!!!!! give me 10 minutes and garage band i can pull it off!!! ♥️ y/nleclerc

alexandrasaintmleux every love song is about you gorgeous girl x ↳ y/nleclerc when are you gonna stop pretending you like my brother and just date me instead x ↳ charles_leclerc ?? rude.

landonorris d4vd is so good! can't wait for his show in london :)

lewishamilton pipe is right there 😉 ↳ y/nleclerc that is NOT a love song sir lewis hamilton!!!! ↳ charles_leclerc back off grandpa i will put sand in your petrol tank ↳ lewishamilton woah calm down there bud i was joking i promise ↳ y/nleclerc play nice boys ↳ charles_leclerc he started it ↳ y/nleclerc well stop, i dont want ferrari in my dm's telling me y'all are throwing hands on the grid ↳ georgerussell63 if they do, can someone film it? ↳ y/nleclerc ffs

carmenmmundt prettiest girl in the whole wide world 🩷 ↳ y/nleclerc MWAH MWAH MWAH love you carm 💜

francisca.c.gomes getting ed sheeran on the case rn ↳ y/nleclerc i still bawl my eyes out to cold coffee nearly daily ↳ pierregasly really y/n? ed sheeran? ↳ y/nleclerc ok mr listens to crazy frog when he thinks no one can hear

fan lando being the only one y/n airs everytime ☠️ ↳ fan feel bad for him at this point 😭 ↳ fan y/n you want a lover boy, he is RIGHT THERE

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y/nleclerc uploaded 3 pictures to their story

[caption: y/nnies song recs of the day] replies:

charles_leclerc need to find you a boyfriend immediately so you'll stop posting sappy songs on ig ↳ y/nleclerc as long as its not one of your colleagues ↳ charles_leclerc whats wrong with them? :((( ↳ y/nleclerc i hear enough about cars from you i dont need it from them too

landonorris iris is a certified BANGER

heidiberger wanna go get coffee?? i need you to give me new songs for my danny playlist ↳ y/nleclerc y'all are so gross but yesssss ↳ heidiberger i think you misspelt cute 😋

fan y/n can i recommend turning page by sleeping at last? i'm not sure if you have it on your playlist already ❤️ ↳ y/nleclerc team edward FOR LIFE!!!! was one of the songs that got me into my lover girl era ❤️❤️

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liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 607,285 others

y/nleclerc garden party with my favourite leclerc saint mleux ❤️

charles_leclerc wow i see how it is... ↳ y/nleclerc not my fault your son is cuter than you ↳ oscarpiastri aw i knew you thought i was cute 🥰🥰 ↳ y/nleclerc the cutest piastri-leclerc! come round for tea soon, i miss my nephew x ↳ oscarpiastri will you make that pasta dish again? ↳ y/nleclerc i will just for you! ↳ landonorris osc save some for me please ↳ oscarpiastri get your own y/n this ones mine ↳ landonorris just you wait

fan the adoption is going strong i see ↳ fan i think y/ns the biggest instigator for it 😭

alexandrasaintmleux am i your favourite saint mleux? 🥺 ↳ y/nleclerc always x

landonorris leo!! miss my little man ↳ fan day 2947 of y/n airing lando ↳ fan leave him be, his little crush is cute

arthurleclerc if leo's your favourite leclerc saint mleux, am i your favourite leclerc? ↳ y/nleclerc not even close, that spot is for maman only ↳ leclerc_pascale 🥰🥰

fan where's the dress from?? its so gorgeous!! ↳ y/nleclerc it's from a little boutique in monaco! let me see if i can find some alternatives online 💜 ↳ fan my queen thank you!!!

fan oh to be at a garden party with the leclercs...

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charles_leclerc uploaded to their story

replies:

fan you and alex are so cute ↳ charles_leclerc 😉🤫 ↳ fan what does that mean im scared

fan alex was wearing a floor length dress,, whomstdve is THAT mr leclerc?

arthurleclerc i don't like the way he was looking at her ↳ charles_leclerc don't you dare say anything ↳ arthurleclerc you want.. lando???? to date our sister ↳ charles_leclerc oh he's absolutely smitten, it's cute

y/nleclerc is... is that me and lando? ↳ charles_leclerc you guys looked so cute i couldn't help it ↳ y/nleclerc stalker alert!!! ↳ charles_leclerc deflect all you want, i know you liiiike him ↳ y/nleclerc 🙄🙄

landonorris mate can you send me this please? ↳ charles_leclerc yeah sure 😉

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liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and 679,253 others

y/nleclerc i believe the kids call it serving cunt

alexandrasaintmleux most gorgeous girl in the whole wide world 🩷 ↳ y/nleclerc come give me a kiss xx

charles_leclerc ??!!!?!?!?!???!!!! text me rn!! ↳ y/nleclerc i'm busy ↳ charles_leclerc i have a key to your flat, i'm not afraid to use it ↳ y/nleclerc damn ok so needy

arthurleclerc and who is that. ↳ y/nleclerc why do you wanna know? ↳ arthurleclerc oh god its Him isn't it? ↳ y/nleclerc you say that like its a bad thing 😭 ↳ arthurleclerc it is

fan UMMM??? 3rd pic???? deets please miss y/n ↳ y/nleclerc if all goes well, i'll give you all a full debrief

fan MOTHERRRRRRRRRRR

fan never mind the man DATE ME!!!! ↳ alexandrasaintmleux ^^ ↳ lilymhe ^^ ↳ lilyzneimer ^^ ↳ alexalbon charles stop bringing your sister to races i dont know if i can fight PLEASE ↳ y/nleclerc you would lose with those lanky arms wimp

fan poor lando in the likes... watching the girl he fancies go on a date with someone else ↳ fan how do you know he fancies her? ↳ fan he's constantly in her comments even if she airs him, he gets the goo goo eyes whenever she's near and don't even get me started on hungary 2022 ↳ fan ... please continue ↳ fan ok SO! she was in the paddock before the race and some guy came up to her and was asking her for a photo and then he asked her on a date ??? like dude use critical thinking skills for one second ... lando was across the paddock with daniel and there's a photo of him somewhere staring DAGGERS into this mans soul... charles came over and shooed the man away and lando literally deflated.. i'll see if i can find the photos ↳ fan tag me in them please ↳ fan me too! ↳ fan me three!! ↳ charles_leclerc me four!! ↳ fan CHARLES???

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y/nleclerc uploaded to their story

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liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and 708,256 others

y/nleclerc flowers from lover (?) boy :)

fan oh she's down Bad ♥️ y/nleclerc

fan guys dont call me delusional but i think she's dating a driver ↳ fan charles would burn the world down before he would let that happen ↳ fan i gotta say... they have a point, remember when they did that tiktok where they asked drivers who they would introduce their sisters to on the grid and charles said lando immediately ↳ fan and then they did the f2 gang and arthur threatened to kamikaze anyone who tried to go near y/n? ↳ fan going off the comments i'm putting 2 and 2 together and getting 4 ↳ y/nleclerc ironic ↳ fan Y/N??????

fan pls show us lover boy its been 84 years i am begging you ↳ y/nleclerc it's been like 3 months silly but soon :)

charles_leclerc i know i should feel sick seeing you so happy but it's nice to see you be treated how you deserve ↳ y/nleclerc charlie 🥺 ↳ alexandrasaintmleux he's giggling and kicking his feet rn ↳ charles_leclerc wow ↳ fan ik he's picked out a suit for the imaginary wedding ↳ charles_leclerc i reject that statement ↳ alexandrasaintmleux it's bookmarked on his laptop

landonorris pretty flowers! ↳ y/nleclerc thank you :)

fan ???!!!!! SHE REPLIED TO LANDO???? ↳ fan i know he's squealing rn ↳ fan adding it to my "y/nlando dating REAL" spreadsheet ↳ fan omg share the link ↳ charles_leclerc yeah share the link ↳ fan this feels like confirmation but we all know charles lives for the drama

leclerc_pascale don't forget to bring him to the garden party tonight! ↳ fan another one? ↳ y/nleclerc we do them quite often in summer!! it's an excuse to drink champagne at 3 in the afternoon ↳ fan ur so real for that

carmenmmundt lover boy 😔 that should be me ↳ y/nleclerc i've got two hands for a reason babygirl x

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y/nleclerc uploaded 3 pictures to their story

[caption 3: lover boy (no ? this time)] replies:

landonorris lover girl ❤️ ↳ y/nleclerc lover boy ❤️

charles_leclerc photo creds? ↳ y/nleclerc nope!

alexandrasaintmleux its not too late to run away with me x ↳ y/nleclerc meet me at the port at midnight, we can steal charles' boat xx ↳ alexandrasaintmleux y/n it's charles i will bomb the port. ↳ y/nleclerc oh you're Crazy crazy ↳ alexandrasaintmleux only for her ↳ y/nleclerc gross... put my gf back on the phone

fan the sign 🥹 we need to know all the deets ↳ y/nleclerc all i will say is he gave me a mixtape :))))) ↳ fan A MIXTAPE??? LIKE A PHYSICAL MIXTAPE??? oh we stan

fan WHO !!! IS !!! LOVER BOY !!! ↳ y/nleclerc all will be revealed soon ;)

arthurleclerc maybe he has rights ↳ y/nleclerc shush you love him ↳ arthurleclerc thats before he started fancying 🤢 you 🤢

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liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and 789,502 others

y/nleclerc he may not be able to write me love songs, but his voice is my favourite melody ❤️

fan we've officially lost her boys 💔💔

carmenmmundt just looked at george and sighed ↳ georgerussell63 ?? why am i catching strays?? ↳ lilymhe me with alex ↳ alexalbon what he say fuck me for?

fan lover girl x lover boy era <333333 ♥️ y/nleclerc

fan guys that's lando's necklace i'm like 99.9% sure ↳ fan you're onto something there lemme look at pap pics from the last race!

fan guys the flowers are orange... papaya even...

landonorris the guy sure likes his bouquets ↳ y/nleclerc yeah he's a real romantic 😋 ↳ fan WHERE'S THE FAN WITH THE SPREADSHEET ↳ fan I'M HERE !!!!! typing as fast as my fingers can handle!!!!

alexandrasaintmleux just so you know charles is crying at the caption ↳ y/nleclerc big softie x ↳ charles_leclerc i just have a lot of feelings :(((((

arthurleclerc i will allow him to live another day ↳ y/nleclerc i'm sure he's shivering his timbers rn ↳ arthurleclerc >:((((

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👤 landonorris liked by landonorris, alexandrasaintmleux and 903,185 others

y/nleclerc lover boy x

fan miss rabbit has fainted

fan spreadsheet fan we just got a HUGE update ↳ fan i'm gonna break my laptop in 2 with my bare hands

charles_leclerc :))))) my scheme worked ↳ y/nleclerc i still hate when you do that shit ↳ alexandrasaintmleux same 🙄

landonorris lover girl x ♥️ y/nleclerc

landonorris so gorgeous, i love the way you look tonight xx ↳ y/nleclerc you said the same thing the night we danced together 🥺 ↳ landonorris i meant it then and i mean it now x

mclaren scuderiaferrari we stole your girl xx ↳ scuderiaferrari you and your ugly colours can get BACK 🤺🤺🤺 ↳ fan the girls are fighting!! ↳ mclaren UGLY COLOURS??? oh its on

carlossainz55 now he'll stop blowing up my phone about you ↳ landonorris nah now i can just annoy you about how cute my GIRLFRIEND is ↳ oscarpiastri you've been dying to say that, haven't you? ↳ landonorris mate i thought i was going to die

fan sorry can we circle back around to charles saying his scheme worked??? ↳ fan yeah charles_leclerc spill. ↳ charles_leclerc a magician never reveals his tricks ↳ y/nleclerc he forced me and lando to talk at the garden party and then pretended to get a phone call from ferrari so he could play eternal flame over the speakers ↳ charles_leclerc y/n :(((( ↳ y/nleclerc you used my love song weakness against me, you don't get to have secrets

alexandrasaintmleux can't believe he stole my girl :( ↳ y/nleclerc you know my heart is always yours x ↳ landonorris WOMP WOMP i didn't pine for years to share

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a/n: thank you for requesting!! i think i've listened to the song about 400 times writing this! needed a lil break from the gote series and this was the perfect thing to get me out of my slump <3

taglist: @golden-hoax

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Fire Drill

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Words: 2020

Requested by Anon: Hi can you do one where the reader is pregnant and she comes to visit Hotch at work and when she’s getting ready to leave she trips on the last step and hotch and the team rush to her side and hotch force her to go to the hospital to get checked out

Notes: Okay, I know I don’t do requests, but this just seemed like such a nice break after finishing part one of The In-Betweens S3. I’m not opening requests, but thank you for sending this in because I had fun writing it. I’ve never written for Hotch before, so it was nice to branch out! I hope you like it. 

More Criminal Minds: HERE

-

He hadn’t been expecting you, otherwise he would have told you not to come. It was chaos in the bullpen, FBI and CIA scrambling about to finish wrapping up the case- a rogue agent on a kidnapping spree to get information on his family’s deaths. 

Aaron couldn’t help but pity him. The man’s wife and two daughters were killed in a car accident, but the nature of his work made him paranoid enough to convince him of foul play. And, while the CIA had been reluctant to cooperate, the working teams were able to reach a peaceful conclusion, the agent facing trial and the victims sent home to their families and lives.

You were surprised to find the BAU so busy. Of course, your husband hadn’t been allowed to disclose anything about the case, but you suspected it must have been big to require all this manpower. 

“Mrs. Hotchner!” A friendly voice called over the commotion. 

Agent Jareau’s smiling face appeared from a sea of serious scowls. 

“JJ,” you smiled, relieved to finally see someone familiar. “What’s going on, Strauss’s retirement party?” 

She laughed and made a face of ‘I wish.’

“Big case. Long story.” She took your hand to lead you through the wall of suits. “Hotch is in his office.”

“I think I see him.” You stood on your tiptoes to get a glimpse into the elevated office but there were just too many people. “Where’s the team?” 

JJ laughed and pointed to the conference room. “Hiding.” 

Sure enough, you could just spot the lanky form of Dr. Reid standing in front of the board, solving some long and complex equation. Agents Morgan and Prentiss were discussing something about the file in front of them and Dave Rossi looked like he just wanted to go home. 

While you watched them, another agent barreled by you, hardly noticing that you were even there, let alone that they’d almost knocked you over. Stumbling back, you reached for something to grab onto. 

A hand took hold of yours. 

“Careful,” Aaron, despite his cautious tone, gave you a small smile. “It’s a circus in here.”

“So I noticed, Mr. Ringleader,” you beamed, kissing his cheek. 

“Is everything okay? You didn’t tell me you were coming.” His eyes flicked down to your middle, worry growing with his words. 

You held up a to-go bag with your free hand. 

“Lunch emergency. Code red, Agent Hotchner.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, come on.” Keeping hold of your hand, he guided you through the mess to the somewhat quiet refuge of his office. He closed the door behind him, sighing with relief. 

“You have no idea how nice it is to see you.”

“I should hope so.” You gave him a mock pout. “You’ve been holed up here for two days. I missed you.”

“I know.” He leaned down, kissing you sweetly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You rustled his hair. “Hence, lunch.” You set the bag of pasta on his desk. “Mariano’s.”

Aaron smiled, leaning his head back with a happy sigh. “You’re a saint.” 

“I know.” You took the containers from the bag and placed them on his desk. “The team looks tired.” You handed him a fork.

“It’s been a long few days.” Aaron took on his serious work-voice. He gazed out over the bullpen. There was a tension you knew all too well built up in his shoulders. Like he held the weight of the world on them. 

“Seems like it.” Tearing off a piece of garlic bread, you watched him watch the world. He stood there for a while before you gently grabbed his hand. “Aaron.” You brought his hand to your lips. “Eat.”

Like snapping out of a trance, your husband returned to himself, his eyes softening and the hard set of his mouth lifting into a smile. 

Aaron moved his chair around his desk to sit beside you rather than across, his leg grazing yours. You passed him the garlic bread. 

“So,” you started, popping a piece into your mouth, “anything not super-secret-classified about your day?” 

He thought for a moment. “Reid recited three pages of Freud from memory, Garcia continues to scare me with her hacking ability and my beautiful wife brought me lunch.” His leg nudged yours again affectionately. “What about you?”

“Nothing special,” you shrugged. “I just got assigned the Brunner case.” 

Aaron coughed, nearly choking on his chicken parm. 

“The ADA’s giving it to you?”

Your face broke into a wide, excited smile. You nodded. “She said, and I quote ‘You’re the only one I trust to get that bastard behind bars.’” You beamed. 

Aaron set his food aside and pulled you into his arms. “Sweetheart, that’s amazing.” He kissed your forehead, then your lips. 

Your husband wasn’t one for PDA, so any exception always made you feel like a blushing schoolgirl. 

“I start prep on Monday,” you said as he sat back again. “Then maybe you’ll be the one waiting up for me.” You stole a bite of his meal. “Lot of late nights in my future.”

His excitement slowly morphed into concern. 

“Before you say anything, I already spoke with Dr. Brown, and she said I'll be fine as long as I still get plenty of rest.”

“And do you actually plan on getting plenty of rest?”

You raised a brow, teasing, “Are you the pot or the kettle in this scenario?”

He snorted. “Well, honey, I’m not four months pregnant.” 

“I could still kick your ass in court and you know it, Agent Hotchner,” you smirked.

“I don’t doubt it.” He picked at his food, seemingly lost in pleasant thought. 

You, content that you’d won the potential argument, glanced back out at the office. A harsh tension still hung in the air, the two agencies clearly not thrilled to share their success with the other. Familiar faces emerged from the other room, prompting your question.

“Have you told them yet?” 

“Told who what?” Aaron asked, pretending to be more focused on his food than what was on his mind. 

You rolled your eyes. “The team. About…” You pointed at your almost-showing belly. 

“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “No.”

“You should.” You looked at Reid���s fidgeting hands and Prentiss’s tired frown. “They look like they could use some exciting news.”

He nodded but didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. You may not have been a profiler, but you knew your husband. 

Telling them made it real. Real meant the real world. The real world meant danger. Danger meant loss. The longer you could both live in the beautiful, safe, fantasy world, the easier it seemed. 

“Aaron-” You started, but were interrupted by an awful shrill mechanical shriek. You grimaced, putting your hands over your ears. “Don’t tell me there’s a fire drill.”

Aaron shook his head, worry settling into his expression. 

“Stay close to me.” 

You made no argument there. Regretfully abandoning your meals, Aaron kept an arm around you as you reentered the chaos. People were cramming around the staircase doors, shouting and grumbling at each other. 

“So much for ‘calm and orderly fashion’,” you muttered. 

Aaron gently tugged on your arm. “This way.” 

One of the doors had a shorter line, but only slightly. By the time you made it through the door, the stairwell was packed with people hurrying down, paying no attention to the people around them. At some point, Aaron lost hold of your hand. 

“Y/N?” He called out.

That’s when he saw you fall. 

You didn't even see who ran into you. They just rammed into you from the side, pushing their way down the stairs. Your foot caught on the wall, your arms reeling for something to grab onto, but unlike last time, you weren’t fast enough. You tumbled forward. The people in front of you kept moving, leaving a set of hard stone stairs to break your fall. 

“Y/N!” Aaron yelled. 

You hit the ground and were pretty sure someone stepped on you. Catching yourself with your left hand, you felt a sudden, painful snap. You bit back the scream of pain, but it escaped nonetheless. 

“Everybody move!” Aaron’s commanding, panicked voice took over the stairwell, joined by other voices. 

“Mrs. Hotchner, are you okay?” Dr. Reid appeared in front of you. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“It’s my wrist,” you winced, trying to move your fingers. “But I think I’m okay.”

Someone lifted you up. 

“We need to get her to the hospital,” Aaron said. His dark eyes were wide and frantic and focused on you. 

Morgan rushed by. “I’ll get the car.”

“Aaron, I’m okay,” you said again, but he ignored you. 

“Prentiss, find out what’s going on,” he ordered. “There shouldn’t be a drill.” He feared the worst. This was planned. Someone was waiting outside to gun everyone down. Someone was after you. 

“On it.” She hurried off as well. 

“I didn’t get a chance to examine it fully, but it looks like it might be broken,” Reid added. 

“Aaron-”

“You’re going to be okay.” He spoke more to himself than to you. “You’ll be okay.” 

-

You were, in fact, fine. A broken wrist, sure, but all together could have been worse. But then came his second concern. One you could clearly see on his face as he spoke to the doctor. 

“You really freaked him out,” Agent Prentiss said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this.”

“I told him everything was fine,” you sighed, laying a hand over your middle. You didn’t know how, but you could just tell everything was alright. It had to be. But he needed to be sure. “Thank you, Agent Prentiss. For getting to the bottom of it all.” 

“Please, call me Emily.” She smiled. “He must have thought it was something planned and sinister.” 

