#Peaches Christ Drag Show

[capitalchaostv]

GIBBY HAYES and THE PAUL GREEN ACADEMY ready themselves to confuse and abuse your eardrums at Mosswood Meltdown.

The annual Mosswood Meltdown outdoor festival is returning July 6th and 7th to the East Bay for two special, fun-filled days. Featured Saturday acts include B-52’s, Redd Kross, Hunx & His Punx, Peaches Christ Drag Show, Pansy Division, Go Sailor, Wifey, Trap Girl, and Hot Laundry while Sunday’s festivities showcase The Mummies, Pure Hell, Big Freedia, Egyptian Lover, Gibby Haynes & the Paul Green…

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Simon absolutely worshiping your body

Lights low, soft, breathy sounds filling the air that is already already thick with the unspoken words of a man consumed, you lay sprawled out naked across the sheets.

This is like his little slice of heaven.

Adoration is what Simon is after tonight, needing to caress every single solitary inch of you until you are left in a puddle of pure bliss in the middle of his bed.

"Let me turn your brain off for ya, let me take care of ya," he breathes against your mouth as he kisses you, lightly nipping at your bottom lip lazily.

You are the best goddamn thing to grace his life and he desperate need to show it constantly by having all his undivided attention focused solely on you is something he struggles with dailyq.

Moments ago Simon had traced over all the subtle imperfections of your body with his calloused fingers as if every flaw were actually incredibly precious to him, lips following not far behind as he whispers delicious praises into your flesh.

Those gentle things that are only for your ears alone to hear. Can't have people think he's going soft...even though he very much is.

He nuzzles into you as he catches your scent: that natural musk mixed with the clean smell of your body wash. It makes his head fuzzy and his body tingle in a way he cannot accurately describe.

"Christ, you look so fuckin' beautiful, luv," he purrs against your warm skin as his lips caress down over the swell of your breasts with their nipples already stiff and along the length of your stomach towards your thighs. "I can't get enough of ya. Fuck, your perfect."

It is as if he is performing a sacred act by giving every bit of you the full breadth of his desire, from your lips all the way down to your legs. Extra time he spends on your thighs as he embraces those voluptuous curves with his mouth until you are whining and writhing beneath him before he has even gotten to your throbbing clit.

Simon spreads you open to lean into that mossy bank and delicately peppers kisses to your petals with such care, until you are breathlessly begging him for more, "please baby, please", before he carefully divides them easily with his tongue as he slips it inside. You are already wet, stimulated from his doting on your body alone and shit you are sweet. Like eating a peach accept this own doesn't run out before he's had his fill.

That masterful tongue draws short, cncise circles along your clit, lips locking around it intermittently as he sucks, using the two techniques in tandem until you are bucking against his face. He takes his time, caressing your thighs up and down with his hands, dragging his nails lightly to make you shiver.

By the time he is inside of you, you are a glorious mess or cum and mewls and sweat.

Slow, even thrusts he pounds into you from behind, making the curve of your ass jiggle against his hips with each plunge of his cock between your silky petals and into your tight cunt.

Your elbows and knees prod into the mattress leaving indents on the surface as he has you ass up and face down now. One of those wide hands with the long, thick fingers runs up the length of your back to your head where he laces all five digits through your hair before his grip holds it firmly in his grasp while the other glides across your spine.

His clasp on your hair is firm, but not painful; there is nothing but pleasure for you tonight.

Looking down, he watches with hungry amber eyes as your juicy cunt sucks him in right down to the base of his shaft before he pulls his cock back out nearly to the tip to thrist it back in all over again.

"That's it, sweetheart," he groans as his hips snap against your backside. "Ya feel so goddamn good tonight, just wanna stay buried in ya."

Goddamn what a beautiful sight to watch your body strain to take all of his girth in at once, his size almost too much to handle, but he has prepped you well as he always does starting with his fingers and then his tongue; making sure you are nice and wet and relaxed enough to take him.

Fuck, in this position he's so deep in you, you swear you can feel him in your stomach. To be so full of him, where you can't tell where he ends and you begin, sends tingling shivers coursing through your veins.

You are completely claimed by him body and soul.

Simon was never a religious man, most of the time as far from it as possible, but the closest he would ever come was the moment he got that first taste of the absolute glory of what lay between your legs as you wrapoed yourselves in one another and then it was as if your body became his church...and fuck was he ready to give his life to worshiping at your alter with his fingers, his tongue, his cock; all his instruments at your disposal to show his unwavering devotion.

That man had been starved for far longer than he'd like to admit, but the first time he buried himself in you that was all it took to fill him. It was you he craved: your softness and warmth and sweetness, everything he did not have in his life before.

And so every chance Simon gets to have you naked and at his mercy, he takes greedily and without remorse. No matter how many times, how many different ways, he always wants more... Needs more...

How can he not overindulge after being deprived for so long?

...when all this beauty just willingly let him have all she has.

[random-thot-generator]

Dirty Little Secret

JOHNNY 'SOAP' MACTAVISH x FEM READER

-

Summary: Being Johnny MacTavish's dirty little secret isn't easy, but you don't have the strength to walk away.

Warnings/Tags: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Oral- F receiving, P in V Sex, Angst, Hurt/No Comfort, No Y/N

(Notes: Another smut purge but with feelings and angst. Maybe a part 2. Not sure yet. We'll see.)

Word Count: 2.3K

-

"Tha's it sweetheart. Feckin' hell, ya feel so good."

It's three in the morning, you've got to be up for work in a few hours, and you're currently folded up like an accordion under Johnny while he takes his sweet time. He's been gone for two months, shipped off to God knows where, and now he's come home in one of his moods.

You whine at the snail's pace he's using to fuck you. His hands are like vice grips on your thighs as he slowly sinks into your wet heat, hissing through his teeth when his balls finally make contact with the tacky, slick-coated cheeks of your ass. He grinds down into you, muttering curses under his breath before slowly dragging his hips back… back… back until only the throbbing head of his cock is all that's left for your cunt to clench around.

"Steamin' Jesus, hen. D'ya feel how ya got a'hold o' me?" He leans back to look, breath huffing out of his slack mouth. "Christ, would ya look at tha'…"

Before you know what he's about, he's pulled out completely and is shifting his body down your own. You whimper and grab for him, a weak attempt, and watch helplessly as his head dives between your thighs with a ragged groan. He spent a small eternity with his face buried between your legs already, the beard burn on your inner thighs making you wince when his stubbled jaw rubs over the raw flesh again. You'll be feeling this for days, you know.

