#hey dark horse

[xbuster]

Expert typesetting

[captainkingsley]

i almost want to apologize for this

[triflesandparsnips]

I've spent a couple days now trying to find the right words for this, and I still don't know if it's quite right, but-- well, fuck it. I need to tell it in three parts, because I'm not sure it breaks down more easily than that, so let's start with:

Stede knew.

...that is to say: The more I think about it, and in light of what we're seeing so far in season 2 (though hey, the new episode drops tonight, who knows, who knows, but--)

--but the more I think about it, the more sure I am that Stede has always known that he's attracted to men-- and he definitely knew, all along, that he was attracted to Ed in particular.

It's been a popular (and very entertaining) theory that maybe he didn't know. There was certainly a lot of static on the line whenever the topic came up in season 1. He seemed to need help identifying "love"; he didn't respond to Ed's flirting or half-attempted moonlight kiss; he didn't, in fact, try anything that wasn't obscured behind ten thousand layers of plausible deniability to the degree that it was reasonable to interpret him as naive or innocent or completely unaware of his own queerness.

But I think... I think that's what it was. Obfuscation. Hiding behind the relative safety of a presumed ignorance.

Because it all comes back, over and traumatically-over, to that queer need for the language of safety.

Listen: Stede Bonnet grew up keenly aware that being the kind of person he was-- being soft, being gay, being different, being queer-- was reason enough for the world to beat the shit out of him even when he was just a socially unacceptable level of queer (picking flowers as a boy, staying unmarried as a man). In Stede's time period, being any more obviously queer than that, and being subsequently found out, could lead to literal death.

So Stede would have been aware that that sort of attraction wasn't safe-- or, at least, that acting on it wasn't safe in any but the most plausibly deniable of ways... unless, and until, he could be absolutely sure.

And that's the thing, that right there, that's the next part of this:

Stede knew, but that doesn't mean he trusted himself-- or Ed.

It's like this:

When you're somebody who's been punished before (socially and physically) for just the appearance of queerness-- god forbid the acceptance or celebration of it-- then you're going to develop a whole lot of ways to protect yourself from anyone getting proof that you're as queer as they suspect.

So if you're caught looking-- no, no, you were just thinking about a book you wanted to read, silly Stede Bonnet, head in the clouds--

--and if your hand is caught lingering too long-- no, no, that can't be right, because you don't touch anyone at all, see? Oh that Stede Bonnet, awkward as anything, barely knows where his tea cup is--

--and no, absolutely not, you can't be fooled into believing a friend might be something more, no matter how flirtatious his body, no matter how much he seems to cherish your regard-- because either he's lying to you (and you learned that one well enough as a child, didn't you), or... or worse, that's just how some men feel friendship, and you're the one making it strange, making it queer, and he wouldn't be like that anymore if you just stopped bothering him quite so much, toddle on back to your wife, Stede Bonnet, and it'll all be fine again...

The tragedy of the first season might really be, out of all that happened, that a man could kiss Stede Bonnet on the mouth and say he made him happy and ask that they plan a life together--

And Stede still doubted that Ed really meant it.

Stede knew, and he doubted Ed... but he was on the road to trusting himself.

I think Stede went to sea to come out.

I think becoming a pirate was a deliberate queering of his previous life, the first step in him trying to actually allow himself an intentional queer identity in a world where the rules, boundaries, and kinds relationships that were expected and acceptable were broad enough for him to finally exist.

And he was right! Because, like-- jfc, of all the reasons the crew wanted to mutiny, it wasn't because Stede was kinda swish. Of all the reasons Spanish Jackie was going to de-nose him, it wasn't because he was swanning around camp af. Calico Jack did some damage, sure, but he dropped it once his overall aim was achieved-- making it less about social punishment and more another way to needle Stede into responding. Hell, even Izzy's initial interactions with him (regardless of what extra ammo he brought to bear later, which tbh may need separate examination entirely once we get more of season 2) were bound up in Stede interfering in his business and somehow succeeding rather than anything having to do with Stede's queerness.

And when you consider it from that angle... my god, the man was a one-man pride parade and his love of Edward Teach was the float at the front.

He used coded language with Ed in the first five minutes he was conscious enough to fuckin do so ("Do you fancy a fine fabric?" --christ, watch Stede's eyes before he asks that question, the way he clocks Ed turning away to test the cashmere, and when Ed gives a safe response that's when Stede shares more, just watch him)--

He took Ed's silk, touched Ed's chest, complimented his looks-- and even if you trust Stede's memory of it over Ed's, where there was no half-gasp, no aborted kiss-- Stede did all that, and Ed didn't punish him for it. My god, when they went their separate ways, Stede turned back to look-- and so did Ed--

He draped his lace cuffs over Ed's bare wrists as they stood together at tea. He let himself believe Ed was committing to a life together when they agreed to co-captaincy. When he thought Ed had left permanently with Calico Jack he was explicit with Lucius about what it meant ("I think it's over")--

Look: Stede has, in comparison and in opposition to his previous life, been a reckless bolt of rainbow glory almost the entire time we've see him in season 1. It just doesn't look like it from the outside because... he's really good at the language of safety.

So all this to say:

It makes sense, Stede having no concern for telling everybody in the entire pirate world apparently about his love for Ed.

It makes sense for Stede to say "I should have told him how I feel"-- because he knew, even then, he was just afraid he was wrong.

And so it would make sense, to me, if Stede, back in proximity with Ed and with definitive proof that Ed felt the same way as Stede (or had, at least, at one point), proceeds to get absolutely weird with how much gooey queer LOVE he throws at Ed from the moment they're both coherent enough to form words.

BECAUSE:

Stede couldn't trust the straight world to be safe? Well now he's dead there, time to be queer af

AND

Stede couldn't trust that Ed wanted him the same way? Well babe just went around making the world burn and then promptly died trying because he got his heart broken by Stede, so Stede is going to be 100% insufferable about showing this very special boy just how much he is absolutely adored.

And I cannot wait to see what bullshit he comes up now that he finally feels safe.

[muirneach]

UP 39 AND MORE THAN DOUBLED HIS PREVIOUS POINTS TOTAL. SLAY

[fitsinthepalm]

my brother in law is testing me

[ringsofsatire]

Kris x Susie is so funny cause its like

"hey FREAK what are you staring at? are you staring at my TITS huh? my giant mauve perky teenaged reptile milkers?"

"..."

"wow that is PATHETIC AS FUCK i ought to cut your cock off. only i bet youd like that huh. freak"

"..."

"as IF id ever sleep with you. god youre gross. and you smell."

"..."

"ok MAYBE im kind of into it. okay fine i guess ill take all my clothes off. and i want you to touch my tender insides please. idiot moron"

"*mounts her like a dog in heat and buries face in her heaving nubile chest*"

[nikibogwater]

Actually while I'm thinking about it, I just wanna say that the more live-action remakes Disney shlups out like shoveled manure, the more amazed I am that Cinderella (2015) exists. It breaks literally every standard of Disney's LA remakes.

It's not a shot-for-shot remake of the original 1950 animated film, though it does include small references and homages to it, but only when such things can be incorporated organically into the story.

The creators understood and respected the cross-cultural significance of the Cinderella story. They didn't want to "fix" it, or add some wacky twist to it, they just wanted to make the best possible version of the Quintessential Cinderella that they could.

Everything that could be done practically was done practically. The carriage was a real, the horses pulling it were real, and all of the other animals (with the exception of the mice and lizards, since their performance was a lot more involved than the others') were real living animals, the lizard footman and goose carriage driver were wearing prosthetics instead of just having their animal features added in post, the Fairy Godmother's dress had little LED lights sewn into it so that it would actually glow for real, the ballroom set was built by hand and included real chandeliers with more than 2000 total candles that were all actually lit for the scene, and I could go on but you get the point.

There's a ton of attention paid to little details that make the world feel real and lived in. Ella's shoes are always a little scuffed and dirty. Her farm dress is faded and wrinkled. When she breaks down and runs away to the woods, she rides her horse bareback (which, once again, was a thing Lily James actually did, no stunt-double or editing in post), because not only is that something a country girl like her would know how to do, but it also makes sense that with as upset as she is, she wouldn't want to waste time with saddling the horse. When she's dancing with the prince, it's visually obvious that he is leading her and giving her cues because of course Ella wouldn't know the latest ballroom dances, and would need him to guide her through it.

Hey speaking of dancing, y'know what else this movie does that no other LA remake has been allowed to do (at least not to this extent)? ROMANCE. Land sakes alive, this is one of the most unabashedly and yet still tastefully romantic movies I've ever seen. Ella and Kit are just oozing romantic chemistry from the moment they lock eyes for the first time. It all comes down to the fact that these two characters both have the same core values of courage and kindness, which makes their admiration for each other feel grounded and believable. Richard Madden also really sells Kit's feelings for Ella with the way his eyes go all big and soft whenever he looks at her. And don't even get me started on Lily's performance as Ella. Her quiet awe that someone as powerful as the prince loves her. The timidity and fear that she's not really worthy of that. The selfless determination to protect him from her family's cruelty, even if it means she'll never see him again, I'm just-- *banging my fist against the table and screaming into a pillow*

Absolutely god-tier costume design. No notes, I think Sandy Powell's work speaks for itself. Btw, in case you were somehow still wondering, yes, Ella's ballgown is fully practical--those layers upon layers of dreamy silk skirts are real. CG was only used to brighten up the blue color to make her stand out from the crowd more.

Wicked stepmother was allowed to actually be wicked. The movie never tries to make you sympathize with Lady Tremaine, or shift the blame off to someone else. And her villainy is given an extra layer of depth with the reveal that she is a dark reflection of Ella. They've both lost people they loved, but where Ella refused to let her grief get in the way of kindness, Lady Tremaine became utterly consumed by it. She views the death of her first husband as a sort of twisted justification for pursuing all her worst impulses. She despises Ella for her ability to flourish even while enduring terrible suffering, for being everything Lady Tremaine was either unable or flat-out refused to be.

Also Cate Blanchet absolutely SLAYS in this role. Hands-down my favorite portrayal of the wicked stepmother character.

Anyways, TLDR: Cinderella (2015) is the only Disney live-action remake that can justify its own existence and that's because it actively defies everything the LA remakes are today.

