#but sure yeah let's leverage the fear

[devilander]

a mirror in half-light

18+ 1.5k. homelander x supe f!reader. blood, dirty talking, cunnilingus, use of telepathic powers, acts of violence mentioned (not between reader and HL)

From someone so concerned with shielding his mind, Homelander quickly comes to appreciate your telephatic powers and how useful they can be. Especially during a boring Seven meeting.

prompt sent by @infinetlyforgotten, thank you so much 🤍

When you were first introduced to the Seven, many, including your new colleagues, compared you to Mindstorm. Sure, there were some similarities—the ability to see a person’s thoughts or to project specific images. But that’s where it ended. 

The ace up to your sleeve, which distinguishes you and earned your supe name as Quickstep, is both your telepathic precognition, giving you leverage in hand to hand combat, and your crown and glory—possession. Supe or non-supes, all could have their minds hijacked by you; an ability Vought decided not to publicize. 

Your fellow partners in fighting crime knew, though; and from day one you could feel Homelander watching you with suspicion, a stare so filled with distaste your knees almost buckled. 

Seeing you in a corridor, Homelander signaled for you to approach.

“Quickstep,” he sneered, invading your personal space until he towered over you and your neck ached from looking so high up. “If I catch you using your little powers on me, be sure I’ll crack your spine. It’ll be easier than stomping on an ant. Got it?” His sudden artificial smile did nothing to lessen the weight of his words. 

Homelander was your hero, always, since childhood. Not only that, ever since you saw him for the first time, the shining blue eyes, the softness of his blonde hair, that commanding voice... You were a goner. And he most certainly knew. The disappointment almost, almost broke your heart. 

Little by little, however, with the unspoken promise you wouldn’t pry on his mind, you’d grown close. Partners in fighting crime, yeah, of course, but you had his back, no matter what. 

In one of your missions together, Homelander smeared in an innocent’s blood from head to toe, your first instinct was to help him—clean the mess. And you couldn’t lie, him in his violence and brutality did something to you. 

“Hey, you,” you murmured. “Let me help you, okay? Let me take care of it. Let me protect you.”

Surprisingly, he acquiesced. It took no more than minutes to possess the mind of some poor bystanders, having them fight and commit atrocious acts; they wouldn’t know what came over them and Vought would be too happy not to disclose. In quick action, the narrative changed; from rabid supe, to terrorist crowd. 

Later, you found yourself in his penthouse, in his bathtub, naked and cleaning the gore as he squeezed your waist. When you sealed your relationship with a bloodied kiss, you knew there was no turning back—and you loved it. Loved his quirks, his humor, his beautiful nose and soft hair, loved his flaws and all that came with it. Loved the tie that bound you forever. 

“I love you. I love you so much,” you whispered in his ear as you lay in his bed, a few hours before your meeting with the rest of the Seven. “I ache for you all the time. It overflows, sometimes.” You giggled, remembering when your desire burned you so passionately, so intensely, your mind had one focal point: Homelander and what he could do to your body. Without realizing, all your wants and needs were suddenly projected on his mind.

In the first time, you were fearful he’d throw a fit, but he simply grinned devilish at you. 

“Wow,” he laughed. “If I’d known more about your dirty little mind I would have put it to use a long time ago, babe.” 

After that, it became a fixture, in bed, in daily moments where voicing your thoughts wasn’t an option, or in missions when silent communication was useful. And bit by bit, he delighted in it, veritable proof of your devotion and love.

As it were, in this stolen moment, cuddled in his bed, he answered. “And I love you, my darling, My own mirror.” He nuzzled your neck. “No need to scream in my mind, I’m gonna eat your pretty pussy until you beg me to stop.” 

“I’d never,” you said breathily. 

Slowly kissing from your collarbone, to your stomach and thighs, mischievously looking you in the eye as he bit and kissed and licked everywhere around your cunt. His strength was enough to keep you in the exact place he wanted. Such a delicious torture. 

Finally he turned his attention to your clit, dragging his tongue over it in elaborate patterns—he was relentless, and you both moaned at the contact. You were loud, thrashing and screaming at the slightest touch, but only for him. He played your body perfectly. 

Your hands found his hair, soft to the touch, and yanked, wanting him closer and he groaned—the vibrations going straight to your core. Soon he started tongue-fucking, just as you liked it, going deep and slow, alternating to trace your slit from your asshole to your clit; not one part of you ignored. 

“Fuck, you taste so good. You’re fucking made for me, your pussy is mine, mine, understand that?”

“It’s yours! It’s all yours. Please, Homelander, please—”

“Please what?”

“Let me come, let me come in your mouth, I want to feel you.” It was all too much, the mess his tongue made, the wetness running down your pussy and dripping in the mattress.

Moaning, he plunged two fingers deep inside you, as he squeezed your ass, bringing you even closer. You cried from the pleasure he woke in you, and even in this madness you caressed his hair, closing your legs until he was in the position you liked most: with a perfect view of his face, his soft locks, his bright eyes. 

He smirked, squeezing you tighter, until you no longer touched the bed, and he slapped your ass so hard your whole body trembled. 

“Like that, princess? Like when I do whatever the fuck I want with your sweet body? Now show me. Show me what you want.” 

You complied instantly. 

You imagined him feasting on your pussy, licking it all until his spit and your slick became one and the same. His fingers marking your ass, your thighs; biting so deeply even your invulnerable skin would cleave to his superior strength. You wanted his tongue deep inside you, for yours on end, fucking your pussy so good your legs would spasm and you would scream for all the Tower to hear, pussy clenching just the way he liked. You wanted it all—Homelander slurping on your clit and swirling his tongue, making you squirt and swallowing it all, leaving his chin a beautiful fucking mess. 

In the aftermath, body boneless and exhausted, you wanted his fingers, for him to drag it all over your juices and make you swallow and gag on it. Then, in a little tenderness, he'd give you a breathtaking kiss, further proof of your intimate lovemaking. 

As you projected all of this on his mind, his smile grew bigger, more wicked. And you knew he'd deliver it, or even more. 

“You really are such a slut.” You giggled; it was all in the game.

Later on, as all the Seven were debating their latest terrorist attack, and what plan they'd need to put in action, all you could think was Homelander. His hands on you, his tongue lapping at your clit and his disheveled hair—which, you noticed, he didn't fix for the meeting. It wasn't fair, he was too mean at taunting you.

You couldn't keep your eyes off of him and he knew. Flashes of your morning together ran through your mind. No matter how satisfied you'd been, you wanted more, again, all the time. You wanted his kisses and devastation, his head between your legs and his mouth both teasing and giving you the most world-shattering pleasure. 

You wanted to caress his hair, your newfound obsession, while he fucked you, hiting that sweet spot and filling you up with his come.

In your daydreams, you tuned out from the conversation, and like being burned you found Homelander staring straight at you, an expression oh so familiar. Unintentionally he'd become the spectator of your fantasies. 

Rising from his chair so quickly you barely caught it, Homelander said, “That's enough for today. I have other things to take care of. Quickstep, you stay.”

Whispers of complaint were quickly shut down, as Homelander glared at them until each and everyone left the room.

“Well, well, seems like someone is still wantin' for more.”

He laid his hands on your chair, then turned it so you were face to face. 

“I couldn't help it,” you smirked. “I can't get enough.”

“But that's not fair, don't you think?" He clucked his tongue. "It's your turn to please me.” He pulled you from the chair, and manhandled you until you fell to your knees with a thud. “Now, princess, get to work.”

[lvndosnorris]

🍒anon

how about lando letting his girl be on top for the first time ??? luv u

🍒 you've made my inbox so happy — sending you kisses

it was perhaps the fourth, fifth, time you'd slept together before you swallowed your nerves and asked lando if you could be on top this time. almost immediately you felt a wave of embarrassment, the urge to bury your head in your hands and pretend you hadn't uttered a word became overwhelming as you tried to inspect how your newish boyfriend was going to react.

the position you were in had already formed that all-too familiar knot in your stomach — sat in his lap as his blunt fingernails dug into the bare flesh of your thighs. for a split second he thought he misheard you, only realising what exactly you'd proposed when you ducked your head to finish tracing your forefinger over his collarbones. you couldn't stop your babbling, even when you tried; "it's just— i'd hate for you to think that you always have to do all the work, especially because i know how much you enjoy it and— lando stop making this awkward!"

he'd only be able to shut you up by gripping your cheeks, squeezing them together gently as he raised his eyebrow in a manner of are you finished yet? and lando wasn't entirely sure on how to respond: simply catching your lips with his as you shuffled that little bit closer, whining almost pathetically into his mouth as he tilted his head back, letting your tongue slip further against his. it was a messy kiss, a heated one laced with urgency as he felt the blood rush to where your bodies were connected.

you were thankful that he was pressed against the headboard, the wooden piece offering leverage as you lifted your hips just enough for you to bunch his shirt up onto your waist and lando to kick his boxers between the sheets. he couldn't take his eyes off you, even if he tried, enthralled with the way you tucked your bottom lip between your teeth as you nudged yourself against his tip, "just go slow, yeah? don't want my girl to hurt herself."

his words offered solace as you strangled back a whimper, barely able to lift your chin from your chest as lando's hands cupped the back of your thighs for support. the angle was different — one that made your cunt stretch in a new way, the pounds of your heart drowning out any mewls that left your mouth as you pushed him further inside of you.

it was lando who stopped you halfway down his length, his forehead scrunched as his sight became impeded by a strand or two of his hair. it was picturesque: the way his biceps flexed as he held you tightly, a sheen of sweat coating his skin as he dropped his vision to where he had disappeared inside of you. his moans were incoherent, a mixture of fuck and your name as he guided your movements, only letting you sink deeper when he heard the way you drawled out your pleads.

mouths clashing he concealed your quiet whines of pain, his tip kissing your cervix in a way that you'd never felt before. his lips didn't leave your, hungrily attached as you languidly rocked your hips, hands clung onto the back of his head as you pulsated around him. lando's hands trailed from the curve of your ass to between your legs, the wetness that coated his fingers earning a groan as he thumbed at your clit — the pleasure surging through your veins as you listened to him groan, neither of you set on cumming anytime soon in fear the euphoria would end too quickly.

[bluesidez]

request for curvy girl and Miguel on their first date night after having a baby?

[Parents Night Out]

 Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x Curvy!Reader, Fem!Reader

summary: Miguel and his girl enjoy a night out without their baby as best as they can.

content warning: fluff, mom and dad pet names as endearment (and a hint at something more), Miguel loves reader’s body, some mentions of a horror?? film (but nothing gruesome or horrible), a little suggestive but mostly fluff

word count: 2k

a/n: It took me a while to get here, but I hope you enjoy it!

You pull your dress down at the sides, smoothing out the wrinkles, the material scrunching up every time you move. 

Dangly earrings to match the necklace on your chest, a spritz of perfume to your wrists and neck, a slide of gloss across your lips, and a final look in the mirror to see if everything was in check. 

“Honey, you almost ready?”

Miguel stepped into the bedroom, eyes focused on the cuff of his shirt.

“Yeah, I just need to put on my heels,” you peer at him through the mirror and turn around. “You look very handsome right now.”

Miguel peered up at you with a soft smile on his face. He walks over to you as you stand, “Thank you and you look stunning, Mama.” He runs his hands over your hips, squeezing the plush skin.

“No, no, no. We said no baby talk tonight!” you chide like you didn’t almost cry leaving your baby at your mom’s house. You gave her what felt like a binder full of notes just for her to lodge it back in your passenger seat with a comment on how she knew what she was doing. When you got back to your house, you wallowed for an hour before realizing that you could finally take a long, long nap without the small cries of Gabriella forcing your eyes open.

“I didn’t say anything!” He holds his hands up. “I’m just saying your name.”

You hum as your head tilts, “Is this just a scheme for me to call you Daddy?’

Miguel pursed his lips before he answered, “No. But, I’m not opposed to that.’

“Of course, you’re not,” you laugh as you move him out of your way. 

He follows you as you walk to the closet and grab your shoes, hands never leaving you when you bend down deep.

“I’m not sure if you’re aware of this,” you sigh as you snap back up and look at him from the corner of your eye. “But we have to make it out of the house today.”

“We’re going, I promise,” he kissed your lips. “Let me put on your heels for you.”

Miguel held your waist as you both walked to the door, taking constant glances at you. 

During the third trimester, you had worried that the baby would change your body drastically, a frown on your face as you rubbed cocoa butter onto your stretch marks. Miguel was always there, taking over with steady rubs and affirmations into your skin. 

You were doing something magical and remarkable by bringing another human into this world, by having his child. He was going to remind you everyday that you were beautiful. 

Plus, the baby weight only made him love your body more. He’s been holding you from the waist down nonstop for a little over a year now. 

He let you use his shoulders as leverage as he slid your strappy shoes on and kissed your knee after tying the strings tight. The movement was a habit built from your pregnancy and inability to see your feet.

“Let’s go party.”

The two of you were a vision in coordinating red and black. Miguel’s tiny details from his tie and threading matching the dark velvet of your dress. 

Getting to the restaurant is the fun part. 

He won’t let you touch a single door handle, running to every door before you can even blink. 

He holds your hand as you step into the passenger seat and buckles your seatbelt for you, grinning wide when you peck his cheek. 

On the way to the reservation, the two of you sing wholeheartedly to R&B with no fear of waking the baby with the slightest sound. 

At a red light, Miguel belts through a long riff using your hand as a mic as you laugh at his antics. When the song switches to something even more romantic, he’s gripping your thighs and rubbing circles into the top of your hand. 

When he pulls up closer to the restaurant, you gasp loud. 

“Miguel!” your eyes sparkled as you read the large sign. It was a place you were dying to try for over a year, but every time you called, they were booked. “How did you even get a reservation?”

“I have my ways.”

At the valet, he runs around the car and guides you out, holding your purse for you, not wanting to see you bothered with it. 

He handled everything tonight, from the place you were going to, to the reservations to the movie tickets. You could only see him as he gave his name to the host at the front. 

“Thank you,” you say to him once you both are inside and settled at a table. “Such a gentleman tonight.”

“Anything for you. Don’t want you to worry at all. Just enjoy this.”

The waiter came with complementary bread and water, sliding the menus in front of you both. Miguel ordered a bottle of wine, not even gawking at the price, while your eyes scanned the list of options. 

You both settled on an appetizer to share, entrees to split, and a sweet dessert to feed each other. 

“It’s so lovely in here,” you look around, the dim lighting making it a more intimate scene. A jazz band was playing softly on a stage and the centerpieces sparkled on the table. “I love it.”