Overstimulated, you choke out a pitiful cry when his lips suction around your swollen clit, suckling it like a juicy peach he's just sunk his teeth into. You hips levitate off the bed, tears tracking across your temples into your hair as your orgasm suddenly breaks like a wave over you. When your walls bear down and you cum with a strangled gasp, Johnny surges up your body and bullies his cock into your pulsing channel. Your walls seize him, clenching and pulling, milking his length as it pulls him deeper.

"Christ! Hen, I canna hold—!" His words are cut off with a strained whimper as he climaxes, his back arcing like a bow. Fingers dig into the soft flesh of your hips, locking you in place as he holds himself there, buried deep, letting his release fill you to overflowing.

Mindless bliss and panting breaths, a lingering kiss on your parted lips. He leans his sweaty forehead against yours and sighs as the tension in his body lets go.

Finally spent, he lifts himself away on shaking arms and falls beside you with a grunt, dragging you into his arms to press wet, artless kisses over your cheeks and sweaty brow. His hand smooths down your back to grip your ass, his other hand curled around the nape of your neck. He molds you to his body, sweat-slick skin sliding against yours as he buries his nose at the crook of your neck and breathes deep. "Missed ya so much, bonnie," he whispers against your throat. "So much…"

The last of his energy drained, he succumbs to exhaustion and falls asleep within minutes, head cradled on your breast.

When you wake up for work the following morning, he's already gone.

-

There's not much you can say about your situation with Johnny. It started out with a random drunken hook-up, which became another and another, until finally he just started showing up at your flat.

You can't call it friends with benefits, because you're not really friends. He doesn't hang out with you, doesn't text or call. He just shows up, wrecks your world, and is gone by morning.

There's never been any discussion about boundaries, though you think you might have reached the limit of yours. How much longer can this go on? How much more can you take? How can you live with yourself knowing that you're nothing more than his dirty little secret?

You ask yourself these questions when you wake up alone the next morning, only the soreness between your legs and the fading smell of sex and his cologne on your sheets as proof that he was ever even there. Yet you dread the day when he stops coming 'round. It's like living with a gun pointed at your head, wondering when he'll finally pull the trigger and put you out of your misery.

It's torture, but self-inflicted; you're doing this to yourself. Sure, you talk a good game, tell yourself you'll put your foot down next time, but you end up tripping over it instead when you hear his knock at your door late at night. You see it for what it is: you're the fiend and he's the drug, and each time you give into your addiction, he only leaves you wanting more.

There's only one remedy for it, because you know he'll never love you back. You'll have to go cold-turkey, remove him completely from your life, but just the thought of it terrifies you. The thing is, you're not sure what scares you the most, the thought of losing him or the thought of him being okay with it.

Either way, you're too much of a coward to find out.

-

You saw him today, on your lunch break.

He didn't see you, but you saw him— with her.

He was walking with her, arm slung over her shoulders, head tipped down to hear what she was saying. His face split into that grin that always melts your heart and he laughed, gave her a playful shake before pulling her in to plant a kiss on the crown of her head. He led her to a coffee shop, holding the door for her to enter, the two of them still laughing as they disappeared inside.

It was like a slap to the face, the way it hit you, a hot mess of emotions that bombarded you all at once. The worst of them, though, was the shame you felt, that deep-seated embarrassment that made your shoulders curl forward and filled your head with heat. Ears ringing, you staggered into an alley and threw up your turkey on rye, then went back to work.

Whatever happened afterward was a blur, your body on autopilot, your brain numb. At some point your supervisor stopped by your cubicle and told you to go home, that you looked unwell. Even after you left, the word kept repeating itself; unwell, unwell, unwell...

Yes. You were unwell.

You made it inside your flat before the dam broke, and then sobbed yourself dry slumped against your front door.

-

The knock came later that night, long after you had already dragged yourself to bed. Wadded tissues scattered as you jerked fully awake, ears attuned to the muffled knocking that sounded again. Your heart was pounding.

Climbing out of bed, you crept through your flat, jumping when the rapping grew sharper and more insistent. You scurried the rest of the way to the door, rattling the chain to stop him before he started pounding with his fist.

"Jesus, bonnie! I thought somethin' was wrong," Johnny hissed, taking you by the arms and walking you backwards into the flat. You yelped as your feet tangled, grabbing hold of the front of his shirt as he caught you up in his arms to steady you. "Was ready t'kick in the door," he huffed, bringing a hand up to cradle your face.

Your chest clenched, all the hurt and sorrow that had settled during sleep now welling back up inside you. There was so much you wanted to say, but the culmination of it came out in one wavering word.

"Why?"

There was a beat of silence, then Johnny huffed a quiet laugh. "Ya must still be half asleep, sweetheart. C'mon, let's get ya back t'bed."

His words sounded flippant until you realized he couldn't properly see you in the dark room. You were glad the darkness hid your face, hid your red, swollen eyes and splotchy skin, hid your tears and your heartache. You let him lead you through the dark flat to your bedroom, but this time you were at peace with the decision. It was okay because you knew this time you weren't giving in.

You were giving up.

This would be your swan song with Johnny MacTavish, this one last time to tell him goodbye.

When he kissed you, you kissed him back, taming his hungry mouth with gentle lips, pouring every bit of your broken hope and useless love into him. Let him have it; it was all for him, anyway.

When he stripped you bare and laid you down on your bed, you clung to him like a lover would, for once, unashamed of how you felt, your heart letting him go even as your arms pulled him closer.

You wondered if he could feel it, could somehow sense that this was the end. There were several times that he pulled away, peering down at you in the darkness, his breaths panting and unsteady. He was quiet, too; unusual for him. He always talked during sex, but not this time. Instead, there was something akin to a reverent silence, the moment sacred. No words would suffice; it could only be felt.

When he entered you, you sobbed, just one gasping breath that hitched up in your chest. You felt him tense, heard him draw in a breath to speak, so, you pulled his head down and silenced him with a kiss, wrapping your legs around him and holding on tight.

A ragged sound escaped his throat as he rolled his hips and began to move. His kisses were lingering and deep, his body pressed close to yours, his hips rocking in the cradle of your pelvis but never losing contact. It was slow and sensual, but unbelievably intense.

When he finally rose above you, you felt him trembling, his thrusts growing stronger, faster, as he angled his hips to hit that spot that only he knew well. You arched to meet him with every stroke, your bodies moving in perfect accord, locked in an ancient rhythm that carried you both up that peak.

You came with a moaning cry, limbs locking around him as you rode out the high. His thrusts grew erratic, his grunts broken and choked. With one final thrust, he buried himself deep, hips hitching up as he came with a ragged, "Bonnie—!" punching out of his throat.