[lady-djarin]

on my radar

joel miller x f!reader (one shot)

warnings/tags: edited very little so sorry! dual pov, jackson era dark!joel, SMUT (oral fem receiving, p in v), stalker behavior from mr miller, age gap (50s/20s), joel is kind of a creep but reader is kinda into it, murder off screen, cannon typical violence, men harassing women (a guy is gross with reader/unwanted touching etc) NO R*PE, possessive talk and nicknames (mine, love, my girl, good girl etc), reader can be lifted by mr big man joel but otherwise no really specific details about readers body other than the usual fem. 18+ minors be gone!,

word count: 5.8k

* ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

YOU

You almost dropped it twice, your gloved fingers slipped around the smooth metal of the gun as you fumbled to pull the trigger. The clicker was quickly stumbling toward you even on its one and a half limbs. You and your patrol partner got separated when a small swarm of the dead caught you both off guard in a densely wooded area . As you were trapped in a corner of a hunting shed by the crawling thing, you felt your heart rate begin to rise and the feeling of dread set in that this might be your last moment.

You saw the blood hit your gloves before you even heard the blade hack into its head. Then the body hit the floor.

You looked up to find your patrol partner standing there with a machete clutched in his hand. He was looming over you with a look very close to anger creasing his brows and his chest heaving in exhaustion. He grabbed the gun out of your hand and grabbed your arm to pull you away from the writhing body. He hacked the large blade into the neck to fully decapitate the head then stabbed into the ear to finally kill it.

“Do you even know how to use this thing?” His voice had an edge to it, like he was mad, or scared as he held up the gun in your face.

You looked at him with tears brimming your lash line, the cold was seeming to freeze them before they tried to fall down your cheek. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Have you ever been on patrol?” His eyes narrowed as they scanned your face, then your body.

“No.” Your mouth was so dry.

“Who sent you on patrol!? What the hell…,” he grumbled as he turned away. “I asked you a question.” He shot another nasty glare your way when you didn’t answer.

His statement kind of shocked you, not a lot of people are blunt like that.

“Uhm, I asked Tommy, I wanted to help.”

“Fucking Tommy, sticking me with a kid.”

“Hey I might be new to this but I'm not a kid,” you chased after him and that didn't help your defense.

“Jesus…,” he was grumbling again and marching away, toward where you hid the horses. The two of you set out on patrol a couple hours before, your first time outside the gates in Jackson. You had heard rumors about Joel, people said he was ‘rough around the edges but good people’. You had seen him around the community and wondered if he was someone you could get along with. He seemed like he was an outsider, kind of like you. When you learned you were partnered with him you figured it was going to be difficult, but this was a little much.

You were on your way through the state trying to get to where your dad lived in Sundance when you ran into some trouble near their camp and they took you in until you recovered. They stitched you up after they found a nasty gash on your ribs when you were discovered fighting off a pack of stalkers. After arriving at the Jackson community, you learned that Sundance was completely overrun. The sparse community there hunkered down in their homes after the outbreak but with the large swarms that came through the area, pretty much everyone fled and went their own ways. You could barely stand the thought that your dad was caught in the middle but he was strong, he could find his way out.

He had to.

So you remained in Jackson, becoming a part of the community, and everyone in the community had to help out somehow. You felt indebted to Tommy and the community for helping you and making you feel at home here after your recovery. That's why you wanted to go on patrol, you felt like you could help. Joel clearly didn't agree.

That last fucking thing he wanted to do was teach some rookie how to handle themselves on patrol. He was pissed and you could see it in the tense bunching of his shoulders as he rode on in front of you. You felt kind of bad for having Joel take care of you back there but he didn't have to be such an ass about it.

“Hey,” you rode up next to him. “Look I know I'm not who you wanted to be on patrol with but just give me a chance ok? I'm just trying to do a job here.”

He barely looked your way, he just kind of grunted before urging his horse over the final path into Jackson.

Alright then.

You didn't see those broad hunching shoulders for a couple days after, though he clearly had been talking about you. Tommy took you off patrol so Joel obviously made his concerns clear to his brother. When you did see him it was from across a room or passing in the street, but even in brief passes it felt like a tension was always present. His brows would bunch in the middle as he scanned you. It always felt like a judgment maybe, or some kind of disgust the way he would observe you. You quite honestly thought he hated you.

JOEL

You looked cute when you were mad, actually to Joel you always looked cute. Your cheeks were pink with the morning cold, your breath steamed in the air as you huffed through your nose. You were mad because he was ignoring you, and he was ignoring you because he was scared shitless when he came into that hunting hide and found you cornered by one of the dead. It scared the living shit out of him to think about how you were almost torn apart.

He doesn't remember the exact day that he started to care a little too much about you, it was a slow thing. It took over his life, watching you as you became integrated into the fabric of the town. The people of Jackson welcomed you and you welcomed them right back. People loved you and you got along with pretty much everyone. He started to notice you when he saw you and Ellie chatting about something girl related in the mess hall. He noticed how you seemed to genuinely invested in your conversation with Ellie, hanging on to her every word. Next thing he knows he's thinking about you every waking hour, and you haunt most of his dreams. It feels like you are a presence in his chest that he can't carve out and he has tried.

Joel had tried to occupy himself by relieving the tension himself, trying to dissolve the desire he had for you. It didn't work, of course, but he couldn't help himself.

He refused to actually make any kind of relationship with you, he felt like it would look inappropriate. He was a grumpy gray haired man and you were young and bright, he felt like he would be too rough for you anyway. He was a broken man, his hands were dirty with death and guilt and blood. He could see the innocence in your eyes, the way you smiled with your whole heart when talking to people, especially someone he cares for.

Maybe those were the moments he truly started to have real feelings for you, seeing the way you cared for Ellie. Everytime he would see you it made his heart skip a beat, it almost confused him at first, like his heart was waking up from a decades long nap. His chest hurt with how intensely he was starting to ache without you near, it only ever stopped when he saw you or felt you close or smelled your shampoo as you walked by. It was the same as everyone else as there was a lady in Jackson who made everyone soap but still when it lingered after you it smelled like heaven to Joel.

All that to say, Joel still felt like it was wrong to pursue you. You were and always will be the one that got away.

He needed to stay away.

YOU

It had been a couple weeks or so, maybe longer since you saw those grumpy brown eyes. You had started to miss him, as painful as it was to admit. Even though he was barely a colleague, definitely not a friend, you were missing the way… he was mean to you? No, that can’t be right. Why would you miss a man that is anything but nice around you?

Tommy had found you another job working at the local watering hole/dining hall, as the patrol thing clearly wasn’t going to work. He was walking you around the hall, introducing you to the people you would be working with when you heard a familiar voice.

“Hey Tommy, you here?”

“Yea Joel, in here.”

Shit.

“Oh hey Joel…” You wanted to keel over and die.

”H-hey.” He seemed… odd.

They chatted about something security related and you were introduced to the hall supervisor. As you talked on one end of the room, Joel and Tommy were on the other and it felt like neither of you could look away from the other. Your eyes kept finding each other, each time it felt longer and longer, like the world was falling away. It felt much different than the last time you spoke, like he might not actually hate you. It was an odd feeling, having his eyes on you, he was almost predatory.

Even as he looked over what felt like every couple seconds, he still had this pinched, angry look on his face.

But it was hard to look away. Joel was mesmerizing but you knew deep down he could never be interested the way you would want him to be. He was a grumpy older man that wanted nothing to do with the new young girl in town.

You didn’t see him for a while after that.

JOEL

Joel Miller was by no means a good man. A good man wouldn’t be watching you like this, following an unsuspecting woman around town. A good man wouldn’t watch you as you walked around the Jackson streets, minding your business, talking to your new found friends.

Ever since seeing you again at the dining hall he couldn’t rid his mind of you, as hard as he tried. He knew he would ruin you if you let him, if he even got one taste he would be addicted. Not like he wasn’t now, leering at you talking to patrons at your job. He felt dirty in a way, like he wasn’t allowed to look, not allowed to have the urge to bash in the head of any man who looks at you wrong. Like the guy you were helping now, Mike, every time you turned away to get him what he asked for, he could see his slimy gaze caressing your curves.

He felt like he was going crazy, not being able to be near you like he truly wants. He wasn’t sleeping well, barely eating enough to keep him upright and almost missed patrol on more than one occasion. His mind was playing tricks on him, he would find you in dreams, wake up to find you cooking breakfast in his kitchen or walking hand in hand down the streets of Jackson. The cruel reality that he would never have that always hit him hard in the morning when the sunlight came streaming over his bedspread.

He often found himself turning over, searching for you.

Sometimes they were nightmares, visions of you being attacked by the dead or one of Jackson’s very own.

That’s why he was here, making sure you were safe from the dangers of this world. It was his job.

He was there until you got off work, gathering your belongings and heading out the door when Mike popped around the corner. Joel was immediately on high alert, watching the man’s every move as he advanced on an unsuspecting you. He stalked after the two of you, staying just out of sight. His blood boiled when he saw Mike call after you.

She’s mine, he thought.

He stayed across the street, just in case things went sideways. In case he put his hands on what didn’t belong to him.

“Hey! Saw ya leaving work, how was your night?” Ok, nice enough but Joel knew he was clearly waiting for you to leave work.

“It was ok, just tired and ready to go home.” You were being polite but clearly trying to convey that you were going home, alone. That’s my girl.

“I’d like to talk to ya though, ya know i’ve seen ya ‘round and think you’re real cute. Come on, please? One chance?” He’s persistent, that's for sure. Walking the line there, Mike.

“That’s sweet but I’m not really looking for anyone right now, I just got here a few months ago…” You kept walking and you kept your eye contact away from him, smart girl.

“If you give me a chance I’ll show ya I’m worth it. I promise baby.” You were not his baby.

“I’m not your baby, Mike. Please, I just want to go home.” You turned towards him now with determination in your tired eyes.

Mike clearly wasn’t hearing you, or just not caring because as you tried to turn away he grabbed your arm and pinned your back against a wall.

He’s dead.

YOU

I’m dead. This stupid asshole is going to kill me. Your mind was racing as you looked for ways out. Mike’s front was almost completely pushed against yours now as he trapped you against the brick wall. You could now smell the alcohol on his breath now that he was on top of you. You tried to break free, maybe he was drunk enough where you could shake him off. You could tell that wasn’t the case when he groaned in delight.

“Mhmm, keep doing that baby. I like feeling ya move that pretty body.” You wanted to puke, his greasy beard and sour breath was assaulting your space. You froze your body in an attempt to get him off you but he leaned in, trying to capture your lips. You whipped your head to the side and squeezed your eyes shut trying to block out whatever he might do next. Only, when you expected his lips or something on you, there was nothing. His entire weight was gone and you almost slumped to the floor in relief. When you opened your eyes, there was nothing, no one in sight, not even a sound. Mike was nowhere to be seen, nor was anyone else. If you weren’t so relieved that the creep was gone, you’d be freaked out. It felt like one of those eerie horror movies you watched before the word turned into one itself.