“I’m glad,” Miguel reached across the table, “I know you’ve been eyeing this place for a while. I really wanted to surprise you.”

Your eyes almost tear up taking in his sincere expression, “Thank you, truly. This means a lot that you listened.”

“Listening to you comes easy. It’s only when I can’t do something to help you that I feel like everything closes in.”

“Oh,” you blink fast at his words. You look up and fan at your face, “Miguel that’s-”

He pulls out his handkerchief, not wanting you to ruin your makeup. 

“Don’t cry here, baby,” his voice is soft and sweet. 

“I won’t. I just love you lots.”

“And I love you lots more.”

By the time the food comes, you both have stated several more love declarations and recounted your younger days together. You helped yourself to glass or two of wine, the smile never leaving your face, but the giggles escaping every second. 

Now, Miguel was telling you an old story about how he busted his ass to impress you. 

“You don’t get it, cariño. I was so…adamant about getting a certain look because I was certain you didn’t even know who I was.”

“What you don’t know is that a lot of women love nerdy men. I definitely noticed you, I was just waiting on you to make a move.” 

Miguel fed you the last bits of a cream puff dessert, watching your lips slide over the fork. 

You hum and cover your mouth as you chew, “Do you remember that punk phase you had?”

“Oh, would you look at that,” Miguel glances at his watch and waves down a waiter. “If we don’t leave right now, we’re going to miss the movie.”

You cackle at the peeved look on his face.

He was cute with his uneven mullet and pleather jackets. It definitely wasnt’t his scene, though.

The night continues in a pink, warm haze. The sun is slowly setting as you both head to the theater. Miguel hands you more comfortable shoes and places his tie in the back. 

It’s fun to walk into the theater hand-in-hand like a young couple without a care in the world. Buying a popcorn bucket to share and big slushies like you didn’t just eat. 

The movie is what messes you both up. 

It starts off nice. The two of you are settled on the last row with no one else around, the perfect spot for cuddles, kisses, and more. 

Miguel moves the middle arm to bring you closer to him and you slot into his hold like butter. 

The main characters are a couple moving into a new home in the middle of nowhere with a teenager, a child, and a baby. It’s sweet and a little cliche with the couple thinking that the change in scenery would help them connect with their oldest daughter. 

However, of course, there’s something wrong with the house. It’s a bit too perfect, the area too serene. 

You hold Miguel tight as you watch the mom and dad fight for their lives to make sure whatever entity that resided in their house didn’t take their family away from them. 

The father is kicking through a bolted door, trying to pry it open for freedom. The mother is holding her daughter by the legs as she tries to keep her brother alive. You breathe easier as she pulls her brother out of the crumbling floorboards. Your heart stops its rushing pace as you see four of the family members rushing outside. 

“Where’s the baby?” Miguel’s voice snapped you back into pace. His hands were firm on your skin but his eyes were glued to the screen. 

“I, I don’t know,” you whisper.

The scenes that played after had Miguel anxiously moving in his seat. His foot was shaking by the end of the chair, his arms were twitching around your body, and his hands kept fiddling with your jewelry. 

The dad traversed his way back through the house, listening for cries. Miguel looked like he was holding back a yell, body leaning forward as he locked in on the scene. 

The father made it out alive with his baby daughter in his arms. 

By the time the movie was over, the velvet of your dress had his handprints all over. 

You look at him as the lights turn on, his face blank of emotion. 

The walk to the car is quiet, nothing to be heard but the crickets in the grass and the blast of music from someone’s passing vehicle. 

When he slides into the driver’s seat, you lean over the console with a squeeze to his arm, “Are you alright?”

“Is it,” his hand grips the wheel. “Is it ok if we call your mom? To check on Gabriella.”

“Of course, baby,” you rub his shoulders and pull out your phone, your mothers number at the top of your most-recent list.

After a few rings, she picks up. Her head shakes as she takes in both of you with your heads smooshed together in the camera’s view. 

“Look at you both,” she fusses. “Just sad.”

The camera blurs for the longest seconds of your lives, and then it shuffles over a sleeping Gabriella. Her chunky belly moved up and down with her soft breaths and her eyelashes long against her cheeks. She was like a little angel, tiny fingers twitching every now and then. 

Miguel let out a long breath next to you as if he was holding it all this time. 

The camera goes back to your mom who shuffles back to her own bedroom, “Do you two know what the definition of break is?”

“Yeah, mom. Miguel just wanted to check on her. The movie we watched frazzled him a bit.”

“It didn’t frazzle me,” Miguel sniffed. “I’m just a concerned father.”

“Well get unconcerned and don’t call me back! Me and my grandbaby are perfectly fine and you’ll see her tomorrow. Got it? Good.”

She hung up as you let an affronted sound, “I guess you heard that.”

The night ends a little easier. Miguel is more relaxed and decides to take advantage of the empty house. 

He prepares a hot relaxing bath filled with bubbles and a flowery aroma, candles lighting the bathroom while you turn on a sultry playlist and bring out some champagne. 

There’s a dark glint in Miguel’s eyes as you step into the tub, body open for him to see. You bend down and lay on him face to face. 

“This was an amazing date night. Baby-snatcher house and all.”

“We should do it again sometime,” Miguel massages his hands into your back. “While we still can.”

“But for tonight?” your hands run over his wet shoulders, eyes roaming from the curves and turns of him up to his lips to his eyes. “Let’s have fun.”

Miguel groaned as his lips met yours, the water splashing around as his legs move to the edges of the tub.

“Let’s go all night.”

As always, like, reblog, and COMMENT. Let me know how you guys feel! 🩵

[viviansturns]

𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒐𝒇𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍

╰┈➤ 𝒃𝒔𝒇!𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒙 𝒃𝒔𝒇!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒊𝒄

prev parts: how you met, graduation, facetime calls, you're here, almost, come back

angst, kissing, crying

It had been a week, and nothing was made official.

It was strange—he was his usual self, just a little sweeter. Romantic, kind of. In the way he saved you the last bite of his sandwich without saying anything. But he always did that. In the way he didn’t just sit beside you—he curled into your side and pulled you in. In the way his fingers lingered a beat too long when he passed you a pen, or brushed a flyaway behind your ear with quiet care.

And you were the same. Just softer. Reaching for his hand without thinking. Making up excuses to see him. Sitting so close on the subway your legs always touched.

But still—no labels. No talk. Not even a kiss. Just… this thing.

In your head, it was a situationship. A delicate, tentative one. Something you didn’t dare breathe on too hard. You weren’t sure what it meant yet—what you meant yet—and the thought of naming it too soon made panic rise and bubble in your chest. 

But you knew it had to happen eventually. You saw the quiet pain in his eyes whenever you were together. How much he wanted to reach forwards and kiss you again and promise everything to you. He was ready to move forwards at full force, but you needed time.

Honestly? You didn’t even have the energy to spiral about it the way you usually would. Midterms were closing in and your brain was cluttered with information— turns out UCLA business was really tough.

Chris was sitting on the carpet of your apartment bedroom right next to you. Your notes were a mess. Your hand ached. Your brain was fried from financial ratios and SWOT analysis. 

And still—Chris was quizzing you patiently. He had brought food to your room as well. Your whole body leaned on him as you continued studying through the late hours of the night.

“Okay,” he said, flipping through your flashcards. “Break-even analysis. Go.”

You blinked, trying to focus. “Um. Fixed costs divided by… contribution margin?”

He gave you a look. “Contribution margin ratio.”

You groaned. “Close enough.”

Chris snorted. “Do you want to pass this test?”

You turned your head into his shoulder groaning into the front of his hoodie. “Ugh. Capitalism isn’t even a good system. It’s literally causing climate change. What am I even studying?”

He grinned—soft and lopsided. The kind of smile he gave you when he wasn’t thinking too hard. “You’ll be fine,” he said, quieter now. “You always are.”

You looked up, throat tight. “You don’t have to babysit me, you know.”

“I’m not.” you just groan and lay down, head in his lap. “I like being around you when you’re studying. You’re all cute and mushy and cuddly.”

You gave him a flat look. “So you like when I’m having academic burnout because I let you cuddle me?”

“Sure I do.” He shrugged like it was obvious. “You’re cute.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks warming. “You’re so annoying.”

“And yet,” he said, tapping your textbook, “you keep letting me help you memorize gross profit margins.”

You stared at him, and for a second, everything else blurred. The test. The stress. The long list of topics you had to cover.

Your heart fluttered. Too fast, too loud. That dangerous pull toward wanting more. Toward asking for it out loud.

But the fear was still there. Quiet, static, heavy. The part of you that whispered you’d ruin it, somehow. That one day he’d see all the mess in you and decide it was too much.

So instead, you said softly, “Next card.”

Chris didn’t even hesitate.

He just smiled, so gentle it made your chest hurt, and flipped to the next flashcard like nothing had passed between you. 

But his hand dropped to your bare shoulder, thumb rubbing slow circles there.

“Operating leverage,” he murmured.

You sighed, shutting your eyes. “It’s the degree to which a firm can increase operating income by increasing revenue. Or something like that.”

“Yeah. Nice.” He nudged your arm. “You’re getting better.”

You opened your eyes and looked up at him. His face hovered above yours, all soft eyes and messy hair. He looked tired. Comfortable. Like he’d stay like this forever if you let him.

And god—you liked him. You really, really liked him.

You didn’t even realize you were staring until he raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” you muttered. “You’re just... good at this.”

“Quizzing you?”

“No. This.” You waved vaguely. “Being here n’ taking care of me when I feel like I’m falling apart. Sometimes I feel like I don’t do that for you enough”

Chris blinked. His face softened further, but he didn’t say anything right away. Just let the words sit between you, soaking in quietly.

“Well, you take care of me too. Like, all the time.”

You frowned. “I do?”

“Yeah. You help me more than you know. You check in with me constantly, and stay over when I’m sick. I know I don’t say it when I’m upset, but you really help me..”

Your heart stuttered.

You sat up a little, your head still in his lap, and the way he looked down at you—so calm, so sure—nearly broke you in half.

He reached out and tucked that same damn piece of hair behind your ear again. His touch was light, careful. Like he didn’t want to spook you.

“You make everything easier,” he said, voice low. “Even when I don’t say it.”

The air shifted.

You sat up fully, heart in your throat, and he let you, though his fingers brushed yours like he wasn’t quite ready to let go.

“I’ve been scared,” you said, staring down at your lap. “Of messing it up. Of... moving too fast. I thought if I didn’t say anything, we could just keep this whatever this is without it breaking. And I know a shit ton of stuff happened that night a week ago that I’ve been kind of pushing aside.”

Chris stayed still. Steady. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—hope, maybe—but he didn’t push. Didn’t lean closer or smile too wide. He was holding back.

Then you looked up, heart pounding, and said quietly, “Can we like— like, really do this? You n’ me?”

There was a pause.

And then—then—his whole face lit up.

The control cracked.

His eyes went wide, mouth parting like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. A breathless little laugh escaped him, pure disbelief and joy, and suddenly he was smiling so big it looked like it hurt.

“You—wait, seriously?” he asked, trying so hard to keep his voice level and failing miserably. “You want that?”

You nodded, cheeks hot. “I do. I just… want to take it really slow.”

Chris exhaled hard, hands twitching like he didn’t know what to do with himself. He ran one through his hair, laughed again—quiet and shaky, overwhelmed in the best way.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. However slow you want. I just—god, yeah.” He shook his head like he couldn’t believe it. “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”

You smiled shyly. “You’re kind of freaking out.”

“I am freaking out,” he said, grinning like he’d just been handed the moon. “But like, in a calm and supportive way.”

You laughed, and he reached out, finally, fingers brushing your cheek. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“For what?”

“For letting me be that for you.”

You leaned into him, and the smile on his face softened—still glowing, still barely contained—but now just warm.

Then gently, you lean in for a kiss tilting your head to the side, lips molding perfectly against his. He moves slowly and passionately, mouth curled up into a smile as he pulls you closer into his chest. 

With a giggle, you push him over onto the carpet and lay right on top of him, face right against his chest and arms up in his hair.

Chris groaned dramatically. “Ughfff—your knee is literally impaling my thigh.”

You grinned into his hoodie. “Suck it up. I’m being romantic.”

this is sevrelrey not proofread sorry. also i used em dashes like a billion times sorry again.

@sturnbrooke @emely9274 @arianna1342 @gemzyy @namelesssav @chestersturn @ellieluvssturniolos @tits4matt @vanteguccir @luke8989 @matt-sturnioloo @glee2skkii @riggysworld @sturnslux3 @cass-sturn @auttysturnz @oopsiedaisydeer @chrismakesmewet @whore4chris @sturns-mermaid @eeyoresturnz @httpssturns @chrxsprettygirl @bernardsbendystraws @chrisbratt333 @aurorasturnz @iluvchr1s @sturniolosymphony @slvt4subchratt @sturn-ath3na @chrispycremedonut @matts-hersheys-kisses @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @aka-persephone @ajskorner @matts-wife @beardedbernard @matts-babytomatoes

comment 2 be tagged 4 everything

dividers by @strangergraphics

[dixonsgirl93]

Soul Ties

“You like Daryl, don’t you?”

Carol’s question caught you off guard and you turn to look at her.

You sigh and look back up at the night sky so full of stars, you’d never seen anything like it.

“It’s more than that.”

Carol waits for you to say more, looking up at the sky too.

“Shame the world had to go to hell for us to be able to appreciate the sky at night. You don’t realise how many stars there are until you see it for yourself.” She commented.

A moment passed in comfortable silence.

“Daryl is like…” you start and then stop again. Somehow saying ‘soulmate’ out loud sounded dramatic and a little embarrassing.

“When I first met him, I felt like there was this moment. Not like love at first sight or anything like that, it’s hard to explain but I’m sure he felt it too. We locked eyes and…I don’t know, something happened in that moment.”

Carol had turned to you and was listening intently. You stared off at the stars, lost in thought.

“Since then, talking to him and being around him feels like the easiest thing in the world, like we’ve known each other forever. It’s weird. I’ve not felt like this with anyone else.”

“I had a feeling there was something going on between you two. I could see it. The others probably all can too.” Carol admitted. You turned to her, embarrassed.

“Oh my god. Is it that obvious?”

Carol chuckled at the look on your face. “You act like teenagers. The way you talk to each other. Honestly, if we hadn’t all met after the outbreak I’d have assumed you’d grown up together or something.”

Your heart warmed at her words. “Really?” You smiled.

“Mhm.” You could feel her watching your reaction.