Someone had put a fork in the microwave. Apparently, agents are definitely not geniuses. Except for Dr. Reid, of course. 

You laughed. “The dangers of your job, huh?”

She shrugged. 

A moment passed. 

“So are you going to tell everyone?” She blurted. 

Your mouth fell open. 

Emily raised a brow. “It isn’t hard to guess by the way he looked at you. And you haven’t taken your arms off your stomach since you got here.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms fully. “Profilers.”

She laughed and put a hand on yours. “I’m sure everything is fine.”

Aaron walked into the room with the seriousness he usually reserved for cases. But when he looked at you, he let out a sigh of relief. 

“Dr. Brown said everything is fine.”

“I told you.” 

You wouldn’t admit it, but for a second you were terrified. But seeing him happy and relieved made it all go away. 

He was at your side in seconds, kissing the top of your head. 

“You thought Brunner was after me, didn’t you?” You asked, realizing why he’d been so interested in the alarm. 

“It crossed my mind.”

“Yeah, well,” you gripped his tie and pulled his lips to yours. “He’s going to have to try harder than a spoon in the microwave.”

“That’s not funny.”

You kissed him again. “It’s a little funny.”

-

The whole team was waiting, each looking more worried than the last.

“Guys, I didn’t get shot,” you teased. You held up the cast on your arm for emphasis.

“We know.” Reid gulped, fidgeting with his sleeve. “You just seemed to fall pretty hard and-”

“We just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” JJ said.

You peered at each of them and put your good hand on your hip. 

“Alright, how many of you know?”

The pretend confusion on their faces told you all you needed. You cast an exasperated look at your husband. 

“Damn profilers.”

The group laughed. Dave gave you a hug and Morgan shook Aaron’s hand.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Hotchner.” Dr. Reid said, smiling through his usual timidness. He turned to Hotch. “I’m really happy for both of you.”

“Thank you, Reid,” Aaron said. The two embraced, the sight warming your heart. 

You wrapped your arms around your husband. Aaron kissed your temple. 

And you would be okay. 

[wide-nose-and-wonderful]

Beginner’s Guide to Your Fanfic Tag Game

Thank you @megamindsecretlair for the tag! This is my first game so I'm excited to participate. I can only do three because I only have three active stories on this platform currently. Slowly but surely. Just to give a little bit of background. My blog is solely dedicated to Franklin Saint of the FX series, Snowfall. I admire other writers who have that variety of characters for readers to pick through, but for me in terms of content, I choose one thing and pour everything into it. I’ll just say the passion can shift into a one track muse. Obsession much? Yeah, I've always been that way, and that sort of drives my creative process with a lot of projects. Besides that, around the time I joined tumblr, there was a huge lack of Franklin Saint fanfiction around. This was crazy because the show ran for six seasons! Needless to say, I'm glad that more work for this awesome series is beginning to pop up here and there, especially highlighting Mr. Saint. Speaking from the perspective of a writer, he’s one of the most well written character’s i’ve come across in a long time. My hat goes off to John Singleton. He’s always been a great story teller, may he rest in peace. But anyway, enough about that. Here we go! 💙👏🏾

Make It Up To You:  Believe it or not this was actually supposed to be titled Fire and Smoke. If you caught it, the original title is mentioned somewhere in the beginning of the work as kind of an homage. This is the very first work that I posted on this site. The first approach didn’t turn out as well as expected. It was written to reflect an OC. That made the writing process a little complicated in terms of structure. I was thinking about how I wanted to move things around. Like do I leave the entire work in Franklin’s POV or do I break it up? So yeah, frustrated, I kinda abandoned the concept, and ultimately the story. Fast Forward a few months and I had found my niche. Second person POV was easier to write with the audience in mind. The reader is very much OC esk’ but since I don’t think that any YOU story written is ever gonna resonate with every individual 100% I feel like i’m in a good place with how i’m going about it. I also revamped the story poster to reflect the events of the new theme I was going for, and because I'm a visual by nature that was extremely helpful in writing the scene out. This work for me also serves as a measure of accomplishment because I had picked it back up, reworked it and more importantly finished it! I can’t describe to you the feeling of writing ‘complete’ down on my masterlist. One of the best days ever.  🙃

Write Me To Pieces: This story was my very first go at the whole Second Person Perspective writing technique. I think you can tell when you read it because we are smack dab in the mind of the Reader 100%. This reader inset is also my favorite. ‘The Quirky Black Girl’. It’s cool because I think her friend Candy balances her out. And I love Candy as a side character. She's just so fire! Everytime she shows up, I laugh. This story is also a funny little poke at writers who write fanfiction. If you have kept up with the story this far, you’ll understand why. This story is kinda goofy, with drips of seriousness, but fluffy at times, truly it’s been a great ride for me as a writer to produce. This one is hands down my favorite of the three.  If all goes well, this story is actually a part of something bigger in mind that I have as sort of a personal dedication to Franklin. Come on y’all what did you expect, told you I’m obsessed. 🥴

The Choice He Made: This story came about from a single idea, a what if. Without spoiling anything since it’s not all the way complete for reading, I wrote the ending to this one and worked my way backwards. The process was really eye opening and fun so to speak because while the ending is not expressed in the beginning, you just know that it can either go one or two ways. The reader in this is a very militant minded and stubborn type of reader insert, and I think throughout the process of grief she goes through a transformation. It’s almost understanding her emotions and recognizing her process on how she’s dealing with trauma, and the people connected to it. That underlying theme of feeling powerless in different situations. This story was also one that was close to home. Ronnie, the reader's brother character, doesn’t represent one essence of loss that I've experienced, but a handful. So the story is almost like a personal journal entry. It’s been amazing to write this one. I can see it’s ending in sight. The ending I started with. 🤧

No pressure tags: @kumkaniudaku

Beginner's Guide to Your Fanfic Tag Game

Thank you @nerdieforpedro for the tag! I love self fic recs because I love seeing writers love on their skill! Im gonna do 5 as well. But you can choose how many you wanna do. And gonna challenge myself not to recc the same fics in the past 🤣

1. Through the Fire - Franklin Saint. It still has one of the best comments Ive ever gotten on my fics. I pulled from the show and it gave it more depth than I realized. I adore it 🥹

2. The God Who Stole Me - Loki. I feel I write Loki pretty well. And while I have a series with him, my one shots are so cute 🥹 this does have a degradation kink, but like all of my stories, it's always love at the core of it.

3. Break Me - Tyrone. I tried a new dynamic and I really love how it came out. It's the right amount of toxic and sweet and Tyrone being the one sprung or harboring feelings is something I deff thought was cute.

4. Have Mercy - Tyrone. This one was just pure nasty 🤣🤣🤣🤣 and purely for my own enjoyment. And if you're going to start anywhere with my writing, may as well start with one of the nastiest ones. To get my back blown out just like that? Whew 🥲 Yall would never see me again, Id never let that mf breathe without me 🤣🤣🤣

5. A Little Mad Sometimes - I had been feening for Ghostface smut and this was my first time writing a three-way. Yall dont understand the chokehold Scream has on me 🥲 or Matthew Lillard. I finally watched Five Nights at Freddys and may have to do a fic for him 😮‍💨

No pressure tags: @notapradagurl7 @wide-nose-and-wonderful @mybonafidefeelings @saturn-rings-writes @harmshake @halfofmysoulsblog

[kedsandtubesocks]

Mr. Winter

Santa!Joel Miller x F!Reader

summary: you wrote that letter to Santa as a joke (knowing he obviously wouldn’t answer it) until he does - and he comes with a proposition

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI. no outbreak/modern AU & Joel has both his daughters, marriage of convenience, unspecified age gap (reader’s age is not mentioned but is a drinking aged adult & Joel is older), yearning, fluff with light angst, grumpy but sweetheart!Joel, caregiver!Joel with slight sugar daddy!Joel vibes, brief moments of dealing with toxic family, Joel lifts reader once with his Santa strength, spicy thoughts, heavy making out, fingering, glove & finger sucking, use of “good girl,” Joel’s dirty talk & referring to himself as “old man,” one light ass smack, reader wears lingerie, Santa!kink (?), use of gendered language

word count: 9.1k (I’m sorry)

a/n: yeah… hi lol this is heavily influenced and based off “The Santa Clause” films but you don’t need to know those to read - biggest thank you to my favorite enablers & Santa’s cutest helpers @pedgito & @hauntedhowlett ily…also happy holidays, if you’re reading this I can’t thank you enough & hope a little magic comes your way ♡ divider credit to the ever talented @saradika-graphics

You wrote the dumb letter at the end of the semester class party. You’re thankful everyone decided to write papers instead of having a final, a grad school blessing, which meant class was done by the last week of November. Your professor even had set up the cutest Letters to Santa Station, and your friend begged you to write one with her.

So you did.

And you jokingly asked Santa for one thing - to send you a boyfriend.

Of course you know the big guy isn’t real and wouldn’t ever answer. It’s why you didn’t think much of it.

But now, if there’s any hope Santa could be real, you wonder if maybe he could just grant you one small wish…

You’re happy for your best friend, you truly are. Her wedding reception is beautiful, you just need a moment.

It finally hit you that you’re the last of your friend group not married. And as the cozy colder winter days bring in the couples closer during the slow song, you simply take a moment outside to collect yourself.

The once warmed spiked hot chocolate you’ve been enjoying now sits cold, not so festive.

Someone calls to you, says your name in a thick southern molasses smooth accent you don’t recognize.

Turning to the door, you definitely don’t know who this man is because you would have remembered someone this stunning.

Dressed down in some jeans and a sharp looking blazer, there’s almost a cowboy like air to this man. Rugged, older with lovely streaks of wrinkles and shining grey hair, a gorgeous sharp hawk nose, and dark as the deep earth eyes stare at you - he’s flat out gorgeous.

“Got your letter.” He cryptically announces, and confusion clusters in you.

This handsome stranger lifts up the overly festive candy cane colored envelope, the one you picked at the party a few days ago when you wrote your letter to Santa.

Slightly panicked, now you question who this man is.

The mystery man fidgets, painting him younger. He shifts to put his hands on his hips.

“Alright… there ain’t no easy way to put this, so imma just say it.” He starts. “I got many names… Father Christmas, Ol’ Saint Nick. Shit like that.”

Those dark unearthed eyes stare unflinching at you.

“But you can call me Joel.”

“Wait…What are you saying?” Bewilderment and skepticism bubble in your voice.

He sighs, ancient and tired, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Don’t make me say it.” He grumbles.

“Wait are you saying you’re like, fucking Santa Claus or something?” You can’t even believe it.

His large hand moves away from his face, and the man, Joel, stays silent. The somber stillness makes this feel worse.

A disbelief filled laugh escapes you.

“Yeah okay, nice try.” You lift your drink to him, a slight mock cheers, then take a sip. It’s cold as hell and tastes bitter.

“I know it sounds fucking crazy as shit-”

“The Santa I know wouldn't cuss.” You playfully cut him off deciding to now embrace this joke.

His face grows foul, hard with a frown, not so very Kris Kringle like. With deliberate steps he moves slightly closer to you.

“Two years ago… who d’ya think dropped off that snow globe, huh?” His voice dips low, bordering a deadly seriousness, and you inhale sharp.

Two years ago, you and your mom’s favorite snow globe shattered. It felt silly getting so upset over such a strange object, but you couldn’t find a replacement anywhere.

Then after everyone had opened their gifts and family had left, you spotted a lone gift still tucked away hidden under the tree.

It was the snow globe, new and perfectly wrapped. You know you didn’t get it for your mom and the way she teared up, she didn’t get it for you. None of your other family members knew the significance of it.

“It has to be a Christmas miracle,” your mom had said. You didn’t believe it.

Now you stare a bit horrified and in shock at the man who knows about this.

Silence suffocates the air between you and him.

“Make a reindeer show up.” You blurt out.

The man, Joel, snorts dry and amused.

“Don’t need reindeer. S’a myth.” He replies low.

Your eyes narrow suspicious at him now.

“Can you make it snow?”

“M’not Jack Frost.” He scoffs offended.

“Santa always leaves snow from his boots.” You argue back.

“It’s for the dang effect.” Joel argues back.

“Can’t be Santa then.” You shrug.

He makes a disgruntled sigh of a noise. Glaring hard, he waves his hand out to the wind. Suddenly the wind blows strong, a howling gust rushing against you, so blustery you need to cover your face. When the wind stops you realize you’re lightly covered in snow.

You almost drop your not so hot chocolate.

Joel must sense your shock. He takes your drink from your hand, takes a sip and makes a disgusted face.

“Look… came here for a reason. I think we might be able to help each other out.

He’s here with a proposition.

“I… need a wife.” He declares with a deadpan like energy.

Now you almost laugh again.

“What, did Mrs Claus divorce you?” You joke.

“Never been married.” He frowns.

Oh.

“So why now?” Curiosity peeks up in you fast.

“Legal shit.” His words don’t allow for more prying. “I’ll explain it all later. Just needed to find ya to see if we can get this done.”

“Wait, why me?”

He lifts up that damn letter again, waves it around.

“Y’said you wanted a boyfriend.” He almost sounds bored.

“This isn’t the same.” You squak, indignant.

“Look,” he now returns to that deep somber tone.

“I need this. And you’d be… compensation.” His voice shifts slightly awkwardly.

He mentions your loans, all the debt you have, and how he might be able to help out. Your eyes feel like they’re about to pop out their sockets.

Commotion finally arrives at the door leading back inside.

Joel takes a sip of your drink, then hands it back to you.

“Think it over.” He says low.

The door slides open, and your other friend flings her head out.

“Hey come on! They’re cutting the cake!” She brightly exclaims, but her face scrunches up confused.

“Wait, who were you talking to?” She asks.

Your eyes flicker to the spot where Joel would be.

No one stands next to you. All that’s left is snow and the imprint of boots.

You also notice…your hot chocolate has been warmed.

-

“Santa lives here? In Austin Texas? What happened to the North Pole?” Walking behind him, you sound like a bummed out kid who just found out Santa isn’t real.

“Shit said to throw the FBI off.” Joel Miller replies bluntly, and you don’t know if he’s joking or not.

His house, rustic and cozy, holds a spacious warmth. But it feels vacant, unusually quiet for a man known to bring joy and the personification of Christmas warmth.

“So how does one become Santa?” You ask.

“Long story.” Another curt reply.

“Well, if I’m gonna be your wife shouldn’t I know these things?” Just saying the words aloud didn’t seem real.

You can’t believe you’re doing this.

The new home draws in your full attention trying to soak it all in. So many photos of two girls cover the walls and they grow right before your eyes. Curiously, you ask about them.

“They’re my daughters.” Joel answers simple.

Your eyes go wide.

He had children.

“They’re the reason why we’re here actually.” Joel adds while he moves around his cozy kitchen.

He reveals ‘Santa Claus’ is simply a title for someone to fill. It’s a hefty role. Joel was able to get away without having a spouse with his first daughter, and then again with his second. But now with her about to enter college, Joel was alone.

The stipulation to marry now stood between him and having the title stripped from him.

“Why do you even need to get married?”

“Some shit about needing companionship and other fuckin’ bullshit.” He gruffly explains.

“You could retire.” You offer.

“Don’t wanna.” He roughly replies grabbing papers out of a drawer.

“So your daughters… I’m sure they must’ve been over the moon knowing their dad was Santa.” You try breaking the ice more.

Placing a pen on the table, Joel sighs.

“Look, we don’t gotta do this.” He snaps tight. “This small talk and shit. The sooner we can get this signed and started, the sooner we can get this over with.”

His words sting, becoming sharp barbs that dig in deep.

“Fine.” You grab the pen ready to sign whatever the hell this guy has for you.

A back door opens, and commotion follows. A handsome younger man, with the same dark eyes like Joel that instead sparkle, walks into the kitchen from the garage. Following him are two much older gentleman, one with kind eyes and the other with a glare that could whither a field

“Well now, is this the soon to be Mrs Joel Miller?” The youngest of the bunch says bright and sunny.

Joel introduces you to his brother, Tommy, who is an exact opposite to his sour puss older sibling. Frank, an old family friend, is here to officiate the ceremony. His husband, Bill, would be the other witnesses besides Tommy. Frank and Tommy are thankfully sweet, obviously curious about you.

“Can we get this fuckin’ done with?” Joel snaps.

Now your annoyance triples, and you’re thankful Tommy and Frank chide Joel. Bill snorts amused.

But wanting to leave now too, you’re quick to agree to start the ceremony.

It’s done short and simple in the kitchen - Frank asking you and Joel to take each other as husband and wife. You agree briskly. Joel just nods. There’s not even an exchange of rings, or a kiss to conclude the ceremony.

Joel simply sticks his hand out, a damn handshake becomes your official agreement, your binding wedding vow.

You maybe should have read over the marriage agreement more, could have been smarter and brought a lawyer, even one that might have believed you. But you’re pissed. You simply sign the papers, let Frank go over the documentation, then gather your things.

“Wait, you ain’t gonna stay for lunch?” Joel suddenly questions seeing you get up to leave.

“We got this over with, didn't we, husband? That’s all you wanted right?” Your words are clipped, polite but sharp, that they even sting you.

You apologize to Tommy and Frank for meeting like this. Yet you don’t say another word to your new husband who feels more of a stranger than ever.

-

When you get back to your mom’s place a new sticky note sits on your night stand.

Sorry about today, let me make it up to you.

-J

Underneath is his phone number.

Guess he’s showing off the very classic Santa trick of slipping into houses without anyone noticing he pulled off a breaking and entering.

He answers on the second ring when you call.

“I got Santa’s personal number?” You offer with a gentle treading tone.

“Yeah, yeah.” Joel huffs.

It eases the tension. But hesitation still brews thick, an awkwardness of trying to talk to a stranger who just so happens to be your new husband.

“Uh, shit…Sorry about earlier. Didn’t end up eating lunch. You up for a bite to eat? I'll pay?” His voice is open, letting you decide.

Agreeing, he shows up to your door in record timing.

“Is this traveling fast a Santa thing? How can you travel so fast?” Your curiosity gets the best of you.

Joel simply smirks, not answering, but the silence dances playful now.

He takes you to a cozy barbecue spot on the lake. The Texas winter makes the days crisp, almost stuck between autumn and full blown winter. But in the midday sun, it's rather lovely.

“I’m surprised you’re not busy with everything coming up.” You’re trying stepping into the conversation as eased and natural as possible.

“If I’m tryin’ to scramble to get shit done by now, then I ain’t doing my job right.” He says taking a sip of his beer, and his words ignite a burst of heat in you.

It's attractive… he’s attractive. You can’t deny that.

Lunch is surprisingly casual, relaxed. Joel asks about grad school and about your major, asks about your family. It vaguely feels like a regular first date.

However this is treading the waters between you and him and this strange new circumstance.

This situation has been gnawing at you. Anxiously, you wonder if he judges you for agreeing so quickly, for jumping in because of the money.

“Hey,” it's like he senses your quiet already.

“You still don’t gotta do this. I can head back home right now, rip up those papers and start again.” A sincere tone, gilded in understanding, rings in his voice.

He’s giving you a way out. You shake your head.

You want to see this as something good. So raising your drink up, it’s another cheers to him. This time Joel moves to toast you with his beer.

“I’d call this the strangest wedding reception ever but hey, I’ll take it.” Joel nods. His mountainous shoulders drop seemingly relaxed more.

You laugh, and for the first time, it feels like you’re sitting across a new friend now… who just happens to be your husband.

-

You and Joel start texting. It’s still a bit awkward, and he’s a dry texter which doesn’t help. You get tempted to send him Santa memes, but you’re not sure you can joke with him more.

You check your loans. They’re still there looming like a thick unmovable sludge. So he hasn’t paid it off yet.

Reality and acceptance settles in. This man, the embodiment of Christmas joy, is just that busy even though he said he wasn’t.

At least you helped, or maybe unknowingly sold your soul away and just don’t know it yet. Whatever it is, you slip back into your regular routine and head back to your mom’s.

Pulling up an unknown older red truck sits in front of the house, and you wonder who’s its owner.

Walking inside your mom announces she’s in the kitchen. Tools scattered along the table are a reliving sight. So it’s just the plumber she finally called.

“You didn’t tell me the guy you were seeing is a handy man.” Your mom whispers excitedly.

As if on cue Joel struts out from the bathroom looking something straight from a hallmark movie. The green plaid shirt he wears compliments him beautifully, and it’s hard not to stare at him and his delicious broad ass shoulders.

“Hey.” He greets with a half smirk.

“Was in the neighborhood, wanted to stop by and see if ya wanted to get dinner tonight. Then I remembered you telling me about your mom’s sink.”

You mentioned that during your first lunch with him. How did he remember?

Something soft, swirling with longing, fills your chest, and you try swallowing it back. As thanks, your mom happily suggests Joel joining for dinner here, and panic strikes you fast.