You weren’t really sure what else to do other than go home. You walked the quiet streets towards your small house and barricaded your door that night, just to be safe.

…..

“Have you heard?! I can’t believe it!” Angela’s voice shook you out of your tired daze. No matter how you tried to occupy your mind or sleep last night you couldn’t shake what Mike did to you. “It was Mike! That’s who it was that was found behind the dinner hall.”

Mike? Did you hear her right?

“Wait, Mike, like creepy Mike?”

“Yes!” Angela never learned how to not raise her voice.

Mike was dead. He was dead behind where you worked after he assaulted you. That seemed… convenient. Did that make you a bad person?

“They are calling everyone to the town hall for an announcement.” This was the only time they have done this in the short time you’ve been here.

Everyone walked over and filled the hall wall to wall. Tommy, Maria and a few other members in charge of running Jackson stood on the stage of the building that looked to once be a school auditorium, including Joel. Your eyes caught him up there as soon as you walked in, recognizing his brown curls anywhere. Tommy walked up to the top of the stage and everyone immediately quieted down, they clearly respected him.

“Hey ya’ll… Uh, unfortunately it's not good news that calls us together today.” He was clearly nervous. “One of our own is gone, Mike Walton. Now I know in this world losing someone happens more often than we would expect but this one is different. It happened in our walls and we think, committed by one of our own.”

Murder. He was killed. Fuck.

The crowd was starting to murmur and quietly panic. You felt responsible somehow, like you being the last one to see him, you think, meant… something. You had to tell them what happened last night, if only to make sure they know now instead of finding out some other way. So they know you're not hiding anything.

You stayed after the crowd cleared, listened to Tommy assure everyone that they are safe and he is putting security measures in place. You went up to the stage and caught Maria’s attention, you felt comfortable with her and maybe she would be more understanding. She really helped you assimilate when you recovered and felt kind of like a sister in a way.

“Hey sweetie, how ya doing?”

“I need… I need to tell you something.”

She took you to a more private area and you told her what happened the night before. She listened dutifully as you recounted your story and it really made it strangely better to talk about it. It was by no means easy to forget but knowing someone was listening helped. After you finished and she gave you a reassuring hug, she brought you back to Tommy… and Joel.

“Ok hon, I will need to tell Tommy about this, I’ll only include the necessary things.” You nodded knowing you could trust both of them with the news. “Joel, would you be able to walk her home? I don’t want to take any chances here.” Maria did say to you privately that she was going to treat this as if you were in danger in some way, in case this turned out to be about you.

He only nodded in your direction, extending his arm, signaling you to lead the way. You walked the streets, the silent tall man trailing behind you. You stopped so abruptly that Joel backed up in surprise.

“I don’t need you walking behind me like a bodyguard.”

“Where should I walk?” His voice dripped with something dark.

“W-well…I don’t know, next to me like a normal person?”

All he does is silently walk up to you and nod forward urging you on. You kept walking, feeling Joel’s arm brush up against yours and the tension was building before either of you said anything. You arrived at your building in silence and he walked you up the steps, more than you were expecting from the distant man. You paused as you opened the door and realized something, if Maria is right and someone is after you, they could be in your house.

“Y’ok?” His voice was low and rough.

“Uh… actually, no. Joel, would you be able to come in… and uh, check it out? Just to make sure, I don’t know…someone’s not— not in there?”

You swore his eyes softened at your nervous request, maybe he felt bad. He followed you inside and had you wait by the door as he surveyed the rest of the house. He came back within only a few minutes and you were relieved it was quiet in the house.

“You’re all good here darlin’,” he stood by the kitchen counter almost like he was avoiding leaving.

But you didn’t want him to leave.

JOEL

He knew no one would be in your house, there was no one after you. Except him. He saw Mike put his hands and other parts on you and something flipped in his brain. He went feral and had been looking for an opportunity to take this guy out. He was a menace to the community but Tommy said there was no legitimate reason. Usually he wanted a blatant offense to take action or even exile someone. Mike was sneaky, that was the problem, he was good at hiding his deplorable behavior towards women behind being friendly with most of the male Jackson population.

Joel was so sick of it, and he likes to pretend that’s why he was there that night, not that he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. For weeks now he had been everywhere you were, coincidence of course. He needed to make sure that you were safe, that someone would be there for you. Even if he couldn’t have you, he needed to watch over you. You had completely consumed his life, every waking and sleeping hour he had his mind on you.

The worst of it he thinks was a few weeks into his obsession, he found himself across the street from your house, crouched in the bushes like a maniac. He watched your silhouette as you turned about the room, picking things up, gathering our belongings and just generally going about your home life. It was so magical to him to see you living your life unencumbered by the burden of how cruel people can be. He had to make sure no one took that from you.

He was pulled from his thoughts by your sweet voice. “Joel? You ok?”

“Y-ya sorry, what did you say?”

“I asked if you wanted a drink.”

“Oh, uh- sure sweetheart.”

He watched you go over to a cabinet and pull out a dwindling bottle of something dark that made his mouth water. You had good taste.

That's my girl.

You slid over the glass with a small amount of whiskey and you each sipped it slowly.

“Thanks for walking me home, I really appreciate it.”

“No problem darlin’, but I'm sure you’re safe. No one’s gonna hurt ya.”

“Sure doesn’t feel that way.”

YOU

“I promise you, no one will ever…ever hurt you again.” The way Joel said it, it was like he had murder in his eyes. He was so intense that you believed him, like he would protect you. You felt a thrill pass down your spine from his gruff voice. He was always a rugged man with his height, his broad shoulders and intimidating dark eyes but now, he looked downright deadly.

For a minute you worried that Joel could be responsible— no he would never. Even if he did, could you really be upset at him making this community safer? Did that make you a bad person?

He was looking at you like prey he wanted to devour. It made your pulse race, it made your core throb. The tension had been growing since the walk back and it was evident to both of you. Joel circled the kitchen counter to come right in front of you. Both your glasses forgotten, he caged you in with his hands on the counter bracketing your hips. Without a word he brought a hand up to cup your cheek, his calloused skin caressed your skin much lighter than you were expecting. The only sound in the house was your heavy breathing as he stared down at you. You couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something off about Joel. Not necessarily bad but just something sharp and scary, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as he slowly leaned down to hover his lips over yours, asking for more.

Even if Joel was a bad man, fuck it.

You leaned up slightly to meet his lips and all self control went out the window. His hands were all over you in a second, hips pressed into yours as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. Your head spun as he licked into you and nipped at your bottom lip causing a whimper to escape your lungs. It all became very frantic as he lifted you up onto the counter and bit and kissed his way down your neck. You knew there would be evidence of it the next morning and it kind of excited you to know you’d have Joel’s marks on you. His greedy hands were groping and squeezing every inch of you and you couldn’t get enough. With your own shaky hands you tried to unbutton his shirt but Joel stopped you.

“R’ya sure baby girl?” You swore you felt slick dripping down your inner thighs. “Jus’ gotta tell me and I’ll stop, ’k?”

All you could do was nod.

“I need words.”

“Y-yes,” you practically moaned.

“Good girl.” Fuck, his voice. Your hips rolled forward on the counter, trying to gain any friction. Your clit was pulsing with need and both of you were getting impatient. “Thank god, otherwise I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.” He mumbled it almost to himself.

You gasped as he pulled off the counter and led you up the stairs in silence. Any other person would think he was angry but you knew, he was anything but. He led you to your bedroom and it briefly dawned on you that he was leading you there, he knew where your bedroom was. There was always something intense about Joel, you knew that from the start, it's one of the reasons you were drawn to him. But due to recent events you were starting to question just how depraved he might be. You hated to assume anything but you somehow knew deep down that he was the one who… saved you from Mike. That’s what it was, he saved you from being killed, or worse.

Once in your bedroom Joel turned and pushed you against the wall, attaching his lips to your neck.

He hummed deep in his throat, almost a moan. “Mhmm, darlin’ you are so sweet. Y’smell so good.” He was mumbling into your throat, half kissing, half biting. You were each pulling clothes off the other, desperate to feel skin. When Joel had you completely bare for him, you tried to cover yourself, mostly out of habit.

“You… you are perfect baby.” His eyes dark with desire as he pulled your hands up his mouth and kissed your knuckles. “Don’t cover up, I wanna see ya.” He pulled your hands away as he backed you up to the bed and gently pushed you back onto the soft quilt. You stared up at him, taking in his form, he was still in his jeans but bare from the waist up. You admired his graying hair that led below his belt, mouth watering at the bulge underneath. Before you could reach for his belt, he looped his strong arms under your knees and pulled your butt toward the end of the bed. With cracking knees he knelt in front of the bed and his face became level with your dripping core. His eyes were locked on you, his lips almost matching the way you drooled between your legs.

“Joel—,” you were unable to form words, the breath perpetually caught in your throat.

“Shhh, I know hon, I gotcha,” his voice was lower than you ever heard it, something dangerous simmering below the surface.

“Joel, wait—,” he moved up your body at your request. “I just… I’m confused,” you were shaking and out of breath but you needed to ask him. “I thought you didn’t like me… it’s just every time we would see each other you seemed to avoid me at all costs and now…”

“The only reason I was acting like that was because I liked you… too much.” His eyes hovered directly over yours, deep pools of obsidian overtaken with the desire. “I thought I was protecting you, from myself. But I… I,” he almost seemed nervous in a way, but there was still the underlying grumble of anger in his chest.

“What?”

“I see now that I have to protect you from everyone else.” He said it with such a darkness settled over his face, and it took you a minute to register what he was admitting.

He killed Mike. Holy shit.

Your whole body froze and you felt your eyes widen and breath pick up. But you also had this deep feeling in your gut, was that arousal? Were you attracted to this? That dropping feeling in your stomach told you that you were. Jesus, did that make you a bad person? Fuck it.

You grasped your fingers through his hair, pulling him down to you as you attached your lips to his.

JOEL

You were a vision, puffy lips wet from kissing, eyes blown wide as your chest heaved. “You protected me?”

Oh, fuck me.

“Of course baby girl,” he needed you to know this was all for you. He was yours and you were his. “No one will take you from me.”

He worked his way down your body, kissing and nipping his way to your center again. He spread your legs and stared into your dripping folds as he got onto his knees again. You whimpered and moaned his name and he relished the sounds, he loved hearing and seeing you react to his touch. He wanted nothing more than to hear you scream his name.

“I wanna feel ya’ cum on my tongue darlin’,” he loved the way your pussy drooled for him. Joel felt like a man starved, like he was finally seeing water after a year in the desert. He licked a broad stripe up your folds then sealing his lips around your clit and sucking. You screamed and he felt your thighs wrap around his head only spurring him on further. He pulled your legs in front of him and pushed to the mattress, opening you up further for his enjoyment. When he worked two fingers into you, he knew you were close based on your shaking and whimpering.