Panting breaths in solemn silence, that's all that can be heard in the aftermath. He didn't move away, choosing this time to stay inside you, his weight a familiar burden that you already miss. His kisses were slow, his hands affectionate, petting and stroking as he sighed into your skin. Eventually, he wrapped his arms around you and turned you both to your sides, the tip of his nose brushing yours as his big hand cupped the back of your head. You could feel his smile against your lips.

Once he fell asleep, you got out of bed to clean yourself up. As you washed away the spend that had dried on your thighs, a sense of grief overtook you, so you locked the door and cried into a bath towel. When the tears stopped, you washed your face then went back to bed.

You didn't sleep, made a concerted effort to stay awake. You wanted to be awake when he left this time, this one last time. At five in the morning, a muffled buzz broke the silence, and Johnny stirred beside you with a sleepy groan. So, that's how he did it, you thought absently. He set his alarm and slept with it under his pillow. You'd always wondered how he managed to be up and out of your flat before you awoke.

You felt him shift behind you, and pictured him sitting up, weight resting on his elbows. He blew out a long sigh, scrubbed his hand over his mohawk before drawing it down his stubbled cheek. When he reached out and traced the line of your body from shoulder to hip, you tried to be as still as possible, but his lips on your shoulder made you gasp. He huffed a quiet chuckle and rose from the bed.

While he was in the loo, you blinked your eyes open, the hot prickle of tears threatening to reveal your ruse. Not too much longer, you promised yourself, knowing he would be leaving soon. When his quiet steps came towards the bedroom again, you closed your eyes, willing your body to relax.

You listened to the rustle of clothes being slipped back on, the jingle of his buckle, the dull thud of his boots. Once he was dressed, he rounded the bed to your side, then stood there a moment before you heard him shift. His knees cracked when he dropped down to his haunches, one hand on the bed near your folded arms. He brushed his knuckles over your cheek and sighed, then leaned in to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Sleep tight, my bonnie," he whispered. "See ye soon."

He rose and stepped away, his footsteps heading toward the bedroom door. They paused in the threshold then continued on through the flat, the sound of your front door opening and closing reaching your ears. Your eyes opened and you stared at the dark, empty room, feeling hollowed out but at peace.

"I'll miss you, Johnny," you whispered. "I love you. Goodbye."

-

part 2

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unexpected 27

Sequel to Unsolicited

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, car sex, Lloyd being the worst, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Lloyd’s absence does not extend to your dreams. Your nights are haunted by him, horrifying premonitions of your future together. Rather apart. You’re trapped in that house, alone, with a screaming baby, a child that grows to resent you, that drains you dry and blames you for being a husk.

Under his thumb, even from a distance. 

The haze swirls and another twisted scene paints your unconscious. You hear his voice first, a long groan, and hiss shortened behind his teeth, a harsh snarl which resembles, “son of a dick.” Footsteps surround you, softened deliberately as they circle the room, a snap, a click, and a loud scrape.

You grunt and your eyes slit, the room darkened with shadows, static with your fatigue. You search through the dim, a black figure leaning against the dresser, broad shoulders and a dipped head. It’s not a dream. He’s back.

Three and a half weeks. Not a word from him. None from you either.

You suppress a moan as you sit up, a twang in your hips, and reach to turn on the lamp. The glow burst around the room and limns the dark stains pooling slickly across his dark clothing. He drags his foot and turns to face you, leaning on the dresser so it knocks against the wall. You sigh.

“Is this how it’s going to be? You leave without a word and come back… like this?”

He says nothing as he pushes his head to the side. His jaw squares beneath a thick layer of stubble. He turns and uses one hand to guide the other onto the painted wood. He takes a breath and withholds a rumble that nestles in his chest as he slams his weight down and you hear his shoulder pop. He sighs and leans his head back.

“Shit,” he growls and bends his arm gingerly, not quite able to get it all the way. He stretches his fingers and shakes them out.

A whole month. He’s missed a whole month of your pregnancy. Sloughed you off on his parents like an orphan. Is that what this child is going to be to him?

You turn your back to him and swipe up the pillow and grip the bed frame. You’re even bigger now. It takes two tries to haul your ass up off the mattress. The couch is even less hospitable for your burning hip bones.

“Stay,” he says, “please.”

“Lloyd–”

“Give me a fucking second,” he sneers, “I…” He begins, “I need your help, peaches.”

You stop and slowly face him across the bed. He peels off his black turtleneck awkwardly as his left arm refuses to raise all the way. The fabric catches on something along his back and he tugs with a grunt. He reveals the bruises up his torso, several formidable slashes along his side. The blood makes you queasy.

“I can’t reach this,” he turns and shows his back, the broken blade of a knife jutting out from the muscle around his ribs.

“Jesus Christ, Lloyd, I’m gonna fucking puke,” you drop the pillow back to the bed and cover your mouth.

“I’m gonna be honest, I already did,” he chuckles as he limps around the foot of the bed.

He surpasses you and disappears into the bathroom. You wait, frozen as the sight of him sears into your retinas. What the fuck was he doing?

He returns and tosses the white kit on the bed. He spins and sits with a wheezy grunt as he winces. His hand tremors as he rolls his eyes back.

“You wanna grab a cloth and put pressure around the wound, then pull the blade straight. Don’t wiggle it–”

“Lloyd, you need a doctor–”

“Doctor’s ask questions,” he frowns, the gash in his brow made more obvious by his expression, “you can do it, peaches. I’ve had worse–”

You’re quiet as you gulp back bile. He has a lot of faith in you. A lot of trust that you won’t twist the blade deeper to hear him suffer. You click your tongue and go to grab some hand towels from the linen closet.

He turns on the bed, hovering awkwardly on the edge as he presents his back. You reluctantly wipe around the blade, nearly gagging as you press the cloth around it and grip the shorn end with your fingers. You retch but hold it back.

“You’re doing fine, sweetheart,” Lloyd grits out, his fingers clutched around a fold in the blankets, “once you get that thing out, you need put as much pressure on it as you–”

You pull and the blade slides out slowly. He roars and curls forward as he quakes. His visible agony is both satisfying and startling. You get the metal free and push the cloth flat over the wound, the slippery blade falling from your grasp.

“Oh god, are you sure you shouldn’t see a professional?”

“I’ve been stabbed before. He didn’t hit anything important.”

“Didn’t– Before?” You scoff, “Christ.”

“What did I tell you? The less you know, the better.”

You’re silent as you keep the cloth firm against him. He groans and sits up straight. You have a thousand thoughts swirling in your head, some angry, some confused, others even worried.