“I don’t want to be dramatic but…it feels like how I imagine soulmates feel, you know? That instant feeling of comfort around them. Instant connection.” You shake your head, trying to find the right words but this was a whole new experience and it had never made sense to you.

“Yeah. That sounds about right, actually.” Carol nodded. “I’ve never had that connection with someone but by what you’re describing, you’re lucky to have found it. Not many people do.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“So, what’s going on with you guys? Are you just friends or…something more?”

You laugh softly. “It’s hard to say. There’s mutual attraction there, for sure. We flirt and…little touches here and there that just…get my heart racing, you know?”

“Just little touches?” Carol teased, nudging you with a smirk.

You smiled. “Yeah. I’m not sure if he’d want…anything more with me. I’m scared to ruin what we have. He means too much to me.”

“I get that. But, I think he likes you. No, actually, I know he does.”

You turn to Carol, your heart racing. “How?”

Carol tilts her head and scans your face. “The way he looks at you when you aren’t looking.”

You shake your head, swallowing hard. “Don’t get my hopes up.” You whisper, not daring to believe.

“You need to talk to him.” Carol insists, squeezing your knee.

“I…” you wanted to but the fear, the prospect of losing him was too great. “I can’t.”

“I hate to break it to you but you don’t have time like before. Life is short.” She leaned over and whispered. “Be brave.”

You chuckle incredulously. “I’m a wimp, Carol. Besides, the last time I made the first move I… Well, let’s just say, never again.”

Carol rolled her eyes at you. “Just remember what I said.” She placed a hand on your shoulder and used it as leverage to stand. “Goodnight.”

“‘Night.”

Her words lingered for a long time afterwards. She was right, of course.

But, also, maybe Daryl was braver than you…

[princessbrunette]

kinktober : oct 8th

modern!anakin x choking

this is so bad i hate it

the first time you’d asked anakin to choke you, he said no.

well, not specifically. you were on your back, laid out bare for him with his body slot between your legs, hips rolling languidly against yours as he slowly massages his tongue over your own. it was so intimate, unable to stop the whimpers and whines from leaving you with his open mouth pressed to yours. you’d pulled away to moan, but missing your mouth he’d gently tugged your face back to him with a hand on your jaw.

you liked how that felt.

his big strong hand clasping you like that, the threat of roughness behind a tender moment, the casual dominance. you pictured his hand travelling that little bit lower and squeezing your neck the same way, and you clenched around him hard.

“you feeling good baby?” he coo’s, feeling you flutter around him. shakily, your own hand comes up— resting over his much larger one. through your own pleasured haze, you apply some pressure and drag his grip down so he’s lightly holding your neck.

“please choke me.”

you look so fucking good, and god does he want to — wants to grip you by the neck and use you for leverage to fuck, saying all kinds of nasty shit, and yet… he worries. anakin is an overthinker— and his worst fear is hurting you. with the potential of this happening presenting himself, he moves his hand away, replacing the touch with his lips instead.

“you telling me what to do?” he teases, and leaves it at that.

the two of you finish up, and he spends the next half an hour comforting you — the post orgasm haze making you feel a little more fragile and embarrassed.

“i’m sorry.” you offer meekly into his shoulder as he cradles you on the bed. “i shouldn’t have put you on the spot.”

“baby,” he sighs, pulling your face away to hold it in his hands. he looks at you like you hung the moon and stars yourself and you just feel… bad for even making a deal out of it in the first place. “i don’t want you to feel like you can’t ask for what you want. wanna make you feel good, yeah? it just caught me… off guard. and i don’t really know what i’m doing.” he chuckles, a comforting hand smoothing along your spine. “don’t wanna hurt you.” it comes out muffled into your cheek as he places a kiss there.

that’s the last time it gets brought up.

but one thing about anakin, is that he’s attentive. obsessed with detail and competing with himself, always wanting to be performing the best that he can be. whether it’s at the gym, or work — he has to be constantly pushing himself to be the best he’s capable of, and this extends to the bedroom. if there was something that could be making you feel even better, you bet your ass he was all over it.

after some extensive research on how to correctly choke someone without killing them, he pockets the knowledge and waits for the opportunity to arrive— and soon, it’s presents itself in the form of a particularly rough session, after you’d begged him to fuck you hard and deep because you needed what you referred to as a ‘factory reset’ after a hard week.

so there, you found on yourself flat on your stomach with your boyfriend mounting you, clutching a pillow like it’s your life line. the white material was stained from your mascara, anakin fucking you so deep that all you could do was sob and take it.

“just needed me to empty that pretty little head, hm?” he hums in your ear, hot breath warming the side of your face. his words make you clench hard, and you drop your face into the sheets to muffle your mewls.

from instinct, anakin lifts your head off the sheet to make sure you’re breathing and getting all your pretty noises out loud and clear— he does this by holding you by the neck. once holding you there, he gently squeezes the sides, testing the waters.

you let out a sound so heavenly, he has no choice but to do it again.

“hows that, hm? you tap me twice if you don’t like it, yeah?”

“mhm, okay ani!”

you clamp down, feeling a little lightheaded and completely at his mercy — this alone, had you spiralling towards your orgasm. you lightly hold onto his tattooed forearm, almost in disbelief that he was finally giving you what you craved.

“just needed to get choked out by your big strong boyfriend huh? poor baby, so messed up.” he grins ear to ear, watching you come undone all over his cock.

requested tag! : @hanasnx @jellydodger

[princesspuresarahk]

Journey to New Dreams: A Rotg fanfic

Many years Pitch Black survived his torment from his Nightmares draining him until there was no power left in him and soon faded into but dust. Now weak, beaten and alone he seeks a place of solitude and safety for fear of the Guardians finding out until he finds shelter in a mysterious house deeply hidden in a forest he never been before that may hold many secrets that lead him to a new beginning and a new journey to a world of pleasant dreams.

-Warning for slight nudity.-

-Prologue-

It's been a decade, a decade after the Nightmare King Pitch Black was defeated by the Gaurdians and after many hard sleepless years was finally able to escape his dark hole of torture after his nightmares turned on him and suffered a decade of hell from his creations.

After blacking out into a dreamless comma he awoken to find the nightmare had died out of energy after no longer being able to feed off his fear and dreams becoming nothing but piles of useless black sand. Seeing this as his opportunity to escape Pitch pushed himself into climbing out of that hole like his life depended on it until his feet and hand were sore and dirty from climbing and grabbing nonstop until he felt the air and rain of the surface hit his face relief finally hitting his body as he collapsed on the soft grass as the cool rain from the storm fell onto his worn out body and mind realizing he made it out he escaped from that nightmare!

"I..pant...I made it,"

He was beyond tired sore and bruised all over with some cuts here and there but he was alive.

Slowing his breathing down letting the cool rain gently hit his exhausted body for the first time enjoying something nice for once.

After a while of letting the rain soak his body until he was beginning to feel numb from the chill he knew had to get up and out of site knowing he was somewhere out in the open and didn't want to be risked being seen by anyone, especially by one of the Guardians or his(old friend) The Man in the Moon. He must find shelter where he cannot be seen or have his presence be known thank the heavy rain clouds have covered the Moon's sight and from what he could tell that it wouldn't be long until dawn would arrive soon so he had to act fast using what little strength he has left managed to push himself up onto his wobbly sore legs taking one step at a time to get into the cover of the trees to hide in the shadows as he made his way through the forest using the trees as leverage to help steady his walking.

 Later on after stumbling he bit on his feet he took a little break to catch his breath and let his tired feet rest for a while under a great dark oak the shadows thankfully hiding him in the shade for now from the peeking rays of the Sun "just a few minutes and then I'll carry on I got to find shelter soon somewhere I can't be seen if they find out I will surely be in more trouble than I realized what I fool I've been to try and be believed in again when it was hopeless," he whispered to himself sadly as he shamely looked himself over at what he became powerless and pathetic where he was once a great general once upon a time before the nightmarelings and darkness took over his body in spirit and was blinded by the power it gave him.

After about a 30 minute rest he took a deep breath and hoisted himself up again once his feet stop aching from all the walking and continuing on his way to find a place to hide along the way he was able to find a large enough stick to use as a crutch to help continue walking on his search for sanctuary even if he believe he didn't deserve it.

~

For 3 days Pitch traveled across the endless Forest unsure of where he was going yeah he continued onward across the land being cautious to stay in the shadows and places to hide during the night even though the rain continued covering the side of the moon's view with nothing but dark clouds and endless rain as he search for ways to help keep up with his energy as best he could (even though if Guardians are immortal creatures like him didn't need to eat or drink much his body was demanding nourishment) it really needed it after growing through so much pain and energy just trying to survive by eating fresh wild berries, drinking from the fresh fallen rain and edible roots it was not much but it was helping him get through the journey.

~

On the third day as evening approach Pitch was ready to find a hollow out tree or heavy bushes it was when Pitch had saw it.

It was just behind thick foliage of wild blackberry bushes in the distance the glaring of the setting sun made it slightly hard to see but it was there yes... What he was seeing was there as he walked quicker to get a full view moving the blackberry bushes and foliage from his sight confusion suddenly fell on his golden yellow eyes  when he came upon the site yet relief I finally funny a place of shelter. Pitch had no idea if anybody lived there or not or even why in the house like this was out here in the middle of the forest, but it didn't look abandoned as he looked around nobody seemed to be inside and he might as well take his chance as it would be dark soon. Slowly and cautiously he approached the abandoned home noticing how it's covered by the trees and wild fauna away from the sky view so that means moon probably won't notice either or him being here. Carefully he checked the door and much to a surprise to find it unlocked? Gently opening it he was surprised to find there was still some furnishing in it a bit old and covered in sheets layered with dust but still in good condition on the other side of the door on a hook was an old key it was cold and covered and some form of gem pattern shaped like the sun he had to admit it was really pretty design. "Whoever lived here must have decided to just leave it here just the way it was," he spoke to himself to no one in general as it was his best guess but hey as long as they're not here he can call it a home for now as he was not even thinking about going back to that awful hell hole anymore or anytime soon so taking the key he used to lock the door behind him putting it back on it's rightful place on the hook. He doesn't know why he had decided to lock it another guess is that he just wants to feel safe for now as he said to explore the house he now decided to call his own.

~

There was a drawing room/living room where led to a kitchen(that was much to a surprise supplied with many different food and drink in the pantries) and dining area. There was an enormous library that he'll definitely need to explore later on. a garden and a greenhouse the back of the house there were other rooms here and there yet checked yet but decided he'd check later when Pitch decided to explore the upstairs and more to a his surprise there was an old fashioned elevator next to the stairs and judging how it looked it seemed to be still working and since he doesn't want to tire his body out more with climbing the stairs might as well hop on and see if it will take him up. Carefully stepping in he pulled the small lever that would lead him up to the second floor of this mysterious house his ears perking up as the elevator gave a 'ding ting' signaling it was going up as it made its way up the second floor Pitch smiled to himself a bit finding this a bit exciting of every new discovery he makes about this house and what other secrets it holds?

In the top floor there was more rooms to explore there were pretty bedrooms that held big comfortable beds that had soft silken sheets to the touch, a sewing room full of interesting clothes, a bathroom with a large giant bathtub that was definitely calling his name as Pitch realized he really needed a good hot long bath and since he's now settled that's what he's immediately going to do first! Turning on the water to a temperature that is hot and relaxing to his liking and finding some bath oils to go with it he poured into the running water with the scent of lavender and peppermint hitting his nose in a relaxing atmosphere.

As the bath filled Pitch lit up a few candles and make sure to close the curtains to the bathroom window to make sure he had absolute privacy Pitch stripped out of his old clothes tossing them into a pile in the corner(deciding to throw them away until he can find some new ones even though he use he uses magic to create new ones once in awhile he was powerless and would have to rely on other sources for clothing) letting out a shiver being fully exposed in the nude yet a small smile stayed on his lips as he carefully climbed into the bathtub many bubbles foaming in the bath as pitch let out a heavy moan and pleasure "Oooooohhhhh stars above..."on his sore aching muscles as the hot water brought relief to his tired mind and body into pure bliss. "I'm in Paradise,"

He purred as he carefully load himself deeper into the water soaking himself completely from head to toe letting out pleasant moans of the warm hot water against his body relaxing as the healing oils he put in the water did its work.

~

After soaking in the bath for a good hour and a half gently washing himself with more soaps and oils until is Ash skin was slightly tinted pale pink Pitch knew it's time to get out when he noticed his fingers slightly pruning as he grabbed a large soft fluffy towel and and unplug the tub but the water drain he gently dried himself off and headed to one in the bedrooms he claimed as his now fresh and clean he searched for material to wear. Looking into the first drawers assumed what have he was looking for he was surprised to find soft black silk undergarments and nightgown that was soft and cool against his skin. It wasn't something he would usually wear when he rested back then in his past but he couldn't resist the temptation and thought "Ah hell why bloody not?" No one was here to judge or see besides it reminded him of a loved one he cherished and admired long ago who always had beautiful gowns he'd secretly envy and wish to try on just out of curiosity. Putting it on he enjoyed how it felt on his body it just felt right.

After getting dressed he also found himself some lotions ans essential oils for his skin rubbing himself thoroughly making his skin soft and moist as he dried his hair Pitch realized it grew out a lot without him realizing it having grown below his shoulders in wild layers usually he catch it short and spiky but he didn't care right now and might as well just leave it as it is. Plus it felt nice and soft to the touch and there was a good assortment of brushes and combs for him to try and gladly use them to brush out his long raven locks that made him moan pleasantly as it rushed along his scalp enjoying the feeling like when he did while washing it in the bath finding it relaxing in his mind.

~

After he was done rushing and combing Pitch suddenly heard a small gurgle. Looking down he realized it was coming from his stomach and he realized he was very hungry for the first time in a long time. So we headed to find something to eat and drink down to the kitchen. 

Wanting to make something simple he spotted some fruit on the counter with a selection of apples, grapes, peaches and bananas. There is also some cheese and bread and a few pieces of cold cuts in the icebox he even found a box of crackers and built himself a charcuterie of sorts onto a plate. Whatever he wanted to find something it seems this house provides it oh it was a little tricky when he looked for some tea bags to make himself a cup of lavender tea along with a couple of glasses of water given how also thirsty he was!

While looking for a napkin and carrying tray he even found a jar of gem thumbprint cookies that he strangely had a craving for something sweet as well.