“I-I’m so close baby,” you sounded so cute, so desperate. “I need— please Joel.”

He wanted you to fall apart, speeding up his movements he knew it wouldn’t be long now. He curled his fingers while lapping at your clit, he felt your walls flutter and tighten around his fingers.

“Cum for me angel.”

You broke. Joel’s fingers were covered in your juices and you screamed his name as you came. He kept up his movements to prolong your pleasure, he reveled in the way your legs shook with overstimulation.

“Oh… my god,” you sighed as Joel crawled his way back up to your face, slotting himself between your legs.

YOU

He entered you slowly. You could feel every vein and edge of him and you were thankful he readied you with his fingers because Joel was not a small man. He started slow, presumably for your benefit, but soon his pace picked up and the crown of his dick was hitting a spot inside of you that made you see stars.

“Fuck— You feel so good,” he puncuate each word with with his hips, each time driving you up the bed. You grabbed onto his shoulders, trying to gain leverage but you were unable to do anything except take his brutal pace. He was past holding himself back now, you swore you felt him in places you never thought possible. You recognized somewhere in the back of your mind that letting the man who… murdered someone for you fuck you into your mattress might be a bad move. Too bad he was too good at it for you to care. You felt the coil of your orgasm tightening in your lower stomach as Joel leaned back, looming over you like a dark angel.

“I want you to touch yourself,” he pulled one of your hands towards your clit. “Cum for me baby.”

You pressed and circled your fingertips into the bundle of nerves, your pleasure just seconds from cresting. Joel must have felt it because he gripped your hips and pulled you into his lap, picking up his pace and punching into your g-spot.

“Oh fuck!— I’m gonna cum baby…plea—,” you couldn’t even get the rest of the word out as your orgasm crashed into you. You think you might have blacked out as your vision went blank for a moment and you think you heard yourself screaming. Joel kept up his pace and rode you through it all.

“Mmm that’s it, that’s my good girl…,” his voice was low and gravely in your ear when he leaned over, pushing almost all his weight on top of you while he chased his high.

“P-please Joel, cum inside m-me,” his harsh movements made it hard to talk, hard to breathe. You didn’t care though, you were desperate to feel him finish inside you.

“Inside you baby? Ngh, tha—that’s my good gi—,” he didn’t finish his sentence either as he almost collapsed on top of you. You wrapped your legs around his hips and held him there as he filled you up. He grunted and groaned in your ear as he came down, he pulled out slowly making sure you were comfortable and kissed his way down your neck and chest. “Stay here baby.” You laid there unable to move and watched his naked form as he found your bathroom with ease and came back with a warm washcloth. As he cleaned you, you recalled his words, ‘my good girl’. His.

“Joel?” He didn’t respond with words, only hummed at you to continue while he cleaned your inner thighs. “Did you mean it? I’m…,” you were hesitant to speak it, what if you were wrong? What if it was something he said in the heat of the moment. You felt the bed dip and he settled beside you, towel discarded.

“Use your words honey, what’s on your mind?” He moved a bit of hair out of your face and waited patiently for you to continue.

“I’m yours? Not just tonight.” You met his gaze with timid eyes.

“Yes, of course. Y’have been since I first saw you.” He kissed you deep, lips prying yours apart. “I protected you, remember? I wasn’t gonna let anyone hurt you, especially not him.”

He looked at you with nothing but truth in his eyes. He really did kill Mike, holy shit. He did it for you. In this world maybe you could rest easier knowing you had someone to protect you like that. Joel may be a scary man, but you had nothing to fear for yourself with him around. You slept that night more soundly than you had in ten years. wrapped in the strong arms of a man who chased your nightmares away.

[tpwrtrmnky]

debate

[ID: 4-panel "pills that make you green" comic.

Panel 1: A light blueish grey stick figure is talking to a green stick figure.

LBG: "Hey I think the way you debate could use some refinement."

Green: "Oh?"

LBG: "Yeah like maybe check out Dischorse, they're pretty good."

Green: "Dischorse? Didn't they say-"

LBG: "Yes they did but don't worry about that just watch a debate."

Panel 2: Green is sitting at a computer setup with two monitors. On the left monitor is a logo that reads "Disc Hors", without the e, showing a horse head emerging from some kind of disc. On the right is a social media app.

Green: "Well, time to learn debate tactics I guess."

Panel 3: A stick figure with a horse head is slamming their hands into a table while a long chat (transcript below) flies by on the right.

Dischorse: "Look, CouchTruther69, we've been over this already. If your only source is a ten hour rant video then you don't have a source. No, no. Don't try to change the subject again, yes you're trying to change the subject. Behave."

Panel 4: Green continues watching, with the monitors in front of them.

Green: "It's four hours of this? I mean if they're getting paid to do it, sure. Not for me though."

Dischorse: "No, listen to me. We've been over this. That was already debunked ten minutes ago-"

End ID.]

[Chat transcript:

very dark off-white: horse they did a logical fallacy get them. orange: outside is so cool. God damn. games workshop fenrisian grey: horse your take on the season finale of Bexing Mech Politics was reprehensible, I've never seen media literacy this bad. blue: Thoughts on chromomedicalism? I think we should consider it. the imperceptible idea of a color known as "man": hi everyone moss green: If the election comes to microtransactions child versus immortal jeff, I'm voting with violence, actually. fishmoder37: why is everyone in this chat chromatic? where are my grayscale dischorsites at? cyan: lol purple: lmao red: speaking of, when's horse going on hue replacement therapy? in square brackets: user red has been banned for prime directive violation. blue: horse wouldn't look good anyway.

end transcript.]

Start - Previous - Next

[lqvesoph]

His Greatest Hater - LN4

gif @mclarenslandonorris

landonorris x fem!reader

summary: you cat daisy isn't too fond of Lando but when he's sick that might change a little

warnings: mentions of the flu, fluff

Masterlist | Taglist

Ever since you brought Lando home for the first time, your cat Daisy has found a special dislike in the driver, hissing at him as soon as he would enter the apartment even when she couldn't see him yet.

You calmed her down, knowing how she always reacted like this when you brought someone new over. It was her kinda defence mechanism, to protect her and you.

But when she kept reacting to Lando like that after four months, you didn't know what to do. At some point Lando gave up on trying to get the cat to like him.

Lando wasn't even allowed to be near you without Daisy hissing at him and picking her paw at the boy to move away from you. Trying to get the cat to only cuddle with you wasn't working either, she kept glaring at Lando who had his arm around your shoulders.

Your phone vibrated next to you on the couch and you glanced next to you to check who had send you a message.

Lando: I'm sick

Lando: I'm coming over

Lando: I need you

Lando: And your cuddles

You smiled at your boyfriend's messages and only replied with an okay.

"Daisy-baby, Lando is coming over", you told the black british shorthair and kept stroking her head. She turned to look at you with slight disapproval in her eyes and let out a protesting sound at Lando's name.

"Behave, he's sick, okay?", you said and only seconds later you heard the doorbell ring.

You lifted the cat up from your lap and placed her on the couch next to you. You opened the door and felt your heart ache at the sight of the curly headed boy in front of you.

He had dark rings under his tired eyes, his nose was slightly red and his hair was more messy than usual.

"Hey", you whispered as he walked inside. You immediately opened your arms for him to snuggle into them. "Hey", Lando replied with a horse voice.

"Since when have you been sick?", you asked and pulled back from him so he could take off the jacket around his shoulder. "Yesterday", he answered and followed you to the living room.

You turned around to give him a scolding glance. "I didn't want to worry you with a bit of a headache but it got worse this morning", Lando explained himself, eyeing up the couch from where Daisy had been watching him intensely ever since he entered the room.

"Lay down, she won't bother you", you said, nodding towards your cat. Lando lifted a brow. "You sure?", he laughed a little.

You rolled your eyes and handed him the fluffy blanket and prepped the pillow for him. "I'll make you some tea", you smiled, placing a gentle kiss to his curls before ruffling them with your fingers.

Lando's lips curved into a smile. "Thanks, baby."

"You leave him be, okay? He's sick", you sternly spoke with your cat who in return gave you a protesting 'meow'.

You made Lando his favorite tea and placed the cup on the coffee table in front of the couch. Lando had dozed off a bit but when you sat down next to him and Daisy hissed, he opened his eyes again.

You handed him the cup of tea which he took gratefully. Almost out of reflex you brushed your fingers through his curls again.

"Do you want anything else?", you asked. Lando leaned his head further into your hand and hummed at the feeling of your nails scrapping his skulp.

"Just you", he mumbled feverishly.

Daisy had moved from the couch and hopped on your lap, still glaring at Lando. You placed your other hand on the cat's back, scratching her as well. She sniffed at the blanket, quickly figuring out it was her favorite.

Daisy glanced up at you and meowed. "We need to take care of him today, okay. Lando isn't feeling well", you explained to your cat but she only turned her head back to Lando and placed her claws into the blanket.

"Daisy, don't!", you sternly said, grabbing her paw to make her loosen her grip on the blanket. Lando chuckled at the scene in front of him.

"I'll make you some soup, okay?", you told Lando, squeezing his hand before standing up and lifting the cat up with you. "Chicken soup?", he asked, a hopeful undertone in his voice.

You smiled at the question and nodded.

Daisy still mustered the boy who was taking up almost all the space on the couch, especially the corner where she usually would lay and sleep.

You let the cat down when you entered the kitchen and went to look for your convenience soup before you prepared a pot.

While cooking you hadn't payed much attention to Daisy who you assumed was still watching you from the floor but when you took a look around the kitchen, you didn't find her.

You didn't think much about it and just went back to finishing the soup for Lando. You poured it into a bowl and grabbed a spoon before heading back out to the living room.

The faint sound of the TV was playing in the background, the 4th season of your current series.

You almost let the bowl fall when your gaze fell on the couch. Daisy was snuggled in between Lando's arm and upper body, her head resting on his arm, her eyes shut.

Your cat who had always claimed to despise Lando, who had scratched him multiple times for just talking to you, was now cuddled up in Lando's side. When you listened closely you could even hear her purring.

You carefully placed the bowl next to the now empty cup of tea on the coffee table before grabbing Lando's phone, as it was closest to you and yours was currently buried somewhere under Lando and Daisy. You opened the camera and took a few pictures to show him later and to capture this rare moment for future references.

tagged: landonorris

liked by: landonorris, yourbsf, maxfewtrell

ynsinstagram: Something extremely weird happened today

comments:

landonorris: After five months... FIVE MONTHS

maxfewtrell: This can't be true

→ maxfewtrell: Just showed this to Zara, she meowed protesting and saying Daisy had chosen to betray her

→ landonorris: Daisy > Zara

yourbsf: Uhm... Who's the guy next to Daisy?