Joel grins bigger seeing you scramble to dissuade him. Of course he agrees.

You never would have guessed Joel ‘prickly as a Christmas cactus’ Miller is a charmer. He even pays for takeout much to your mother’s surprise.

“Didn’t know he was so much…older.” She hesitantly comments when he leaves.

“It’s been nice dating someone more mature.” You half lie. You aren’t ready to tell her the guy is your husband.

Later you text him thanks for fixing the sink and for dinner.

What are husbands for? He replies back.

And you really wish you knew.

-

You’ve wanted to go see the trail of lights, but with your mom working late for the holidays and your friends out of town, you consider making the trip alone.

Until your phone rings.

Joel has now started calling you, simply to chat, ask about how your day is, even just to check up on you. It makes your heart jump.

“Whatcha up to?” His voice rumbles deep and wonderful over the phone.

“Wanted to go to the trail of lights but might skip. No one wants to go.” You sigh.

“I’ll go.” He quickly replies, and your head spins.

If you thought Joel in plaid was a deadly force, him in a thick winter brown coat that highlights his strong frame is an utter sight.

The array of candy colored lights coat the world in a beautiful celestial dream. You’re thankful it’s not busy tonight.

“I’ve always loved Christmas lights.” You admit. It’s one of your favorite parts of being back home.

Surprisingly, he curiously asks about you more, what brought you back home. You of course tell him the truth. Out of state college got too expensive in undergrad, and now going to grad school expenses started piling up.

“So I’m back home.” You simply shrug.

“Ain’t no shame in it.”

You beam at his earnest words.

“Y’know, I haven’t been here in so long.” Joel admits. “Used to come here with the girls all the time when they were little.”

Wanting to embrace this tiny step he’s taking, you ask what they’re like. A soft look, one molten and fatherly, blooms over his face. It suits him, like he was born to be a dad in any lifetime.

Sarah is his eldest, a sweetheart going to school to be a journalist. He had her when was young, way too young, and her mother wasn’t big on wanting to raise a kid at that age.

“So it was just the two of you?” You softly ask.

“Yup, until our Ellie came along.” He nods while another soft grin tugs at his lips.

He tells you Ellie is adopted.

“S’actually a wild story.” Joel begins. “Found her during a run.”

A run, you learn quickly, is when he’s out on Christmas Eve.

“Newborn baby crying on the edge of the fire station. It was freezing as shit that night. Couldn’t just leave her there.” He mutters lost in the memory.

You and him have slowed your walk, now almost glued to each other side by side.

“Was a goddamn miracle.” He adds nodding.

“That’s beautiful, Joel.” You admire, meaning your words.

He goes on telling you Ellie’s already working in her last year of high school, ready to move out, be on her own, ready to start college.

“So I bet when they were kids they were thrilled to know their dad was… who you are.” You state with a warm grin.

Joel barks hollow.

“Couldn’t even threaten them with the naughty list deal. To them I’ll always be dad.” His voice twinkles, it’s like peeling away at the rough exterior to realize Joel is just an extra toasty marshmallow.

He’s still so warm and soft on the inside.

“Can I ask… how did it happen?” You’re worried he’s going to shut you out like he did last time.

But a heavy exhale leaves him. And he tells you…

About a night driving home during the bad snow storm that came many years ago. He stopped to help this man on the side of the road, who he assumed was a mall Santa that had gotten into an accident.

“Instead it was the real fucking deal.”

After that, the previous holder of the title passed away, leaving Joel to take up the mantle.

“Had to say yes,” he says with a shrug. “Even at five years old Sarah was bossin’ me around, telling me I had to…. Haven’t regretted it since.”

Iridescent adoration swallows your body whole begging you to embrace Joel Miller wholly.

“It’s wonderful. It’s brought you so many amazing things,” You can’t even hide your admiration anymore, don’t want to. You don’t want to fight this. You’d be his real fake wife for long as he would let you.

Joel’s face turns to you. His eyes glance straight into your very being, the lights dance among his endless earthen eyes. You want to get lost in the twinkle, already hating how badly you feel drawn to this man.

You try taking in every ounce of Joel here under the cloak of lights. He’s a dream, this fake husband of yours, one that feels like you’re simply allowed to admire but never touch.

Being this close to him, your eyes unfortunately drift to his lips. How bad would it be to kiss this man?

There’s plenty of songs about kissing Santa Claus. Would you simply not be embracing the holiday spirit?

A distant car horn honks and causes you to jump, breaking the hypnotic spell Joel has cast on you. Walking out, sadly heading home, you finally notice something.

It could be the shade of the lights, but the greys in Joel’s beard are starting to appear white.

-

The week before Christmas is a chaotic cluster. So much cleaning and shopping, you want to scream. Joel calls you while you’re braving the mall.

“You sound exhausted, honey.” He says, and the pet name isn’t lost on you.

But it is lost on your rant though. You’re exhausted from trying to find these specific dang muffins your grandmother only refuses to eat while also trying to find a gift for your cousins.

“Gift cards are a lifesaver for a reason.” He comments casually.

“You grant Christmas wishes for a living, and that’s your answer.” You snort.

“I’ve delivered my share of ‘em, so hell yeah they are.”

Even in the mess of the mall’s chaos you laugh. In such a short amount of time, Joel’s presence in your life has solidified steady, unwavering, like he’s always been here. Long chats on drives home, him dropping by with groceries to deliver, it all unfolds so natural. You’re even heading over tonight to have dinner with him and his brother Tommy.

Once you’re back in the car, you notice a new bag sitting in the backseat.

Reacting in you discover not only the damn elusive dinner rolls you’ve been searching for, but a pack of gift cards.

A sticky note sits on top of them.

Don’t hate the gift card

-J

You blame the Yuletide spirit in the air, but your heart soars. It’s like you’ve been swept into a Christmas special. But, you’re waiting for the bad ending to come.

These feelings for Joel have only multiplied, taking root deeper in your heart. The sugared admiration for him now grows fangs becoming a dazed lust. You’ve had dreams of him sweaty and golden above you in bed. You ache to know what he sounds like, to know the feeling of him inside you, to get drunk on his taste.

Heading over to Joel’s you kick away those dangerous thoughts you have for your husband.

A sweet woman answers the door, who introduces herself as Maria, Tommy’s wife.

“Nice to finally meet Joel’s not so secret, secret wife.” She grins. Guess that meant she knew the secret too.

She knows more than you even do as she guides you out back. The shed sitting in the corner of the backyard is unassuming. Yet when you step inside, a full workshop, the size of a Costco, stands glimmering before you.

“It never gets old.” Maria whispers, sensing your stunned awe.

Joel finally steps into view, and you’re taken back. The white among his beard sits stronger. He’s in more comfortable clothes and the gray sweatpants are sinful on him. The sight of his strong arms, his tummy through his tight white shirt, all make you think of biting into his skin -

You yank yourself out of the feral thoughts. Especially when Joel spots you. He blinks, just as stunned as you are.

“Hey, sorry. Got shit tied up here. Y’don’t gotta stay, might not be done until... fuck I don’t even know when.” He sighs, running a hand across his face.

“Can I help?” You blurt out.

Joel blinks at you, almost like he didn’t hear what you said and even squints a bit making him as old as he is.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” You ask again.

Joel swallows. “You don’t, fuck...Ya don’t have to.”

You want to and determinedly tell him that.

His eyes widened like you just grew two heads. He recovers swiftly, nodding as he calls Tommy over. The younger Miller brother sees you and winks.

“Come on newbie, let’s getcha set up.”

You, Maria and Tommy are in charge of bulk orders making sure each package has the right amount and ready to be delivered.

“Does he… really have a list?” You ask with a whisper.

“Checks it twice too.” Tommy cheekily replies, and you laugh bubbling with disbelief, but apologize quickly.

“S’all good, trust me it took me a while to realize it’s real. But it’s something damn special once you do.”

You fully agree.

The night is long, but you don’t notice it. You get into a grove and get excited when Maria shows you some of the orders, children getting bikes, someone getting a new pair of shoes. It fills you with something luminous you can’t fully describe.

It’s a reward in itself when you finish a large order and high five Maria and Tommy.

“Well now, we finally get to meet the new Mrs. Joel Miller.” A new voice, smooth but curious, breaks the moment.

Behind you stand a small cluster of older men. You don’t know how, but you just know they’re all previous holders of the title of Father Christmas. It’s only confirmed when Tommy whispers it sharp to you. So these retired men were the ones pestering Joel.

“They usually drop by to do audits, checks and things, didn’t know they would be here this late.” Maria adds low.

“We’ve been wanting to stop by and give our congratulations, but Joel has been so keen on keeping you all to himself.” One of the older gentlemen winks.

You politely smile.

“You’re rather young.” Another man comments.

“Way too pretty for a grouch like Miller.” One, with a thick accent, teases with a grin.

Joel suddenly, as if summoned, comes rushing out from the side and immediately slides in front of you, a protective barrier.

“You’re running a bit behind schedule.” The snarkiest of the men comments to Joel. “Guess the new wife really has been keeping you away.”

Your face scrunches up pissed now, until Joel’s hand moves to hold yours, squeezing it tight.

“He even has you helping, dear?” One of the quieter men asks you, concerned.

“I’m happy to help.” You truthfully answer steady and firm.

You want to be a part of this as much as Joel allows. Not just because you’re his paper wife, but because you care for him.

All of the previous Santas now seem to survey you, practically staring straight into your soul.

“If you gentlemen are done harassing my wife I suggest y’all fuckin’ head home.” Joel barks sharp.

One of them scoffs at this reply.

The main leader of the group glances at you then back to Joel.

“You picked a good one, Joel.” He smiles with a chuckle.

“You take care of this grouch now, pretty lady.” The sweetest of the men beams at you, a twinkle in his eye.

“Get out.” Joel snaps cold, holding your hand tighter than ever.

In a blink, they’re before you, and the next, they’re gone, vanished into the wind.

Your legs feel like they’re about to give out, and you have to lean against Joel who sighs with the same relief.

In the rush, you swear you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head. Tommy and Maria greet you proud. You return back to your station, back to helping.

Until you realize it’s past 1 in the morning, and you can barely keep your eyes open.

“Hey, crash here for the night.” Joel appears besides you, steadying your arm.

“I’ll be fine, I can drive home.” You reassure him through an unconvincing yawn.

“No. You don’t need to. S’cold as hell out there, just stay here.” He urges, and you don’t want to fight him.

So you’re given the guest room and a spare change of clothes, which include an oversized UT Longhorns shirt and sweats, both obviously Joel’s.

Sliding his shirt on, your heart races. The exhaustion, you blame it on the exhaustion, when you pull his shirt up to inhale deeply. The smell is soft, comforting, a mixture of his cologne and something purely musk, purely Joel.

You wonder how bad it would be to touch yourself in his guest room. Glancing out the door to see if you’re alone, that’s when you catch a glimpse of Joel down the hall.

Busy looking at his phone, he’s shirtless and a decadent sight. You fully take in his solid build, the look of a man. His sweatpants have slung lower, revealing the thick trail of hair leading down to his cock. The pudge of his belly is beautiful.

He’s beautiful, and you want him more than anything.

The next morning he’s gone, already hard at work. You enjoy breakfast with Maria and Tommy who you already adore even more.

“Don’t be a stranger now, it’s nice to have a new face around. Plus Joel can’t stop talking about you.” Maria’s words almost make you spit out your tea.

Tommy snickers at your reaction.

Driving back to your mom’s, you already miss the chaos of the Miller household. Arriving home, your heart sinks seeing your relatives have arrived early.

“Oh, back from staying over at a guy’s house? Maybe you’ll finally get a boyfriend that stays around long enough.” Even though your Aunt is trying to be teasing, you already wish she could leave.

“I think he’s a keeper. He’s older too.” You mom explains with a slow whisper, and you send her a look.

Everyone unfortunately perks up at that.

“Really? Well, you know what they say, you should always question why a man doesn’t date a woman his age.” Your Aunt, with such a judgmental tone, tries to sound sincere but it slices you deep.

“It’s not like that.” You reply feeling a new sense of dread crawl in you.

“Is it a sugar daddy situation?” Your cousin jokes, and it gets too much.

You laugh bitter, fake, then head back to your room. You wish more than ever to crawl back to Joel’s.

Back in your room, something new sits waiting for you on your nightstand.

A flower, your favorite, in full bloom has a note tied to it.

Thanks for all the help

This time Joel signs his name with a little scribbled heart.

You cherish it more than gold.

-

“I…won’t be available these new few days.” Joel reveals, almost sounds guilty.

It’s the first time you’ve finally gotten the chance to talk with him free from curious family members trying to eavesdrop.

Here in the dead of night, your heart aches for him.

“I know, kinda figured.” You grin.

He chuckles.

Suddenly a selfish thought tugs at you.

The image has been plaguing you more and more. Does dress up in full Santa gear? He has to, right?

“So do you…fully wear the whole thing? The red suit? White hat?” You ask, waiting for the answer.

“…if I say yes, are ya gonna divorce me?” Joel replies gruff.

You laugh but rush to quiet down trying not to wake anyone. But you reassure him there's no need for divorce.

“Just… kinda wish I could see it.” You admit, feeling greedy wanting to witness the sight.

Joel stays quiet.

“Maybe one day.” He mutters.

“Yeah…” maybe one day.

“Stay safe out there.” You tell him when you hear him yawning more. “And get all the rest you can.”

“Yes ma’am.” He drawls, and you melt.

You don’t hear from him after that.

You deal with more annoying family members. Enjoy some delicious cozy food. All while missing Joel.

Waking up Christmas Eve morning, you see an email.

All your loans are paid in full. It wasn’t just your loans, but your mother’s. Completely debt free - both of you. She cries. You even get teary eyed.

One of your uncles makes a dumb joke about it maybe being a mistake.

“It’s a blessing,” your mom says, grateful.

“No, it’s a gift from Santa.” You beam, knowing no one would believe you.

However, a new fear starts morphing in you.

What did this mean for you and Joel? Is the contract completed? Is this over? Was it only to say he had a wife on paper, parade you as proof, then… never speak to him again?

The questions pester and haunt you the entire rest of the day.

Then night creeps in.

“You wanna leave cookies out for Santa?” Your mom jokes seeing you grab a plate.

“Maybe, but I think I might leave out a beer too.” You reply and she laughs.

Once everyone heads to bed and leaves back to their hotels, you sneak into the living room.

Never in your life would you have imagined ever needing to wait up to see Santa. Much less as a full adult.

And it proves to be a true test of endurance. You doze off a few times but quickly snap your eyes open, worried you’ll miss him.

Checking the time, it’s almost midnight. Of all the nights you want to stay up, fighting asleep is harder than ever.

You don’t even realize your eyes have closed until the softest graze of fingers against your cheek wakes you.

Panicked, scrambling awake, you snap your eyes open and whisper Joel’s name.

Finally blinking into focus, there’s no sign of anyone here.

“Y’left out a beer for me?”

Until the softest smoothest thick accent floats out into the quiet of your living room. You left the tv on, and the light of it blends with the glow from the Christmas tree. It bathes Joel in something sublime.

No classic Santa hat sits on his head, but the way his hair is scruffy and flat, he must have been wearing it before.

But the sight of him in the crimson suit, the soft white fur lined edges of the coat, how bulky and strong he looks… You’re reminded of a rugged cowboy Santa.

It all ignites a wildfire, and now you’re wide awake scrambling out of the blankets to get to him.

Not thinking, almost possessed by some ghost of Christmas present, you rush forward and embrace him. His body, sturdy and solid, radiates a warmth that encompasses you.

“What are ya doing up?” He whispers low while you clutch onto him. You need to touch him with your own hands, feel he’s real. You also don’t miss the gloved hands against your hips.

“Had to see you.” You croak out.

You pull back to look at him.

Finally, you take him in. It’s Joel, the same grumpy Joel that’s changed the oil for your car, who has a soft spot for the stray cats in his neighborhood, and is an amazing father - but it all collides with the truth of who he really is.

A watery laugh comes out of you and you hate that immediately you’re blinking away tears.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Joel immediately asks worried, letting his hands move to rest on your arms, a comforting presence.

You reassure him it’s nothing, trying to wave this reaction off.

“You gotta tell me what’s wrong or else Christmas stops and it’ll all be your fault.” His tone is somber, but you sense the tease, a classic Joel joke among his words.

Shaking your head, you wipe away more tears frustrated at your reaction. Then his hand, gloved but striking in size, cradles your face, and he gently strokes your cheek. Joel turns your face to him.

“Talk to me, honey please.”

You don’t know how to express everything that’s in your heart. It all feels too much - the conflict of realizing where you stand with him, the doubt that brews wondering if he even holds the same affection for you.

“I don’t wanna lose you.” You admit weakly.

It’s that you can muster out, all that you can do to sum up the bundle of emotions storming in your heart.

Joel’s eyebrows furrow. His mouth drops a bit. In the low light, the shadows on his face deepen like caverns aging him beautifully.

“M’not going anywhere. You won’t lose me.” He reassures, even squeezing your face soft.

Those endless eyes that normally stare so direct and with such a magnetic force, now flicker away almost boyish and shy.

“I’m the one afraid of losin’ you.” He mutters, like he’s admitting it more to himself.

His words unwrap your heart releasing so many emotions.

“Joel.” You whisper, a bit hesitant, and his gaze draws back to you.

He seems closer now, his coal-like eyes brewing something untouchable. Silence, a soft shift settles, you taking him in, and him doing the same for you.

You don’t know who moves first. But in a blink his lips descend onto yours.

His mustache tickles. His lips hold a hint of something sweet sugary, indulgent, or you wonder if that’s just Joel.

Strong gloved hands clutch onto you holding your tighter against his frame. He tilts your head, allowing him to kiss you deeper, and your mouth willingly opens begging for more of him.

It isn’t lost on you that you’re kissing Santa Claus, like a cheesy holiday song. But it’s the fact that you’re kissing Joel Miller that melts everything away.

Your fingers find his hair, running through his soft gray locks you’ve dreamed about. Joel groans, and you already want more.

With ease, he lifts you up with one arm and you squeak into his mouth. His chuckle vibrates against your lips, ticklish, until he starts to kiss your jaw, nibbling on the path of your skin.

You sigh, closing your eyes and drawing him closer when he places you back on the couch. Your legs curl against his waist, locking him in as you try molding into him, with him, as much as you can.

His lips find yours again, this time there’s a fevered edge to them. His tongue is messy, licking into your mouth desperate. You moan when he sucks on your tongue.

A blazing hunger takes over making your hips grind against him. Feeling his gloved hands slide up your legs, you whine digging into him harder.

Until he suddenly rips himself away, leaving you feeling empty missing his warmth and body against you.

“Shit…Really gotta go, honey. I can’t say.” Joel sighs. His heavy breathing, the tightness of his jaw, this is as hard for him as it is for you.

“Can’t you be a little late?” You softly question rising back up to kiss up his scruffy beard.

He groans when you softly kitten lick at his upper lip.

“Fuckin’ naughty little thing.” Joel growls.

You softly kiss his lips again.

“Guess that means I’m on the naughty list huh?” The joke slips out, and you already want to hide after hearing yourself.

Joel groans, but this time it’s ripe with embarrassment. You hide your face while he snickers.

“That was bad.”

“I know,” you agree mortified.

Even in your embarrassment, Joel presses a kiss to the crown of your head, and every worry melts away.

He stands up, pulling you gently up with him. Gathering you into his arms, this time Joel feels larger than life but also closer than ever, like he’s stitched inside your heart now.

“When will I see you again?” You hate how badly you miss him already.

“Soon, I promise.” He reassures rubbing your back softly, and you nod back.

His hand moves to hold your face again, gently, like you’re a precious treasure.

And you think he might be yours.

Joel kisses you, the softest sweetest press of his lips that melts into your bones. And when you open your eyes, he’s gone.

All that’s left are the faintest hints of snow flurries on your living room floor…

And of course he made sure to take his beer.

-

When Joel said he’d see you soon, you didn’t think it would be the next morning, Christmas morning.

Softly a hand brushes against your face, slowly waking you. You find yourself back in your bedroom. The soft glow of the winter morning spreads a gentle light that covers your room.

Joel is here, kneeling beside your bed, and immediately you turn towards him.

In this light, his greys look softer, thicker in their shade, like beautiful white streams run from his temples. And his beard looks as if snow flurries have been peppered in more. The red velvet of his suit looks brighter. Your fingers run across the fabric, across his shoulders.

You whisper his name, yet a sadness creeps in again.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” he nods.

“Are you okay… with us?” It’s a stumbled way to ask, but it’s all you can get out.

Is he okay that you’re much younger than him?

“Yeah, of course.” He nods.

“Actually, Ellie and Sarah were the ones who told me to go for it.” He admits fondly, sleepily.