“You gotta stitch me up,” he says, “you know how to sew…”

“I’m gonna barf,” you look over at the curve needle in the kit.

“Well, just aim it away from me,” he clucks, “peaches, you just gotta sterilise me, then a few stitches should do the job.”

You take a breath, your tongue slimy with a nauseous sheen. He reaches for the kits and wipes the blood from his hands with one of the pre-packaged alcohol wipes. He then peels open the little packet with the needle and threads it with expert precision. He holds it out for you to see.

You take it shakily and ease back the cloth with your other hand. You cringe as your lashes flutter. You shudder and try to steady your grip. You poke the tip into his skin and another gag lumps in your throat. You manage to pierce through to the other side and weave the thread into his flesh. You swallow and take a deep breath.

“So…” you have to talk, you can’t think about what you're doing, “you left.”

“Work,” he says bluntly.

“Mm, it’s been almost a month.”

“You didn’t want me around.”

You huff. You jab him a bit too harshly and he grunts. You correct course and sniff.

“I wanted you to make a goddamn effort beyond getting your dick hard,” you snap.

“I was making a goddamn effort. I was making money for our little girl.”

You shake your head, “sure. While I’m stuck here.”

“Not alone–”

“So fucking what? You let your parents do the heavy lifting, huh? Never do anything yourself.”

“Oh, don’t–”

“No, Lloyd,” you pull the thread tight and knot it. He gives you the scissors as you snap your fingers, “you don’t. I won’t do this. I’m not going to have this… baby only for you to run off whenever you feel like it. Do you think this is going to be a vacation? My body is going to be ruined, I’m going to be miserable, and you’re going to go find someone else to torment.”

You cut the wire and strain as you push yourself back to your feet. You go around him and toss the scissors and unused tail of thread into the kit, “I know you, Lloyd Hansen, too well.”

His nose flares and his eyes list away, “I told you, I don’t want anyone else. You need to let that go–”

“Fuck you,” you spit out. “I’m human, Lloyd, unlike you. Yeah, it fucking hurts to be the one tossed away for some bimbo blonde. Is that what you want to hear? That I have fucking feelings.”

He blinks. A long blink. “I know. Peaches,” he looks at you, “it’s one of the many things I admire in you.” 

You’re taken aback by the authenticity in his voice, in his expression. It’s not some comment on your ass or your tits, it’s damn near a real compliment.

“I’m sorry, I really am. And I heard you. You wanted space, you got it. But you gotta listen to me too, sweet cheeks.”

“Sure,” you say dully, “what? What did I do this time?”

He squints and his forehead wrinkles, “baby. Kid. Why won’t you say it? Girl? We’re having a little girl. A daughter.”

You take a breath, your shoulders rise and fall. You look at him, take him in, blood, sweat, and who knows what else.

“Fine, girl. Daughter. I get it Lloyd, I got it from day one. About time you do, too.”

He purses his lips and his throat bobs, “yeah, I guess you got me there.” 

He stands, slightly slouched as the pain twitches in his cheek. He grasps the top of his pants as he takes an uneven step.

“Peaches, I’m holding back the horny but I do need some help with these,” he says as he limps toward the bathroom, “gotta wash all this shit off me.”

“Mhmm,” you say as you follow him, “and I gotta change the damn sheets.” You nudge him so he exclaims, “always making a goddamn mess.

“Yeah, well, you’re so good at cleaning it up,” he chortles as he grasps the doorframe, “Peaches, you’re gonna be a great mother.”

“Shut up,” you retort, “it’s late and you smell.”

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Twenty-Two

I wake up from a nightmare certain that I am dying. There is a rancid taste in my mouth, and before I even open my eyes, the light through my eyelids is too much, too harsh. I open them just a little bit and feel like I’ve been whacked over the head by the floral pattern on the curtains. The bedclothes are far too hot and I feel restricted by them like they’re a pit of snakes that has coiled around all of my limbs, but as soon as I’ve freed myself my stomach lurches. I scramble out of the box room and dash across the landing to the bathroom where I clutch onto the toilet dry heaving but nothing is coming up. I am certain I’ve never felt worse in my life. I lay my cheek on the cold tile of the floor and don’t spare a thought to how disgusting it is to do this. The coolness feels so good against my skin. I must lie there for twenty minutes.

“…and what else? Oh, okay, well I never knew that, that’s actually interesting…” Jude’s voice drifts across the landing. He’s on the phone, probably with Jen because he calls her every day to catch up now that she’s recovering at home with Michelle’s family, and usually I find his voice quite soothing, but now, even through the walls of this bathroom it’s far too loud, searing right through my brain as my head throbs more aggressively than it ever has. I squeeze my eyes closed and let out a pitiful groan. Footsteps approach the door and he knocks so loudly that I feel like my eyeballs will rattle back into my skull. “Evie?”

I groan again. 

“Sorry, Jen, I have to go. I’ll call you back later maybe? Yeah. Okay, take care,” Another knock, “Do you mind if I come in?”

I use all my strength to drag myself up until I’m at least sitting on the floor, my head supported by the wall behind me. “Yes,” I manage. He opens the door. 

“I’m sick,” I announce, “I think I’m going to throw up soon. Eventually.”

“I don’t think so, love,” He gets down on his haunches beside me, “You already puked up the entire contents of your stomach last night, I doubt there’s anything left.”

“I did?”

“You don’t remember?”

I shake my head which makes it feel like my brain is banging around inside my skull. I wince and clutch my forehead, “No, I don’t remember anything.”

“Claire called Shane last night at like three AM, both of you were plastered in a club in Paphos and didn’t know where to go to get a taxi home. He went out and got you himself.”

Little pieces of the night start coming back to me in flashes. The wine event in the vineyard, downing all of my glasses and then what was left of Claire’s. Us dancing around to arabic music in the back of a taxi, shots at the bar, begging the DJ to play Cotton Eye Joe “because it’s funny”, trying to climb onto a table and getting pulled back down by the staff, coloured lights in my eyes and then… nothing. “Christ, I was really drunk,” I say.

“Yes,” Jude says, “You came into my room when you got home, threw a little bag of peach rings at me and said ‘chow down, pretty boy.’”

“Oh, Lord.”

“Then I thought I’d try and put you to bed but you rushed into the toilet and spent a couple of hours throwing up everything.”

“Did you stay with me?”

“Yeah I did.”