→ landonorris: ME

→ yourbsf: This can't be real

load more comments

tagged: ynsinstagram

liked by: ynsinstagram, mclaren, carlossainz55

landonorris: Apparently cats like me now

comments:

ynsinstagram: Aww how cute

→ landonorris: Thanks, baby

→ ynsinstagram: Oh I guess you're there as well

→ landonorris: Heyyyy!!

maxfewtrell: Zara still doesn't

→ landonorris: I'll win her over soon

riabish: This is a sight I never thought I'll see

→ ynsinstagram: You and me Ria, you and me...

load more comments

--

Taglist

[gaypirate420]

hey cutie patootie watootie so like hear me out rn!!

so like Viktor's condition is worsening like A LOT and it's really bad but he keeps trying to push himself to work on hextech, so his partner has to literally just hold him down in bed (by cuddling him) and doesn't let him up no matter what Vikor says/does :3

Here it is!

Break day// Viktor.

Viktor x gender neutral!reader.

Angst/Fluff. Sick!Viktor.

"Ngh-" Vitkor whimpers as he pushes himself out of bed. Taking deep wheezy breaths as he takes his crutch, limping towards the door of his room, his back hurts, his leg feels like it's going to give up already after a couple of steps.

"Vitya..." You called sleepy. The scientist sighs and turns around, he notices your worried expression.

"Don't look at me like that." He whispers, his voice horse and small, his amber eyes looking away from your figure.

Before you can speak again Viktor coughs, the sound is unpleasant, it hurts to hear and his thin form shudders with each cough. You jumped out of bed and placed your hands on his shoulders, the coughing fit stops after a couple of seconds, his chest rises and falls with deep wheezy breaths.

"I- *cough* I have to- to go." Viktor breathes out. You sigh and cup his face.

"Let me give you some medicine at least, I'll help you get ready." You suggest with a soft voice. The Zaunite is always opposed to being helped, even if you tried to help with something so simple as tying his shoelaces. But he nods, he feels a little dizzy after the coughing fit. You smiled softly and pressed a kiss on his forehead, his lips twitch into a faint smile.

You guide him back to bed, sitting him on the edge as you helped him take a couple of sips from the glass on his nightstand.

He sighs as you fetch his medicines. So many pills he has to take now, he doesn't like to take them, does it numb the pain? Yes. Do they reduce the coughing? Also yes. But they make him sleepy, slow and weak and he can't work and for him work is more important than some pills.

"Alright, love." You speak softly and stroke his hair, pushing it back to take a look at his pale sunken face.

One for one you popped the pills into his mouth, he didn't resist for once. He looked up at you, his eyes tired and with dark eye bags on his face.

"Do you have to be there that early?" You say as you look through the window, it's still dark outside, he shook head.

"How about you lay down for a moment?" You spoke softly, not leaving room for an answer as you gently push him back into the bed, wrapping your arms around his thin body.

"Just fifteen minutes." He spoke a little louder, you nodded.

"Sure." You whispered. He sighs and his shoulders relax, he leans against you, his head on your chest, listening to your heart beating so gently.

After a couple of minutes the medicines start to really take effect. His eyes close and his breathing relaxes.

Your eyes go to the clock on the wall. Ten minutes. Fifteen. Twenty. Thirty. Forty.

Viktor's eyes shot open, he could see the sun peeking through the window.

"Love." He calls, he sounds panicked, desperate. Your fingers stroked his hair, calming him down.

"You're not leaving, Vitya." You whispered. He sighs and a pout adorns his face as he tries to squirm away from you.

"Shh... please, my love...just stay with me today." You pleaded with a whisper, the Zaunite stops squirming and sighs.

"I- I'm so close to finding the answers I need." He argues back, his voice sounds so tired.

"Please..." You tighten your hold around him. Viktor falls silent. Your arms are so warm and he feels a little better from the medicine you gave him. The thought of getting up and having to do his morning routine, putting on the braces, having to go to the academy, he feels exhausted just to be thinking about it.

He wants to argue. The hexcore, his research, he has so little time...

He closes his eyes and nuzzles against you, you run your fingers down his neck, making him gaps and shudder.

"I- I'll stay, milovaný." Viktor whispers, you smiled and kisses his forehead.

A/N: hiiiii, I'm going insane because arcane S2 is a week away! AHHHHH, hope y'all like this and keep sending requests, again I'm very busy with school but I'm finishing my semester soon so I hope I have some more time to keep writing!

[iichfilwypj]

his dreamy girl | percy jackson

ღ percy jackson x daughter of hypnos! reader ღ warnings: i mention a hit? this is pure fluff to me im very bad at this. Also i was falling asleep and i thought of these so it might suck <3 ღ wc: 685 pt 2 - pt 3 - pt 4 - pt 5 - pt 6 - pt 7

“And then he tried to steal my sword! The one that literally comes back to me! How stupid can you be?” his rambles echoed through Cabin 3 that hot, dark night. Some hours earlier, the blue team had won Capture the Flag, and Percy was especially excited to share all the details with her. 

Like every other time, she hadn’t attended; not because she wasn’t skilled with weapons, but because no one had managed to wake her from her nap. When Grover tried, he received a slap and a mumbled, “The horses are hungry”, in response.

So there she was, lying on Percy’s bed in her pajamas with a face mask on, listening to him recount how he had hit Clarisse on the nose, how he had nearly eaten dirt, and how Annabeth had, once again, shoved him into the lake. His voice was extremely high-pitched, and she was on the verge of bursting into tears.

That was something she hated about being a daughter of Hypnos. Although her father had blessed her with the divine power to control her dreams –and believe me, being a demigod, that was very, very nice–, he also gifted her with a constant sense of fatigue. At breakfast? She was tired. Lunch? She was tired. Oh, she just woke up from a five-hour nap? So what, she was still tired. She couldn’t help it, no matter how hard she tried. 

When she met Percy, she quickly became friends with the boy who, instead of ignoring her for hours until she apologized for something she couldn’t control, set up a cozy little corner for her in his cabin, with pillows, stuffed animals, candles, and even tea bags. Come on, that boy was willing to challenge his dyslexia just to read something for her before bed.

“And then Annabeth goes, Well, you should run faster. Like, what!? I run very fast, sorry–” Percy’s shout jolted his friend out of her daydream, having closed her eyes as thoughts raced through her mind. She looked at him, watching as he fiddled with the sheets, and decided she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Hey, ocean breath” she murmured, and to him, her voice sounded like a fucking angel’s. Seeing her there, in his bed made him feel like an idiot and a coward. 

He looked at her with curiosity, quickly recalling what he was about to share and feeling excited to tell about it. “What? I was about to tell you how she crashed into the tree,” but as her eyes slowly rolled back, Percy realized what was happening. He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips. “Oh, Zeus, don’t tell me you’re tired!”

He moved closer to her, resting his head on his pillow and basically lying down on top of her. By the way her head was tilting to the side, he knew he only had a few minutes left before she fell completely asleep. 

And yes, he totally chose those last minutes to tease her.

“Oh god, you’re like a baby! No, like a puppy. Wait, was it cats that slept like sixteen hours a day?” the girl tried to push him away with the little strength she had left, but Percy knew that deep down, she enjoyed this. Well, maybe not being squished by him, but knowing that he didn’t see her sleep as a bad thing.

She would never know, but Percy's favorite pastime was admiring her while she slept –oh my god, of course he couldn’t tell her that, it sounded really creepy. He cherished every detail about her, and if she was happy sleeping, he would make the whole world fall into an eternal slumber just to please her.

“Go to sleep, dreamy,” he said, gently flipping them both so she was on top of him. After turning off the little lamp beside the bed, his hands found their way to her back, stroking it softly. She buried her face in his neck and sighed. He dared to say “I love you”

But she was already lost in her dreams, and he was completely head over heels.

again, i am slut for fluff!!!! <3

[millersfinest]

two truths & a lie | e.w

tlou!ellie williams & tlou!reader

wc: 5.1k

blurb: the three run-ins you had with your favorite person didn’t always end in good form: the two times a truth was told, and the one time a lie was made (out of order). but, hey, it was all in good faith, right?

warnings: angsty teenager!ellie and reader, cat beef, vulgar language, friends to lovers, lots of exposition, holidays mentioned but barely focused, fluff, mentioning of drugs and alcohol, lots and LOTS of corny lovey stuff.

note: i genuinely love writing sweet ellie, i feel like there’s not enough of her for my liking. please enjoy, little ellie williams!! ps. this was already long enough, so i left out the new year’s party. if you wanna see that… let me know ;D

⋆·˚ ༘ *

I

The thick rubber soles of your boots creeped along the wooden floors of your friends’ lodgings. A lamp dimly lit up the corner of the room, but it’s warm brightness didn’t spread far. The closer you shifted toward her bed, the darker it got. Light poles from the street, and the moon, illuminating the side of her fatigued freckled face.

Lightly, you sat on the edge of her mattress, leaning over her. Before your fingers danced along her shoulder, to wake her—you admired her daintily scarred features. The strip of missing hair in her eyebrow, a scar. The freckles dusted along her skin, reflecting the stars in the sky. It made sense why she loved astronomy so much; she was the personification of it.

“Ellie. Ellie, wake up.” You shook her, gently.

Instead of stirring, she jolted awake. Green eyes snapping open, reaching for your forearm with a vice-like grip. Noises of fear falling from her dry lips. “Woah… Hey, it’s just me.” You placed your hand over hers, caressing her fingers. “S’Just me.”

She sat up against her pillows, sighing. “What the hell are you doing here? How’d you get in?” Ellie rubbed her eyes, sleepily.

“You left your window unlocked.” You state, plainly. “Pack a bag— we’re sneaking out.” Reaching over to her bedside table, you switched on the lamp. Ellie looked at you with narrowed eyes. “There’s a patrol post not far from here. And I heard, there was an arcade in the basement.” A grin stretched across your face.

Ellie looked at the alarm clock on her bedside table. “It’s twelve in the morning. We have a shift at the stables at seven.”

“We’ll be back before then.” You shrug.

“What if Joel finds out? He’s already causing me enough problems—“

“He won’t! If we leave now. So, pack a bag, and put some clothes on.” You trot to the window you entered from, swinging each leg out, carefully. “I’ll be waiting out here.” You whisper from the windowsill. The auburn-haired girl rolled her eyes, as she dug through her drawers for clothes.