“They said I needed to be selfish for once, let myself have this…”

His eyes watch you as you sit up to reach him.

“Is that why you were so cold when we first met?” You ask.

Joel nods, sighing.

“Felt awful knowing I was doing this to you, someone so dang young, so fuckin’ beautiful. Hated that you were stuck with a mess of ‘n old man like me.”

“I’d pick you everytime.” The words escape fast. You can’t even stop them.

Instantly he swoops in kissing you with an unchained passion that makes you dizzy.

Immediately you tug at him, begging him to crawl onto the bed. You sigh in bliss when he does, making your mattress creak ever slightly with his glorious solid frame.

His kisses are drenched in a poison intoxicating you.

Clutching onto Joel’s shoulders, you lift your hips when his gloved hands tug at your pj pants.

That’s when you hear the faint laughter of everyone downstairs awake. You freeze. Joel senses your hesitation. That gorgeous nose of his nuzzles against your jaw breathing in the scent of you.

“Y’gonna be a good girl and keep quiet for me?” His thick low voice is all you need because you’re nodding yanking at his shoulders to kiss him again.

This kiss dances along the edge of something fierce and wild, like you’re trying to contain it, hold it back before it spreads and someone hears.

Until Joel’s gloved fingers slip inside your wet heat, and you slap a hand over your mouth to hold back a moan. Feeling his black leather glove inside you has your eyes roll back. Then when you rest your head against the soft fur lining of his coat, it creates such a dizzying sensation you want to get lost in.

“Oh fuck.” He drawls, hoarse.

His fingers pump in and out of you, and the squelch of your wetness sounds downright obscene now. Joel revels in it.

“Letting this ol’ man winter fuck ya while everyone’s down stairs waiting…Y’like that baby?”

You whimper, nodding, clutching onto him harder trying so hard to keep quiet. Then he removes them from your pussy and you whimper at the loss.

Until he draws his gloved fingers, shining and coat in your arousal, up to your lips.

“Can ya clean ‘em off for me?” He mutters.

Without hesitation you pull them into your mouth and suck, letting your tongue wiggle across the leather. You moan tasting this union of you and the leather.

“Shit,” Joel croaks like he got punched in the gut.

Quickly he yanks his hand out from your mouth, rips his gloves off and kisses you feverish.

“Need to feel ya.” He sounds drunk as you feel, even more when his bare fingers thick and warm slip into you again.

He makes you come so fast it knocks you breathless, feeling hot even with the cooler temperature in the room. You whisper begging him to fuck you, to take you here before he heads home -

“Can’t darlin’, but soon I will. I promise.” He reassures you kissing your lips over and over.

“And Santa always keeps his promises, yeah?”

That shouldn’t be so hot, but it is. You greedily kiss him, trying to devour him even more.

“Jesus,” he growls, his accent thicker than ever. “Makin’ it so fuckin’ hard to leave.”

“Then don’t.” You beg.

But then the voices downstairs get louder, and the smell of food warming up floats in.

Joel sighs deflated. You know this is the end for now.

Rubbing his wonderful nose against yours, you lean to press your forehead to his. He breathes out your name, and it sounds like a blessing.

“Merry Christmas, honey.” He whispers softly to you.

A knock comes at your door, and in a panic you drag your blanket up around you.

“You awake yet?” Your mom jokingly asks.

You definitely are now. Of course Joel has vanished.

But something tickles the top of your head. Bundles of mistletoe, twisted among so many lovely ribbons, bloom all along your bed frame.

-

One Christmas Later

“Did I ever show you the shirt Ellie and Sarah sent me last week?” You ask, and Joel, half paying attention, hums.

He pulls his attention away from the Dallas Cowboys game long enough to glance at your phone.

The shirt reads - Mrs Claus but Married to the Grinch

He rolls his eyes, not finding it as amusing as his daughters did.

“Or what about this one.” You show him the next option.

This one, in bright gold lettering, says - Santa’s Sexy Girlfriend

“No.” He flat out pushes the phone away making you laugh and lean against his strong shoulder.

This would be the last night before he heads out on his run. This will also be the first night you get to see him leave, and the first night you’ll get to wait for him now living at his home.

The memories and days that have brought you here are strung up in your heart, luminous multi colored tinsel you never want to take down.

“It’s actually one of the first years we’re ahead of schedule,” Tommy says when you greet him back at the workshop.

“That wife of yours is really something.” Though Tommy talks directly to his brother he makes sure to wink at you.

You’re grateful you got to help out more this year, even enjoyed having Ellie and Sarah around when they came by to visit. But with Ellie now enjoying time with the girl she desperately has a crush on, and Sarah taking the day to spend time with her new boyfriend, it really would just be you and Joel.

A delicious heat crawls in you knowing what you had waiting for him.

But you almost forget about it when you start helping Joel get dressed.

Your throat dries seeing him buckle up his crimson pants, then helping him slide his thick coat on and how broad it accentuates his shoulders…

“You keep lookin’ at me like we’re gonna get behind schedule.” Joel mutters sinful.

“We’re ahead of schedule. We could…mess around for a bit.” You offer light.

“No, being ahead means I can come home earlier.” He very playfully and lightly smacks your ass.

You hate when he’s right.

With a kiss goodbye you send him off returning to the quiet home. You’ll have a day and a half before Joel officially returns. So you spend your time binging multiple movies.

You’re also thankful for the stash of extra cookies you finally found. Joel ‘I ain’t got a sweet tooth’ Miller isn’t so slick with his hiding spots.

The film your best friend recommended is cheesy. But during the scene where the main love interest comes to interrupt the engagement party to announce he loves the bride, cause you to pause.

In theory, you are Joel’s wife. Your mom even jokes that she practically has the most perfect unofficial son in law, if only if she knew the truth. Yet, you don’t have a ring, don’t even use Miller as your last name.

It’s silly, you tell yourself and try not to think about it too much.

So you instead enjoy more cozy snacks and the rare bits of snow Austin is getting this time of year. It’s magical, paints the world like something straight from a Thomas Kinkade dream.

The morning comes when Joel will be home, and you sit waiting on the bed. Don’t even mind you work up early for this.

Earlier confidence surged in you when you slipped into the gorgeous lingerie set. Now it itches on your skin as you sit worried. The bow sitting on your bra might be too much. You almost bought the cute risqué Santa nightgown, but you hesitated.

You didn’t feel like you could truly even joke about being Mrs Claus when you didn't even fully consider yourself Mrs Miller.

“Honey?” Joel announces stepping into the house, and your heart jumps into your throat.

“In here!” You yell back.

Waiting on the bed feels like an eternity passes before Joel opens the door. There’s still snow on his shoulders. His hair is starting to grow out more so it curls around his ears. He’s never looked more gorgeous.

Then his face falls and his eyes become full moons taking in the sight of you before him.

“Oh baby,” he whispers like he can’t believe his eyes.

You grin sleepy.

With eased measured steps Joel walks forward, and you’re reminded of a hunter trying to approach his prey.

He drags his fingers, ungloved, warm and callous from all the hard work he does, up your exposed skin leaving a trial of heat in their wake.

“Can I unwrap my present?” He mutters, allowing his fingers to drift with. Delicate touch across the top of your breast barely kept in by the lace covered bra.

“Yeah, Joel please.” You sigh, closing your eyes when his large hand suddenly grasps, squeezing your breast.

The poor lingerie doesn’t make it out alive.

Now you drift in and out of sleep, naked in his arms. Joel kisses your forehead promising he’ll buy you as many new sets as you want.

“Merry Christmas to both of us.” You dryly joke.

He laughs, but it sounds a bit weak, more like a cough.

“Uh, speaking of Christmas gift… y’want yours now or later when we wake up?”

That makes you bolt up fast from his arms.

“I told you not to get me anything, Miller.” You protest, glaring at him.

Joel rolls his eyes.

“You’re telling me of all people not to get you something?” He scoffs.

“Then I don’t want it.” You stubbornly pout back.

“Alrighty then, I’ll return it tomorrow.” Sleepily he shrugs and turns on his side giving you full sight of his glorious sun kissed bare back. You try not to linger on the scratch marks you left behind.

Now you persistently tell him to give it to you.

“Sounds like what you were saying a few minutes ago.” He teases with a smirk glancing over to you from his shoulder.

Now you roll your eyes.

“Give me the gift Miller, or else.” You shake his shoulder trying to sound somber like Joel himself, but a smile tugs at your lips.

Dramatically, he groans sitting up.

“Making an old man like me get up after the long ass night I had.” He says reaching over to his nightstand.

“Oh please, if I asked you to go another round you would.” You scoff.

“You wanna?” He asks with a curious mutter, and you shove his shoulder again playful.

“Fine, fine.” Joel grumbles.

After reaching under the bed, he returns back with a box…covered in dinosaur wrapping paper.

“Look, it was the only one I had left over here.” He explains seeing your confusion.

“Joel, you work at a magical workshop where there's an endless supply of cute Christmas wrapping paper. Why didn’t you grab some?!” You laugh.

“Didn’t wanna mess up the inventory.” He huffs, grumpy and classically Joel.

“You gonna open it or am I gonna have to hide it again?”

At his words you greedily rip off the paper.

You guess by the size it looked like a shoe box and it is, a familiar box you thought you threw away. Now you’re confused.

Opening it, inside is an even smaller box. This one is classically wrapped in green and red with a shining bow on top.

But when you pick it up, you discover the tiny box is heavy. There’s also a latch at the back begging for you to lift and open.

Inside sits a ring, dancing with a shimmering sparkle.

You already fight back the tears.

Is this what you think it is?

Whipping your face to Joel he seems hesitant, worried, while he keeps his focus on you.

“I know we might’ve done this backwards but…” he reaches for the ring, gingerly pulling it out.

“Wanna make it official now.”

You inhale sharp.

“Honey I’ll get down on one knee if you want, but might take me a while to get back up…” he jokes, but the edge of his voice is watery, shaky, like he’s the one barely holding on.

“But…will you marry me again-”

You don’t even let him finish before you rush to kiss him. The tears come, fast and free like a wave, but they’re beautiful. You embrace it all.

Joel slides the ring in your finger. The weight of the beautiful metal feels wonderful against your skin, but you don’t notice it. Not when you’re swept up in making love to your Joel, your fiancé.

The love bursting through your heart could swallow you whole and you would let it.

“I love you,” he admits against your skin, breathing out like he’s finally found a moment of rest.

“I love you too.” You rub his back soaking in the bliss among the sweat and heat of his body against yours.

It’s just you and your Mr Claus.

“I’m glad Santa granted my wish.” You mutter dreamy, not caring how embarrassing you sound.

That is until Joel lifts his head up, those wonderful eyes of his shine brighter than any northern star.

“Mine too, honey.” He mutters, kissing you tenderly, a sweet promise of more beautiful Christmas days to come.

[messrmoonyy]

- The gilded cage

Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader

Request- how about some of the girls going along to the mayors party in Saint Denis. Have you seen the cut content of Molly when she was meant to be at the party? So Dutch takes Molly along, Arthur takes reader? And what if Arthur gets a a little jealous of reader mingling and then they sneak away for some smutty time together…

A/N- this is my first Arthur fic so he may be a lil out of character whilst I get to grips with writing him. I also have not written straight smut in like 2 years. But we vibe. Enjoy

Also shoutout to @devnmon for supporting and enabling my rdr2 brainrot. You’re a real one

Warnings- 18+ | smut: unprotected p in v, semi public sex ( wc - 7.7k )

Masterlist / AO3

Saint Denis was a little too rich for your blood. You’d only ventured into the city a handful of times, but the times you had you’d decided you didn’t really like it. You felt too… common. You never had liked the wealthy, flaunting their security and safety that was wrapped up in dollars and gold. 

But. You loved money. God did you love money. And as much as you hated the residents of the city, you sure loved robbing them blind. You always had had a knack for making the rich mysteriously lose their dollars and their watches, it had been the sole reason you’d ended up in Dutch’s gang in the first place. 

You’d even tried picking his pockets at first.

But you were on best behaviour tonight. Under Dutch’s orders. And you figured as boring as that sounded, you’d oblige. Simply because the men rarely let the girls get involved with any of the interesting stuff in camp. There was only so much laundry you could do before your brain truly went numb from boredom. Only so much listening to Miss Grimshaw nagging at you to do some work or Micah antagonising someone over something stupid. 

So even with Dutch’s strict orders to behave and your dislike of the city, you had jumped at the chance to come along to the party. 

“ i can practically smell the money “ you sighed as you took Arthur’s hand to step down from the coach, already hearing the bustle of the party happening somewhere out the back of the mansion in front of you “ you sure I can’t go pickin? Just a lil “ you were half joking, half not. On the times you had wandered into the city, the stuff you’d gathered picking your way around the saloons and back alleys had been a decent haul. The stuff some of these people carried around on the average day was enough to fund the food for the whole of camp for a couple days or more. 

Who knew what kind of goodies they’d have on them in their finery. 

“ no miss “ Dutch’s stern voice sounded, but he was sporting a small look of amusement “ keep those talented hands of yours to yourself. This is about business. We steal nothing. That goes for all of you. Steal. Nothing. Unless it’s information “ 

“ don’t worry. I’ll keep her in check “ Arthur spoke with a small chuckle, placing a hand lightly to your back. 

“ this is why we shouldn’t have brought the women. They always cause trouble “ Bill complained, as he stepped out of the second coach with Hosea, making you scowl. 

“ I hope you aren’t grouping me into that Mr Williamson “ Molly piped up with a disapproving scowl of her own as she stepped out of the coach, seemingly more mad at Dutch for not helping her out more than at Bill though. Arthur offered her his hand instead, helping her step onto the path without breaking her neck in her extravagant dress. 

Always the gentleman. 

She looked wonderful and you had begun to wonder if she had owned that dress all along or had gone out and got it special. Maybe Dutch had picked it up for her. It wouldn’t surprise you if she had been lugging it around from place to place, waiting for some perfect moment to pull it out. She always did look more put together than the majority of camp. Though you really didn’t understand how she could walk in the dress she was currently wearing, skirts full and you guessed pretty heavy too. 

“ no need to bring you “ Bill continued. 

“ I ain’t even causin’ trouble “ you piped in, throwing your own scowl Bills way again “ When did you last contribute to the box anyways huh Bill? I don’t see you doin’ nothin’ but sit around all damn day. No need to bring you I say. Jus’ cause you ain’t got no lady on your arm you’re complainin’ bout me and Molly “ 

“ what? A lady like you? I should be damn lucky I ain’t “ 

“ why you- “

“ Bill I suggest you leave it “ Arthur murmured lowly, planting himself between you and Bill before you did in fact cause some trouble. Bill grumbled something, spitting on the floor with a look of disgust and turning away from you. 

Dutch sighed heavily, looking increasingly pissed off at the group in front of him and held his arm out to Molly. 

“ Miss O’Shea “ It pained you a little to know he was probably only being nice to her tonight for appearances sake. He’d been practically ignoring her recently. And wasn’t doing Molly any good. You hoped a night out of camp would do her well “ now would you all just calm. Down. We, are simple distinguished gentleman, here for business. So start damn acting like it “ you scoffed at that, making a pointed look in Bills direction as you did 

“ distinguished my ass “ 

“ play nice now “ Arthur said quietly, but you heard the smile in his tone as he did. He then offered you his arm as Dutch had done to Molly. But unlike Dutch the act didn’t feel performative, a way to blend in and appear far higher class than they actually were. Arthur actually was a gentleman. For the most part anyways. 

“ why thank you mister “ you said in a cheery tone, throwing him a coy smile and slipping your gloved hands into the crook of his elbow. 

It did feel a little funny to be walking beside him like that. All dressed up and in clothes that weren’t smeared with gun oil, dust or god knows what else. It made your mind drift a little to what life could’ve been like.��

Your group crossed the street, promptly being stopped at the gates 

“ gentleman “ the guard greeted, taking the invitation from Dutch’s hands “ the mayor doesn’t allow guns at official functions “ the way he looked at Dutch and the others was almost demeaning. Like he knew you were all riff raff and of course would be the sort to attend such an event armed “ Not after last years incident “ none of the boys seemed particularly thrilled to be handing over their firearms. Arthur in particular sighed heavily beside you as he handed his pistol over. 

He didn’t like being unarmed. Especially when he was out with you. You usually also had your gun belt permanently fixed at your waist. But it wasn’t exactly fitting with your current attire. 

Though you did note the guards didn’t even spare a glance to you or Molly, which in turn made you all the more smug knowing you had your knife tucked into your boot. Just in case of course. 

“ Luca here will take you gentleman to Mr Bronte. I believe he is expecting you “ 

“ I know you got that knife in yer boot “ Arthur said lowly so that no one else would hear. 

“ he ain’t said anythin’ about knifes. Only guns “ Arthur smiled and shook his head slightly, placing his hand over yours for a moment. 

“ that’s my girl “ 

You walked up the neat cobbled path to the mayors house then, unable to do anything but look in awe at the huge house in front of you. You’d thought Shady Belle was something spectacular, had walked around every room imagining what it had looked like in all its glory. Amazed at the vastness of the place and all the rooms it had. 

And yet it was nothing compared to this place. This was real money. 

“ I look okay? “ you asked, suddenly feeling ever so slightly nervous, smoothing your hand over your skirts. Even in your attempts to look as clean and put together as you did, some part of you felt like everyone would see you were a walking sham. 

All in all you knew you probably did look fine. The dress was the most lavish thing you’d ever owned, you didn’t even want to guess how much it had cost Arthur. It was still on the simpler side, skirts not quite as full as Mollys and not as detailed. But it was beautiful. Pale pink and ruffled shoulders and details on your skirts, gloves up to your elbows in a material so soft you’d sighed when you’d first pulled them on. 

It all made a nice change from the usual simple clothes you wore, hips weighted by skirts rather than your gun belt. And skirts that didn’t have a million holes darned over. 

And Arthur had picked it all out. Had picked it himself especially for you. 

It did make you smile to imagine him in the tailors, completely out of his depth when it came to women’s fashion but determined to find you something nice. Your big, tough cowboy staring blankly at fabric swatches and fancy hats. 

“ gonna be the prettiest girl here “ you smiled warmly at his words, hand smoothing over your dress again. 

He’d turned up that morning into your shared room of shady Belle, finding you hiding away from Miss Grimshaw on the balcony, the dress draped over his arm along with some fancy suit and tie get up for himself. He’d looked almost sheepish as he’d shown you it, promising to go get you something else if you hated it. Which of course you hadn’t. 

You’d practically jumped with joy at being able to go out on a job. The boys so rarely let the girls do anything meaningful other than tend to camp. Though this particular outing you knew Dutch had only brought you and Molly along because it would make your group seem a little more agreeable. Something about women making them look a little less intimidating. And of course Dutch and Arthur’s partners were the most obvious of choices. 

Much to Mary-Beth and Karen’s dismay. Though they had very quickly changed their mind at the idea of having to hang off Bills arm all night. 

It wasn’t exactly the reason you wanted to be brought along. But you took it. 

The inside of the mansion was as glorious as the outside, it almost made you angry that people had such wealth. That these people could sleep in a new room each night of the week if they felt like it, when people were starving outside of their gates. 

“ Hosea, Bill. Take the ladies out and enjoy the party. We’ll join you after we pay our respects to signor Bronte. Arthur, with me “ Arthur gave a curt nod 

“ I won’t be long “ he assured, hand slipping down around your back and leaning down to your ear “ hands to yourself “ you scoffed as he said it, looking up at him as he stepped away from you. 

“ I can’t promise “ you caught his smile as he walked over to Dutch and the staff. Disappearing up the stairs. 

“ it’s just this way “ one of members of Lemieux’s staff spoke, gesturing the four of you in the direction of some doors leading out into the party. 

“ let’s go ladies. You fancy a drink? “ Hosea said cheerfully, following closely behind you and Molly as you headed outside. You were ushered out into gardens, a mass of the rich and wealthy of Saint Denis all crowded around. Drinking and laughing at things you were sure were not as remotely funny as they were making it out to be. 

Bill quickly made himself scarce, disappearing into the crowds to do lord knows what, much to your joy. 

“ right. Champagne? “ Hosea excused himself to collect some drinks and you stood on the back porch looking down at the groups of people. 

So far removed from what you were used to. You wondered how they’d react knowing you and your little group were currently sleeping in a barely standing plantation home, half of you out under the stars. That you were frauds. Not glamorous and wealthy like them. 

In your experience the rich liked to pretend the poor didn’t exist. Unless they were hiring them as help. 

“ oh I missed this “ Molly said beside you, almost dreamily in tone. And seemingly more to herself than to you. It was quite possibly the happiest you’d seen her look in days. 

She fit right in. Her gorgeous dress rivalling that of some of the other woman down in the courtyard, her hair piled up on her head and her fancy jewellery that was actually hers. Not something stolen from an unsuspecting lady in town. This was Molly. Money and wealth. It still baffled you how she had ended up with Dutch, how she could leave that all behind for a life wandering. 