The dry little sob that escapes me is pathetic, “That was so nice of you, and I don’t even remember it. I’m so sorry. I bet I was so annoying, I’m the worst drunk, honestly, I get insufferable, I know-”

“Evie, no, you weren’t at all. You were fine, actually, I found you funny.” He takes out his phone and taps around on it for a moment, “You also drunk texted me for the first time, which was a bit of a thrill.”

“What did I say?”

He flips the screen to show me a selfie I took in the nightclub toilets, camera held above my head at a ridiculous angle, pointing right down my top to where I’m shoving my boobs together and making a stupid kissy face. I’ve captioned it ‘Do u like me?’ I catch a glimpse of Jude’s response: ‘No’.

“You said no?”  

“Yeah I thought it’d be a fun joke, ” he shoves the phone back into his pocket and hooks an arm around my back to haul me off the floor. “Come on, I think you’d be better off back in bed for now.” 

“What time is it?”

“Around eleven”

“AM?”

He chuckles, “Of course.” I go almost completely limp and don’t help him at all, but he’s bigger than I am, I know he can manage me. He lifts me easily and tries to get me to walk back to bed, but I feel extra sorry for myself at this moment, sorry enough to ask “Can you carry me?” in my best pathetic voice and he gives me a look like he thinks I’m being cheeky, but without protest he scoops me up into his arms. I bury my face in his neck and grab the opportunity to take a not-so-subtle inhale. He always smells so good and today is no different. Soapy, fresh, clean like a sober morning.

“Are you sniffing me?”

I sob, “I’m dying.”

“You’re just hungover.”

“Can I stay with you?”

“Your bed is a little small for two.”

“In your room then.”

“If you like.” He takes me inside, his suitcase open on the floor with clothes all around it and the bed unmade, crinkled pale blue sheets. He places me down upon them and then draws the curtains across the windows while I snuggle up into his pillows and whimper self-pityingly. Then he comes over and strokes my hair which I wish he wouldn’t because it is greasy and knotted at the back of my head. 

“I’m disgusting,” I say acidly.

“Yes, Evie,” He drawls with a huge eye roll, “You’re foul, how could you get drunk? I’m so put off by you now.”

“I haven’t been this hungover in years.”

“We’ve all been there, you’ll be fine, I just think you should try and hit the reset button by getting back to sleep for a while. I’ll get you some water and maybe some toast?” At the mention of water I suddenly feel like I’ve been traversing the barren Sahara without a drop of it for days. My whole mouth and throat feels as cracked and dusty as a desert floor. 

“Yes, water,” I gasp, and Jude thinks I’m doing a bit instead of being serious, which I can’t blame him for, but I still get annoyed when he imitates me by clutching at his throat and pretending to die. He heads to the kitchen and comes back with a glass of water, some painkillers, which I swallow with relish, and two slices of plain toast, which I don’t feel ready to eat, and then eventually I fall back asleep while he lounges around at the end of the bed looking at his phone until I wake up again and feel slightly less like passing away. 

“I think I should brush my teeth,” is the first thing I utter, “My breath is awful,” 

“Good idea,” he says, and I try not to be offended by the fact that he didn’t disagree, but all is forgiven as soon as he helps me off the bed and towards the bathroom like he’s afraid my legs will give out underneath me, and even squeezes a dollop of toothpaste onto my toothbrush, which he definitely didn’t need to, because I’m not that bad. 

“You’re being very sweet,” I say through a mouthful of minty foam. 

“I know, it’s weird but you bring it out in me. See, usually I’m horrible.”

“Says the man who feeds stray cats outside his apartment. I think that you like pathetic creatures.”

“That must be it,” He goes over to turn the shower on for me, and when I protest, he insists that I’ll feel better when I’m clean, which, once again, is true, because once I’ve scrubbed last night and this morning from my body and hair I almost feel myself again. When I have dressed myself in a vest and shorts and pulled my damp hair into a knot at the top of my head, I cross the landing back towards Jude’s room and realise that the house is completely silent save for the dim sounds of the Vines he is watching inside. I push through the door. 

“Where are Claire and Shane?”

“They’ve gone to the Adonis Baths.”

I gasp with betrayal. “But we were all supposed to go together.”

“I know, but you weren’t well enough,” He idly pats the bed next to him and I sit down, “You and I can go tomorrow if you’d like.”

“Did they ask you to come with them?”

“Yeah of course.”

“And you said…”

He glances at me, “I said no, I didn’t want to leave you alone when you were sick,” The corner of his mouth ticks up “It’d be a bit shit to sneak away while you were sleeping and have you wake up to an empty house, wouldn’t it?” For some reason this makes me feel like I might start crying. “Eat your toast,” Jude says, and I scramble up the bed to retrieve it, cold now, from the bedside table, and take a small cautionary bite from the corner of one slice. “Isn’t Claire hungover too?” I wonder. 

Jude pauses, his finger hovering over the video he’s looking at before swiping to the next. “No,” He says carefully, “She wasn’t quite as drunk as you were, but obviously that’s okay, it must have just hit you harder for some reason.”

“I’m fairly sure I just went bananas and drank everything in sight because I’m a lunatic, but thanks for trying to make me feel better.” I take another bite of brittle toast, “God, I wish I had, like, a fry-up or something.”

“Yeah? I can cycle to the shops and get you something.”

“No, please, don’t. I’ll be fine, don’t go out of your way for me.”

“If there’s something that’ll make you better…”

It would, but I can’t bear the thought of sending him on a forty minute round trip just to buy some rashers and eggs, mainly because I don’t want him to put himself out on my behalf, but a little part of me really doesn’t want him to leave my side. I insist that he not go, and then we lapse into silence for a while, and he keeps watching videos, and I look at my own phone, ignoring a message from my mother about something she read in the Tullamore Tribune, as if it’s at all relevant to me, and slyly open my message thread with Jude, just so that I can wallow silently in the shame of my drunk messages to him. 

There are more than just one photo, there’s four, just three of them are completely blurry as though I dropped my phone mid selfie. One of them is distinctly the bowl of a sink, droplets of water on ceramic and a bit of my hand in the corner, with a message underneath that’s completely incomprehensible, except for the word ‘baby’. I suddenly have a new thought that makes me become very still. The phone screen fades to black in my hand. 

“Jude?”

“Yes?”

“Did anything happen last night when I came home?”

“I mean, like I said, you burst in here and threw those sweets at me before vomming in the toilet.”

“Yeah, but anything else?”

He frowns, “Um, you went to bed, I suppose?”

“Alright.”

“What are you asking?”

I clear my throat, “Well, no, nothing, like… just in case, you know…” He stares at me for ages, and I start to regret saying a thing. “…did we do anything?”