After setting up his tray of food he made his way to the living area cuz why not it's his house now and he can eat where he wants and he wants to eat by the fireplace. As he grabbed himself a blanket to snuggle up in and put some wood (that was next to the fireplace) inside he found a box of matches and carefully lit some as it slowly grew into a large comforting blaze just as the sound of thunder echoed throughout the house and the sound of heavy rain began pouring once again in Dark cloud skies.

As the flames glowed warmly and comfort Pitch enjoyed his little feast enjoying every bite a food in his belly even the cookies weren't so bad ("no wonder the toymaker guardian like them so much,") he thought but he won't let them hear that. Speaking of said Guardians he also knew he should continue to stay low and out of sight with less risk of being discovered even though he's been here only for few hours, but he felt he was safe in this place and the guardians or MnM  wouldn't sense or be able to find him.

After he was done and was putting the tray back into the kitchen deal with later he suddenly notice something on one of the tables that he didn't notice was there before?

Looking closer he found it was a letter that he realized from the date was about three years old reading that the previous owner had left this house willingly having no more use for it and that whoever discovers or finds it may claim the house of their own and that there's no need to worry on certain things that the house are taking care of and that the house will take care of you in return. When he tried to read the part that said 'Sincerely,' but the name was smudged out by accident and he couldn't tell the name of the previous owner was all Pitch can do was shrug saying oh well it is what it is at least the house will be his to keep he isn't sure how he meant it keep care for them but you might as well find out.

With a full belly and cleaning up the kitchen and such he felt the heavy tiredness of his body finally take over as he headed back to his bedroom climbing on the king sized bed enjoying the soft comfy material like laying on a marshmallow the ambiance of the now heavy rain pouring outside with the small fire in the fireplace glowing a golden orange amber in the dark cool room gave a perfect setting for a peaceful sleep as Pitch setting in the sheets letting the soft noises of the cackling fire and pitter patter soft rainstorm lure him into a dreamless rest his body and mind finally at rest after a very, very long time.

[say-hwaet]

That's the Way it Is

Chapter 25: The Art of Persuasion, Part II Next Chapter: Twenty- Six Summary: We continue with Arthur's point of view, as both he and Kit return to Shady Belle and encounter some revelations. How will things work out? Warnings: Mature themes, language Word Count: ~6,000

As you both ride into the boundaries of Lemoyne, Arthur already misses the arid climate and mountains. He’s more sure now that when it is time to go, he wants to go back west, not stay around here and wait for Dutch or Pinkertons to come after him. 

Would Dutch come after him? He knows what Dutch’s opinion is of traitors. You were there to witness a few of those times where he had more than expressed his opinion, and neither of you disagreed then. Because betraying Dutch was far from either of your minds. 

But now, the tides have changed, as you both are now on the other side. 

Arthur’s brow pinches at the thought. Could the same reason that he is now willing to do such a thing be why the others had committed treason? Could it be that Dutch had lied and covered up their needless deaths with a reason that his followers would agree with? It wasn’t too long ago that such a question would never have crossed his mind but as he’s come to witness things, hear things, he’s coming into a mind of his own. Truly, for the first time in years. 

“Arthur?” your steady voice enters into his thoughts like a gentle breeze and he turns to look at you. “What’s on your mind?”

He doesn’t want to worry you. Not that his internal questions would scare you into staying with the gang, but that such thoughts might make the urgency greater. Rushing into escape would only worsen your chances. It’s best to think things through, as all good plans take time. And now that you both know where you are going, here is a need to tread carefully, to weave a path so intricate that not even the keenest tracker could trace where you've gone. Arthur's eyes soften as he takes in your worried gaze, and he knows he must keep his fears at bay, for both your sakes. 

“A lot,” he answers simply. And remembering what he needs to hide, he goes to his left hand and begins to remove the ring from his finger slowly. “One thing bein’ that we’re gonna have to start sneakin’ off again.”

You look away from him at the sight of his subtle action, looking out towards Rhodes, which is just up ahead. The tall red mill stands as a beacon or a warning, Arthur isn’t sure. “I had forgotten,” you say thoughtfully. “I wish you hadn’t reminded me.”

Arthur lets out a snort through his nostrils as he slips his ring in his pocket, not to be taken out again for a good while. “Why, you want people to know now?”

You’re quick to shake your head. “No. It makes me feel powerful, because that it is the one thing they won’t know about us.” You audibly inhale deeply and exhale slowly. “I just wish that I could…live it all the time. Without the fear.”

Arthur nods. He understands what you mean. He wishes that it were possible to live as man and wife openly, but he’s seen it as leverage. He’s seen how those who are eager to cause suffering exploit such things for the worst of gains. 

But it’s plain to see that people know that you’re his woman now. Surely, admitting he’s your husband won’t be much worse? 

He shakes his head, answering his own question. “We can’t tell ‘em, Kit.”

“I know. Especially while Dutch is like this. He doesn’t want us together, that’s plain to me now.”

Arthur grips the leather reins tighter, eyes focusing in Montana’s mane. “Yeah. Dutch has been callin’ you a distraction since you’ve been back.” He shakes his head, his mind filling with regret. “Shoulda known better. Shoulda stayed behind and looked for you when…” If he had stayed in Blackwater, and told everyone else to stick it where the sun doesn’t shine, he would have found you in that alleyway. Could have maybe saved you. “I was a fool. Should have just—“

“Arthur…” you begin to say. “Look at me.” Closing his mouth, he turns to look at you and sees you pull back on the reins, stopping Odliv and your caravan, so he stops Montana. You are quiet for a minute, your eyes looking at the ground before looking back at him. “You can’t blame yourself for what happened. Not anymore.” Your body tightens and Arthur can sense your sobriety. “I don’t want to hear it.”

Arthur swallows thickly and just looks at you. He wants to argue how true it feels, how it is all his fault, though you keep telling him it isn’t. 

He sees you lick your lips and the gears turning in your mind. You want to say something, but are hesitating. Why? 

“Arthur,” you begin, speaking gently and carefully. “There’s something that I need to tell you. I’ve been hesitant to say it, because I don’t want you to react in any sort of way.”

Arthur only blinks, your words not making full sense. 

You sigh before continuing. “I had asked Trelawny to investigate some things for me. Things that happened to me in Blackwater…” Arthur can feel his heart beat faster, his muscles building adrenaline as he waits for you to continue. “He discovered medical notes. And they said that I was shot by a revolver.” Your eyes meet his. “A revolver the Pinkertons are known to use.”

Arthur's brow furrows, the lines deep and troubled across his sun-beaten face. His eyes, a stormy marine blue, darken as he processes your words. He feels the weight of each syllable like a physical blow, the implications of what you're revealing confirming some of the fears he had shared with Hosea a week before. They had captured you somehow and tried to kill you in cold blood. “Bastards…!” he growls.

“I must have been trying to find my way to you,” you reason, your voice still steady and calm. “But they must have found me first.”

“What about the boat?” he asks you. “Did Trelawny find anythin’ on that?”

He sees you shake your head and his shoulders droop. “No. But I asked him to keep looking.”

So that’s that, then. Pinkertons did it all this time. And he had been suspecting that Micah might have had something to do with it, given his aloofness and Dutch not giving any solid answers. Maybe he was wrong, but part of him wishes that Micah did do it. He wanted more of a reason to kill him and reveal him for the snake that he is.

You reach across the space between your two horses and grab Arthur’s arm and he feels you squeeze gently. “I want us to go back to Shady Belle, putting that behind us now.”

What? How can he? When putting the pieces together will share a lot more than your own fate? He has been wanting to know what happened, and even if it was Agent Milton and his ilk, there are still many gaps in it all. “Kit, I can't just let this go,” Arthur’s voice trembles slightly, showing an edge of vulnerability he rarely lets others see. “Not when there’s still so much we don’t know. What if there’s more to it? Them Pinkertons ain’t finished with us, and if they ever see you, I know they wouldn’t be keen on lettin’ you live a second time.”

You nod slowly, understandably. “I know, but that’s why we are leaving. Heading west, like you said. We will never see them again, or will ever have to.” 

Arthur’s nods as his gaze drifts off toward the horizon, the day passing as they remain still on the road. He wants to believe your plan, to chase the sun until the both of you vanish into legend, but doubts are relentless shadows at high noon. “We’re gonna lay low. Make no name for ourselves.”

“Exactly.”

“We won’t be able to use our real names. Least not for a few years.”

“I know.”

Arthur bites the skin off his lower lip, eyes still trained on that red building that’s just up ahead. “It ain’t gonna be easy.”

“Arthur,” you squeeze his arm again. “We’ve already talked about this. You don’t need to remind me. My mind is already made up.” 

He turns to look at you again, into those beautiful earthen eyes of yours. “I just don’t want to let you down.”

“You never need to fear that with me, Arthur,” you say reassuringly as you offer him a small smile. “I’ll always trust you.” Your shoulders then slump as you sigh. “I know we only managed to make a few hundred dollars, but we can make more. We can leave again for a couple of days once we get back and talk to Hosea.” You squeeze his hand. “I’m not worried at all. We can do anything, as long as we’re together.”

And that is all he needs to hear. He takes your hand from his arm and brings it to his lips, kissing your knuckles tenderly. “I love you.”

And your smile broadens, your eyes soft and filled with love. “And I you.”

He lets your hand go and returns to grab the reins. “We better hurry back. I think I have a few words to share with Marston.”

“Not fists?” you tease.

Arthur lets out a snort through his nostrils. “Tempting.” And with a clicking sound from his mouth, Montana moves along. “But only if I have to.”

***

“I knew she’d betray us! I knew it!”

The thundering sound of Dutch’s voice immediately has Arthur on edge. He casts a quick glance at you as you ride into Shady Belle alongside him, and he can’t read your expression. He can see how tightly you grip the reins, the coldness of your gaze as you look on at Dutch as he storms out of the mansion.

Arthur only hopes that he isn’t referring to you.

Hosea goes to meet the charismatic leader, holding out his hands as though he were trying to settle a wild animal. “Now, Dutch, we don’t know that—"

“Her things are gone! Her jewelry, her clothes—everything!!”

Arthur’s brow pinches. It can’t be you. You left everything here.

That’s when he hears your voice, barely audible. “Molly.”

Arthur’s eyes widen. How would you know? Given the outburst, it makes sense, but you act as though you had seen this coming.

You meet Arthur’s eyes and he can see the recognition in them. “She listened to me,” you say.

Wait, you told her to leave?

“Kit—” Arthur starts, but he closes his mouth, it’s best that he say nothing at all.

You both go to dismount your horses. You don’t wait another second to hurry into the camp and Arthur follows after you.

“Dutch!” you call out. “Who betrayed us?”

Arthur thinks it’s good that you’re feigning ignorance, but he wouldn’t put it past him that Dutch is looking for someone to blame. And knowing that he has a distorted opinion of you, Arthur's heart clenches tight inside his chest, bracing for Dutch's answer. The air is thick with unrest, members of the gang peering from tents and behind wagons, their eyes wide with curiosity and dread.

Dutch turns on his heel, his face contorted in a grimace of betrayal and anger, casting a look that shows a darkness that sends Arthur’s hair to stand on end. “Molly,” he growls. “She’s gone off and left us. Left me.”

“Did she leave a note?” you inquire. “Maybe she’s coming back.”

Dutch shakes his head, his face growing red by the second. “There ain’t no note, Kitka. She took off like a thief in the night!” His voice booms across the camp, reverberating against the wooden structures and the dense trees surrounding Shady Belle. “No doubt to find the Pinkertons and tell them where we are, the coward!” He breathes deeply for a moment and then his eyes narrow at you. “She couldn’t have gotten the idea on her own, that woman was so narrow-minded, she could only see two inches from her pocket mirror…”

Arthur’s hand instinctively moves closer to his gun, a subtle gesture not missed by you. Your expression softens and you shake your head, clearly trying to diffuse the situation before it gets out of hand.

“Everyone could see she wasn’t okay, Dutch. Whatever it was, she couldn’t live like this anymore. Maybe it’s best she is gone, before she got herself killed or risked any of our lives.” Your words settle for a moment before you continue. “If she is as clueless as you suggest, do you really think she could find the Pinkertons? Do any of us know where they are?”

There is a flicker of understanding in Dutch’s eyes, but Arthur still keeps his hand ready. He doesn’t want to pull a gun on Dutch, but he’s come to realize that this isn’t the same man who reared him up from boyhood. If he has to shoot him to protect you, he will. 

“She’s right, Dutch,” Hosea says calmly. “But if you really think she’s set out to betray us, Javier and Arthur can—”

Dutch holds out his hand. “No, Hosea. Leave the tramp to her own devices. If she wants to show her true colors, fine. But chasing her will only spread us thinner and that's the last thing we need right now.”

As the tension dissipates, Arthur's gaze doesn't leave your face, searching for something more, some reassurance that everything is as it seems. His eyes, those deep pools of marine blue, are concentrated on the one thing he treasures most.

Dutch turns away, heading back into the mansion. “‘Bout time you came back, Arthur. I’m going to need you before too long.”

Arthur lets his hand fall to his side. “I thought Micah was doin’ all the good jobs for you.”

Dutch stops halfway up the steps, not looking back. “For what is coming next, we are gonna need everyone.”

And he continues on into the mansion. 

***

Arthur sets the final deer carcass before Pearson’s wagon with a soft whump. “There ya go, Pearson,” Arthur grunts, and as he stands erect, he brushes his hands on his pants. “You can use them pelts too for somethin’ useful.”

Pearson eyes the three kills with hungry eyes and nods his head. “Thank you, Mr. Morgan! Seems like only you and Charles bring anything decent back and he’s still gone!”

Arthur lifts his brow. “Charles ain’t back yet?”

Pearson shakes his head. “Nope. But I expect he’ll be back. He isn’t the type to desert.”

A pang of guilt rises in Arthur’s chest, given his own plans for doing that very thing. “Yeah.” He turns to walk away. “Be seein’ you, Pearson.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Morgan!”

Arthur walks about the camp, and looks ahead to see you and Abigail under the gazebo, speaking quietly amongst yourselves. You take her by the arm and begin to escort her out of the gazebo and out of camp, most likely away from any prying eyes and listening ears. You are at work, trying to share you and Arthur’s plans for escape. On your way out, you meet his eyes, giving him a knowing look.

Go talk to John, your eyes say.

And far be it for Arthur to tell his wife no.

His first task is to find the scar-faced man. There isn’t going to be much daylight left, as the sky is changing its hue, so he will need to look quickly. No telling where he might be, given that he likes to avoid people if he can help it.

And knowing that since Abigail doesn’t like to let Jack out of her sights, most likely the boy is with his father, given that Jack wasn’t tailing you as you talked to her.