Respectfully, you averted your eyes. Keeping watch to make sure everything was going according to plan. You had been planning this spontaneous getaway for days; in honor of Ellie’s upcoming sixteenth birthday. Joel and his protective antics weren’t going to stop you from having her to yourself for a little while. It was getting harder to find time to hang out. She was either with Cat, flirting and getting her tattoo completed, or training with Joel and Tommy.

Sometimes, Tommy invited you because of your excitement for patrols, but it was rarely just you and Ellie; like it used to be. When you both, somehow, wound up in the same place—Jackson, Wyoming.

Eventually, she jumped out of her window. In a long-sleeved shirt, jeans, and boots—dressed for the cooling, autumn weather. “I swear if we get caught for this…”

You chuckle, rolling your eyes. “Don’t be such a goody-two-shoes.”

Sneaking out of Jackson was made easy by your effortless planning. The guards at the front gates were too busy drinking and gambling to pay attention to the two teenagers sneaking out in the dark: with a horse. The lights attached to the straps of your backpacks illuminated the way through dense wood.

Ellie’s arms held onto your waist, comfortably. As you engaged in friendly conversation. “What’s it with you and Cat? The two of you seem… Cozy.” You spoke, raising an eyebrow that she couldn’t see. She leaned her head on the blade of your shoulder, humming in thought.

“Define cozy.”

“She likes you, Ellie.” You snort. “That’s my definition of cozy.”

She tightens her arms around your abdomen. “Well, I think you’re unfamiliar with what the term cozy actually means— because Cat doesn’t like me.”

You sigh, wistfully. “I wish I was as naïve as you.” Partially, that was true. Things would be easier if your own naïveté blocked the feelings you had for your friend. But, instead, you stayed a platonic pretender.

A few minutes later, you arrived at the patrol post. Ellie hopping down first, keeping her eyes diligently peeled. As you pull your feet out of the bronze stirrups, a hand gets offered to you. “M’lady,” She perks her eyebrow, smirking. Faking a thick southern drawl that resembled Joel and Tommy’s voice.

Shaking your head, you take her hand to dismount from Hickory. “Thank you, kind… Gentlewoman.”

Ellie boisterously laughed, keeping a hold on your loose hand. “Gentlewoman?”

“Oh, my God! Forget it.” Your cheeks flush with warmth, slipping your fingers from hers. But a small smile, still stretched onto your lips in amusement. “Come on. We do not have all night.” Entering the building, you didn’t take the time to tour the post. You ushered her with your arm around her shoulders toward metal double doors. Leading to the most anticipated room—the basement.

“Should I be nervous that you’re bringing me to a dark room?”

You look into her earthy eyes. “It won’t be dark for long…”

Pushing open the doors, you run down the cement stairs, toward the generator. You pulled the cord until the lights flickered on and the games began to speak. Theme songs and fanfares playing aloud, embracing the silence. Looking over toward Ellie with a grand smile, she mirrored you. Releasing a laugh of excitement.

“Happy early birthday, El!” You wave your hands.

She sighed, happily, approaching you. “You did all this for me?” Her thick eyebrows furrowed.

“By all this if you mean turning off this generator just so I can turn it back on to create this… Light show— then, yes, I did all this for you.” Abruptly, Ellie tackled you into a firm hug, wrapping her arms around your neck. You return the sentiment, holding onto her like it was your last day on Earth. And it very well could be.

“Ugh, I love you!” She exclaims in a fit of joy, before even realizing her words. However, you stiffen, subtly. Ellie certainly noticed, but she didn’t change her demeanor much. “Let’s play Pac-Man first— I’ve been wanting to play that for such a long time.” She pulled you by her hand toward the bright machine.

Fingers ready on the red start button.

“Good luck.”

“Don’t need it.” You grinned, preparing to put your everything into that game. It was her birthday present, but that didn’t change the fact that you are competitive as hell! And so is Ellie; it’s like a match made in heaven.

II

Christmas used to be the most exciting—and expensive— part of the year, according to Tommy and Maria Miller. Jackson had a barter system, and everyone worked to keep the community afloat. So, the holidays in Jackson were always filled with loads of joy and spirit. And, usually, you found yourself involved in the many festivities occurring. However, this year, something’s changed.

It was just after thanksgiving when the atmosphere shifted for you. Joel was iffy when it came to holidays—hosting a family dinner a full five days after the original date. December 3rd. Living with Tommy, you were expected to be there. Running late from work, you arrived during dinner. Still, in your comfortable work clothes.

Walking into the dinning room, you expected to see every face minus one—Cat. The edgy tattoo artist sat beside Ellie, in the seat typically reserved for you, with a kind smile on her shiny lips. Joel stood from his chair, welcoming you with a firm hug. “You made it just in time. Cat’s telling us about the new project she’s working on— she’s a great artist.”

You weren’t sure if he was laying it on thick for the new guest, or what—but his tone irritated you. Peering to the side, you met Ellie’s apologetic eyes.

The both of you had gotten even closer after gifting her that arcade. In ways that would consider your relationship to be complicated. Between October and early November, you shared secrets, trinkets, and even, kisses. Mostly under the influences of alcohol or weed—but that didn’t make it any less real. Or did it?

Since then, you and Ellie have barely spoken. The only times you’ve shared more than a greeting with her was when you were forced to go on patrols together. Joel and Tommy were uncertain about sending you both out with other people—they could only trust that the two of you could handle yourselves properly—so they say.

Word travels fast in Jackson. And, when Ellie and Cat went official—everybody knew. But you had your suspicions prior to. They were obnoxiously confirmed when Jesse and Dina came banging on your front door; during a movie night you were having with Maria.

When Christmas came around, there was a party every year. Children had fun in the snow, while the adults danced and drank so much the cold no longer bothered them. The only thing you were excited for was the alcohol, because you knew one thing was for sure—Ellie and Cat were going to be galavanting in front of you all lovey and annoying. And you needed something absorb the pain of it.

Dodging the genuine compliments from Maria on the way out of the house, you stalked toward the Tipsy Bison. It was decorated with holiday-colored lights from the roof to the ground. You helped put some of them up, but when your old friend came to join you; you bailed the last second.

Every time your eyes met hers—your insides crumbled all over again. It was impossible for you to understand what Ellie was to you. More so now than ever. It wasn’t the fact that she lied about her status with Cat—it was the fact that she was her fucking girlfriend in general!

You were selfish. You wanted her all to yourself, and for some reason, the universe didn’t want you to have that. The universe didn’t want you to bathe in your selfishness—even if you deserved to.

“Merry Christmas,” A young girl at the entrance of the tavern, smiled. “Don’t forget to put your ornament on the tree.” She hands you a handmade ornament, dressed in shimmery twine. The kids at the daycare were told to create ornaments for the community christmas tree. Their names were written on the back of it—Billy, spelled out sloppily, was on the back of your ornament.

“Merry Christmas.” You smiled, tightly. “Need any help around here?” Your eyes looked around the tavern, acknowledging the decorations inside. There wasn’t any work to be done, but God, did you wish there was. Distracting yourself was your favorite past time.

“Nope! Everything’s all set. Unless Maria told you otherwise…”

“All she told me was to have fun.”

The girl smiled, no younger than fourteen, playing with the pile of paper ornaments. “Then, have fun!” She teased, averting her eyes to the next guest entering the building.

It was much warmer the deeper you strolled into the bar. Jesse and Dina have yet to arrive—of course, you were too early. Waiting for them, you walked to the bar top, leaning your elbows against the surface. “Can I get a hot chocolate? No whipped cream.” You ask, kindly, to the woman on the other side. She nodded, quickly working behind the counter to get your drink prepared.

Waiting patiently, your mind wandered. You only wished you could be celebrating the holidays how you originally planned—with your best friend. Maybe you were acting out of turn; throwing a tantrum over your best friends' relationship wasn’t something a friend would do. You should’ve been happy for her. But that would mean the moments you had together didn’t mean anything to you—when it meant so much.

“Merry Christmas, y/n.” Her raspy voice spoke, sliding into the stool next to you. The short strands of her hair were released from her usual ponytail. Parted to the side and pushed behind her ears. You met her eyes, halfheartedly. Barely giving a long enough glance to fully take in her appearance. It was intentional.

Making the choice not to respond, you looked forward, watching as the bartender made your drink. “Where’s your girlfriend?” You muttered, lips arching in distaste.

Ellie frowned, boring her bright eyes into the side of your face. “Working late. She won’t be here for awhile…” Her words came from her full lips like an offering. But, you were planning on taking her up on whatever it was.

The bartender handed you the warm mug with a festive grin. Greeting the girl next to you, casually. You have her a final look before, leaving the bar without a word. The Tipsy Bison became stuffy all of a sudden, so you left through the back door. Staying close by with your hot drink clenched to your chest. The brisk coolness of the air brought you back to your senses. But you still reached into the pocket of your insulated coat for the tiny bottle of vodka you took. Pouring the entirety of it into your chocolate beverage.

Sipping your drink, you didn’t realize the auburn-haired girl had followed you out. Rounding the corner of the building just as stealthily as you did.

“Can we talk?” Heat smoked from her mouth as her body heat juxtaposed the cold weather.

You sighed, pressing your lips into a stubborn line. “Talk about what?”

“…Us. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” She shrugged, helplessly. Eyes glistening in remorse. Ellie stood awkwardly in front of you, playing with her fingers.

“What part? You and Cat… Or me and you?”

She paused. “Me and you…” You scoffed, eyes welling up in tears. “Let me explain—“

You stood up, still holding your mug. It was the only thing keeping you warm. “I really couldn’t care less, Ellie.”

Grabbing your wrist, covered in a fleece glove, she pleaded. “Please!”

Sighing, you shook her grip off you, caving to her plea. You gestured for her to go on, with a frown on her lips. “Just tell me whatever we had was a mistake so I can move on…” You voice cracked ever so slightly, exposing your stress.

Her thick eyebrows deepened. “What? No, y/n, no— of course, not.” Ellie shifted. “I didn’t think any of that mattered to you…��� She mumbled mostly to herself.

“Ellie, we made out on your couch every other night. How could that not matter to me?” You paused, stepping closer to her. “We told each other things our other friends know nothing about—“ You cut yourself off, glancing down at her covered forearm. The one covered by the tattoo Cat did for her. “Does she know? About your chemical burn?” Indirectly, you mentioned one of the most significant secrets you shared—she shared.

She was immune to the cordyceps virus. The tattoo that covered a chemical burn, was really coverage for the scars of the bite from infected.

Her lips tightened. “No. She doesn’t.”

“What do you even talk about then?!” You throw your hands up, frustrated. “If you talk at all.”

“She likes me, okay!” Ellie exclaimed, balling her hands up by her side. “Things are easy with her… I don’t know.