“When you were drunk?” He says. “Are you asking me if I… if we-”

“Yeah, it’s just because-”

He recoils, “No, Evie, Jesus Christ, of course not.”

I say, “Never mind, it’s not a big deal.”

“Why would that even come into your head?”

I am looking at my phone now, not at anything in particular, just opening apps and closing them again while his eyes are on me with such razor focus that they might as well be searing holes into my skin. “No big deal,” I repeat, “Just wondering,” I don’t understand why he’s acting so shocked. It’s a normal question as far as I’m concerned. 

“I wouldn’t do anything with a drunk girl, that’d be insane. Do you really think that I would?”

“Well, no, but I don’t know, maybe I came in last night and tried to have my way with you or something, it’s whatever. I just know that I can be a bit more flirtatious when I’m drunk, that’s all. Clearly it was a stupid question, so just forget that I asked it.”

There’s a long pause, and I can tell he wants to say something else, but I try to stay very focussed on what I’m doing so that he doesn’t have a window of opportunity to do so. Eventually the atmosphere fades into something much more benign, and we both lodge pillows beneath our heads and tangle our legs together, and he reaches over his head to whip the curtains open wide to let in the light, and we forget that I said anything at all. 

Jude has The Prince of Tides on his bedside table, a corner folded on a page about halfway through, and I read a few paragraphs just to read what he’s been reading, and then skip back to the start to read it for myself. It’s nice being like this, in the silence of this house, completely alone for a rare afternoon with nobody else around, no housemates, no siblings pottering around in other rooms, just us and the birds outside the window, the distant roar of the waves.

“Do you think we should make the most of the day?” I ask Jude eventually, “I feel a bit like I’m trapping you inside when you could be doing something more interesting, especially since you spent yesterday inside too with your thesis, and… did you finish it?”

He smiles, “Yeah it’s done, thank God. You can read it if you like but I promise you that it’s boring.”

“Hmm… maybe later.”

“If you’re in the mood for going outside then yeah, I’d be up for it. You want fresh air?”

“Mm,” I say. “Fresh air, to stretch my legs, maybe just see something on the island that I haven’t seen yet.”

“There’s a vineyard at the top of the hill over there if you feel like trying out some fancy wines,” He teases, and laughs at me when I wince, “I’m joking. How about we get the bikes and go exploring.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

[commiepinkofag]

goooogle 'ally'

[merchasylum]

An awesome 8 colour on the press this morning for Peaches Christ who’s bringing her show, Mommie Queerest to the UK next month! Get in touch with us via: ☎️ 01443 520977 📧 hello@merchasylum.co.uk 🌍 www.merchasylum.co.uk . . . . . . #merchasylum #screenprint #screenprinting #tshirtprinting #cardiff #uk #printing #dragqueen #drag #wales #southwales #peacheschrist #embroidery #mommiequeerest #printmaking #stickers #printlife #london #custom #ink #manchester #streetwear #liverpool #dragshow #uktshirtprinting #london #workwear #bandmerch (at Merch Asylum) https://www.instagram.com/p/CqK-vzRsjn8/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[citylifeorg]

Peaches Christ & Mink Stole Announce U.S. Cabaret Mini-Tour “Idol Worship”

Get ready for an intimate, revelatory, side-splitting and heartfelt cabaret show “IDOL WORSHIP”, starring living legend and cult film icon Mink Stole (Pink Flamingos, Female Trouble) alongside San Francisco’s own drag impresario, producer, and filmmaker Peaches Christ (All About Evil). The 6-city tour kicks off in San Francisco with two sold-out shows on February 10th, and ends in Washington,…

[thehomelessmonk]

GOOGLE DEFENDS CHRISTIANS, DROPS SPONSORSHIP OF BLASPHEMOUS DRAG SHOW AFTER EMPLOYEES COMPLAINED

Google employees who signed the petition called Peaches Christ a “direct affront to the religious beliefs and sensitivities of Christians.” Google removed it.

There're such low standards for Google that their doing the barest minimum is noteworthy. But they were sponsoring a drag show to celebrate the end of Pride month. A group of Christian employees launched a petition against it. And Google, when no one was looking, dropped their sponsorship. The most surprising thing in that paragraph... there are enough Christian employees at Google to launch a petition.

More about it

From the New York Post

[dahlbrendan]

NBC News: Google distances itself from company-sponsored drag show following employee petition

[freshcuntgrass]

look. one time I saw the opera singer Jamie Barton perform as a guest at the extremely camp and gay holiday concert that Peaches Christ does with the San Francisco Symphony every year. she hit on both Peaches and the conductor and then tore through the most POWERFULLY camp musical number breakup letter from Mrs. Claus. every single other guest at that show was a drag queen and you know what, I think she gets to be one too

"cis women cant be drag queens" wrong. Elvira.

[biglisbonnews]