So if he finds the boy…

And just as he makes that thought, he hears a cracking sound and the voice of the kid in the distance. “Take that!”

Following the sound, Arthur walks to the other side of the mansion, to find John and John Jr. playing sword fights with sticks. This is something Arthur has never seen before, John playing with his son? While he is in disbelief, he feels a glimmer of hope in this sight. Perhaps John can be convinced to leave.

He doesn’t want to interrupt the moment, so he watches a bit longer to let the scene play out.

Jack takes another good swing at his father, who blocks the attack with ease. “You’re good at this, Pa!”

John lets out a raspy chuckle as he blocks another swing. “But you’re a quick learner, kid. Maybe one day you’ll be the best swordsman in the west.” His eyes twinkle with a mixture of pride and something softer, a vulnerability Arthur rarely sees.

Glancing away for a moment, Arthur spots another stick on the ground and gets an idea. He bends down to pick it up and grips it comfortably in his hand.

That is when he clears his throat and steps into their view. “Mind if I join?”

John looks up, surprise registering on his face. “Since when did you play with kids?”

Arthur doesn’t fault John for that question, for he doesn’t know the truth about Isaac. Even so, he had been entertaining Jack long before John ever considered acting upon his role. He rolls the stick in his hand, finding a good balance in it. “I played wit’chu, didn’t I?”

Arthur's words hang in the dry air between them, a touch of humor softening the corners of his mouth. John pauses, the confusion fading into a grudging smile. "Guess you did, old man."

Arthur chortles. “Who you callin’ old?” And he takes on a fighting stance. “I guess my side has been chosen for me.”

Jack’s eyes light up, his energy bubbling up at the new addition to their game. “Are you gonna help me defeat the wolf-man, Uncle Arthur?”

Wolf-man? This kid has been catching a lot of the jokes in camp. Arthur chuckles as he nods his head. “You better believe it, partner.”

John curses under his breath, now realizing that he's outnumbered, but the sparkle in his eyes tells another story; one of delight and warmth that rarely shines through the tough exterior he wears like a second skin. "Alright," he grins, dipping into a faux bow, stick raised like a knight of old. "Come then, you scoundrels, let's finish this one and for all!”

“With pleasure!” Jack seethes playfully, mocking the voice that Hosea adopts when reading those Arthurian romances. “You will cease and desist! The fair maidens of the land will cry no more!”

Arthur raises his brow. “You got some vocabulary on you, kid.”

John readies his weapon. “Words are talk, I use my sword to speak for me!” And with a small leap, he lunges at Arthur, choosing him as his target for more aggressive play.

Arthur dodges easily, his body still adept despite the years and hard living. His movements are fluid, a dance born of necessity from countless escapades and close calls. He counters John's attack with a playful jab toward his gut, who reacts more exaggeratively than he ought.

“You’ve wounded me!” he cries.

Jack, who squeals in delight and darts forward, raises his stick sword high in the air. “He’s done for!”

Arthur backs up, grabbing Jack’s shoulder. “I’m afraid, my good fellow knight, we’ve only stirred up the beast!” Eyeing John, he searches his gaze to see if he will be willing to play along. “Do you know why they call him the wolf man?”

Jack’s smile suddenly falls and he looks up at Arthur. He shakes his head, eyes wide with curiosity and a hint of unease. "Why do they call him that, Uncle Arthur?"

Lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, Arthur leans down closer to Jack, his expression serious but with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. "Because when the moon is full, he turns into the wildest creature this side of the round table…!” He looks at John, who is still standing there. He nods towards Jack, coaxing John to play the role. “He’s a real wolf-man!”

He can see John roll his eyes, but a hint of a smile plays on his lips. So, embracing his newfound role, he throws back his head and howls theatrically at the sky, the sound echoing off the nearby trees. His posture shifts, taking on a wild, prowling stance as he circles around the two brave knights. Jack's fear melts into exhilaration, his previous apprehension forgotten in the face of this new opponent.

Some members of the camp turn their heads, eyes wide and curious at the sudden theatrical display. Who the hell is this man? This isn’t the John Marston they see sulking and complaining all the time.

Arthur gets in front of Jack, holding out his stick. “Stay back, sir knight! This is a dangerous one.”

“I thought all wolf-men were, King Arthur!”

Arthur looks at Jack over his shoulder, grinning. “King, huh?”

Jack nods his head, grinning. “Aunt Kit calls you that, doesn’t she?”

John howls again, interrupting the moment. “Stop talkin’!” he growls. “I’m hungry!”

The laughter echoing around the campfire seems to liberate the spectators all from the day's hard edges, the memories of yesterday’s dust and today’s uncertainty momentarily set aside. Arthur, in his element as the protector, playfully continues to shield Jack, who is now giggling uncontrollably.

“You better have some of that rabbit stew left!” Arthur calls back to them. “Or this wolfman’s gonna have us for dinner!”

“But King Arthur!” Jack shouts. “Don’t silver kill wolf-men?”

Arthur thinks about it. He isn’t sure. He didn’t get into those types of stories all that much when he was young. But far be it for him to crush the idea. “Yes, Jack, it does!”

“Our swords are made of silver! One swipe and he’s dead!”

Jack's emphatic declaration brings a round of cheers and laughter from their audience. Arthur plays along, brandishing his stick with exaggerated caution as though it were the finest silver blade in all the West.

Suddenly, from the periphery of the campfire light, a soft voice chimes in, carrying a subtle accent that's hard to place, but unmistakably your own. "And what if the wolf-man only wishes to be understood, not defeated?" you venture, stepping forward into the fringe of their playful scrimmage.

The laughter fades, and all eyes turn toward you. Jack's face lights up with recognition and delight, "Aunt Kit!" he cheers, waving his stick. “Get back, fair maiden! This wolf-man is hungry!”

You laugh. “And that’s his problem! If he’s hungry, just give him some food!”

Arthur grins, looking at you with a raised brow. “But that takes all the fun in killin’ him.”

Abigail comes around the wagon into view, crossing her arms. “You’d be doin’ me a real favor, Arthur.”

John slumps his shoulders, his wolf-like posture disappearing. “Hey!”

Abigail laughs and holds out her hand to her son. “C’mon, Jack. Let’s get you somethin’ to eat.”

Jack slumps his shoulders, looking like an exact replica of his father. “Aw, mama…”

“Don’t you ‘aw, mama’ me, young man! You can play with your daddy and ‘King Arthur’ later.”

Jack doesn’t continue to argue, but turns around to hand Arthur his sword. “See you, Uncle Arthur.”

Arthur takes the stick nodding his head to the boy. “See you around, my good knight.”

And with that, Jack meets his mother, takes her hand, and they walk toward the stew pot to get something to eat. Now that the entertainment is over, everyone else resumes their idle chatter and laughter, leaving Arthur, John, and you in the mix.

Arthur meets your eyes, and your look says it all.

Go now. Talk to him.

Arthur nods, and watches you turn toward the campfire. If anyone should ask where Arthur and John have gone, he’s sure that you will deter them from looking. This conversation needs to happen. The time for fun over, Arthur lets the sticks fall to the ground and he turns to meet John’s gaze. “Marston.”

“Morgan.”

That’s how they’ve always greeted each other. One simple word and a nod and they acknowledge each other. “You seemed to enjoy yourself.” He gestures to the sticks. “Playin’ with your son. It’s a good thing.”

John looks away, waving it off. “It ain’t a big deal, Arthur. Don’t make somethin’ out of it.” And he turns to walk away, but not quickly.

Arthur walks to keep up with him and when he reaches him, he places a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I mean it, Marston. That kid looks up to you.”

They lock eyes for a moment and for a split second, Arthur can see something in his brother’s eyes. He sees an opening. He begins to feel a panic, he’s not really good with words. He’s good with his fists, and he had wished that he would end up beating sense into John, but this is different. Persuading him with just words? But Hosea failed. Abigail has failed for years.

What does Arthur have that they don’t?

The silence must be bothering John, for he sighs loudly as they continue walking. “I know I haven’t been…I know that…” John grows frustrated and shakes his head. “I’m tryin’, alright?”

Arthur nods. “I know.”

They walk a few feet in silence, and Arthur tries to think about how he can approach this. Should he just come out and say it? He isn’t all too good with metaphors. Maybe he should approach it how he approaches you.

Or maybe you can help him.

“You know, John, I��ve been thinkin’ about some things, and was wonderin’ if I could hear what’chu have to say.”

John looks at him with a raised brow. “Me? Since when did you want my advice?”

Arthur shrugs, a half smile playing on his lips, the kind you know hides deeper concern. "Since I realized maybe you got somethin' worth sayin'."

John snorts, shaking his head with a bemused expression. "Alright, shoot."

Arthur hesitates, choosing his words carefully. "It's about Kit. See, since she’s been back, it’s clear that she ain’t fit for this life no more.”

John looks at him incredulously. “What’re you talkin’ about? She’s stronger than most anyone I know.”

“Maybe so, but that ain’t what I mean. It’s not about bein’ strong or weak, John. It’s about wantin’ somethin’ different. Somethin’ better than this. Freedom.” Arthur gestures around them, encompassing the rough and tumble world they’ve known for most of their lives. “This ain’t freedom, John, and you know it.”

John’s brow lowers as he studies his brother. “What’re you sayin’, Arthur?”

Here it is. The moment. The chance. “I’m sayin’…that Kit and I…” Arthur swallows, his eyes looking around to make sure that no one could possibly hear what he has to say. “We’re leavin’.”

John stops dead in his tracks, his eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and confusion. "Leavin'? Both of you?"

Arthur nods slowly, his gaze firm yet filled with an undeniable weariness. "Yeah. After everythin’ that’s happened, after everythin’ she’s been through… We can’t just keep on like this.” Then he walks up to John and places his hand on his shoulder again. “But we want you to come with us. You, Jack, and Abigail.” John doesn’t immediately reply, so he adds, “Take your woman and child, and get lost.”

John shakes his head. “Arthur, I…I don’t know…”

“You—you can give somethin’ to Jack. Somethin’ that I…” He lets his voice trail off. He didn’t plan on sharing this with John. But maybe that is what he has that no one else does.

Something that he had once, but is now lost to him. Something that he can save John from losing. 

His heart thrashes against his ribcage at the anticipation of his words, and his hand squeezes John’s shoulder. “Don’t make the same mistake I did, John. Don’t ignore that chance to be with your family. ‘Cause that chance may disappear.”

And in typical John fashion, those words aren’t enough. “How do you know, Arthur? You’ve stayed and you still got Kit.”

Arthur's head shakes with frustration, his jaw clenched tightly as he tries to suppress the rising anger within him. "This ain't just about Kit!" he shouts, his words echoing off the trees and marshlands that surround them. But as soon as the words left his mouth, he knew it was the wrong approach. With a deep breath, he forces himself to calm down and meet his friend's gaze. "This is about Eliza," he says, his voice softer but no less intense. "And Isaac." The names hang heavily in the air, loaded with emotion and history that could not be ignored.

John narrows his eyes, still understandably confused. “Who?”

Arthur sighs, finally sharing this secret held deep within him. “My son and his mother.” And after a short pause, Arthur explains. “I was gonna leave the gang to be with them. But when I got there, I saw two crosses outside. Robbers found them. Killed them, all for ten dollars.”

The weight of his revelation seems to sink into the soft earth beneath their boots, as heavy as the silence that wraps around them. John’s expression shifts, sympathy etching lines deeply into his rugged features. “Arthur, I... I didn't know.”

“Nobody did,” Arthur murmurs, his voice rough with unshed tears. “Except Kit.” He looks down and chuckles bitterly. “And she still found it within her to love me.” But that isn’t the point of this. He shakes his head. “So listen to me when I tell you, when the time comes, you gotta run and don’t look back. This is over.”

John is still shocked by the revelation, shaking his head. “What am I going to do? I can’t just pick up and leave…!”

Arthur nods. “Don’t worry about that. Kit and I have a plan and Hosea is gonna help us.”

“Hosea…” John repeats. “He don’t wanna leave?”

Arthur shakes his head. “I think he wants to help those that want to to get out before it gets worse. But don’t worry, I ain’t leavin’ him with all of this.”

John still isn’t convinced. "But what 'bout Dutch and the rest?" he presses, his brow furrowing as he glances around, as if the very trees might be listening.

Arthur's gaze drifts away for a moment, lost in thought. "Dutch...he’s lost his way," he finally says, his tone laced with disappointment and sadness. “You and I both know we ain’t the ones who changed.”

John seems to let those words sink in. Little by little his resistance is waning. “Ever since Blackwater, Dutch has been—”

Arthur shakes his head. “No, John. It was long before that.”

And after a moment, John comes to the conclusion on his own. “You’re right. There have been signs. But all it took was…”

And they both say it at the same time. “Micah.”

Another silence, but still louder than any shout or roar, fills the space between them. In the last couple of years, they could have never been further apart as brothers. Divided by a common reason, unbeknownst to John, but now that it is revealed, he can see something in Arthur. He wasn’t just a jealous workhorse like he once thought, but merely a father who had grieved the loss of his son. Would he feel the same, if it were the other way around? Would he be enraged if his brother left what he could have freely?

There’s no doubt in his mind, sure as hell he would. 

John nods. “Okay, Arthur,” he sighs. “I’ll go.”

Arthur blinks, nearly surprised that that was all it took. “You will?”

John nods again, more certain this time. “Yeah.” He points a finger in Arthur’s chest, as though all the weight of his trust is extended through his forefinger. “But it better be soon.”

“It will.”

John’s grey eyes look like steel in the moonlight, glinting with an intensity that Arthur hasn’t seen before. “No, I mean, days. You don’t know what’s been happenin’ while you’ve been gone.”

“You mean about Molly? She ran up and left, I know that. Dutch is madder than—”

John shakes his head, closing his eyes. “No, no, Arthur. That ain’t what I mean…It’s what he’s got planned.”

Arthur remembers that Hosea hinted at Dutch’s plans to rob a bank, but it was only talk. “What you mean?” he asks.

“The bank of Saint Denis,” John says with a growl. “Dutch means for us to rob it.” And there is a brief pause. “In two days.”

Two days? That is hardly any time to—

“You boys are lookin’ mighty suspicious, standin’ here under the pretty moonlight…”

Micah’s voice makes Arthur immediately bristle. Arthur turns to watch him slowly approach and studies his darkened expression. How much did he hear? Does he know?

Arthur narrows his eyes. “Shut up, Micah.”