“Easy?” Your heart beat in your ears.

“I mean, things are easier with her. I don’t have to worry about ruining a friendship if things go south.”

A snicker fell from your lips. “How worth it was that?” Her shoulders slumped, running her hands over her hair.

“I just miss you, y/n, okay… I miss you.” She moved closer to you, trying to reach for your hand. You let her, but only for a split moment. Feeling the warmth of her skin through her fleece gloves. You missed her, too. You missed playing video games at her place, watching movies, running your fingers through her auburn hair—

Pressing your lips into a line, you frowned. “Well… I don’t.” You slipped your hand from hers, leaving her out in the cold. It wasn’t easier to lie, but you did anyway.

III

“So, they used to drop balls when the new year came around? Like… Any type of ball or…”

You laughed as you tended to your patrol horse, Hickory. Her deep-colored fur was softer than anything you’ve ever felt—softer than a baby’s bottom. “No, Tommy said it was some structure in New York City. And they filmed it nationally; it was a whole thing.” You explained, glancing up at the boy outside of the stable. He worked with the horse's day-in and day-out—and he worked the stable a like a military camp.

He leaned on the post of Hickory’s area, crossing his arms. “I’m throwing a party later at my place— to bring in the new year… You should come.” He offered, raising his eyebrows. “It’s no national ball-dropping thing, but there’ll be booze. And a friend of mine’s bringing some other stuff.” His fingers motion smoking a joint.

Grabbing the saddle off the hook, you threw it over Hickory’s sloped back. “Sounds like fun…” You sigh, peering over at the boy. “I’ll drop by for a little while.”

You still weren’t in a partying mood, since your last conversation with Ellie. Lying certainly didn’t make the situation between you too any easier. In fact, it made it worse. Your avoidance for her increased by a thousand. And, to make matters worse, she hated you, too.

Patrols became much more difficult. Like the one you have today…

“Awesome! See you later.” He fist pumped, walking backwards. “Oh, and don’t forget to log Hick on the sign-out sheet!”

“Yeah, yeah.” You waved a dismissive hand at the stable hand. You were far from forgetful.

After attaching all the garments to your horse, you led him out, cooing at him. You led him out to entrance of the community, where your ex-friend impatiently waited on you. Tommy stood in the supply room, stocking up your bag. Dropping the halter, you walked into the wooden box that was storing patrol supplies. “Ah, there you are. I was about to consider you late.”

“I’m never late.” You chuckle, reaching for your bag. Although, wallowing in your own nerves, a subtle smile spread onto your lips. Reaching for your bag, he stops your hand.

“I don’t know what going on between you two…” He glances at the girl lingering by her horse. “But this is the chance to fix it. I don’t like when you girls fight.”

You pressed your lips into a firm line. “Is that why you keep sending us off on patrol runs together? So we can kiss and make up?” Snorting, you looked to the side with guilt-ridden eyes. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

Tommy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, whatever’s goin’ on— don’t let that get in the way of safety. Keep an eye on each other. You’re partners.”

Partners.

“Right… Yeah. We haven’t had any problems, though… So…”

“Still, be aware. Infected wander in the winter.” He reminds, handing you the backpack. Then, giving you a handgun to secure on your waist, and a much larger gun to hook to your bag. He walks you out to where Ellie stood, adjusting the bridle on her horse. The crunching of snow under your boots caught her attention.

She barely spared you a glance, before looking at Tommy. “Joel and I are allowing the two of you to venture out a little further this morning— don’t make us regret it.” He stuffed his bare hands into his pockets.

“We won’t.” The both of you drawled, rolling your eyes.

You mounted Hickory, watching as Ellie did the same with her horse. “We’ll be good, Tommy.” Giving a tight-lipped smile, you mentally prepared for the trip.

The gates opened up, letting the two of you trot out into snowy wood. Higher in the air, it was cooler—brisker. It was no match for the teenager trotting a few paces ahead of you, though. You’ve ridden in silence before, but it was worse when she had a reason to be upset with you. Ellie’s anger was unforgiving, to say the least.

And you thought you were bad.

It was about a forty-five-minute ride of nothing but the whispers of the wind and animals jolting at the sound of their horses' feet. When you got to the post, you dismounted, jumping into the snow. “I’ll be back soon, Hick.” You whispered, kissing his jaw, sweetly.

Inhaling deeply, you were the first to enter through the buildings broken windows. The actual post was on the upper level because it actually had a working door. Ellie walked in after you, immediately beginning to survey the area. Her switchblade was clenched in a fist as she picked up miscellaneous objects.

Sighing, you began to do the same. Being sure to stay on opposite sides of the first floor. Even so, you couldn’t help but glance at her ever so often. A knit beanie was tugged over her ears, her ponytail peaking out from underneath. Thick eyebrows pushed together, focused; or still, tragically, annoyed with you.

Ugh, what should you care? Ellie was the one to walk away first… Or was she?

This place must’ve been a media store or something. It had lingering records scattered along the scruffy wooden floor, comic books, CDs—the works. The first floor had basically been picked clean. You only hoped when you made it upstairs, there was more.

“All clear…” Ellie spoke, lowly. Opening one of the heavy metal doors to the short stairwell. She let it slam behind her as disappeared to the upper level.

You frowned, tears welling up in your eyes. “I got what I wanted… Didn’t I?” You mutter to yourself, following her path. But, on a shelf, your gaze caught something of importance. It was the fifteenth edition of Savage Starlight. How could she have missed this? Not only was it one of her favorite comics to read, but it was edition that had limited in the top corner. Very few had this one.

Chewing on drying skin of your bottom lip, you swung off your bag, pushing the comic snugly inside trying to preserve it from wrinkles. The timing couldn’t be estimated when you’d give this to her. Maybe one day, you’ll leave it on her porch without a note.

Then, you navigated to the upper level, shutting the door behind you. It was more insulated up there than the first floor. The windows were still intact, and every door was shut or bolted shut by furniture.

Immediately, you approached the sign-in log. Writing your name just under the messy handwriting of your partners’. Smacking your lips together, you peer at the auburn-haired girl. Ellie was stood by the long, frosted window with her arms crossed. It looked as if she were leaning on words to say but choosing otherwise.

You fiddle with pen, rocking on your feet as you eyed her. The feeling of missing her was prevalent, again. It was intense as your eyes bored into the side of her delicate face. Her emotions were worn on the hems of her sleeves—negative or positive. But even with her features pinched, she was just as beautiful. It just sucked that you were the reason behind it. You wanted to feel her arms around you again—even if it was platonic. You wanted to hear her laugh; see her smile.

Just as she turned to meet your eyes, you began to wander around the room. Looking at the books and comics scattered around. Perhaps, you could find some other reads. Keep you busy while you were on lookout. It’s not like you talked to each other anymore.

You fingered the dusty shelves, not seeing anything worth taking back to Jackson. In the corner there was another metal door—singular with a silver handle. The door was labeled ‘other goods’. Which only made you think about what you could be missing you didn’t check it out.

Ignoring the flipped over note taped to the threshold of the door, you entered. Expecting to see boxes of comics, mangas and magazines. However, instead, you greeted by a vicious runner. Your reaction was slowed, due to the many things running through your head. Roughly, your back hit the ground, inadvertently smacking your head against the flooring.

It screamed at you, chomping violently. Strands of its hair fell onto you as it thrashed, hungrily. Moaning and groaning between every convulsion. The red veins on its skin exposed the stage of the infection—little mushroom-like structures beginning to form at the tips of its bloodshot veins.

You fought with it, yelping like a hurt dog. A glimmer of the ridged knife you cared shone from the corner your eye. It had fallen from its holster—too far for you to reach. If this was your karma for lying, then it came quick.

Only focusing on the deadly being atop of you, you couldn’t hear the rapid feet of your partner sprinting to help you, calling out your name, shakily. Using the switchblade Ellie always carried with her, she began to defensively stab the runner. Repeating the action until its body dropped atop of yours. You groaned in disgust.

Ellie helped you roll the body off you, and quickly began to search your body for bites. While your puffer jacket was soaked with blood, you were completely fine. But Ellie didn’t know that she she checked, anxiously. “Are you okay? Did he bite you?” She asked, rambling more questions. Enough to overwhelm you.

She patted your covered arms, reaching for your blood-splattered face to check for any marks. “No. I’m fine—“ You mutter.

“He was really fuckin’ close—!” She still patted you down like a nervous security guard. “Fuck! I should’ve cleared this level—“

“Ellie!” You exclaimed, grabbing her roaming hands, looking her in the eye. “He didn’t bite me— I’m okay.” Endless worry had filled her earthy irises. Flushed nose, touched by the winter, sniffling. This was the first time you were this close to her in awhile—staring intently at her. Somehow, trying to convince her without words that you were okay.

Her eyes were fixed on you, just before her arms wrapped around your shoulders, thoughtfully. There wasn’t an attack of warmth—a hug she’d given before—it was contemplated, debated, decided.

Without a thought, you returned it, wrapping your arms around her. Leaning your head on her shoulder, furrowing your eyebrows. Enveloping her touch, senselessly. Remorse revved up inside of you, prodding at your muscles. “I thought I was gonna lose you…” Ellie muttered into the hoodie of your coat.

“I thought I was gonna lose my chance…” You related, pulling back to look at her once more. Tears had welled up in her eyes, she was trembling. You both were. Reminiscent of the runner and the fear that caked up inside of you. “Ellie…” You breathed. “I lied to you.”

“Huh?” Her eyebrows deepened.

“I lied to you. At the Christmas party— you told me that you missed me, and I said that I didn’t miss you. That was a lie!” Lowering your head, you shook it, disapprovingly. “A stupid fucking lie.”

Her cold hands drifted to your frosted cheeks. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry— I’ve missed you so much I can barely breathe. If you’re happy with Cat… I should be happy for you regardless of anything. I wasn’t being a good friend—“ It was your turn to wearily ramble, fidgeting with the material of her jacket. Shaking like a flimsy sign in high winds.

It was the softness of her lips that interrupted you, warming up your skin. It was buttery sweet and chaste, pulling you from the intensity of your thoughts. Ellie tugged you into another embrace, somehow warmer than before. “I should’ve never got with her to begin with.”

“Past tense?” You raised an eyebrow.

She pulled back. “Past tense.” Taking a seat in beside you, she leaned on one of the shelves. Following her, you did the same. Scratching the back of your head, feeling the slight throb that came from the collision. “She broke up with me a few days ago… I kept bringing you up— it was annoying the shit out of her.” Ellie chortled, propping up her legs to lean her arms on. “I was so mad at you… Because it just didn’t make any sense.”