“ you go to party’s like this a lot? Before Dutch I mean “ she gave a small shrug, searching in her small purse for a moment before placing a cigarette between her lips. You could imagine an even younger Molly, a bright eyed teenager done up all fancy and weaving her way through a party just like this one. 

“ sometimes “ her eyes were scanning the crowds, practically sparkling at being surrounded by the upper class again “ wonder what kind of people are here “ she seemed to be talking more to herself than you again and very promptly dismissed herself, heading down the stairs and gliding between the guests. Like some true social butterfly, decked out in her finest. 

Hosea returned with three glasses of champagne and a slightly confused look noticing Molly had vanished. 

“ eh more for me “ he said with a smile, handing you your glass before promptly finishing his own and moving onto what would’ve been Mollys “ I’m going to do some snooping. You’ll be alright? “

“ I’ll be jus’ fine Hosea “ you said with a smile and watched him too disappear down into the crowds. 

It was interesting to watch them, to see them behave as if this entire event was a normal evenings activity. Maybe for them it was. But it all felt so… false. People who appeared to be friends but didn’t seem to even really like each other, some silent competition between everyone to have the better dress. The better hat. The biggest house. 

You’d take your creaky cot under the stars with Arthur any day, would much rather sit around the campfire getting tipsy and singing. Surrounded by real family. Real friends. Relationships built on loyalty and protection. Not on trying to out do each other. 

You walked between the small crowds, eavesdropping on conversations in hopes to find something useful. Something to take back to Dutch to prove bringing you along wasn’t a useless endeavour. But it was mostly women discussing their elaborate hats, sharing stories of the terrible jobs their maids did, or complaining about their husbands poker habits. Or gossiping about how they had heard one of their friends was in delicate condition. 

You heard mentions of Leviticus Cornwall, but nothing concrete enough to warrant telling anyone about. 

You tried hunting down Molly, simply to have a friend to stand beside and not feel so…out of place. But she had vanished into the crowds somewhere. So you planted yourself on the side of an ornate water fountain, simply hoping Arthur would return soon. Maybe he’d dance with you, or take you walking around the vast garden laid out ahead of you. 

You two never really got the chance to do things like that. Romantic things. Arthur had his ways, of course. He’d take you out riding or sit with you on his lap by the fire, telling you about whatever interesting thing he’d discovered that day. He’d bring you flowers he’d pick from time to time, find you interesting things when he went wandering, let you read aloud to him with the excuse he wanted you to get better at it. When in reality you had seen him confess to his journal that he simply just liked to listen to your voice. 

He was far softer than he appeared. With you anyway. And as much as you didn’t like the kinds of people in attendance, you thought it might be nice to pretend for the night. To be two wealthy young oil tycoons, dancing and drinking champagne together, gushing about your money and your jewels. 

You made your way through another flute of champagne before he returned, interrupting your frivolous daydreaming. 

“ there she is “ you turned your head with a beaming smile at his voice, relief at a familiar face “ been lookin for ya “ he sat down beside you, looping an arm around your waist “ you behavin’? “

“ course I am. Ain’t took as much as a pearl “ you said quite proudly, though decided not to mention that the temptation had truly been hard to deny. Not only were these people rich, they were getting drunker by the second. They were practically begging to be robbed. 

“ good girl “ 

“ it go okay with ugh.. what’s his name? “ you asked, turning to face him. He looked just as uncomfortable with the entire situation as you did. This wasn’t his scene. It never had been. He’d grown up just as poor as you had. 

Arthur robbed the rich, he didn’t fraternise with them. 

“ Bronte. Yeah. Fine. Dutch he’s tryna find the mayor or somethin “ he ran a finger between his neck and collar of his shirt, clearly growing uncomfortable with it. It made you laugh a little. 

“ you ain’t cut out for the finer life “ 

“ no. I ain’t “ he was looking around at the guests in a similar way to you. With a mild sense of disgust “ saw some woman back there, hat so big she were topplin over “ you smiled and leant your head against his shoulder, he tucked you in closer to his side and dropped a kiss to the top of your head. 

“ was daydreamin whilst you were with Dutch “ you mused. 

“ yeah? About what? “ 

“ playin�� pretend. Bein’ fancy for the night. Y’know dancin’ and pretendin’ we got buckets of money “ the small sigh Arthur let out made you wonder if he thought that was a life you pined for. It wasn’t. Not really. Yeah, you liked money but.. you just wanted to be comfortable. Little ranch or a cabin some place quiet. Not poor. Not rich. Just. Existing happily “ ain’t us though “ 

“ you and me we… we ain’t like these people. We ain’t ever gonna be like these people “

“ we don’t gotta be. Me, you. Some pokey lil farm someplace out west? Now that’s the dream cowboy “ he chuckled and nodded, dropping another kiss to your head 

“ that’s the dream darlin’ “ you both sat quietly for a short while longer, watching the rich get drunker and more foolish. The odd person acknowledged your presence, greeting you as they passed or tipping their hat. But mostly they left you alone. It was at the point that one man drunkenly stumbled into a bush a few feet away that made you speak up again. 

“ never thought I’d miss that damn swamp. But lord above… these people “ Arthur scoffed as he too watched the fool try and right himself again, leaves sticking to the pomade in his hair 

“ yeah. I think I need a drink “ he patted your side lightly so you’d stop leaning on him and stood up “ champagne? “ 

“ oh well ain’t you just so kind sir “ you said in your best attempt a dramatic upper class drawl “ and you gonna dance with me after mister? “ you asked with a teasing smile and he rubbed a hand at the back of his neck for a moment looking almost sheepish. But he was smiling, the sweet genuine kind he only really seemed to show around you. 

“ sure darlin’. But I’m definitely gonna need that drink for that “ he ventured back into the crowds then and you stayed put, continuing to watch the guests laugh and talk about how incredible their lives were. 

“ I don’t recognise you “ an inquisitive voice spoke, tinged with that accent that the wealthy had started latching on to in some attempts to make themselves sound more superior. Smarter. Whatever. You thought it was quite ridiculous. You turned your head to look at the man, seeing if he was in fact talking to you. 

“ talkin’ to me mister? “ he was eyeing you up and down like he was somewhat intrigued but amused by you at the same time. A stupid top hat on his head adored with plumes and the chain of a pocket watch hanging from his pocket. It almost made you laugh at how your brain immediately began thinking about how you could steal it and how much it was worth. 

“ I am indeed miss “ he stepped closer, puffing on his cigar and not taking his eyes off of you for a second “ I have frequented many of the mayors parties but you… I do not remember you “ a small wave of panic flushed your skin but you remained calm. Not recognising you was far easier to work your way out of than if he had recognised your face. 

“ I’m new in town. My… uncle. He’s friends with Mr Bronte “ the man hummed, sitting himself down beside you. 

“ so you’re here with your uncle? “ you shifted slightly at his closeness but remembered you needed to keep up appearances so forced a smile onto your face 

“ yeah. And my husband. He’s around here someplace “ the man’s eyes immediately darted down to your gloved hands, probably noting the lack of a ring on your finger. You and Arthur weren’t married. But you may as well have been. He often referred to you as his wife, and he as your husband. 

He’d ask you one day. 

“ a lucky man “ the man said, blowing smoke in your direction and still looking you up and down. You decided at that moment you very much wanted to steal his watch. Dutch be damned. Having to put up with the likes of slimy rich men for more than ten seconds… well you figured that warranted you at least getting something shiny in return. 

“ oh well ain’t you just a charmer “ you said with a smile, placing a hand to his arm “ you here with your wife mister? “ the man laughed and shook his head, scooting a little closer to you.  

“ I’m more of a… free spirit “ you gave a small laugh, trying not to crinkle your nose at the smoke blowing in your face again. 

Arthur often smelt of fresh smoke, both cigarette and fire, and that fresh air smell that clung to your clothes after being out in the open air for hours. And you loved it on him, because it was well… him. The smoke from this man was far from appealing. But that watch…

“ ohh I see. You ain’t one to be tied down huh? “ your fingers inched closer to the man’s pocket, wrapping lightly around the chain. 

“ everythin’ okay here? “ Arthur appeared behind you, a glass in each of his hands.  

“ ah is this the fine man that brought you along? Well aren’t you lucky sir “ the man spoke and you noted he didn’t even glance in Arthur’s direction as he spoke, you were now looping the chain of his watch around your wrist. Just one small tug…

“ Mr Callahan “ Arthur murmured, handing you a glass and standing behind you with a hand to your shoulder

“ wonderful to meet you sir. Me and your wife were having a delightful conversation weren’t we dear? "The pressure of Arthur’s fingers increased as he spoke the sweet name, though you weren’t entirely sure it wasn’t because he’d noticed the man’s watch was now safely hidden in the fabric of your skirt. 

“ oh yes. Wonderful mister “ the watch discreetly made its way into your boot and you were ready to get away

“ where’d you find a beautiful thing like this sir? I may need to frequent the place myself “ he placed a hand onto your arm and finally looked up at Arthur rather than at you. He made your skin crawl. You didn’t hold a single ounce of remorse for the stolen watch 

“ oh no where you’d like “ his tone was a little snippy, the kind when someone was starting to piss him off but he was trying to keep his cool. And Arthur kicking off in the middle of the mayors party wasn’t exactly a part of Dutch’s plan. 

“ now I am so sorry but i believe my husband did promise me a dance “ you rose to your feet, sipping your champagne before placing the glass down and taking Arthur’s from his hands “ ain’t that right my love? “ 

“ yeah… need ya to come with me “ he said lowly, offering you his arm. His face had gone slightly dark, not entirely able to read him, you frowned slightly. But let him lead you away from the man, completely bypassing the area with couples twirling to the music. 

“ where we goin? “ you asked with a small laugh, latching onto his arm again and having to take quick steps to keep up with his purposeful strides “ Arthur?”

He didn’t answer immediately, simply led you away from the crowds and around the side of the mayor's house. 

“ You mad cause I took that watch? Look he deserved it- “

“ ain’t mad “ he mumbled, still leading you along. 

“ okay… so we stealin’ somethin’ else? “ you asked with excitement filtering into your words, already trying to figure out what it could be “ need me to act like a maid? I can do that real good y’know. Is it money? Papers? Oh, is it jewellery? Gold? “ Arthur chuckled at your excitement and shook his head, bringing you to a halt between some elaborately trimmed bushes and trees in planters. 

“ we ain’t stealin’ a thing “ you pouted with a mild disappointment and he chuckled again, advancing on you and backing you up against the wall behind you “ don’t gimme that look “ he tucked his fingers under your chin, nudging your face upwards to look at him. He was a god few inches taller than you, but he always made you feel ten times smaller when he looked down at you like that. 

“ what’s gotten into you? “ you asked with a giggle, hands slipping under his jacket to slide over his waist. 

“ just wanted some time alone with you is all “ 

“ behind some trees? You are a strange man sometimes Arthur Morgan y’know that? “ he gave a heavy sigh and brushed his thumb across your cheek softly, watching you intently. He always looked at you like you like you were the only woman on the planet “ you sure you ain’t mad about the watch? “ 

“ no. I ain’t mad. Feller flirtin’ with my woman and only loses his watch sounds like a good deal to me “ he grumbled, leaning forward to press a kiss to your lips. 

And a light bulb suddenly pinged on in your head. 

“ are you jealous? “ you asked, unable to hide your complete utter joy and amusement as the realisation hit you. He grumbled some kind of an answer and tried to kiss you again but you turned your head to the side, so he settled for your neck instead “ why Arthur Morgan. You are jealous “ 

He didn’t answer you again, simply tilted your head so he could get at your neck more, his other hand splaying over your lower back to tug you close against him. A mischievous streak ran through you and you chewed on your lip for a moment deciding whether or not to push his buttons. 

“ he was kinda nice to me y’know. He seemed a nice feller “ Arthur’s teeth grazed your skin at your words and your smile grew bigger “ kept me from bein’ so lonely with you gone “ 

“ he wanted to do more than keep you company “ your fingers ran through the long strands of his hair, sighing softly as he continued to kiss your neck 

“ you think? You gonna keep me company now? “ 

“ oh I’ll keep you company “ you had said it only really to tease. Thinking that actually, a sordid little moment with your lover behind the bushes would be an incredible improvement on the evening. 

But it was hard to simply just kiss Arthur. He had wandering hands, had lips as addictive as whiskey. Even when you assumed he wasn’t particularly trying to work you up, he did. But the way he was tugging at your body to keep you pressed against him, the way his lips were burning a trail along your neck and across your jaw…

“ Arthur… y’know anyone could come round here “ 

“ stay quiet then and they ain’t gonna be none the wiser “ your skin prickled with heat at his words and your hips involuntarily rolled against him. Maybe it was the thrill. Maybe it was the fact that he was so… needy. Desperate to remind himself that you were his and not some stupid rich man in an equally as stupid hat.

He groaned against your hot skin as you pressed against him, the sound igniting something deep in your bones. Flaring up through your veins and cursing like lava through your veins. 

Your hands found themselves back under his jacket, fingers tugging at his shirt to free it from where it has been neatly tucked into his pants. You knew you couldn’t get it off of him but you still wanted to feel. 

You hummed softly when your fingertips met his skin, as hot as you knew yours must be. He loved to feel you touch him, loved when dragged your nails across his back, sunk your teeth into his shoulder to quiet your moans when you were dangerously close to other members of camp. 

You wished you could do it in that moment. Wished you were back in your room, truly the only good thing to come out of Shady Belle was the fact that you had a room. 

But Arthur didn’t seem keen on waiting. Seemingly having some point to prove to himself. And you were more than happy to let him. 

His hands drifted down to the floaty material of your skirt, reluctantly pulling himself away from your neck to frown at the material in front of him. 

“ why you gotta have so many damn skirts? “ he grumbled, fumbling with the layers of fabric hanging from your waist. 

“ you picked the dress “ you reminded him with a smile, chasing after his lips again. Desperate to kiss him properly now that he had stopped his assault on your neck. He kissed you with a energy that demanded your attention, that drew you in and locked you in place. Hot. Wet. Addictive “ least it ain’t as big as Mollys “ you said when you let yourself pull away. 

“ yeah well I weren’t plannin’ on keepin’ you in it when we- god damn there’s enough fabric here to dress the entire camp “ you couldn’t help the giggle that fell past your lips, watching him try to figure out how he was going to play out whatever sordid thoughts were running through his head. 

Your own mind had quite ungracefully fallen into the gutter itself, realising exactly what Arthur wanted. And your constant desperation for the man in front of you overruling all your concerns at the location. 

He seemed to be getting a little agitated with your dress and you held back the urge to giggle at him. Instead opting to try sooth the frown lines worrying at his forehead, reaching forward to palm at him through the material of his pants. In hopes it would be some kind of incentive for him to hurry up as well. 

As much as you needed him as badly as you needed air, you were also still aware of exactly where you were. And how long it would take until Dutch came looking. 

“ c’mon Arthur “ you whispered, desperation beginning to fill your words “ ‘fore they notice we’re gone “ it had been his idea to take you away, and yet you were seemingly the more desperate of the two of you now. But how could he or anyone else blame you? When he was all gussied up like he was. In truth you liked his normal attire a little more. Liked him a little more… rugged. But lord did he look handsome in his suit, his hair and beard all neat and tidy. 

Arthur’s breath audibly caught in his throat from your touch and it seemed to effectively spur him on. 

“ yes ma’am “ He spun you around with strong hands to your waist, your own hands bracing yourself against the wall. The next moments were a flurry of his hands hitching your skirts over your hips, grabbing at your undergarments before a strong arm looped around your waist to pull you back against him. 

His hand disappeared under your bunched up skirts making you gasp softly as his fingers dipped into the warmth between your thighs. 

“ this all for me darlin? “ you could hear the smirk in his words, feel it as he brushed his nose against your cheek. The short stands of his beard tickled at your skin, sending a shiver snaking along your spine. 

“ course it is “ the sound of a lady drunkenly laughing a little too close by made you freeze, hand reaching around to grab at Arthur’s arm. 

He didn’t seem discouraged by the idea of someone stumbling upon you both, simply moved his hand up to grasp gently at your jaw, turning your face towards his to kiss you. His other hand was still between your thighs, and you sighed softly against his lips as he drew a thick finger between the wetness of your folds “ oh Arthur…“ 

Your cunt clenched around nothing. As if silently begging for his fingers to just push inside of you, take you in a way you had always found so much more personal than just sitting on his cock. His fingers that held his guns, that he used to beat people to death more times than either of you could care to count. Those same fingers working you open, covered in the slick evidence of your desire for him instead of gun oil. Fingers that cause pain and damage, but also sent you spiralling into mind blowing pits of pleasure. 

And paired with the current location? It just felt… dirty. Erotic. You felt no better than a common whore loitering in a saloon for custom. You wanted him so desperately, needed him. 

“ Arthur “ you sighed, pushing your self against his hand as he toyed with your swollen clit. 

“ tell me what y’need pretty girl “ he said softly, tickling your skin with his beard and dragging his tongue across your neck before sinking his teeth into the flesh, making you whimper. 

“ you- Arthur. You. Please “ his hand continued its gentle movements as he worked at your neck. You pushed your hips back against him, grinding against the hardness still trapped by his pants in a way that couldn’t be comfortable. His breath shuddered against your skin as you did, holding you flush against him to let you wiggle your hips in a silent invitation to just take you already. 

A smashing glass drew your attention briefly away from him again. And as much as you could let him do that all evening, you were still hyper aware of your surroundings. 

You silently wished he’d just waited until you were back at camp, could take his time with you on that shitty little bed in the privacy of your room at Shady Belle. 

But there you were. And there were hundreds of others only a few feet away too. 

“ stop teasin we ain’t got the time “ at any other time he’d have worked you into a mess with his fingers, even dropped to his knees and disappeared under your skirts, have you coming on his tongue over and over again just because he wanted to. But he hadn’t planned the situation well at all, and you weren’t exactly in the best of locations. If anyone so much as peaked around the corner of the building a little too far you were certain you’d be spotted. 

And wouldn’t that be a tale. 

“ ain’t you bossy “ you opened your mouth to snip back at him, but your words evaporated into nothing but a soft whimper as Arthur followed your demands, pushing past his desires to take his time with you. Truly it was his own fault that he couldn’t though, as he withdrew his fingers and fumbled with the buttons on his pants. 

“ Arthur “ you whimpered softly, breath stuttering at the feel of his swollen tip brushing between the wet folds of your cunt. 

“ quiet now darlin’ “ He pushed in slowly, in the way he so often did. Making sure you felt every single devastating inch, your back arching against his chest as your body flushed with warmth. Even after so many times the stretch was still a lot, a deep burning ache that eventually melted away into a blinding hot pleasure that burnt its way through your veins. 

He pressed on until he was flush against you, the material of his opened pants scratching against your soft skin as he held you there a moment. He exhaled slowly, his breath warm against your skin. 

It was never fucking with Arthur. Not very often anyways. It was love making. Soft. And slow. And a brutal pace that made sure you remembered he’d been there the next morning, but oh so drawn out. He was gentle. Tender. It had always shocked you how violent he could be and yet become so careful and soft with you. And even there, concealed by a few perfectly trimmed bushes and planters, he was taking his time. Reminding you that you were his. And maybe reminding himself of the fact too. 

Reminding himself that maybe there were men only a few feet away that wanted you. That would pay for the pleasure of your company. But only Arthur could have it, that he was the only one you would ever offer it too. 

That this deep rooted instinct to protect what was his wasn’t entirely necessary but god was it wanted. That his desire made your blood boil with lust, skin burn under his touch. 

“ That’s my girl “ he whispered, tone low and steady as he set himself into a bruising pace, still tightly holding onto you as he did. His face had fallen to your neck again, lips latching onto every inch of exposed skin they could. 

You were certain you were going to walk back into the party looking like you’d taken a dip with some leeches. 

You tried your best to be quiet, teeth sinking into your bottom lip in some hopes that mixed with the sounds of the party happening only a few feet away you wouldn’t be heard. But it was so hard to be silent when he was fucking you like that. So determined, so strong, pulling out almost completely before pushing back in hard. 

Your hand was still gripping at his arm, blunt fingernails digging at his skin through his jacket. His pace increased a little, settling into a steady rhythm that carved a devastating stretch inside of you. 

“ y’know I think that feller- that feller back there. He wanted you like this “ you couldn’t help the smile that pulled its way onto your face, still flushing with joy at his jealousy. You knew Arthur desired you carnally. Always had done and always would. But a reminder like the present one was always nice. 

“ y’think so? “ 

“ I know “ he grumbled, his pace increasing a little more, clearly attempting to take out his frustrations with the handsy man. But also maybe simply trying to assure himself in the process too. 