But John takes a more aggressive approach, the wolf taking thundering steps toward the snake. “If you got somethin’ to say, say it to my face you sonofa—” 

Arthur immediately holds John back with an hand on his shoulder. “He ain’t worth it, John.”

Micah waggles a finger at Arthur. “Now, see? I thought you were an idiot, Morgan, but maybe you do have some sense.”

“I’m merely sparing you, Micah,” Arthur answers darkly. “Kit would have my head if I let John kill you unprovoked.” There is a shuddering dark silence that falls between them. Arthur can feel the resistance in his grip on John’s shoulder. John despises Micah just as much as he does. “Not that he really needs a reason.”

John doesn’t move, but his eyes continue to burn with a barely controlled fury. Micah chuckles lowly, an unsettling sound that rolls off the dust beneath their boots. “Kit's a good woman,” Micah drawls, eyeing Arthur closely. “Pity about what happened to her, though, ain't it?" His smirk is venomous, taunting, as if he knows just how to twist the knife. “Ain’t quite the woman she used to be.”

Arthur feels an icy prickling along his spine but keeps his voice steady. "Don't you speak her name," he warns, the tone low and threatening.

Micah tilts his head. “Aw, a little sensitive ain’t you, Morgan?” He chuckles like he’s choking on gravel. “It’s like you love her or somethin’.”

John jerks out of Arthur’s grip suddenly lunging toward Micah. “That ain’t no secret, you slow or somethin’?”

Micah jumps back, walking as though to circle the two. “It just makes me wonder where his loyalty is. Seems to me he’s pickin’ his side.” He then looks at Arthur, his eyes narrowing but the smirk doesn’t leave. “Ain’t you, Morgan?”

Arthur then hovers his hand over his holster. “I ain’t the one betrayin’ what matters, Micah,” he growls menacingly. “You best watch your mouth or you’ll be sleepin’ with it full of bullets.”

Micah’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second before he lifts his hands in a mock surrender, his grin never faltering. "Oh, I'm just makin’ conversation, Morgan. You know, passin' the time." He steps back slowly, eyes still locked with Arthur's. "Anyway, I best be gettin’ back to Dutch. Big plans with the bank and all."

As Micah walks away, the tension between them finally dissipates into the stifling air of the swampy evening. Arthur watches him go, a scowl carving deep furrows into his brow. He can't shake the nauseating blend of fury and dread that Micah's words have stirred up in him―a reminder that no matter how hard he tries to bury it, the past claws its way back, seeking light and air.

John turns to him, his expression hard but concerned. “You alright?”

Arthur nods stiffly, his gaze still fixed on the unforgiving path Micah disappeared down. “Yeah, just…a lot’s at stake, you know?”

“You don’t need to tell me,” John says with a chortle. “I can’t wait to be away from that bastard.”

Arthur nods, but he can’t shake the dread that now builds in his stomach. “Yeah,” he exhales hoarsely. “Me neither.” 

Thank you for reading!

Tag Requests: @photo1030 @eternalsams

[madhattervanessa]

Hello, I was wondering if you could do a one shot of where how the Tf 141 would react to the y/n asking to try a new position and it ended up hurting them. Like causing cramps. And how would they help or what exactly would they do?(Yes this has happened to me) I was hoping that this would become like fluff/ comfort with a hint of NSFW. Sorry I am writing this while at work.

Hey ‘non! Thank you so much for the ask and don’t even worry about it, I got you. I hope your work day went okay :)

This has happened to me a few times, too, lmao, those cramps are fucking nasty.

I also wrote this down in one go and it's really fucking late, I'm slightly tipsy so- at least we'll be on a similar level of unhinged

Let’s get into it!

Cpt. John Price

REALLY loves when you give him new options for positions to twist you into

this man is a dom through and through. If you give him the go, I- 

but I also think he is prepared- he gets you warmed up before you guys start playing twister, he is getting older, okay?

So I think this is most likely to happen in the morning when you’re spooning and it turns into fucking from there; he wants to see his cock in the mirror at the end of the bed and lifts your leg, so he can “watch that greedy pussy swallow his cock”

It’s then, that the cramps hit- your hip muscles contract from front to back and you wince noticeably

“Fuck, what’s wrong-?”

“Cramp-Cramp-! Fuck!”

Cue immediate stop and questing fingers that prod while you whine about the pain

Fear not though because this man gets you up on your feet to walk while he sprints off to find whatever pain medication and heating pad he can find before even getting dressed

If it dies down? Great. Though you’ll have him check in more for a few weeks, careful to take it slow

If it doesn’t, prepare to be handled with a furrowed brow and the utmost care until John can figure out a physical therapist- even if it’s a poor rookie he strongarms into helping you on base.

he’ll probably feed you magnesium supplements for a few days, too

Lt. Simon "Ghost" Riley

Look- Simon is always more than happy to wait for cues from you

If you want a new position, you’ll have to either talk him into it or already twist yourself into a new position before he can even perceive what is happening because this man likes to stick to missionary where he can watch you soak his cock and look back up to see your cute face twist up as you cum

once established and proven, he’ll take up new positions, though. 

I feel like he is a big fan of putting a leg over his shoulder as he fucks you

I am lying, I am a big believer of this- it’s a gorgeous view, he can use it as leverage and paw at your tits or just watch them bounce prettily as he fucks you

However, having sex with this big hunk of a man means he’ll not only stretch you apart in that particular position, he also makes you cum hard

When your leg cramps eventually from the constant pressure and from holding that position for too long, he will chalk it up to you being fussy at first

but if you insist, he’ll stop and drop immediately to push his fingers into the sore spot

it will hurt- his grip is strong and he is insistent, despite your wriggling around

but it makes for a quick and effective solution: he is good at massaging the cramp away, soothing the pain with his hand.

Once it’s out of the way, he’ll keep his warm hand on it before continuing to fuck you into relaxation- a nap after getting fucked until you are limp is the best way to a quick recovery in his opinion

Otherwise you’ll probably get bothered with massage rollers or a massage gun

Sgt. Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

hah, yeah, this happens to the two of you a lot-

look, I see Kyle and I see him having fun in the bedroom

he is DOWN to try new stuff, basically whenever wherever, baby

If you have sex with this man, you’re bound to get more flexible, that’s a fact for sure, I will not be taking any goddamn notes

I can see him ogling you while you do yoga or pilates and it escalating from there

especially if you shake your ass a little at him

Downward dog man, I’m telling you.

And how could he say no to you?

He’s eating you out until you tell him to stop making you wait and fuck you

and Kyle, good, loyal, absolutely whipped for his girl Kyle, does not hesitate to slide his cock in and “give you a good stretch”

“Deep breath, darling- fuck- yeah-”

but when your legs start to cramp and you yelp?

He jumps because he is scared he hurt you before he reacts.

He’ll help you up and get you moving before getting you some gatorade or something like it

Ushers you into a bath and rubs your back for you as you soak

Will definitely still get you off later and just insist you have to relax

Yoga sex will definitely be off the table for a while, despite the fun because Gaz is just too afraid he’ll hurt you again

Sgt. Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

this nasty dog of a man-

I digress

there’s a book of things he wants to try out with you

so he is always delighted when you bring up something new to try out, his shy little birdie, he’ll tease you about being the horndog in the relationship

literally twists you into any crazy position you consent to (like the pretzel or whatever? looking at that shit gives me cramps) 

kamasutra books have nothing on the brain of this man

it doesn’t hurt that he… does his research.

anyways

if you let him do that shit to you? Oh the satisfaction on that man’s face

Dirty grin on his face the entire time that only falls when you cum or when he does- however, I feel like Soap gets sloppy when he is about to cum, sloppy, careless and definitely a little unhinged

so when your legs protests and he is in the throes of it, you have got to forgive him bc your pussy is sucking his soul out of his body

but even in a pussy-drunk state, as soon as he is back in his body when you whimper and start to cringe at the pain, he’ll start stretching your leg out 

he’ll use the length of his body to prop it up and stretch you out, going full on football physical therapist, despite his dick still softening inside of your pussy

he might get hard again, especially if he starts rubbing over the spot and you start whimpering and relaxing, letting him treat you well and relaxing into it

definitely hard again when you shoot him a satisfied, relaxed look at the immediate relief he provides for you

“We’ll have to stretch you out hen, just to be sure you don’t cramp up again, yeah?”

Trust, you will be stretched very unprofessionally- kinks and new positions are discovered that night

[soulsisterif]

I've seen you play litg too. Opinions on this season?

Oh-ho, buckle up. I have opinions and I'm bad at summarizing.

Warning: I only play wlw routes in LITG, so I may be missing some cool things about the game, who knows.

First off, I like Lisbeth as a character. And Eisha seems sweet, too, but I'm a faithful woman. That said, I wish Ava was an option. They owe me after robbing me of a Estelle route, hahaha. C'mon fusebox, rivals-to-lovers when??? Because, let's be real, Gabi was gorgeous but, as everyone in Season 5, utterly insufferable and poorly written.

Anyway, there's still the same old problems that come with this game in general and wlw routes in particular:

We're already at the point were dialogue and scenes are merged no matter who it is that you choose. Exhibit A: "I didn't let you finish. It's the last time I do that today." Or whatever it was. Exhibit B: "It's you, it's always been you. You must know that." Both good but the same for everyone.

If you choose to be interested in just Lisbeth you're still forced to string along a guy that you "like the most". Despite saying openly that you like her you're still treated as if you're doing something wrong by having any kind of romantic interaction with her. Why do we have to sneak off at all when I said that I was twisting with a casa boy out of strategy? Let's see how movie night plays because I swear if I'm accused of cheating for having kissed her in casa I'm losing it. I was dumped! I was single! Cheating on whom?!

There's also this curious thing with the female LIs, that I think should be done with all LIs. If you reject them once, it's over XDDD Practically the only choice that gets acknowledged. But seriously, sometimes I'm even hesitant of not choosing a single option that hints that MC is interested in a woman because I fear it'll lock me out of her route. If you compare that to the men, who you can reject over and over again in increasingly rude ways without them ever leaving you alone... Yeah, guess that's Fusebox.

Also, this season was supposed to be all about branching (which, mind you, is the least an interactive story should offer) and your choices, and how compatible you are with the other islanders but... Nothing really matters. Even the emojis stopped popping out. It's so disheartening. The rotten cherry on top was that one compatibility challenge where not only did our choices not matter, they didn't even bother to show us the results at all. Like, WTF?

I also think, though this is probably an unpopular opinion, that there are too many sex scenes and they feel out of place. They feel way too rushed and aren't really good, either. Whether you take the initiative or the LI does, it's the exact same description; the props box should be forbidden considering whatever you choose to use barely participates anyway. I haven't seen any screenshots from the sex scenes with the male LIs, but I'm also pretty sure they're all the same that the ones you get with Lisbeth, and obviously written with the boys in mind. Because the shower sex scene? XDDD Are you telling me Lisbeth, SHE, is holding BOTH MC's hands up against the glass, MC has a leg around her and they're both getting off at the same time? Perhaps not impossible, but let me tell you, if I had one leg around another woman's hips, it'd be very hard for us to grind against each other while we're both standing. Plus, safety hazard. With just one leg for leverage you're bound to slip LOL And with our hands out of the equation... I don't see the sight.

Back to the romance itself, I feel like I hardly know Lisbeth beyond what she does for work. Maybe with the men it doesn't feel so strange because you get to go on dates and to pair up with them for challenges, but for Lisbeth's route it's like you get two lines of dialogue if you choose premium choices and then either shove your tongue down her throat or have the scene end early.

I keep thinking back to Angie's route, in which you get a sense of her strengths and weaknesses little by little throughout conversations without them being spelled out (she's protective and caring, but also judgemental and blunt), and a lot of details about her life away from the show: her bond with her sisters, her tense relationship with her father, her dramatic ex stories, why she chose to be a paramedic instead of a doctor, how she winds down when she's stressed... She's just fleshed out in a way that other seasons don't allow.

When I compare that to Lisbeth's route I'm like, what happened here? How is it that I know nothing about my main (and only) LI but still can sleep with her three, four, whatever times? Personality-wise, all I know is that she's outspoken without coming across as a bitch, and that she has some witty moments. I still laugh when I remember the silver spoon comment at the beginning of the season. Still, not knowing that much about her makes certain things feel very rushed. Like, when she says how close to MC she feels. Why? How?

I believe that's mostly how the game itself is but I really wish they would let us actually talk with other contestants for something other than gossip (that you have to pay for). All conversations are about what other islanders are up to, gossip, jealousy or kinks. Even when you can choose to do something interesting it's just underwhelming.

Like, I'm forced to go on a date with Tristan, of all motherfucking people and I can't even grab Lisbeth for a moment to tell her not to worry? I have to make do with a half-assed "my head won't turn" in front of whoever happens to be in the dressing room?

Dont' get me wrong, it's not the worst season ever, and some volumes were actually entertaining. Especially the first ones, when people seemed to have a distinct personality. It's just... My honest opinion? If this was the debut season of a new game, if I wasn't fond of LITG because of the memories that I have after playing it for years, since it first came out, I wouldn't be playing it at all. And that can be said for every single season starting on Season 5.

It is what it is.

[witchofthesouls]

I’m not sure if you’ve heard of this theory/trope but it’s one I’ve heard throughout my years in the fandom but it’s basically served in crumbs because that’s how rarely I’ve heard it.

The theory/trope is basically that Starscream is Megatron’s son, whether biological or adopted, and given how their canon relationship is like it’s an extremely fucked ‘father and son’ dynamic.

Depending on the continuity, Starscream both wants Megatron’s approval and for him to be gone, but no matter what continuity, Starscream knows that deep down he can never be Megatron or inspire the same loyalty and fear as he does. Basically acts the way almost every person who grew up with daddy issues acts.

Then in comes Megatron’s hybrid bitlet. Megatron doesn’t treat them the way he treats Starscream, his first child. Megatron is firm and strict with them but never lifts a hand to them and rarely raises his voice at them and doesn’t subjugate them to the same humiliation and abuse that he does with Starscream.

Starscream rarely sees the child (Megatron keeps his SIC far away from the apple of his eye and when he isn’t there to enforce it, Soundwave sure as hell does) but on the rare occasions that he has, he can see the how protective and territorial Megatron gets over them, but also how much he cares and loves them (in his own way, of course).

It very much a gives “-that means she was always capable of change, but I just wasn’t worth changing for” and “we may have the same parent but we had very different childhoods.”

Oh yeah, I've seen takes on it. It's been a while, though. It was slanted as a Megatron was a father-figure to a grieving prince (major political leverage) or direct spark-kin as an explanation why he never kills Starscream after multiple assassination attempts.