Drag Legend Heklina Dead at 55 Legendary drag queen and staple of the San Francisco drag scene, Heklina, has died at the age of 55.Close friend and collaborator, Peaches Christ, announced her passing on social media on April 3. “I am shocked and horrified to bring this news to you. I am living in a real-life nightmare so forgive me if I don’t have all the answers just now," Peaches wrote. "This morning, in London, England, I went to collect my dear friend Heklina, who is costarring with me in a Mommie Queerest show here, and found her dead. I do not know the cause of death yet. I know this is shocking news and I am beyond stunned, but I wanted to let folks know what has happened. Heklina is not just my best friend, but a beloved icon of our community. I am a mess. Given this crisis, please do not try to contact me as I am utterly heartbroken, stunned, and focusing on what needs to get done next. I shall be in touch.” \u201chttps://t.co/UoyC4wDYHV\u201d — Peaches Christ (@Peaches Christ) 1680552796 Born in Minneapolis, the drag queen drew inspiration for her name from the Icelandic volcano Hekla, having lived in the Nordic island nation for a period of three years during the '80s. Heklina got her start in drag in 1995, working as a bartender in San Francisco for a punk drag show before going on to cofound Trannyshack at the Stud bar in 1996. After becoming San Francisco's longest running drag show, it would go on to be rebranded as Mother after Heklina became one of the owners of Oasis nightclub in 2014."There was a real need for Trannyshack," Heklina told the Bay Area Reporter in 2008. "There was a real void for an alternative venue. When Trannyshack started in 1995, people had just stopped dying of AIDS, because new medications came out. It felt like a celebration after all that mourning, which was a dark year for me. I'd planned to go to some people's funerals, and there they were on stage with me."In addition to the recurring drag show, Heklina collaborated with Peaches on numerous projects throughout her career including several horror spoofs, a yearly production of Golden Girls where she played Dorothy and most recently, the drag parody Mommie Queerest which the two were set to tour across the UK this spring.“Heklina is an institution,” Alaska Thunderfuck told SF Chronicle in 2020, citing Trannyshack as one of the inspirations that pushed her into starting her own drag career. “The seedlings of drag that she has planted and watered over the years have grown into innumerable gardens and bouquets of drag excellence. I continue to admire her work ethic, her tenacity and her heart. And her mole.”Since word of her passing, tributes from across the drag community have poured in: \u201cIcon! Heklina was punk rock and made drag what it is today. Legend. \u2764\ufe0f\u201d — Trixie Mattel\u2122 (@Trixie Mattel\u2122) 1680563643 \u201c@sfoasis I\u2019m legitimately SO SORRY for your loss. Heklina was so incredibly kind and warm. Such an incredible supporter of fellow queens, and she made me feel like family anytime I came to Oasis. Sending y\u2019all so much love, and my deepest condolences \ud83d\udc94\u201d — OASIS (@OASIS) 1680559029 \u201cI\u2019m heartbroken to hear about @Heklina\u2019s passing. She wasn\u2019t just a staple in the drag community, she was a whole-ass stapler. RIP queen\u201d — Yvie Oddly (@Yvie Oddly) 1680571935 \u201c@Heklina is and always will be a San Francisco legend. Hilarious, humble and encouraging. \ud83d\udc94 We\u2019re lucky to have had you.\u201d — Lady Camden (@Lady Camden) 1680573158 \u201c\ud83d\udc94 over the loss of the legendary #heklina \u2026 she was funny, punk, groundbreaking, a good friend, surrogate drag mother, the best at suggesting restaurants, and the absolute epitome of the word COOL! I loved her, I love her, and the world will miss her so much. #ripheklina\u201d — Ginger Minj (@Ginger Minj) 1680568045 \u201cthis Heklina news \ud83e\udd7a\ud83d\ude25\u201d — MILK (@MILK) 1680561220 \u201cI\u2019m absolutely gutted right now. Heklina was a drag legend and I adored her. She was a blast to work with. I will cherish the memories I have of her. Sending love out to all of her family and friends in this tragic time. You will be missed by many. \ud83d\ude22\ud83d\udc94\u201d — Pandora Boxx (@Pandora Boxx) 1680559600 \u201cSuch sad news RIP Heklina x\u201d — Divina De Campo stream DECODED (@Divina De Campo stream DECODED) 1680594458 See on Instagram See on Instagram See on Instagram See on Instagram See on Instagram See on Instagram \u201cHearing of @Heklina passing is heartbreaking. She was a true icon in every sense of the word. Fostering community, making people laugh, & creating safe spaces for us all. She welcomed me openly to San Francisco and my heart is with that SF drag community. \ud83d\udc94\u201d — Marti (@Marti) 1680560243 Photo via Getty/Jeff Kravitz/FilmMagic https://www.papermag.com/heklina-rip-2659737196.html

[worldspotlightnews]

San Francisco

Renowned San Francisco drag performer Heklina was found dead Monday in London, England, where she was performing in a touring show, CBS Bay Area reported. The death of Heklina — also known as actor Stefan Grygelko — was first reported in social media posts by fellow drag artist and performing partner Peaches Christ (aka Joshua Grannell), with whom Heklina was touring in “Mommie Queerest,” a…

[immajustvibehere]

Can we get fem shy and awkward reader with more LH Arthur flirting with her and being cocky? :>

Need

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader

summary: You accidentaly made Arthur Morgan fall in love with you. While he struggles to approach you seriously about this, weeks of teasing go by before he decides to make a move.

warning: low to mid honor Arthur, hinted sexual themes, also I feel like I haven't done the request justice but I do only use your requests as inspiration and well - this is what my mind spit out. hope you enjoy anyway and thanks for the request <3

2100 words, 11 minutes reading time

You were able to pinpoint the exact moment Arthur had taken an interest in you. You had been aware of your more complicated and deeper feelings towards him for a while now, but for him it had started when he returned from a hunting trip with Hosea. This had been a few weeks ago, when the gang was still camping at Horseshoe Overlook.

Arthur had returned with scratches all over him. You helped patching him up, as you were one of the only ones still awake when the two men had returned late at night. It was a strange moment really. First, he didn't accepted your help willingly, implying that he would rather lie down with many wounds still open and bleeding. But even he stopped opposing when you grabbed his arm and dragged him over to the chair and lantern in his tent, a box full of medical supplies tucked under your arm. As much as he was annoyed by your insistence, he found amusement in your worried expression and struggle to move him.

However, his sour mood returned when he had sat down and had to patiently hold still. The fact that the bear had harmed him more than he had the chance to harm it back was something he couldn't get over, and he didn't shut up about it. You, all the while, did your best to disinfect his wounds without hurting him too much. His curses were whispered and directed at the bear - not at you. Though when you pressed a piece of alcohol-soaked cloth to his wound underneath his eye, his swearing became louder and more impulsive. But after a while he had gone silent and while you were busy with a deeper scratch on his shoulder, you felt his gaze on you. When a particular suggestive sigh escaped his lips you paused, afraid you had hurt him, but he only implored you to go on.

From this night onwards he secretly began wishing for your company more often. Though, his need of having you close was not something he could keep secret. He'd watch you chop wood for a few minutes before he interfered, pushing you aside with a snarling "C'mon...let me do that." While you struggled carrying one hay bale through camp, he'd pick up two at once and surpass you with a click of his tongue. He'd always be around and only a few steps away whenever he saw you struggling with something. Couldn't open a can of peaches? He'd reach over your shoulder and open it, muttering something inaudible. Bill would bully you with some harmless comments? Arthur would yell a "Bill, let the woman alone!" through camp.

Not a day went by without Arthur mocking you or bragging with helping you, just to show you that you need him. You never had a smart answer to his comments, you'd just stand there and blush awkwardly, but Arthur enjoyed this most of all. Seeing what a blushing mess you became every time he'd appear close to you. He felt like he was in control of the situation, when...in reality, he was simply too shy to make a real move. He could shoot, kill and slit throats all day long; but he damn well didn't manage to go further with you than this sweet banter. For Christ's sake, he loved seeing you blush and get all flustered for him, but he wouldn't be able to take the rejection if you came to the conclusion that he was too bad of a man too handle for you.