Arthur didn’t like to admit it but he was a little self conscious. You’d heard him talk down to himself in the mirror countless times, had seen the way he spoke about himself when you peaked over his shoulder at his journal. Had an almost crippling fear of abandonment that sometimes he did need to be reminded that you wanted him. 

“ poor feller “ you said with a small sigh before pushing lightly at Arthur’s arm so he’d let you go. You winced slightly as he pulled out, immediately missing the heavy feel of him there, and spun around tugging him back towards you by the lapels of his jacket “ ain’t got nothin on you “ you hitched your skirts up in your arm and wrapped your spare hand around the now slick length of his cock making him stutter a breath. 

His face was flushed, bottom lip shiny from kissing you. You wanted to absolutely devour him, strip him of his fancy clothes and remind him just how much you wanted every part of him. 

The look in his eyes was almost primal. Desire and lust burning so brightly it made your chest ache, to feel so wanted. To feel so desired. 

To have a man so usually controlled and put together, be reduced to not being able to even wait until you got home. That he had to have you there. Right there in that moment. He couldn’t wait. 

You needed him to pull you apart. To worship every inch of you in the way he so often did. 

But the side of the mayor's house was truly not the place for such a thing. 

“ no one could make me feel the way you do “ you whispered, stroking him softly in your hand as you tried to stoke the fire under his ego. Make him realise he truly had no reason to be jealous “ and him back there? He thought he could huh? Poor feller “ 

“ poor feller “ he echoed, sliding a hand over your leg and hitching it over his hip, sliding back into you with a welcome ease that made your head fall back against the wall. 

“ Thinks he could fuck me better than this? Man must be damn crazy “ you said with a smile, breathless as he fucked into you. You were practically dripping around him, the lewd sounds between you enough to make your skin flush. 

“ you’re mine darlin “ you nodded immediately. Not a single doubt in your mind on the matter. You were his. And he yours. That was how it would always be “ all mine, you hear? “ 

“ all yours Arthur. Ain’t no man in this whole damn country could replace you” 

He moved with more determination, thrusting into you harder in a way you knew was going to bruise your back from rubbing against the wall. His all too familiar deep, hard pace. You pulled him down by the back of his neck, muffling your whimpers with his mouth cautious again that you were getting a little reckless. 

“ that good? Makin me feel so good darlin’ such a good girl “ the entire thing felt almost animalistic. Desires so strong they couldn’t be withheld. Dirty. Filthy. Perfect. 

“ God Arthur “ the look on his face alone made you clench around him, never wanting him to leave, needing to feel the heavy bruising sensation as he split you apart for the rest of your life. He hitched your leg higher, hitting some new devastating part inside of you that made you see stars. Eyes rolling to the back of your head and unable to contain the sounds escaping your throat any longer. 

“ There she is, jus’ like that darlin I got ya” his grip on your leg grew restless, fingers dancing over your skin and trying to pull you as close to him as he could get you. He always wanted you close. Always wanted to feel your skin against his own. A moment later his thrusts became sloppier and you knew he wasn’t far off. Though quite frankly neither were you “ so pretty for me like this ain’t ya? My girl “ his words only pulled you closer to the edge, knot twisting tighter. 

“ Arthur I- “

“ I know. I know darlin, can feel it “ he almost cooed, lifting a hand to cup your face gently “ that’s it look right at me. That’s a girl right at me “ with his gaze so intense you couldn’t hold it any longer, biting down on your lip as you attempted to conceal your sounds of ecstasy as you came over his cock. 

He was barely a second behind you, a stuttered groan of a sound leaving him as he dropped his forehead against yours, painting your slick walls with rope after rope of come as you clenched around him. Holding him in place so that not a single drop of him would go to waste. It was a risky business letting him finish inside of you, truly it was. But in your sex drunk haze you didn’t care, couldn’t give a damn because it simply felt too good to give up. 

He nudged his nose against yours, brushing his lips against your own and kissed you softly. So tender and gentle, his hand carefully lowering your leg back down, slipping his softening length out of you making you wince. He kissed the crinkles it caused to show at the corners of your eyes, whispering a gentle sorry. He soothed his hands over your waist with a care very few men had for women those days. 

“ my girl “ he murmured, littering kisses across your cheeks and nose. 

When he pulled back you couldn’t help but smile. The dopey, soft kind. He was looking far less put together than he had done when you’d arrived, the pomade in his hair no longer serving its purpose after your fingers had gotten to it. He’d broken a sweat too, his forehead shiny. His skin flushed. 

The smugness was overwhelming though, could see it in his eyes. In the small smirk pulling at his lips. He seemed incredibly proud of himself. 

“ you are somethin’ else “ he mumbled as he finished readjusting his clothes, reaching forward to slip the ruffled strap of your dress back up your shoulder from where it had slipped. Pressing a kiss to the skin there for good measure. 

“ I ain’t the jealous one “ you teased as you combed your fingers through his hair in some attempt to tidy it. 

“ ain’t jealous. No idea what you talkin about girl “ he said with a small clear of his throat in some attempt to hide the obvious lie, you simply smiled again and pressed a kiss to his cheek 

“ mhm sure “ 

There was something about having to go back out into the party with the light ache between your legs, with the evidence of Arthur’s jealousy slowly dripping down your thighs. And Arthur seemed to think so too 

“ now. I believe you wanted to dance? “

[wide-nose-and-wonderful]

SNOWFALL SEASON 4 Franklin.

Pairing: Franklin Saint x Soft Black Fem Reader!

Warnings/Type: Established Relationship. Hurt/Comfort, Soft Smut. Use of the n-word. ONE SHOT!

Summary: With life spinning out of control and the war ragging in the neighborhood, you come to find that you are alone more and more under the watchful eye of Peaches. Being without Franklin has started to get to you. Can he convince you that brighter days are ahead?

Word count: 8,083k / Please consider leaving a comment to show some love and support. Like this story? To read other works please check out the Masterlist.

“I was just gon' let sleeping dogs lie, but then you had to go behind my back. Talk about my bidness, and create a whole shit storm of problems for me and mine and I can't have that. Can't lay in bed at night knowin’ that at any minute my future can't get blown up by my past. So, if there's somethin’ you wanna say to me, somethin’ you wanna get off your lil chest then please say it now because after this I promise, I fuckin’ promise you there are no more chances!”

“Alright. There's one thing. Tell me the truth you'll never hear from me again. Admit that you killed my daddy. Be man enough to tell me that I'm not crazy. Give me that at least.” 

“Bye Mel. Take care of yourself.” 

…

When Franklin Saint walked into Dallas Fort Worth international airport at 5:45PM, on Sunday March 22nd, in the year of 85, he wasn’t sure at what point his childhood left him. When he committed his first murder or when he lost his shoes and encountered RayRay and his boys in jail. 

In the end, it disappeared. 

The old Franklin was somewhere blowing in the wind and gone like a distant memory long ago left behind. At times when the world managed to get quiet enough, he thought about Kevin, about the time he’d taken them to the beach. How amazing it was. So amazing. So new for Leon and Kev. Did he miss that version of himself? Or was he okay with the new one? Those questions remained unanswered in his subconscious yet to be challenged, but the point was growth wasn’t it? There was no way he would have remained the same through all of this. All the bullshit. While he may have looked unchanged, the mind matured with strategy. He’d married the game. Formed an unbreakable wow. Such logic justified the journey. Justified everything that led to him straying the course just to find Melody in Odessa to make a point. He would not tolerate being fucked with, even by the girl he once loved.

He never wanted to kill Andre Wright, and made no tangible confession. Only a slight nod of confirmation for the girl next door. 

He owed her more then that he knew, but fuck it. Life goes on. The past had to stay the past, so he never let a word be heard from his lips. She couldn’t handle the truth even if she craved to have it.

Seeing her again amplified the pain of being shot. He did not expect it. But he would carry the scars of her murder attempt for the rest of his life. A cold hard memory, forever edged in his flesh. Keloided in three different places on his back, the reality haunted Franklin most nights, and he would wake up in cold sweats with the sound of a gunshot ringing in his ears right after seeing the light leave Andre’s eyes and transport him to whatever came next, that undoubtedly awaited them all. 

He remembered the blank look set to Mel’s glazed hues. Maybe she'd been cracked out on the day of the funeral, but her ominous gaze damn near swallowed him up. He’d left this woman heartbroken without a father, so he understood her hatred. He'd eliminated her protector. Never the intention, but being a police officer, Aundre became a bigger problem than Franklin had been willing to accept. What happened to Jerome, couldn't happen again. Still, walking away from Mel that day had to be one of his saddest goodbyes. Just another one to add to the collection of regrets and hard decisions lost in his path to freedom. 

The game owed no loyalty to the past. 

It changed and transformed faster than the young L.A native could blink an eye. He moved with it, leaving things he once knew behind for better or worse. 

Franklin wasn’t a fool. As soft as the nature of a woman could be, there was no way he could have two. Even in his mind. So, he did what needed doing.  

Franklin learned alot about sacrifices and brutality. A great pain hid behind the action of the will it took to put a gun to Aundre’s head and pull the trigger. The same will it took to stop Kevin from kicking off a race war. Or the tears he couldn't stop when he watched his mother board the plane to an uncertain future without him in it. Pain Franklin kept hollowed. The same pain led him to hit Alton with the back of his gun the night he'd confronted him about the reporter he’d been talking to, which made business with Teddy less than pleasant. Franklin would be lying if he didn’t admit he’d looked up to Andre in some aspects. 

His father was absent for a significant part of his life, either by addiction or choice. To make up for his absence, Franklin collected father figures. Men he could count on for some type of pathway to adulthood. He molded and modeled himself after these examples, taking bits and pieces from different sources in the neighborhood. The old gray head who owned the liquor store, or Mr. Dunkin, who’d been well known for fixing cars at half price. Or Aundre Wright, who although Franklin thought a sellout, had only wanted the best for his little girl.  

Fucking Alton. 

Every now and then, the former Black Panther’s words would roll back in Franklin’s memory like a bursting tumor. 

You are killing us all. Don’t you see that? 

He didn’t like it, but success always came at someone else’s expense. That was the entire foundation of the American Dream. What America was built on. A lie sold to those who never had a chance at it anyway. Someone had to lose in order to win. In this case Aundre and Melody Wright, Fat Back, Courville, Khadijah, and the list went on. The unlucky contenders, and for that he was sorry.

Franklin shut his eyes to drown out the noise. Just business. He couldn’t let the shit get to him. To think that it became personal. He never planned to destroy his own people. His moves all had the same objective. Freedom. A way out of poverty. A better life for his mother, a brighter future for himself. He sure as hell wouldn't get that kind of opportunity at college, and he damn sure wouldn't be anything sitting behind a desk all day kissing the white man's ass like some good house nigga. To help his people once he got his own shit right, that was the goal. It would all just take time, but he'd turn it around. Most never even thought about that when they came up on an opportunity for a little bit of money. He’d convinced himself he’d be different from the majority. He’d be the one to do what others before him hadn't. He never meant to hurt anybody, even if he wanted so desperately to win. 

Family. 

Manboy spoke on family one time. But, the motherfucker said a lot, all the time. He’d talked about how he’d lost respect because right and wrong hailed more weight when Franklin refused to give up his people for the death of Skullys little girl. Manboy on the other hand had been ready to take his own out if it meant standing on principle. 

Leon without a doubt was Franklin’s family, his best friend, and the reality of that truth was the reason he’d made the conscious choice to make Manboy an enemy. Despite that, Franklin would be lying if he thought the niggas words didn’t hold at least some weight. 

You think you gon make it outta this? These niggas, they gon’ turn on you. 

He looked Manboy right in the eye when he pulled the trigger, ending his life. The very first time he felt absolutely nothing. 

The game showed him a lot of things.

Franklin convinced himself that when it came to Manboy, it all boiled down to survival. He had broken his own word to save Leon and to protect the source of his power, the plug. But Lee was his family, and losing Kevin had been enough. Him and Lee, they'd made this journey together ever since their encounter with korvell. So he rendered him protection. 

Still, he wondered who’d be the next one to press the knife into his back. He would never consider Jerome, Louie. 

Feeling rather incomplete without the cane he’d left behind at the church for Melody’s last and final reminder of him, Franklin shifted his stance while he waited in line as his mind settled. Amidst all the chaos there seemed to be a light at the end of the tunnel.  

Had he found the one this time? A woman who could help him grow his empire? 

Franklin took out the photograph. He carried it in his pocket. Cissy had taken it in the living room one afternoon. A different version of the moment existed, one that did not belong to him. His eyes drank in everything. From the almond hues, to the beautiful melanated complexion that complimented him so well. Skin that looked painted on. A smile that required nothing in return which greeted him whenever he'd come in from battle. From taking on the world. The best part, it didn’t just exist within a picture. He had something tangible. The living breathing experience of authentic partnership. Real. 

Could a man exist without his appetite? Whether for wealth or purpose-made. A woman. Such a divine combination reminded him of Fire and Smoke. They had a catastrophic attraction. But when it was right. It was right. A compliment to his genetic makeup. Balance. Hard, soft. Masculine, feminine, woman, man. It all aligned. He’d found his peace somehow through all the chaos. Franklin smiled to himself. He couldn’t wait to return to it. To peace. 

The airport bustled with travelers. Franklin kept his eyes on the large board of flight plans while searching his pockets until he’d made it all the way to the front of the line and placed his ticket on the counter top. He watched the woman take it and begin to type something into her computer. 

“Oh. I’m so sorry. This flight got canceled.” She placed the ticket on the surface of the counter and slid it forward toward him.  

Franklin took it up skeptically. He needed to be back in L.A. The trip to Odessa was supposed to be quick and easy. “What. You sure?” 

“Mmm hmmm.” She peered down at the register. “Yeah, next time I have is 7 in the morning tomorrow, sir. Looks like you’re making yourself comfortable in Odessa for one more night.” 

She pulled a facial expression. One that articulated this half ass sorry in so few words. Franklin might have found it comical, if the new information hadn't frustrated him. 

He needed to be back.

The young drug lord stood silent. Too long. The person behind him cleared their throat, pulling Franklin back to the reality of the situation. He licked his lips and took the ticket, shoving it in his pocket in a messy fold. He gave the woman a quick grin, forced by the tension in his jaw. 

Franklin moved from the line and walked away as he muttered a low ‘fuck’ through gritted teeth.

….

To most people the space would read as a regular school auditorium. Nothing special. But for you it felt like a huge stage at a big opera house with a million eyes staring at you. And this, almost being what one would call a final performance.

Everyone dressed in fancy clothes and talked in hushed voices. You were nervous, but excited. You had never played for such a grand audience before, or any audience for that matter. A lot of what you'd created never saw the light of day. It stayed very much hidden, away from public scrutiny. Tonight you were taking a chance. That bold opportunity to finally be heard. Only, the words would fall upon deaf ears, to the person who they'd been meant for.

Two distinct times, you could remember two distinct times when the night sat still and Franklin had disturbed the quiet with his jolt awake, drenched in sweat and gasping for air. The second time was the worst. It took almost an hour to convince him he wasn’t where he thought. In prison, surrounded. He could never describe to you the haunting images from his nightmare, but you knew that the war in which he found himself had taken its toll. Caught up to him. He suffered this suffocating fear and guilt with memories that threatened to consume him, always. You weren’t sure he would welcome your arms on that one occasion that changed everything, but his guard had lifted with time and trust. Then without hesitation when you saw such a small opportunity, you wrapped arms around him and pulled him close, holding him tight as he trembled. If he ever cried he wouldn’t let you see it. But you knew he wanted to, and often. As some form of release, you became the substitute. He poured his pain into you in the form of intimacy and sex. So from that point forward, all you ever wanted to be for Franklin was Comfort, Safety, and Peace.  

But that meant an even exchange. 

Bottom line. He should be among those in the auditorium. That was all you could think as you stood behind the curtain listening to the tune the current pianist played. You hadn't asked for much. Nor required a great deal. So then, you had to strike the feeling of being let down, although disappointment was not something foreign to you. Truly, you'd known it most your life, but somehow you'd convinced yourself that this time would be different. That this man you’d chosen to invest your time into was different. This man who’s word you chose to cling to. 

You were dressed in the beautiful rose pink gown that you had carefully chosen for the night. You’d been waiting for this evening for weeks and finally the soft chiffon fabric hugged your curves and made you feel glamorous. A special occasion, you spent hours perfecting your hair and makeup for the elegant evening ahead. You even put on silver high heels, which had been unlike you. And your hair was braided in four large french braids that inner connected into a large roped bun. 

“Well maybe he will make it. Maybe if we just wait a little while longer. I can try and speak to the director, just so he has time to get here.”

Remembering the conversation, you hated how annoying your voice sounded with so much hope and optimism. Peaches, his right hand and the one whom he had to stay with you, of course brought you back down to reality. 

“I'm sorry. But he ain't gonna make it.” 

Why did you fight with yourself even when the truth was right in front of you? You shouldn't have let him go to Odessa. Wait. Let him? You had to check yourself on that one. Franklin was a grown ass man. He would have gone with or without an okay from you, and you knew that. You figured that the trade off was the promise he'd made to show up. 

‘Won't take long. Fly there, fly back. Round trip. Simple. Just, somethin’ I gotta do. All this is almost over. Aight babe?’ 

Business. You accepted that sometimes your wants and needs had to be put on the back burner. Fine. Sacrifice happened in any relationship for any couple. That was to be expected. But did give and take happen also? That was where you saw the unbalance when it came to you and Franklin. You gave and gave and gave with little to show for in return. The relationship you’d had with your father growing up was something of a similar occurrence. You’d wait by the window holding on to empty promises of his return to spend time. A return that never came. He thought that time could be made up with gifts, those cold lifeless objects that held no meaning except disappointment. He’d traded you for an appetite he’d had for the women he’d left your mother for, and you of course were no exception to this selfishness. In the end, he left you both. 

Only for this man. This man that had come into your life, Franklin Saint, you did not wait by the window. Instead you tried to search for his face in a sea of onlookers as the allpause mellowed out and the announcer called for you to make your way onto the stage, sparking a whole new wave of anticipation from the crowd. Peaches could be wrong. Franklin could have made it, and to your surprise have found his seat in the vast expanse of strangers to watch you perform a piece he’d encouraged you to finish. A piece of music he’d said had been the moment he fell in love with you when you first played it on a Wednesday. 

A song written for him. 

“There are no words,” you warned as you held the sheet of music to your chest like a well kept secret. 

“That's fine.” 

You were sure to make note of his eyes and the tantalizing grin he held when he said the next part. 

“Some things don't need um.” 

You couldn’t help it, you took his words to heart. So with a deep breath you walked on the stage. 

Maybe not a million, but there were a lot of people already there. A good forty, although your eyes could have betrayed you in the count. You faced forward focusing only on the path. If you looked too hard, the moment would swallow you up and devour you whole. 

When you made your way to the piano and sat down, there came a pounding in your chest. Nervously you adjusted the bench and placed fingers on the keys. You closed your eyes trying to fight back the want, that burning need to look out in the crowd one last time before you began to play.

At first your hands were trembling, but soon the music began to flow from your fingertips.Starting off slow as you followed the sheet music, you allowed the notes to linger in the air. 

People had begun to pay attention. 

You hoped the music would take them on a journey. A journey of your and Franklin’s love story. From the light and airy notes to the deep and soulful melodies, it spoke of everything. The nightmares, and demons that chased him. The compromise and the love it took to hold on. How much you loved him. And a question in certain notes; did he love you just as much? It couldn't be described in words. But maybe if the tune traveled high enough, the wind would carry the song all the way to Odessa, and remind him to remember you were still back in L.A, waiting. 

Your fingers flew over the keys, as if they had a mind of their own. This strange wave of emotion coursed through your body as the notes filled the room.

The crowd, entranced and engaged made you feel more comfortable, so you began to pick up the pace. They must have been mesmerized. The only noise in the room had been your song speaking from the inner workings of a man made creation. As the music grew, your fingers moved faster and faster, as if dancing with the notes.This dedication to Franklin Saint.

When you finally finished, the room erupted into applause. You had played on the piano, yours and his story, and had done it, magnificently. This small surge of pride trickled in as you stood up and bowed. You realized only when you took the second bow that tears were streaming down your cheeks in hot trails of accomplishment and disappointment. 

…

The sun had just started to peek over the horizon, casting a warm orange glow while you drove down the highway with the smell of Peaches joint filling the space in the Lincoln continental. 

It was your favorite time, sunrise, when the city was just starting to wake up.

The palm trees swayed in the gentle breeze, the skyscrapers glinted in the sun, and the Hollywood sign loomed in the distance. The city had its fair share of chaos and traffic, but there was something magical about it so early in the morning. It was as if L.A was a blank canvas, waiting for its inhabitants to create something beautiful as the day progressed.