There are multiple ways to go about this scenario:

Treatment based on Megatron's future plans. Starscream is supposed to be his heir and needs that cruel edge to be the Decepticon leader, but his hybrid sibling is slotted for a perhaps different role? Fostering political ties via matrimony? An ambassador to be their voice on a galactic stage?

Treatment based on how they come into Megatron's hands. Think of it as cultural differences and age he stepped into the role of father. If he actually sparked an Elite Vosian noble, then it would be a mess. As in Megatron didn't even know about his son's existence and Starscream doesn't know his sire, only the shadow of his carrier getting sparked with a single sparklet (bad omen among the Vosians) and following his carrier on her assignments as a diplomat to other city-states. A teenage!Starscream of a high-caste will not get along with Megatron's everything. He's absolutely dismayed that his carrier would sigh fondly or sharply reprimand Starscream is "exactly like your sire!" No, he isn't! Meanwhile, hybrid sibling was born into Megatron's hands and doesn't know anything else but the ship.

Treatment based on biological quirks. I imagine that Seekerkin sparklings tend to be aggressive and prone to outbursts to their age mates because they're attempting to establish a hierarchy among them, and an overactive prey-drive still settling as they differientiate kin, strangers that are neutral, and unknown hostiles. It's the duty of overwatching adults to make sure the scraping doesn't get too out of hand and draw the boundaries of what is and isn't acceptable in play. Megatron is a damn tank/gun, and neither of them do that. So he thinks he had a wild, unruly child who was trying to savage the living daylights out of any playdate. Hybrid sib, on the other hand, has a shorter lifespan running against them. Plus, are they starting off as a human or a newspark? Do they switch in-between? Are they a tiny newborn that Megs need to mass displace down to even let them hold his pinky finger?

Difference based on health. Sibling isn't well. Megatron keeps them far away from everyone else due to their fragility. Megatron allows himself to be softer because there is no guarantee they will reach adulthood, let alone lead any part of the forces.

[on-my-vigilante-sht]

Forced Love V

John Wick x Reader

Summary: Arranged marriages aren't uncommon in the crime world but John Wick never expected to be forced into one with is boss' daughter.

Chapter Summary: John finishes what his brother-in-law started

Warnings: Minimal use of Y/N, canon level violence (if it's in the movie it's here), medical stuff

Word Count: 3.7K

Masterlist

When John finally woke, he was tied up in some sort of abandoned building. Although, the scaffolding and lights indicated that maybe it was just under construction. Directly in front of him was an empty chair but flanking that was his wife, bound to another chair with tape covering he mouth. She let out a soft cry that sounded like his name upon seeing him wake. She was breathing heavily and her voice was raw. The tear tracks that stained her face did nothing to assure him that Viggo hadn’t hurt his own daughter.

“Well John,” Viggo’s voice cut through her soft sobs as he came into view. “They sure as fuck broke the mold with you,” he said, sitting down. Two guards followed him, but stopped next to Y/N’s chair. And John could see the two guards on either side of him through his peripheral vision. Viggo laughed as he continued. “You always had a certain… audacity about you, you know. I thought it’d make you a good husband to my daughter and I feared she had softened you too much when you asked to retire. But I can say you’re still very much the John Wick of old.”

“Am I?” he pressed daringly.

Viggo leaned forward as he spoke. “People don’t change. You know that. Times, they do.” He sighed before going to the thing burning in his chest. “Do you know what was in that vault? Artwork, cash, not without it’s worth. But the leverage I had over this city. Evidence, blackmail, audio, photos,” he listed. “It was fucking priceless!” he cursed, standing up in rage. “Priceless!”

“Yeah, I kind of enjoyed that,” John said softly.

Viggo let out a scathing laugh. “Yeah, I know you did.” His laugh became humorous as he got closer to John, sending a punch to his face.

Y/N let out a muffled scream in protest.

Viggo turned his scathing tongue on her now. “Shut up you brat!” he screamed. “I never should have paired you two up. You used to be so obedient, always so eager to please me. But then you two got married,” he said in disgust. “And you corrupted each other.” He turned back to John. “And then you got out by lying to yourself. Telling yourself that the past held no sway over the future. But in the end, a lot of us are rewarded for our misdeeds, which is why I’m going to take your wife.” John lunged at Viggo but his restraints and the guards held fast. “Because you decided to… unleash yourself upon me. I gifted her to you, I have every right to take her back. Fuck, I should’ve taken her back when you asked for retirement but I let you keep her. As a gesture. But then you decided to take it upon yourself to meddle in family matters.” He paused, letting his words hang in the air and echo in John’s brain. “This life follows you. It clings to you, infecting everyone close to you. We are cursed, you and I.”

“On that, we agree,” John said, cursing himself for falling in love.

Viggo sat back, shock written on his face. “Finally, common ground,” he chuckled.

“I have my grievances with you,” John began, “but my real focus is your son. Step aside and give him to me.”

“John Wick,” Viggo mused in disbelief. “Baba Yaga,” he mocked the name he was once so proud to threaten with. He stood up, signaling to his men to get ready to leave. “It was just a spat between siblings.”

“Your son tried to kill my wife!” he yelled. “When we got married you made me promise to protect her. I am because you failed! You led her unstable brother to believe that you would choose her over him and then she almost died for your mistake! And then you protected your son over her. I was just doing what you fucking asked. People keep asking if I’m back. And up until now I haven’t really had an answer. But now? Yeah, I’m thinking I’m back! So you can either hand over your son,” Viggo muttered an order in Russian before turning to leave, “…or you can die screaming alongside him!” John screamed as he stood. The guards grabbed him once again, back into his chair as he watched his wife being carried out behind her traitor father. He continued struggling as they wrapped a bag around his face, trying to suffocate him.

Just as the black started to close in on his vision, he heard the sound of a bullet whizzing. The man to his right went down, blood spattering onto the bag covering his face. The other guard immediately let go, drawing his weapon to find the threat. Marcus. But John didn’t have time to consider his old friend. He wasted no time pulling out of the chair, hands still bound and bag still on his head, body slamming the other man to the ground with so much rage, he managed to make him drop his gun. Baba Yaga pulled his zip-tied hands to the front of his body, tearing off the bag before running at the scrambling mercenary with a yell. Using his bound hands, he got the gun away from him. They began to struggle, John just needed to get his bound arms around the man’s neck. But he had the same idea and two autonomous hands allowing him to pin John to the ground easier, strangling him as he struggled to break from the man’s grasp. He managed to turn his head enough so the man’s thumb was in his mouth, biting down hard. It made the guard loose focus enough that John was able to regain the advantage. He got his zip-tied hands around the mans throat, pulling with all his might until he choked the guard out and was then able to snap his neck. Without even taking a second to catch his breath, John was using a knife from another guard to cut the zip-ties. Pocketing the knife, he ran towards the exit, hoping to catch Viggo before he left. He’d be damned if he let his wife be taken from him right under his nose like that.

On the way out, he spotted a high caliber rifle that was like shooting a mini bazooka. Grabbing it, he burst out the door just in time to see the SUV taking off. Seeing as his gunfire wouldn’t do much good from the rear, he found a route through the alleys that would let him cut them off. He ran through alleyways until he finally reached the main street. He stood in the middle of the street, taking aim at the speeding car. The fact that he couldn’t see his wife in the car gave him a little bit of peace as bullets pelted the SUV, making the driver swerve into a parked car, halting the vehicle.

John immediately had the gun pointed at Viggo. “Cool it, cool it, cool it,” he begged, his hands raised.

“Where is she?” he demanded, shooting a warning shot to the side.

“She’s in the car!” Viggo answered quickly. He reached back, only to open the door. The door flung open on account of the tilted vehicle and the fact that a person had been flung into it. Viggo’s daughter was spilled out onto the ground in a less than graceful manner on account of her bound arms and legs.

“Where’s Iosef?” John demanded next, seeing no bleeding from his wife.

“I have your word that if I tell you where he is, you’ll let me walk away?” he bargained.

“Pull the contract,” John demanded.

“Done,” Viggo agreed, seeing as he had no allies around him. “He’s kept in a safe house in Brooklyn,” Viggo answered. “434 Wallace Place. They know you’re coming.”

“Of course,” John stated, finally lowering his gun. “But it won’t matter.” He rounded Viggo, not caring where he ran off to.

He kneeled down next to his wife, pulling out the knife to cut her own zip-ties before carefully pulling off the tape on her mouth. She let out a hollow sob as she reached up to grab him, arms wrapped around his neck. He wrapped his free arm around her torso, pulling her into him and burring his face into the crook of her neck and shoulder. They savored the moment as long as they could until John had to let go. He couldn’t let Viggo warn Iosef and give him the opportunity to move. “Hey,” he began softly. “I’m gonna need you to take a cab to the Continental. Don’t talk to anyone, just head up to the room and wait for me there. I have to go deal with your brother. Then we can go home,” he promised her.

She nodded in understanding, too shaken up to really form word. He helped her stand, pressing some money into her hand for the cab. Before he could take off, she pressed a quick kiss to his lips. As she moved to break it, he followed, letting the kiss linger for another moment. “I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you too,” he said before taking off towards Brooklyn.

~

Once again, Y/N found herself pacing the hotel room she had come to loathe. Although she had to commend the cleaners. You would never be able to tell that two high trained assassins had just had a fight in here the night prior. It was only when her husband opened the door that she really breathed for the first time since the attack. It was finally over. They could finally go home and put this behind them so they could continue to live the lives they had built for themselves.

John said nothing, just pulled his wife into his chest and held her tight. “It’s over,” he promised her.

“I love you so much,” she professed in response, pressing soft kisses to the side of his face. He sighed in content, having missed soft moments like this ever since their world had shattered.

“I love you too. C’mon, lets go home.”

They had never packed their bags so quickly, eager to get out of the city. Once they reached the lobby, they went to the front desk to check out. “Thank you,” John said, as he slid the key across the desk.

“Our pleasure, sir,” Charon thanked, placing a set of keys on the desk. John stared at them quizzically. “A parting gift. From management,” he explained. “Compensation for last night’s unfortunate… incident.”

John thanked the man as he took the keys. The pair stepped outside, finding a brand new Dodge Charger sitting out front. John gave the slightest smile upon seeing the new car. He turned to his wife, seeing a small smile creep onto her face as well. They stepped down towards the car, John opening the passenger door for her before rounding the car to the driver’s side. He got in, taking in the car before putting it in drive. Before taking off though, he snaked his hand over to the passenger side, grasping his wife’s hand. “We just have one stop to make before we go home.”

The pair stood looking over the water, right next to the Manhattan bridge. “So what are we waiting for?”

“That would be me,” Marcus’ voice answered her. “Hi Y/N, I don’t think we’ve formally met,” the man smiled, extending her hand. She took it, shaking it as she sent a glance to her husband. *Who was this man? “*I’m the one whose been saving your husband’s ass.”

“I appreciate it,” John chuckled.

“Of course,” Marcus dismissed. “You look terrible,” he remarked, earning a laugh from Y/N.

John sent a teasing glance to his wife. “No, I look retired,” he corrected.

“Retired? You really believe that?” John didn’t answer. “You made a new life. You’ll find your way back to it. It’s time to go home,” he said, slightly ominously. “It was nice to finally meet you,” he bid, looking at his friend’s wife.

“Likewise,” she returned as he walked away. She turned back towards the river, the same as her husband. “You ready?” she asked, extending her hand.

“Yeah,” he agreed, taking it.

~

They were enjoying a peaceful drive home in the new car when John got a call. With a quick check to caller ID, he found Marcus’ name. “This is John,” he answered.

The way John immediately stiffened as Viggo’s voice came over the phone didn’t escape his wife’s notice. She had no idea what was said, but based on her husband’s body language, she could guess who was on the other end. “I appreciate you granting my son a swift death.”

“It was more than he deserved,” John replied, remembering how Iosef had tried to just beat a woman to death.

“And yet you granted him mercy. Unlike what I’m going to do to Marcus. He betrayed me.”

John immediately threw down the phone, spinning the car around so fast it almost went into a tailspin. “John what the fuck!”

“Viggo has Marcus,” he explained, pressing the car to it’s top speed as he raced back into the city. “He couldn’t kill me and he couldn’t kill you. So he’s killing Marcus.”

Her heart sunk, “Oh god,” she whispered. She knew her father did terrible things but she hadn’t really considered them when she wasn’t on the receiving end. John continued speeding through the city as she came to terms with how complicit she had been with others suffering.

When they finally pulled up to her father’s brownstone, John was immediately climbing out of the car. “Stay here,” he said gruffly. She didn’t say anything as she watched her husband go in to grieve the closest thing he had to a best friend. After a few moments John was running back to the car. Before she could assume the worst, he was hopping in and taking off. “Your father is fleeing New York,” he explained. “He practically left you to die and now he’s killed Marcus. He’s not leaving,” he swore.

Not a word was said as they raced towards the only property that Viggo owned that housed a helipad. An old loading dock that had been long forgotten. As they closed in on the two SUVs driving in the same direction, John pressed the car further. “Hold on!” he warned as he started side swiping the SUV until it fell down into one of the pits that used to be used to load shipping containers.

John didn’t even celebrate his victory or stop to consider that Viggo may have been in that car. He just kept driving, going after the remaining SUV. There was no shot he’d let Viggo have any chance of getting away. He kept knocking into the side of the SUV until he pulled back enough to send it into a tailspin, straight into a bollard. The SUV stopped suddenly but John was able to brake before backing up. “Get down!” he yelled, forcing his wife’s head down as he saw Viggo’s men get out of the SUV with guns.

They shot at the Charger, shattering the back windshield but that didn’t dissuade The Boogeyman in the slightest. He continued backing up until he hit the gunman who went rolling over the car. As he went, John shot up into the ceiling, sending bullets into the man as he rolled off the car. John then shot three more men out of the window, in the process leaning over to his wife’s seat to recline it all the way back. “Lay down flat,” he told her. Given that he was the world’s deadliest assassin, she didn’t question his judgement in that moment.

As Avi fell out of the car and went running, John chased after him, cutting him off. They exchanged a few bullets before John slammed the passenger side of the car into him. It hit him with so much force he broke the window, eliciting a scared shout from the woman laying in the passenger seat, but he quickly slumped to the ground. But before John could finish him off, an incredible force came from his side.

Viggo drove his SUV straight into the Charger, not caring about his daughter or right hand man. He continued driving, gas pedal pressed to the ground as he pushed the car towards the pit. Realizing what was happening, Y/N spoke up. “Out the back windshield! Out the back windshield!” she cried as she crawled backwards. Fortunately John knew what she meant because he also released his seat, crawling out with her and hitting the ground before the car went over the edge.