Ever since he had felt your delicate fingers on his skin, tending his wounds as carefully as you could have possibly managed, he found himself longing for your touch, wanting more. But even if he would have wanted to, that's nothing he could just demand from you for the fear of you rejecting him or thinking the worse of him. Arthur was sitting on a chair on a table, absentmindedly stabbing his stew around, thinking about this. All the while, his eyes were again glued to you. He watched you as you had a lively conversation with Sean next to the campfire. You looked so careless when around other people. You didn't tense up like you did when he talked with you, neither did you seem to have any problems with touching Sean all over, giving him friendly pats on his arm or pinching his side when he was teasing you. Of course, the only reason you were so cautious around Arthur was because you liked him and you weren't sure if you overstepped a line by treating him like you did Sean and Lenny. Arthur was not only bigger and could be more menacing, but he also had a more authoritative status in the gang. This is why you often didn't feel allowed to act quite so freely. That aside, you didn't think you'd have the courage to confess that you liked him.

Arthur left his stew behind and instead picked up a beer bottle and joined you and Sean at the campfire. "Hope I'm not interrupting something", Arthur announced his arrival.

There it was again - you blushed even though he had barely done anything. "Of course not, Mr. Morgan", you smiled, secretly happy about him joining you. "Ahhh Arther! Finally joinin' us. Heard my interestin' story and thought ye'd like te hear it too?", Sean directed his attention to him.

"Why, Mr. MacGuire, that's exactly why I'm here", Arthur answered sarcastically. Barely a few moments passed before Karen and then Uncle and Swanson decide to join your little sit-together. Neither you nor Arthur talked much - you were the ones that listened. You tried your best to look at Sean or Karen, or anyone who was saying something, really. But whenever you just as much as glanced at Arthur, you'd find his eyes on you.

It was different from the days before. Before that, he had only watched you. Often probably while thinking about something else. This time however, his gaze was fixed on you. Like a hunter who had found his prey. His eyes were all over, roaming your body as if it was his already. Something told you he won't give up so easily today. You had been craving it too...the silence of the night and the peaceful air after Arthur had muttered his curses about the bear...just the two of you, with you looking out for him. This one time you had been able to do something for him. He didn't heave your horse's saddle off your horse because you're too small for that, neither did he have to help you open a can. No - you patched him up, cleansed the wound on his shoulder because he couldn't have done it alone.

The conversation - which by now was a banter between Karen and Sean with Uncle's occasional comments - would do without you. So you shot a shy smile at Arthur, who still was watching you, and left. You poured yourself a coffee before you headed to the trees a bit outside of camp. Even prey wouldn't surrender to its hunter that easily.

As you stood there, the already half-empty mug in your hands and looking out at the moon's reflection in the lake, you heard firm steps. You didn't have to look up - you knew it would be Arthur. You expected a "Hello" or an "It's Arthur", instead he caught you completely off guard. He walked up behind you and before you had as much as yelped in surprise, one of his hands had found a place on your hips to rest on, pulling you close to him.

"Wha- Arthur!? D-don't you think your hand-", you stuttered sheepishly.

"I think my hand is right where it belongs", came Arthur's firm voice behind you.

You had no smart answer to that. The touch felt electric, the warmth of his hand seeping through your clothes until you felt it on your skin.

"Yer look really beautiful, y/n."

You barely managed to stutter a thank you. You were completely at loss over his compliment. Arthur himself wondered where his sudden courage had come from, but at the same time he knew that when he had left the campfire to follow you, he would have to shoot his shot. He had always thought of you as a beautiful woman, but in his mind, girl's in camp had always been off limits. He had never acted upon it - until now. A silence followed in which you blushed over the fact that you could hear your own hitched breath. Your heart almost beat out of your chest and you could have sworn the people back in camp could hear it.

"Ya know...if ya tell me to leave-", Arthur offered. Threatening to murder someone wasn't as uncomfortable as the thought of offering you his blessing to send him away. He had come so far by being decent...or even considerate (except for the staring maybe - but he couldn't have helped himself) so giving you this option was, in Arthur's mind, the right thing to do. Even if it meant possible retreat.

"No, please!", you quickly pleaded. You blurted out so suddenly, your voice was higher than normal, and it made you blush even stronger.

As if Arthur had been surprised by your quick answer, he was silent for a couple of seconds. Then you heard a warm chuckle behind you. Leaning to your ear he whispered a "Glad to hear that" and when you almost shivered at the intimacy the grip on your hip tightened. "I love how ya get all flustered when I'm around."

You smiled slightly. The bashful behavior you displayed with Arthur around is not something you had control over. However, it relieved you to hear that he was okay with that, because you had feared more than once that you came across as awkward and weak.

"I don't know what to say", you admitted, "thank you?" The phrase of gratitude almost came out a bit bold and challenging. Arthur smiled. He knew he had won. He had achieved what he had wanted; you in his arms. Slowly he turned you around, so you would face him. Your only source of light was the moon, which was standing high and bright on the night sky. It was more than enough to make out each other's features, but barely bright enough for Arthur to see your red cheeks. With a meditating grumble, Arthur took the mug out of your hand and emptied the coffee on the ground before he dropped the mug on the ground next to you. You had neither permission nor reason to complain about that. The man in front of you demanded both of your hands to be free, because he now placed one on his shoulder, where the fabric of his shirt hid a well healed bear scratch and the other he took in his hand; his thumb slowly stroking the back of your hand.

He had placed your hand on his shoulder as tribute to the night which had haunted him for the last few weeks. He had sworn to himself, in the privacy of his tent at late hours, he'd show you just how well his wound had healed thanks to you. But Arthur knew this moment hadn't come yet. He'd be patient for a few more weeks...or days maybe - since having you so close to him now made it even more tempting to speed things up a bit. Feeling your fingers on his skin...it was a thought he couldn't shake for weeks and hours at a time.

"I suggest ya stay with me from now on", was Arthur's sloppy attempt of asking you out.

"Had no intention of going anywhere", you smiled. Your heart was still racing horses, but you were content beyond understanding.

"Good."

Arthur had been eying your lips hungrily for the last few moments and you weren't even sure if he did it consciously. Something in his stance and attitude suggested he wouldn't act upon it.

You knew Arthur was a man who could get himself what he wanted. You also were aware that he isn't one to be reasoned with neither is it a good idea to make him angry. But something about his restraint manner made you confident that some teasing would go unpunished. So you stood on your tip-toes, leaned forward and kissed his cheek. His gulp was clearly audible and your hand he held in his was tightly pressed as he tried to process what had just happened.

"Shall we head back, then?", you suggested all innocently. Arthur's eyes finally found yours again. He contemplated you for a second before he finally said:

"No. Not just yet, darlin'."

[divinemissmolly]

NOW A WARNING?! 💀