You turned up the radio, humming along to the tune of your favorite song as you took in the sights around you with eyes still delicate and sore from all the crying you had done hours after returning from your performance. Although you tried to stifle your cries into the sems of pillow cases, you knew Peaches had heard you. So that morning when he told you Franklin had paged him that he was back in town, he never asked about the redness of your eyes. The two of you boarded the car in silence and Peaches, like always, only followed instructions. 

It was a winding road that brought you, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation as Peaches neared the destination. The airport where Franklin would be waiting. 

The possibilities for the day ahead seemed endless when you pulled up to the sliding doors to find him standing outside of them. 

Peaches got out first, and your gaze drank Franklin down to his shoes. There was something missing. Hesitantly you took hold of the handle on the door and opened it, getting out before shutting it behind you and approaching. 

He’d met you half way and pulled you into a hug. L.A had been warm, but Franklin held a different type of warmth and you basked in it before you sniffed back tears. “Are you okay,” you murmured into his chest. 

Franklin pressed his hands on your back. It was no longer a gentle hug, but one in which he tried to express himself. Say in little words that he'd been glad to see you. His hands spoke as if it had been longer than a day. Like this hug made up for all the times he'd left you. “Yeah,” came out simple, but there was something attached to it. Closure. “How was the-”

You sat up and broke away from his hold. “Fine. It went fine. No big deal really. Didn't mean anything.”

Franklin was staring at you with this look. Hard to describe. Nonetheless filled with emotion in the eyes at least. His face in general remained stoic. “I'm sorry.”

To counter that you smiled through hues under a thin glaze of tears. “Ready…” you said and turned to face the Lincoln Continental. You didn't wait for his response. Only walked. A glance passed between you and Peaches. This time when you got in, you sat in the back. A minute later, Franklin followed. 

It wasn’t the silence that brought on your breaking point, but the fact that one of the songs that made its way from the speakers had a very specific piano break in it. 

“Peaches, can you pull over please. I’d like to get out.” 

Peaches hazel eyes reflected in the overhead mirror before he threw a glance and Franklin who had stared at you. 

“Why?” he said.

The tears couldn’t be stopped. They overflowed and spilled. 

“Because I want to take a quick walk on the beach. When will you ever see it be more beautiful than right now?”

The beach, symbolic for both of you. Just in different ways. 

Franklin and Peaches passed glances between one another with Franklin gently nodding his head. 

The drive had reached the outskirts of the city and the highway opened up to a stunning view of the ocean. The sun was now fully risen, and its rays danced on the water, creating a breathtaking scene. The car pulled over to the side of the road. 

As soon as it came to a complete stop, you got out.

You were able to walk a few paces in the sand before you’d chosen a spot to plop down on and face the sparkling waters ahead. You let yourself cry, and the crying quickly turned into sobbing as you pulled your sleeves to wipe your eyes clear. 

Footsteps began to fill in behind you. Franklin stopped just shy three feet from where you sat. “I meant to be there.” His words flooded in from behind, and you shut your eyes tightly.

“Baby please.” He took the three steps to get to you and took a seat on the sand beside you. 

As your breath caught in your throat you tried to scramble out words that would make sense. “I needed. I just. I wanted you to...” 

You sniffed and found by the next second Franklin had pulled you close and drew his arm around you to bring you into him. 

“I know babe,” He whispered at the base of your ear. “I know…” 

By the time you’d calmed down your eyes were even more swollen and you’d soaked Franklin’s shirt with tears. As his hand moved over the skin of your forearm he watched the people walking by before he focused solely on the ocean view. “Imma make this right. Make it up to you…”    

When you were guided back to the car by Franklin's direction you clung to those words. Words you wanted so desperately to believe in. You would never obtain the same moment, in that same place and time, but you were willing to make new memories, give him the opportunity. 

As Peaches headed back to your apartment, Franklin’s hand stayed locked to yours the entire way. He hadn’t left your side since departing from the beach, and every now and then he would look in your direction and pull your hand up to leave a soft kiss on the exposed skin before directing his attention to the window. When he did this you smiled briefly before your gaze would fall again. Sometimes to the hand he kissed, and other times to the scenery going by in the opposite window. 

Pulling into the available space on the block, Peaches parked the Lincoln and shut it down. 

“You can take off for the rest of the day. I need to handle some things.” Franklin’s eyes found you. 

You held his gaze briefly before you looked toward the front seat. “Bye Peaches. Thank you.” You opened the door and got out. 

Franklin not far behind stopped before he’d made it halfway. The familiar sound of his beeper rocked your eardrums.  

He looked down at the belt where it sat and released a sigh. “Shit.” 

You closed your eyes. Standing with your back to him. You turned and watched Franklin ascend the back seat, close one door and open another. He found your eyes, and let go of the car door to walk over to you. As you watched him, that's when you realized the thing that had been missing. His cane. You were standing on the sidewalk one foot in the direction of your apartment and the other toward him.This destination, unknown. 

“Uh. Look babe I gotta make this call. It’s-” 

You cut him off. “Business. I know.” The smile that you produced this time had been one of sadness unable to mask. You couldn’t tell him to stay. He wouldn’t. So you wouldn’t put on a scene. After all, you wanted to be his peace. 

Suddenly those words of hope had faded for you. The only thing you could utter without totally blowing away like a passing whisper on the wind was, “Be careful.” 

You brushed the side of his face with your fingers, turned and started walking, unwilling to look back and destroy yourself with longing and the depravity that he would not follow. When you got to the door, you unlocked it and went inside leaving the rest of the world and Franklin to his priorities.   

…

Worry would eat away at you everytime he left. You wondered why you couldn’t be more like Louie. It seemed she never left Jerome’s side, always there, always present, taking an active role in business. Franklin wouldn’t hear a word of it. You asked him once, just out of curiosity, and he had shut you down with this stern regard. 

“Naw. I’m not gettin’ you involved in this shit.” 

You protested, eager to try your luck, offering within the words you’d spoken that you would be careful. Play the game.  

“But why not? I’m pretty smart. I think. Besides I would be with you and-” 

“No.” 

So then you would never be like Louie, with time or tact. You hadn’t chosen your fate but settled into it in your little apartment finding things to clean or read, or do. A prisoner of uncertainty. But you found you often missed his presence in finding these things, his laughter filling the rooms and his warm embrace that always made you feel safe and protected. 

Franklin wore two different faces. One for the world and the other that he kept especially for you. Out there he might be cold, detached and focused, but when he stepped across the threshold he was hearty, affectionate and free. 

That was always the hardest part, waiting.

Your little apartment never felt so lonely, until you walked in it that morning by yourself. You sat on a plush red velvet couch in front of a vintage record player. In the corner of the living room, a wooden bookshelf stood tall, filled with old vinyl records. Your love for music was evident in every corner of the apartment. A way to make up for the empty space where you were hoping a piano could one day sit. You didn’t need anything fancy, just something that would keep a tune, convey it well.

Your family had never understood your style, especially when it came to your apartment. The furniture was a mix of retro and modern. These two opposites coming together. You always held the position that a clash was needed to create something extraordinary. Whether that was true or not you wouldn’t admit that you had bad taste. It screamed music, music, music! The walls were adorned with vibrant posters of famous musicians and bands, from Billy Ocean to Cameo.

Looking around, you thought of ways to curb your loneliness. You started with the obvious. Cleaning.

Within the hours it took for the house to be spotless with everything in its proper place, you’d scrubbed, dusted, and organized all with an eager anticipation that better days lay ahead. 

You’d lost friends being with Franklin Sanit. You could remember how one statement used to stay on your mind. 

“Leave him, get a fuckin’ back bone. You really want this to be your life, day after day?” 

You didn’t want it to be, foolish or not, you were willing to suffer, for love. 

Franklin missed dinner. Two tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil, one pound of Italian sausage, chopped onions, salt, black pepper, and the noodles and sauce it took to complete the spaghetti dish, not to mention the freshly fried catfish you’d added as a side. 

You made enough to feed at least four. Some for left overs and whoever Franklin decided to bring. Sometimes it would be Leon, and other times Jerome. And if it were Jerome he would always take a plate for Louie. Even Cissy stopped by once. Usually though, Peaches always got a plate. But eatting alone made you tired and the bubble bath you ran after, steam rising to the atmosphere of silence took the last of your resolve. 

As the night fell and the city lights came to life, you entered your bedroom wrapped in a purple towel.The walls were painted in a soft pink hue, with delicate lace curtains on the windows. A vanity table sat in front of a large mirror, with antique perfume bottles and jewelry boxes.The bed was covered in a floral quilt, giving the room a touch of femininity.You remembered when you’d given Franklin the grand tour. He had placed his hands behind his back and chuckled before turning to give you a look. “Damn. Think you got enough pink in here babe?” His eyes traveled and kept that little smile that complimented him. More of a smirk, and you playfully pushed his shoulder for making fun of your bedroom decor. 

That was before the war outside got bad. You remembered him being around more in the beginning. Then little by little, he wasn’t.

You’d found a place on your bed, right in the view of that dress you wore the night before. It layed over a chair with silver shoes close by. 

Falling back on the mattress you let the towel’s hold break its covering. The temperature of the room allowed a chill to cross your naked skin, but with a lazy arm you’d pulled the comforter and shaded yourself in the darkness of its covering. You laid there listening to the silence until eventually you closed your eyes to the temptation of sleep. 

…

Your senses spiked. A faint sound of running water filled your hearing. You could talk in the morning. Say everything you needed to say. All those words left unsaid, written in a song. Instead of surrendering to waking up completely, you stretched your limbs within the softness of the blanket. You had meant to get up and find yourself something to sleep in after laying down that night, but your energy had been displaced from the oils in the bath, the thoughts of whether or not he would make it back in one piece, if this was in fact going to be your life, day after day, and hurt. Hurt because you had been let down. Once again you surrendered to a slumber that was calling you back to it. 

Your dreams could be so vivid. Almost like they were real. Time became a concept unknown to you, and even if you wanted to search for the blinking numbers that would expose an actual answer on whether it was day or night, you didn’t open your eyes to force any discovery. There was no light to guide your way anymore. Someone had turned it off. The yellow glow was void in your tiny bedroom. Instead, all you focused on was the sensations you felt. A Lot of times when Franklin had been off fighting in this war, you slid your hands between your legs and pretended he was there with you, touching you. But these sudden sensations became all too real! 

The distinct difference between thought and matter.

When the protective cloud you’d situated yourself in had slowly pulled from your body, only to be replaced with warm living flesh which covered you, you knew you were not in any dream. 

He must have climbed in the bed already de-clothed straight from the shower. Normally you would be pulling at fabric and trying to free him from it, but not this time, this time those extra implications were absent. They'd been replaced by actions, and the evidence of his oncoming pleasure. Already hot and hard against your thigh, your inner walls desperately wanted something to latch onto.

Franklin’s lips were gentle. They showed up in different places. First your arm, then your shoulder, your neck, your collar bone, then to your cheek before a soft kiss pressed down over your lips. You opened your eyes and your vision cleared to find Franklin staring down at you before he lifted his head so that your noses touched. There was so much you wanted to say. The thoughts you had when he was gone were completely different from the ones you had when he was right there staring at you face to face. 

“Franklin. I -”  

“Kiss me,” he whispered.

Your blood pulsed at the command. Aching now, you pressed your lips over his, gentle but firm, and he proceeded to explore your mouth with tongue once you allowed entry before pulling from your lips all together to proceed in exploration. 

His body slid down in an erotic trail over yours and you closed your eyes to acknowledge a breath that hitched in your throat as he moved. It started when he traced the path of your stomach, leaving the light sensation that sent this pleasurable chill racing through your core and up your back. 

You suppressed a shuttering moan when his warm tongue found a different place on your skin and your nipples hardened under his touch. He’d keep hold on one and his mouth would pleasure the other running his tongue in circles before his lips sucked and pulled. Then he’d focus on the other, leaving the first exposed to the air that left a tingling desperation which begged to be spoiled further. Franklin didn’t stay in one place. He pressed on. A soft hum escaped your throat when his tongue touched the delicate skin. One of the area’s where you were the most vulnerable. 

Your blood caught fire, pooling into your lower abdomen, wetting your core unexpectedly as one of his hands caressed the back of your leg. He was teasing you but you were powerless. The sensation of Franklin’s touch was overwhelming so early, or late. You couldn’t hardly think, or even breathe. You felt like you were caught between spaces. Reality and a dream. Sleep desperately clung to you, but Franklin’s words pulled you all the way into consciousness. 

“Let me make it up to you. Let me take the pain away…”  

And you hadn’t even noticed when he lowered his head and his lips vibrated over your mound when he hummed those heated words into your folds. 

A wave of pleasure skittered through your nerves. You felt trapped, but not in the sense that you wanted an xscape. Your body was completely under Franklin’s sovereignty. His tongue, turning your entire form into a quivering mess of heated flesh as he moved forward, fingertips pressing into the inner parts of each of your thighs. His head delved between your legs and he tasted the very essence of you. 

Struggling to hold back the moan fighting its way through your chest, you pulled on the bed sheets. 

Franklin watched you through lidded eyes, and like a man who’d been left unfed there presented to him a favorable delicacy. You couldn’t contain yourself. You moaned when his tongue lapped at your center, his thumb separating the delicate skin to give himself better access. 

He ate. And ate well.  

Your panting filled the air, so sudden that you hadn’t realized you’d surrendered in that moment. Your body on impulse pulled away, but Franklin, alert and determined, wouldn’t let you escape. “Em, Em,” was all you heard filling the room as he protested your departure. That, and the movement on the bed springs giving indication that Franklin had then secured you in place.

With no way of escape you whispered his name in a lust laden tone. “F-Franklin, please p-please, Ahh. I can’t…Uh!” You cried these pleasurable words into the room that contained your many sessions of love making which were mingled in begging him to stop, and also begging him at the exact same time to suck out your very soul! 

You should be angry with him. Upset still, but all that undoubtedly had washed away.

Once you got the opportunity to look at his face for a brief moment, you noticed how he seemed to be delighted by your uneven breaths. Like seeing you so vulnerable gave him pleasure. 

The power this man had over your body and heart was almost frightening.

A soft bite at your inner thigh and you rewarded Franklin with this husky-like moan as your legs shoot. Your body jerked forward when he grazed your clit with the pad of his finger and you bit your lip ever so gently when you heard him hum in this proud satisfaction that he had you right where he needed you. Under his control. His talented mouth had rendered you sensitive to touch of any kind, and as he reached down to stroke his ridgid manhood, to prepare, you closed your eyes and clung to the sensation you'd trapped in your senses.The preparation was always the best part. This anticipation and the moment of entry you desired every time he made love to you.

Another gentle caress across your inner thigh had you clenching your walls. Franklin rubbed the tip of his erection teasingly over your folds. He always liked to cause you some sort of suffering right before, just a little bit. But too long had he deprived you with his business and war, family squabbles and old feelings, so you spoke without ever moving your lips to extend your hand down to grab what you craved until it moved inside you. 

It might be the only time you stole his power. 

Your breath caught at the connection, you could feel yourself being filled up and stretched out. You pulled in your bottom lip as Franklin pressed forward deeper and deeper taking back his position of dominance. 

Your inner muscles quaked and you lifted your head to find your lips hungry to explore his mouth. Either that or you needed a place to shuffle in your moaning, and that had been the first choice. Damn you for being considerate, but you didn't want Peaches to hear. Your small little apartment could get deathly quiet, especially at night, and although there was a good chance Franklin had sent him home after returning, oftentimes he would be somewhere close in proximity. Sure, you wanted to be mindful in the midst of your love making, but your mind wavered. When you kissed Franklin you tasted yourself in the process as he burrowed inside your body only to withdraw before diving back again and that alone ignited a suppressed desire to focus on nothing but him. 

The pace started slow at first but the inner workings of your core instinctively enveloped him begging for more attention. Franklin thrusted in again. You responded by whispering his name. He liked hearing his name. This time it was Franklin who rewarded you with a moan, as he sucked in a breath that transferred back out on shuttering lips. Although he hardly said much, he made up for it with his reactions. You didn't want his words. As he said before, some things didn't need them. His breathing, panting, subtle moans and grunts told the story perfectly. He felt the same as you did. You wanted more of him, and he wanted ALL of you! You closed your eyes and wrapped your arms around his back and neck, as your fingers traveled over his heated skin while your entangled bodies moved together in a steady rhythm.

Your wet slick flesh quivered around his length and the pleasure filled cries which escaped you knocked against the surrounding space along with the sounds of skin slapping against skin. Sorry Peaches. Franklin’s breathing had sped up too. You were now lost in eachother. You moved against him, taking him into your body eagerly. This pace tortured him. Slow, deep long strokes that hit every spot in perfect magnetism of the skin to skin contact. You both felt it, but Franklin’s mouth was wide open and a glance before you looked down to watch him disappear into you again indicated that your tight hot hole was right where he needed to be. Now he knew the feeling of being trapped. 

“Fuck.” He lowered his head and muttered your name in what could only be described as an ecstasy filled sigh of relief. Perspiration had begun to form on his forehead, and without warning he picked up the pace of his steady thrusts. Faster, harder, he was now, glistening, covered in your pool of moisture that guided his way in the dim light of the room illuminated by moonlight. 

Sitting back to reposition, he took the opportunity to watch himself disappear. A lick of his lips and you were certain he liked what he saw. Your breast bounced with every beat. Muscles milking him for every sensation, and every stroke that drove you both closer to the peak of climax. He'd gone so deep that your stomach felt the insertion when he sat your legs over his shoulders.

It had to be several minutes before an organism was fast approaching for him like the start of a raging fire to forest trees. You could always tell by that one single twitch of his length. Only this time, Franklin didn’t have an opportunity to warn you. Usually he would prepare you for his release, but tonight was different. Everything felt different. He gripped at your leg for a brief second before toppling over you and bringing you closer by cupping the lower part of your back so that you were partially off the bed, changing the position of your bodies yet again. You breathed into his neck. He held on for dear life and with this deep grunt, let himself go. That anguish you were so familiar with. It expressed itself in a warmness that filled you up and you lowered your head to catch a glimpse of his face.

God, did it look like a work of the most beautiful art when he climaxed. 

His eyes were shut tightly and his shoulders shook. You were lowered back down on the mattress with the little strength he had left before his body all the way collapsed. You took his weight and hung on to him. Franklin buried his face into the crook of your neck. He stayed there between your legs, and you lifted your head to plant one gentle kiss on his shoulder, and he shifted to kiss your forehead. 

Your bodies were heated, sweating, and both of you were struggling to catch your breath. 

Slowly, Franklin opened his eyes and looked at you with a clouded gaze. This tender look of longing. 

While your brown hues searched for answers with little to no success, you took one of your hands to rest it at the side of his cheek, feeling the smoothness with the pad of your thumb. 

“What baby?” 

“Imma make it right. When we wake up tomorrow, it’s your day.”

“My day?” Rarely had anything ever been made entirely about you. A little smile crept up on your lips. You could imagine Franklin waking up early to cook breakfast, messing up your kitchen in the process, but the effort he put into it would be cute, whether or not it tasted the best. He never cooked. So you had no opportunity to judge his skills. Now cooking, that happened to be your specialty, and although you didn't mind and most of the time enjoyed doing so, someone cooking for you would be a nice change. 

“I’d like that,” you said almost in a whisper, making a path over his chest with a single finger, careful not to disturb or cause any unpleasantness to his gunshot wound. 

As gently as he could, Franklin pulled out and readjusted your bodies so your back was lying against his chest. He wanted to hold you. You knew this because you often found yourself in this position. Spooning, they called it. You liked it. His hands moved around your waist and his head came to rest on your shoulder. 

“Mhm. No beeper. No Peaches. Nothin' ta do wit’ bidness. Just you and me.”

The two of you laid there, and eventually time carried on into the late hours of the night with the promise of sunrise.  

From the edge of sleep, you heard Franklin whisper something as he adjusted his arm so it wrapped around more completely. 

“...You deserve the fuckin’ world. I'm gonna give it to you...”

With a lean into his chest, breathing deeply in his scent of faded soap and sex, you shook your head so gently, it barely caused him to stir. 

“Don’t want the world…” you breathed. “Just you…” 

……………………………………………………………….

Taglist: @megamindsecretlair @notapradagurl7 @hopelessdisasterr

Writers Note: So FYI this was the first writing for the Snowfall fandom that I wrote. I started off with an original black OC but after jumping into my second story and getting more comfortable with 2nd Person Perspective, I decided to do a revision to this. What did I do? I changed the OC to You and made it a one shot! I would like to thank everyone who supported the original idea I had and I hope you like what I've done with the turn around. Thank you for the love and support. Until next time, happy readings. 💙

PLEASE DO NOT COPY OR CLAIM ANY OF MY WRITING. -Wide Nose And Wonderful /Mrs. Saint Writes.