“Are you okay?” he asked his wife as the rain poured down on them.

“Yeah,” she choked out, the fall knocking the wind out of her. “He’s over there,” she coughed, spying her father heading towards the helicopter. “Go. I’m fine.” She too wanted revenge for all the bullshit he put her husband through.

John took off running towards his father-in-law as she stayed to catch her breath. Climbing into the mostly intact SUV, she clambered around for a gun. She searched frustratedly. There was no way there weren’t at least twenty hidden weapons in a mob boss’ car. She rejoiced as she found one taped under the passenger seat, climbing out of the car just in time to see both John and her father take a seat. Both of them exhausted and heavily injured. She could see them talking but she didn’t give a fuck whatever deal they were making. Her father had only done one good thing for her and that was arrange her marriage to John. And he still tried to use that gift against her until he couldn’t and he decided to kill him. So she took aim, steadying herself before pulling the trigger. Headshot. And this time, she didn’t feel bad about it.

“John!” she called, running over to him. She was terrified he’d succumb to his wounds right there. She stopped running for a brief moment when he stood, so relieved to see him up. She continued sprinting towards him, meeting him gently. She didn’t want to hurt him more but he grasped her wrist, pulling her into him. “You’re okay,” she assured him. “We’re gonna be okay. C’mon,” she said, throwing his arm around his shoulder in order to help him back to the car. Based on the amount of weight he placed on her, he really needed it. She helped him into the passenger side of the beat up SUV. Fortunately the passenger side door was still intact. “We’re going to the hospital,” she told him, getting into the driver’s seat.

“No,” he immediately protested.

“John! You’re hurt.”

“There’s a veterinary hospital just a few blocks south. No one is there at night. We can use their medical supplies.”

“John…” she protested reluctantly, terrified for her husband but heading south anyways.

“I used to go there if I got injured before I retired. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about,” he tried to reassure.

“Okay,” she agreed reluctantly.

She followed John’s directions until they reached what looked like an abandoned building. The only indication that it was even somewhat in use was the sound of all the dogs barking. John broke through the back door’s window, reaching down to open the door, letting himself in. They went in and Y/N was immediately pushing John to lean against the stainless steel table in the middle of the room. “What do you need?” she asked, going to the medical supplies.

“Gauze, suture kit or staple gun, and something to clean the wound,” he answered, already crouching in from of a pitbull’s cage.

She grabbed everything he needed, going over to him. “Lean back,” she directed him. She kneeled on the ground next to him as she worked as fast as possible. “I still think you should go to the hospital,” she said disapprovingly.

“I’d been through worse before I met you,” he confessed.

“I don’t know how it gets worse than this,” she said, stitching up every major wound she found.

“This dog is gonna be euthanized,” he said, reading the file on the dogs cage. His wife paused only long enough to look at the dog. He pawed at the cage upon meeting her gaze, his big eyes immediately melting her heart.

“We can take him with us when we’re done. But you have to promise me you’ll let me call the doctor to check you out as soon as we’re home.”

“I will,” he swore.

“Was this all an elaborate scheme to make me let you get a dog?” she pressed, only mildly jokingly.

“That was part of it,” John returned the joke.

A small smile crept onto her face as she paused her work once again to look at her husband. “I love you. So much. Please don’t do anything dangerous ever again.”

“I’ll try,” he smiled. “I love you too. I can’t move so you’re gonna have to come here.” She giggled slightly, scooching over to him. Once she got close enough, John grabbed her shirt, bringing her down to meet his lips as he gave her a sweet kiss. Just like on their wedding day except now they weren’t strangers. They had been through more together than they had thought a couple could go through. “I love you,” he repeated, only parting their lips enough to say that.

Masterlist

[tarnishedxknight]

What would Caelen do if someone kidnapped Myra? Or if Vayne ordered someone to kidnap her?

{out of dalmasca} Oh maaaan... Panic, blame himself, and then do anything he has to in order to get her back safely. Seriously, he would be completely one-track-minded with regard to locating her and making sure she's safe. Especially if it was while Myra was little and she couldn't at least try to defend herself or escape her attackers very well. Let's say if someone kidnapped her and wanted ransom or something else from him, he'd pay the price, whatever it takes. His daughter's life is not negotiable.

If he found that it was Vayne, he'd want to know why. If it was for leverage against him, for example Vayne wanting him to turn himself in or to say or do something politically, there's a very good chance he'd do it. I mean, if it's like... sign all of Dalmasca over to Vayne, haha, he'd definitely pause. But I think he'd be so clouded with fear and worry for Myra that if Vayne said sign this or she dies, he'd sign it. He'd feel terrible about it and seek to undo or invalidate it later once Myra was returned, but... yeah, he'd probably do whatever was necessary.

What you have to understand is that Caelen is not a soldier, he's not a negotiator, and he's not very good under pressure. He's not going to have the training and self-restraint to remain calm and collected and negotiate with Vayne or anybody else when his own daughter is involved. And even if he did, he's not a good negotiator anyway, heh. He's going to just act on emotion and feel that a father should do anything possible to protect his child. I'm not saying that's a good thing, because in some cases it would definitely not be, but that's how Caelen would think.

Now... if it were Mithran instead... like if it was after Munoh and Caelen had merged because something happened to Caelen... then Vayne better hold onto his ass because he's about to be hunted and killed, heh. Like let's say that Vayne had Caelen killed and took Myra to then manipulate Gylfie into doing something he wanted... but Munoh decided to save Caelen with a merger into Mithran. Mithran is not a negotiator either but that's because he... just doesn't waste his time arguing with bullies. Unlike Caelen, Mithran has no qualms about killing, and if you mess with his daughter, you better bend over, put your head between your knees, and kiss your sweet ass goodbye, haha, because he's coming for you. He's going full protective and vindictive dad all over you and you better pray for your soul, haha.

@disillusionedjudge

[ultrvmonogamy]

How are u? I miss u bestie

hey bestie. rn i'm feeling a bit deflated tbh. i'm sure i'll be fine soon enough, but wow it just seems like there's always something bad happening for me here like one of my blogs is disappearing or an acct is being termed or a former mutual is no longer following me or a current mutual is no longer interacting w me or i'm finding out ppl r talking abt me behind my back n spinning half truths into hideous vileness or i'm visiting a mutual's blog n am immediately nauseated seeing content reblogged from the most duplicitous blogger i know of n who's made claims abt me that r the actual polar opposite of the interactions that occurred while literally echoing words i've personally said here abt striving to be authentic n genuine or i'm seeing a former mutual's response to a question abt following ppl back that talks abt how they don't rly do it anymore bc everyone turned out to be terrible ppl n knowing that i'm probably one of the ppl they think that abt but for bullshit reasons or like i'm having warm n wholesome thoughts towards someone for a split second before remembering that oh yeah wait they think i'm evil now n r no longer one of my few real friends if they ever were or i'm being told to kill myself or i'm finding myself afraid to reply to a question by someone who's been canceled for alleged disgusting things but i don't know if any of that stuff was true bc i sure as hell now know firsthand that ppl r well-capable of attributing motives that do not exist n yet here i am now paralyzed n not responding bc i don't if my once thriving but now v precarious existence here would survive the association of even answering a totally benign question n so also thereby better understand other ppl's resistance to interacting w or implicitly endorsing my content simply for the just-in-case-ness of it all or like a sick, sick individual who last showed up in my world a few yrs ago attempting to catfish me by leveraging the death of someone i cared abt showed up again yesterday either again attempting to catfish me or sending some likely unsuspecting minion to do her bidding (unclear which) n like holy hell, u know? well the main reason i started this blog n started talking here was literally to vent n to be raw n authentic n just own all my weirdness n my conflict n my vulnerability n my perversion n my trauma n my hope n my fear n my stupidity n my experience n my insight n then when ppl completely unexpectedly to me began to follow n interact, my purpose for it expanded to connect w ppl on a real level w the parts of me that i'd let starve or had starved willfully whether out of ignorance or naivety or learned shame or simply fear of being know n to thereby find resonance n all the while to attempt for all that i'm worth to integrate it in a positive way n hopefully thereby facilitate others doing the same n maybe just maybe if i'm super extra lucky n the moths happen to flap their wings in just the right manners at the witching hour while the moon's in the right phase to be able to offer smth of worth to the world in a greater magnitude than i've been able to thus far n well i'm not going to stop trying to integrate n to connect n to be willing to stand up n own my shit until the day my heart stops beating n even w what is now at times such a stentorian din of noise that in moments i cannot even begin to tell what key it's all in or whether there's even a rhythm let alone where the downbeat went i am going to keep trying to improvise a harmony [some of which intrinsically necessitates my silence], it's still the place where i seem most to find meaningful resonance w others who r similarly motivated n similarly struggling but yeah it gets to be a little much sometimes..

but how're u bestie? n why do u miss me? do we not talk? did we ever? do i just suck so bad at replying that an anon seemed a better way to get a response?

in any case, i hope ur well, n i probably miss u too 🩵

p.s. sry i couldn't spare much punctuation what w inflation n the supply chaine n all the crimes against humanity etc.

[frozenjokes]

in which Grian and Scar reunite

***

“Right. Well, we might be able to avenge Jimmy real soon, I’ll say that much. Check this out,” Scar turned to his shoulder, pulling a spear from a loop on his side. Grian hadn’t recognized it under the other bags that hung off his back, but even in the dark, there was no mistaking who this belonged to. Through sand and the heat of battle, Grian didn’t see the details of the engravings, but now, it was clear how much love went into crafting this weapon. Honestly, it looked more like a display piece than a tool for war. The only imperfection was a nick out of the tip, probably damaged from contact with Grian’s chestplate.

“You think he’ll want this back?” Grian breathed, a hint of fear gathering in his stomach. He wasn’t sure if he was excited about the idea of leverage, or afraid that Martyn would have another reason to come after them.

“I know he wants it back. He told me as much.”

“You- you talked to him?”

“Well if anyone in the Red Army was going to find me, it would be the mind reader. Don’t worry too much, he didn’t snitch. He must have dropped it or something, lost track of it in the battle. Spears don’t have minds to read, so,”

“You seem very unconcerned about something extremely concerning, Scar. What if he told the Red Army behind your back? What if they’re coming to find us right now?”

“He didn’t.”

“How can you know that!”

“Well, he’s not very subtle. Even in the dark with scales that kinda match the bushes, he’s too big to be very stealthy. And let me tell you, I think that dragon has stepped on more brittle sticks and leaves than me, who, if I might remind you, has been dragging himself around this damn place all night.”

“HE’S FOLLOWING YOU?”

“Uh, yeah, but I haven’t heard him in awhile if that makes you feel any better.”

“That is MUCH WORSE.”

[ajqwrites]

COD: Modern Warfare Reboot (Under Siege - Book 1)

The SUV was a twisted wreck. Glass scattered across the pavement. Steam hissed from the mangled engine block. The air stank of burnt rubber and leaking fuel. John approached the passenger side, boots slow, steady. Gaz covered him from the left, rifle raised. The shooter inside groaned, pinned between the collapsed roof and the door frame. His right leg was bent at an unnatural angle—but he was alive.

He yanked the door open with a sharp grunt. The man flinched, but his eyes sharpened when he saw who stood over him.

“You know who I am,” John said, his tone was full of devoid. No hint of mercy or pity.

The man spat blood to the side. 

“Yeah, sure,” the man said arrogantly.

John grabbed him by the collar, dragging him halfway out of the wreckage. The shooter hissed in pain but didn’t fight.

“You’re going to tell me who sent you,” John demand, his grip tightened. “And if you lie, I’ll know.”

The man grinned through cracked teeth. “You wouldn’t kill me. You want answers.”

Gaz stepped closer, watching carefully, silent as a shadow.

“I don’t need to kill you,” John said, voice like gravel. “But I can make you wish I would.”

The shooter’s grin didn’t falter, and when John threw him on the ground. He groaned in pain before John lifted his gun and leveled it at the shooter’s thigh—and fired.

CRACK.

The man’s scream ripped through the air. His leg jerked violently, blood pooling fast.

John crouched, grabbed him by the jaw, forcing their eyes to lock.

“Name. Who sent you.”

The man gasped through gritted teeth, sweat rolling down his temples. “Fuck you!”

John drove the barrel of the gun against the shooter’s already shattered kneecap. 

“Try again.”

The shooter squirmed, breath ragged. His bravado was crumbling—but still holding.

“You’re bluffing—” he panted.

But John pressed down on the leg, boot grinding into the fresh gunshot wound. The man howled, almost in tears.

“Talk,” John growled, eyes dark as pitch. “Or you won’t walk out of here.”

Finally, the shooter broke.

“Michael!” His voice cracked. “It was Michael Harkin.”

“Why.”

He already knew, but it was a need for confirmation.

“He wants you dead. That was what he wanted. Kill you first.” The man’s eyes flicked upward, fear finally creeping in. “Then grab the girl. He didn’t tell me what for. Maybe use her!”

His blood ran cold.

Use her. Leverage.

The world narrowed to a sharp, burning point.

“You tell Harkin something for me,” John said, voice low, controlled—but seething beneath the surface.

The shooter swallowed. “W-what?”

John slammed his boot down on the ruined leg, snapping bone. In response, the man screamed again, thrashing weakly. 

Gaz observed silently, not intervening. His expression was serious, lips pressed together. With his rifle in hand, he remained vigilant. 

John crouched down once more. Leaning in, his tone was chillingly calm as he spoke. "You let him know that if he sends his men after my girl again…" he seized the shooter by the collar, pulling him to his feet. "I’ll kill him. And everyone else he hides behind. This was his last warning.”

Without another word, John slammed the man’s head back into the side of the wrecked SUV.

The shooter went limp.

Unconscious.

Gaz exhaled. “He’s not gonna stop, is he?”

John stood slowly, breath sharp through his nose. His entire body was tight, coiled like a predator barely holding back.

“They came for me.”

“I know, and he wants you dead.”

John concealed the sidearm and looked at Gaz, almost smiling—but there was no warmth in it. “Well, if he’s desperate enough to try this again. He’ll find out just how bad he’s miscalculated.”

Gaz nodded, but his eyes didn’t leave his face. He could see that look. 

He knew there was a line between the man and the weapon. And, so far, he noticed that this line was beginning to blur in John, especially as his protective instincts began to take over.

✨Return to Masterlist (RTM)✨

✨Chapter 95✨

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