[abbygracerecs]

Sebastian Stan Fic Recommendations Pt 2

Cuffing season - @sinner-as-saint smut

Left gasping for air - @bucksfucks smut

Fuck me like you hate me - @bucksfucks smut

Dreamland - @bucksfucks smut

Happy accident - @bucksfucks smut

Mr. Brightside - @bucksfucks smut

Backseat of his car - @bucksfucks smut

His omega - @bucksfucks smut

Playdate - @becca-e-barnes

Bring heaven to you - @call-me-doll-face smut

Toxic & jealous - @sweetsweetnuit smut

On his knees - @sweetsweetnuit smut

Brothers best friend - @kinanabinks smut

Not for me - @kinanabinks

Into you - @kinanabinks smut

Waiting on fate - @kinanabinks smut

Middle of the night - @sinner-as-saint smut

Teacher!bucky x Milf!reader - @golden-barnes

Incoherent - @buckyhoney smut

Heartless - @sinner-as-saint smut

Yes, your grace - @fandoms-writings

No one compares - @buckystories

Enemies - @earlgreydream

The third wheel - @writing-for-marvel

Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince - @fangirllovestuff

The road goes ever on and on - @rocketrhap3000 includes smut

How’s your head? - @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

Counting - @pellucid-constellations

Purgatory - @wkemeup

Yours to claim - @buckyalpine smut

12:51 -  @allthatyoulove

Let me do it myself - @stevekempscocktails smut

My blood turns into alcohol - @ltbarnes

My mom thinks your hot - @bluehourbucky

A true hero - @onceuponastory

[ccwpidsblog]

SAINTS AND SINNERS — iwtv

SUMMARY : Edmée Heart, the dutiful daughter of a pastor, lives a sheltered life bound by rules and expectations. But her quiet world begins to unravel when she catches the attention of Louis de Pointe du Lac and Lestat de Lioncourt, two enigmatic men with dark secrets. Drawn to Edmée’s innocence, Louis and Lestat vie for her affection, each offering her a taste of freedom and danger.

RATING : 18+

CONTENT WARNING: season one spoilers, not entirely accurate to the show but we’re all grown here it shouldn’t matter much, eventual polyamory, heavy religious themes, daddy issues, more to be added

CWPID NOTES 🏹: this is a great way to come back and show how much my writing has improved. redeeming myself from the trash fiction i was writing before. ON A03 N WILL ONLY BE UPDATED ON AO3 (if im not being lazy)

Edmée remembered the Sundays before Louis de Pointe du Lac avoided the sun, somehow, he’d managed to arrive at church after a long night of sin. He was always late, slipping through the heavy wooden doors just as her father’s booming voice began the first prayer. From her family’s high pew, she could see him moving down the aisle, the faint scent of booze and perfume lingering on his clothes—a sinful whisper of the previous night’s indulgences.

He’d take his usual seat beside his brother, his strong frame settling heavily into the creaking wood. His head would bow, his eyes would close, and for the rest of the service, he remained still. Unmoving, like a statue carved from marble. At first, Edmée thought he might be sleeping, but there was something too deliberate about the way he held himself, his hands clasped loosely on his lap, his expression unreadable.

She couldn’t stop watching him. From her elevated view, she memorized the way the sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows, casting fractured colors across his dark skin. He looked ethereal, caught between shadows and light, the kind of beauty that left her breathless and guilty all at once. She tried to focus on her father’s sermon, but her gaze always drifted back to Louis.

At the end of every service, as her father stood by the doors shaking hands and offering blessings, Louis would rise with a graceful ease. He’d move through the small crowd, a charming smile on his lips, and when he reached her father, he always made a point to praise the sermon. “Your words speak straight to the soul, Pastor Heart,” he’d say, his voice like velvet dipped in honey.

Then he’d turn to her mother, taking her hand and pressing a gentlemanly kiss to her knuckles. “A vision of grace, as always, Mrs. Heart,” he’d say, his words smooth and effortless.

But when his gaze finally reached Edmée, it changed. He wouldn’t kiss her hand, wouldn’t offer a compliment. Instead, he’d nod at her, a playful, knowing smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. That smile—the one that made her feel like the only girl in the world and completely invisible at the same time. If her skin had been any lighter, she knew she would’ve turned as red as the pew cushions beneath her.

In passing, he treated her the same. A quick nod, a flash of white teeth. But she noticed how he greeted the other women—the kisses, the murmured words that made them laugh and fan themselves, the lingering glances. With her, there was none of that.

Only a nod. A smile.

And it made her stomach twist with jealousy. The last time Edmée saw Louis was at Grace’s wedding. The church was packed, and the air was thick with the scent of lilies and the murmur of joyous chatter. Louis was everywhere that day—his laugh echoing above the music, his face alight with a rare kind of happiness that made him seem untouchable. He was glowing, his usual quiet intensity replaced by something brighter, freer. Edmée stood by the punch table, nervously clutching a glass, when he approached her. She didn’t see him coming; one moment she was alone, and the next he was there, his presence commanding and electric.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice low enough that no one else could hear. “Maybe even more beautiful than the bride.”

Her breath caught, her cheeks burning.

“Don’t tell Grace,” he added with a wink, leaning in just enough that she caught a whiff of his cologne—a mix of cedar and something darker, richer. Edmée could only nod, her voice stolen by his closeness, her heart pounding so loudly she was certain he could hear it.

Months.

Many months without seeing him.

The pew Louis shared with Paul and his family remained empty every Sunday, a silent memorial to all that had unraveled. No one dared to sit there now, not after everything. Not after Paul’s tragic passing, not after the whispers.

The whispers.

They followed Louis like a shadow, stretching long and dark through the town. The women at her mother’s so-called “Bible studies” spoke of him in hushed tones, their voices dripping with scandal and sanctimony. “Dancing with the devil,” they’d say, the words lingering in the air like smoke. Edmée would sit in the corner, quietly stitching or polishing silver, her ears pricking at every mention of his name. Her brothers were no better. On Thursday nights, they’d gather in the attic for their card games, their voices low and conspiratorial. Edmée wasn’t allowed to join, of course, but she’d found her own way around that rule. If she sat at the top of the stairs, just out of sight, her father wouldn’t scold her.

There, she could catch snippets of their conversations, each word painting a more vivid picture of the man she hadn’t seen in what felt like forever.

“...seen him with him again...” “...spends his nights where no decent man would...” “...more dead than alive, if you ask me.”

The words made her chest tighten, her heart ache. She couldn’t bring herself to believe them. Louis de Pointe du Lac, the man who nodded at her with that secret smile, who complimented her at Grace’s wedding, couldn’t be what they said he was. Could he?

But her father’s rules were ironclad. She couldn’t ask, couldn’t go looking for answers. The world outside their home was a forbidden one, especially now. Edmée’s days were measured in prayers and chores, her nights spent reading scripture or mending clothes by candlelight. Her father had made it clear: the streets were no place for a proper young lady, especially after dark. The world out there was dangerous, filled with temptation and sin. But tonight, as she stood by the forbidden window, the temptation was unbearable.

The house was quiet, her family long asleep. The window, a heavy thing with rusted hinges, had always been forbidden. “Nothing good comes from looking where you shouldn’t,” her father had said countless times. But tonight, Edmée couldn’t help herself. She pressed her fingers to the cool glass, peering into the moonlit street below. At first, there was nothing. Just the empty streetlamps and the soft rustle of the wind through the trees. But then, she saw him.

Louis

He was walking slowly down the cobblestone street, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, his head slightly bowed. The gaslight caught his face, illuminating its sharp angles, the deep shadows beneath his eyes. He looked different—thinner, wearier, as though the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders.

Her breath hitched in her throat. She pressed closer to the glass, watching him with the kind of hunger she didn’t dare name.

“Not tonight,” Louis said, his voice low but sharp. Another figure emerged from the shadows. He appeared with a startling grace, stepping into the lamplight as if conjured from the darkness itself. His hair gleamed like spun gold, his sharp, angular features both striking and unnerving.

There was a wildness about him, a dangerous energy that made Edmée’s heart race in an entirely different way.

“Louis,” Lestat’s voice purred, low and teasing, the sound carrying up to her window. “Out for another pensive stroll, are we? Tell me, do you plan to sulk your way through eternity, or is this just for tonight’s entertainment?”

“I’m not in the mood for your games, Lestat,” he said, his voice soft but heavy with frustration. “Oh, but you never are,” Lestat replied, stepping closer. “And yet, here I am, devoted as ever. You should be flattered, mon cher.”

From her perch, Edmée couldn’t look away. The two men stood in stark contrast—Louis, somber and grounded, and Lestat, all sharp smiles and restless energy. Their connection was undeniable, charged with something she didn’t quite understand but found utterly captivating.

Lestat reached out, brushing an invisible speck from Louis’s shoulder with a flourish. “And speaking of devotions,” he said, his tone turning sly, “you’ve been spending an awful lot of time on this street. Seems that you miss the little church mouse lately? What’s her name again? Edmée?”

She could see the shift in Louis as he seemingly snapped, finally turning to face Lestat. “Leave her out of this,”

Lestat’s grin widened. “Oh, mon ami, you wound me. I only meant to say she’s... enchanting, in her own way. So innocent, so untouched by the world.” He tilted his head, his gaze flickering upward as though he might sense her watching.

Panicking, Edmée ducked away from the window, her heart pounding in her chest. She pressed her back against the wall, trying to steady her breath.

Had he seen her?

Had they seen her?

Who was he?

What was he to Louis?

As she sat there in the dark, the questions swirled in her mind, each one more troubling than the last. And though she couldn’t explain why, she felt as though she had glimpsed something forbidden, something that would change everything if she let it.

[moosesarecute]

December 8th

December Masterlist

Masterlist

Azriel’s letters to Y/N:

Cassian spilled soup all over the floor yesterday. That’s nothing unusual, but it was all over a new carpet Feyre just bought. Feyre was about to become very angry when Nyx started laughing louder than ever before. Cassian is now Nyx’s favourite person.

I’m convinced that if Nyx knew you, you would outrank Cassian very quickly. I don’t know how much he knows about his auntie Y/N, but I know you would be the best aunt he could ever wish for.

“I suggest we take a few steps back, just to make sure the same thing doesn’t happen again,” Jo spoke.

Madja and Jonathan had spoken, and they thought that perhaps the therapy was moved forward too quickly and that his heart had a breakdown because of it.

Jo had his eyebrows raised and a little tilt to his head. The usual signs that he wanted Azriel to respond, but he didn’t.

He hadn’t spoken since he told Cassian that he was okay the day before. He felt a little childish, but not speaking made him feel lighter. He didn’t have to rethink every sentence before he said it. It felt nice.

“Let’s do something fun instead. Why don’t we draw something? Or write a letter for Mr. Claus?”

It was now Azriel’s turn to raise his eyebrows. Mr. Claus? Who was that? Jonathan luckily picked up on his unspoken question.

“As you know, the mortals used to live by many different religions. One of them had saints. Saints grew up as normal humans, but they lived and often also died for their religion and a miracle would happen after their deaths. One of them, Saint Nicholas, was known for giving his money to the poor and therefore humans started to think of him as a Saint that came with gifts. Human kids started writing letters to him and hoped that they would get what they wished for Christmas. Christmas Eve was at 24th of December, so only three days after Winter Solstice. It is said that when the mortals’ religions disappeared, Saint Nicholas moved to the Winter Court under the name Mr. Claus.”

 Azriel thought his therapist had gone mad. He was an adult male, both were, he was not going to write a letter to a non-existing gift-giver and ask for something for Winter Solstice.

“It was only a suggestion, you don’t have to look at me like I’m mad,” Jonathan said. “Even though I am a little mad.”

“Have you written to him before?” Azriel asked. He surprised himself by speaking, but he wanted to make sure Jonathan knew how absurd what he was speaking about was.

Jonathan nodded as an answer.

“I have written to him for as long as I have known about him.”

“Have you gotten what you wished for?”

Jonathan only shook his head.

“Both of us know that what I wish for is impossible to get back.” Azriel suddenly realized what he was talking about. His mate. He had wished for his mate back. “However, every Winter Solstice there is placed a red rose on Elvin’s grave. I like to think that is Mr. Claus letting me know that he had heard me.”

Azriel almost rolled his eyes. Not at Jonathan, not at all. The story was nice to hear, almost made him emotional. It made him roll his eyes at himself.

Why should he care if this Mr. Claus was real or not? It was Jonathan’s Winter Solstice tradition, and he wanted to share it. He would be a got friend and do his best.

“Do you have any paper?”

Annette woke up feeling drowsy. She blinked a few times, but her head was pounding from the light in her room. But the shivering was almost gone, and her lungs finally got enough air.

She heard quiet voices. It seemed like they were arguing.

“You can’t give her this much,” Bru whispered angry.

“She needs it daily now; I thought that if we gave more at once might need to take it less often,” Cathrine argued back.

“Are you forgetting what we are doing? What we are giving her? It’s not something to play with. We should up the dosage only a little bit every other week, that’s what the potion-master said.”

Cathrine had given her too much medicine. That’s why she was feeling so bad. It made sense. Cathrine always wanted what was best for her, and giving more medicine should in most cases be better.

Annette let out a groan as she sat up. Both Cathrine and Bru soon surrounded her. They asked how she was feeling.

“Cold, tired,” she answered. She felt too drowsy to speak full sentences.

“Let me help you into these blankets,” Cathrine said.

She moved firstly the fur so that it was tighter wrapped around her, and then she picked up one of the blankets.

However, as she was picking up the third blanket, she leaned over Annette in a way that made her wing bend in a wrong direction.

She almost yelled out in pain and rushed to push Cathrine away. Moving as quickly as possible, Annette freed her wing and stretched it out.

It was unharmed. Luckily.

“It seems like worry for wings is a thing they get from birth,” Bru commented slyly to Cathrine. It seemed like something he didn’t want Annette to hear, but at the same time he didn’t speak quietly.

Cathrine moved slower this time around and eventually got Annette covered in all three blankets. Annette felt herself trying to move away from Cathrine. Suddenly everything felt unsafe.

“I’ll get you some stew, sweatheart.”

As Cathrine left, Annette started to think.

If they had taken care of her since she was a child, then why didn’t they know how careful she was around her wings? It was probably some sort of mistake, but Annette felt herself needing so know that it was safe.

“Bru? Can you explain exactly what happened last time. Just one more time?”

Annette asked them this often. And every time, her family became slightly more annoyed.

“You went out into the woods as usual, but then night arrived, and you didn’t come home. We got worried and started to look for you. When we found you, you were out cold and when you woke you didn’t remember any of us. You haven’t remembered anything from the time before the accident and your heart have been weak ever since.”

When Annette realized it, she almost stopped breathing. She tried to act as if it was nothing as Cathrine came with her stew and both Cathrine and Bru left the room.

She looked around. Her room was small, but it was decorated with crochet and painting she allegedly had made. And a stuffed toad she had played with as a child. Other than that, nothing screamed that she had lived there for over two hundred years. Two hundred and fifty-four. She was two hundred and fifty-four and she could only remember almost three of those years.

Because, she hadn’t been there for two hundred and fifty-four years. She was curtain about that now.

Cathrine had told her that they had tried different medicine for her, but that it was before she had lost her memory. However, Bru had just told her that her heart got weak first after the accident.

Also, if she had lived with them for over two centuries, how could they still not know that her wings were sensitive? And as she had been outside. In the beautiful, refreshing and calming nature, all her instincts had been to not go back.

She knew now, she had to leave. And that rather quickly.

Taglist: @prettylittlewrites @hailqueenconquer @onebadassunicorn @mich0731 @tele86 @mellowmusings @anarchiii

Let me know if you want to be added!

Dividers by @issysh3ll

[thechurchoftheradiodemon]

Good evening, denizens of Radioapple nation!

I think it's time for a new fic recommendation list. I have been reading some series you recommended and some others that I found on tmblr. My tbr is still shamefully long, you people need to stop being so talented, I can't keep up with all the content.

In any case, here goes my rec list for anyone that is interested. These fics are 100% unadultered radioapple, some sfw, some nsfw, but all of them with good aroace-spec representation and fantastic characterizations.

Without further ado, here we go:

• OSaS, by @morningstarwrites: no need for introductions. This is, I believe, the most famous fic of the fandom. So many hijinks, so much fluff, such character development, and a lot of lovely bickering. It's still going, and we are now entering the 6th arch, with promises of turning up the heat (so far, very much sfw and cute).

• De santos y pecadores, by Sun_Haworth: this is the Spanish version of Of Saints and Sinners (yes, the fic is this famous, it has translations). Very good translation work, I have to say, so check it out if you are a Spanish speaker or if you want to practice your Spanish!

• Lucid Dreams of New Orleans, by @radiaurapple: a "finished" one, with promises of more epilogues and some snippets to come. This is one of the loveliest, most heartwrenching fics I've read of the fandom. Pseudo-human Alastor AU, beautifully written, it will entrance you. You will long for New Orleans like you never knew you could. A must read, for sure. Sfw with the exception of this (highly recommended) snippet, 3 a.m. (Bonus track). I'd also recommend reading A LULLABY FOR MR SHINGLES of you are looking to be creeped out and for a good laugh.

• We should've been enemies, by @soot-and-salt: the gothic horror romance fic you didn't know you needed. It's almost finished, and it captures the creepy dark atmosphere so well. This one is nsfw and very sexy, if I may say so. The writing flows really good, and you can't miss their one-shots: I shine only with the light you gave me, such gorgeous premise and prose, it's a human Alastor AU; and Transubstantiation, based on a fabulous CMV, very gorey and ethereal, it bewitched me.

• All changed, changed utterly, by @tollingreminiscentbells: a finished one, nsfw. Human Alastor AU at the beginning, we follow an alternative narrative in which Lucifer and Alastor met each other before Hell. It is SUCH a gorgeous fic, very nicely written, with so much fluff and angst and character development. Domestic and romantic, without losing each characters essence. I binged it in a couple of days. A must read for any radioapple fan, for sure.

• Lucifer and his terrible, horrible, no good, very bad relationship, by @keelywolfe: this is another radioapple stapple, and rightfully so. Nsfw and still on going, a long read that's very worth it. The writing? Incredible. The evolution of every character? Astounding. The plot? THICK. An amazingly hooking fic, with so much fluff, hurt, confort, love, hate, secrets, drama and smut. A MUST, no doubt. You can also read the short Radioapple Standalones, they are a cute, dramaless and sexy read to rest from the chaos of the main series.

• Bedtime rituals to try out before the next angelic war, by @miribalis: finished and sfw. In this one, we find ourselves with a tricky hotel room and many sheanigans involving insomnia, managerial duties and feelings. Very very cute, writing on point and captures a cozy atmosphere that few do. Another binge-read for me, I just couldn't get enough domesticity from them.

• Blood, water and other bonds, by Minimalistless: nsfw two-shot. If you are looking for some self-indulgent radioapple smut, here is your fic. This one is really well written and fun. Worth giving it a shot.

• loml, by @radioapple-heathen: sfw and still going. A very cute fic, with some really angsty moments and pet snake sheanigans. Alastor and Lucifer discover they have many things in common, but their rivalry never fades... for now.

• Stolen Moments, by @mothballmilkshake: I'm still going through this series, but so far so very good. Nsfw and another very worthy long read. It's fun, it's cute, we see the development of their characters and their relationship, and so far it's becoming another favourite! Definitelly worth seeing how this continues unfolding.

• Strange Appetites, by Gotllphi: Nsfw, gorey (diegetic gore, I believe they described it) and still going. Currently on hiatus, but the author has the story all planned out and will resume writing as soon as they can! My first radioapple read and still on my top list. Human Alastor AU, with some very cute teen Charlie included here and there. The plot is highly adicting, the development of their relationship so much so, and the writing is fantastic. Give it a shot to encourage your local fic writers not to give up!

• Unhealthy Competition, by @theaffablescamp: I have to catch up with this one too, but it is, overall, fun, sexy and intriguing. Nsfw, still going, SO many hooking plot points, SO many hijinks. The radioapples navigate their personal issues while trying to understand each other. A good, entertaining read.

• Eat your heart out, by @seducipher: modern human Alastor AU, nsfw, gorey and unfinished. Very cool atmosphere and premise, good writing and tantalizing. I also binge read this one. Sexy and intriguing, can't wait to see how this one continues.

• @notherpuppet 's AUs: I usually put this one at the end bc it's not a fic per se, but the My Deer Nanny AU is another fandom classic, rightfully so. Fun, cute, fun, domestic, fun, heartmelting... it has everything a radioapple fan needs! They are also in a queer-platonic relationship, which I think is really refreshing and good for their characters. Don't miss their other AUs, art and short-comics. They are pure GOLD.

Also, as I should, have your read Primavera en Nueva Orleans? A great fic in Spanish about Alastor's last Mardi Gras, you should take a look, it's nice 👀

But, anyway, this is all folks! I'll post new fic recs in a while when I continue with my tbr. Thank you for listening and reading, and stay tuned!