You looked down, at your crossed legs. “But then, it did. Everything did.” Ellie added, peering at you. “I love you, y/n.” She spoke with such conviction; your eyes grew hot with tears. “I was just scared to see it through— and I should have seen it through, instead of getting with someone else.”

A beat bounced between the two of you.

Shrugging off the backpack you almost forgot was on you, you dug inside, a grin painted on your face. You clench the Savage Starlight comic in your hands as you abruptly stood up. Ignoring the soreness in your muscles from being attacked. Ellie looked up at you, watching you move swiftly. “This is the part where you say you love me back.”

“Give me a second.”

You trot to the sign-in sheet, using the pen to write inside the comic: I LOVE YOU, EL. In capital letters, on the title page. She’d gotten up, following you to the countertop the sheet was on. Turning around, you thrusted the comic from your chest, smiling. “Savage Starlight?!” Ellie joyfully laughed, taking the comic in her hands.

“Limited edition.” You pointed to the cover. “I found it downstairs… You’ll never forget how much I love you because I wrote it on the first page.” Ellie flipped open the page, musing at what you wrote. “Everytime, you read it, you’ll remember.”

Her eyebrows furrowed, emotionally. Tossing the comic book to the side, she pulled you into another kiss. Less sweet, more passionate. You giggled against her lips, unabashedly opening your eyes. She pulled back, analyzing your flushed features. “Maybe, you could… I don’t know… Write it on every page? Only after I finish it, though. My memory’s a little bad.” She joked, caressing your face.

Rolling your eyes, you pushed a piece of her straggling hair under her beanie. “Sure, whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?”

“Ellie…” You warned, but there was nothing that could wipe the foolish expression molded onto your features. Therefore, she was far from taking you seriously.

[itsonlydana]

Hey hey, saw ur requests were open for Thranduil and knew I needed to submit something!

Could you do a Thranduil x fem human reader where she braids her hair without knowing the significance for elves? They both have feelings for each other but neither has said anything, supper fluffy ending y’know?

Thank you in advance and have a great day!! :))

Beautiful misunderstandings | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x fem human!reader 👑

You simply wanted to accept an invitation to a celebration, but something about you makes the elves literally drop at your feet. Can Thranduil resolve this misunderstanding, or will he be affected as well?

tags/warnings: just lots and lots of fluff, no warnings

word count: 3,6k

an: to be honest, most of what i wrote is my own headcanons because i did not find lots about hair culture with the elves.. so please: educate me! Are there some hcs in the fandom? :)

+ masterlist + rules + 🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

The forests of Greenwood greet you with open flames of torches licking up their hot tongues against the dark skies, coloring the path the horse trots along in their amber lights and the wooden smoke that fills the air. Evenly distributed along the pathway they light up just enough of Greenwood that it doesn't take away from the sight that awaits you at the end, where the trees give way to an equally decorated bridge and the foliage thins out enough for you to take in the tall arches framing the open doors of the Great Elvenking's halls.

You have already been a guest for many of Thranduil's festivities ever since he established trading relations with your small fisher town. Due to the bond that twirls around the two of you in some unfathomable and complex manner, you also know that nothing he ever does is anything but grande and imposing. 

Still, you can't help but push your lower lip in between your teeth. 

Not once have you gotten the impression of standing out more than the difference in race and status already marked as obvious factors, neither Thranduil nor his elves treated you like you felt right now: 

Completely out of your known waters.

The elvish customs were far too many for you to know them all and you always try your best to consider all and everything that you've learned in the two summers you could consider yourself an acquaintance to Thranduil. Whatever form this acquaintanceship took on is another worry, or rather, another unknown that you can't exactly express to anyone. 

It's nearly as confusing as the steps of the dance you studied in your room before you left this morning, a step forward and two back, Thranduil asking you to accompany him to his dances but never dancing with you. 

Tonight, you want to change this predicament of always ending up in the arms of another elf while the one you yearned for watches from the sidelines! You didn't work this hard for the fabric that hugs your figure in a beautiful dress for nothing and even if the fabric isn't as shiny or light as the dresses the elves wear and the stitches marked your fingertips with the evidence of the labor and long nights, you are proud of the garment. 

The wind plays in the hem as you emerge from the guarded forest and its thick and dense foliage and it winds itself around your legs after you dismount your horse. A quick kiss to his muzzle, followed by an exhale of warm, familiar breath and you hesitantly let a servant take him away, mumbling a soft "Thank you" while you stay where you are and watch until they disappear around a tree.

Nervously you start walking up to the bridge, the reckless water under it crashing against the stone walls and it goes along with the blood that pumps high and fast through your body and rushes in your ears. The atmosphere is loaded, sizzling under the nearly suffocating heat that's only bearable in the cool shadows of the palace in front of you so you don't waste another second. 

You brush off the hood of your riding coat, smoothing out some fly-away hairs that escaped the braid you carefully weaved earlier this day as you duck your head in reverence to be allowed in these sacred halls. 

Whispers catch up to you from outside, a breeze dancing through leaves.

When you lift your chin again, you find that it's not the air affecting nature but rather your presence halting nearly all the elves that gathered on the first bridge inside the caves. 

They say elves are graceful and purposeful in their movements – the way dozens of eyes are locked onto you and lips move in not-so-silent murmurs defiles that claim though.

It's nothing you haven't encountered before, the talks behind your back that came along with Thranduil's attention shining down on you like the sun – hot, engulfing you completely and rendering you breathless as well as a bit sweaty at times whenever he looks at you, and you learned how to handle it. His attention brought forth a lot of awareness of his folk to the woman who visits Thranduil just as often as he rides into your town and becomes the topic of conversations for weeks. What's a girl to do except accept that a King never comes alone?

You're used to elves watching you, most of them in respect. Thranduil's authority radiates onto you, as well as the protection that he swore would lay upon you as long as he's there to give out orders.

The first elf whose eyes you questioningly meet drops to his knees in the same instant, barely a breath of time passing by. 

A gasp leaves your throat.

Words do not follow. They remain echoing in your head, pushed back by the spectacle that spread before you like wildfire. Too fast, too much.

Within seconds of you entering, the buzz of lowered voices dies down as elf after elf either bows or completely meets the ground they are standing on. The spectacle is confusing and throws you completely off; this reaction is nowhere near what you've experienced before and you do the first thing that comes to mind to handle this totally unsuspected confrontation of elves bowing to you, a human from no known family and nothing to your name other than the weight it carries on Thranduil's tongue.

The only thing you manage to stammer is: "Good evening," and a high-pitched, "Thank you?" before you take your legs into your hand and dash over the bridge. 

Thoughts as unstoppable as you run through your mind while you navigate the curving halls of the underground palace, the stonewalls not cool enough to diminish the heat that sits low in your neck, growing the longer you think about all that has happened between Thranduil and you and how it's not much more than nothing but a close alliance of human and elf. 

One that you hope would take on a different turn, because some of the actions by Thranduil could be considered friendlier than one would treat an ally or friend. You think back to all the gifts you have received, the white gems for example that, barely bigger than your nails but woven into the upper part of your braid, reflect the light and throw silver dots against the walls that lead you to the point Thranduil had asked you to meet him in one of his many letters. 

The route involves more encounters with more elves, some bow more subtly, their hands on their chest in a greeting that you do know, and some others, mostly those who've already fallen in barrels of wine and are less sophisticated in their movements in their drunken state who repeat the word "bereth" as if it's a prayer in a language that's far beyond you to make out right now. 

At the end of the hallway, you make out the back of a familiar blonde and even from afar you notice the resemblance that Thranduil's silver circlet has to the silver ribbon you have woven into your hair in a similar way and height how his circlet would look placed on your head. 

Is this what brought such uproar to the elves? Have you accidentally copied their king? 

"Thranduil!" you call out, his name lacking any title though not out of disrespect. You have the highest respect for the King of the Elves and slip a "Your Majesty" rather often into conversations because you know how much he favors his name from your tongue and teasing him like that brings a joy to you that you can't explain anyway else then: 

Hearing him laugh and smile or roll his eyes at your antics fuels the love you harbor for him.

Now is not the time for teasing chit-chat, you are desperate to find out if you have actually misstepped by presenting his gifts like this at a festival that's solely about him.

He turns at the sound of your voice and, oh lord, even his eyes widen as soon as they land on you and you want to perish rather than step any closer but the hurry in your legs and the nervousness in your stomach makes it impossible to do anything else but run to the one soul in this world that brings you comfort. 

You arrive at a full stop, and your heels would have stirred up dust if you were a mare. 

Now it's not only Thranduil's eyes that seem to have developed an inability to stray farther than your head; his mouth falls open as well and he makes no effort to close it again. The fact that this behavior is completely ungracious and ill-mannered has apparently not dawned on him yet. The longer you spend helplessly looking up at him, you swear you can see most of his thoughts visibly inching away behind that baffled expression.

At first, there's nothing.

Then some clarity returns into the blue eyes you love so much and Thranduil exhales a quiet: "Berio nin." 

Now, that's Sindarin you've heard before – that the context he has said these words were moments when he playfully begged the Valar to aid him with you tormented him in some way throws you off your balance even more and you take a step back. 

"I did not–" you start and raise a hand to wave it at all of you, "This, I had no idea. Did I offend you? Or the elves?" 

"Offend?" Thranduil asks bewildered.

"Well, the way they reacted. I wasn't sure," you laugh distraught. Thranduil's eyebrows instantly furrow, and you're quick to follow up: "Not in a bad way!" you explain and he loosens up, "They, um, they bowed? And some may have fallen to the ground?"

"Ah," he chuckles and his reaction calms you a bit. He could've been screaming or throwing you out. If he's laughing this can't be that big of a serious misstep. Thranduil looks at you through lowered lashes and runs his tongue over his teeth, a smile threatening to break through the serious expression he tries to obtain. "I believe a conversation and education is in order. If you would follow me to have this conversation somewhere else," he says and holds out his arm for you to grab.

He leads you around a corner and another one, walking swiftly yet seemingly in no hurry until Thranduil opens a door and quickly pulls you inside the room. 

Candles littered all around light up what you immediately understand to be his private chambers, the many robes you recognize, the colorful falcons with shimmering scented oils and shells full of jewelry, pearls, gems, and rings in gold and silver. There, right where Thranduil stops in front of you to block out your view, you take a peek at a giant bed behind flowy white curtains. 

You blush.

Even more so when you see Thranduil blush as well. His eyes return to your hair again, just like he had on the short walk to these chambers; tilting his head down to you as if some magical force bound him to staring at you in a manner he hadn't done before.

"You are my guest so I see it to be my responsibility to clear up what may have been a–" he pauses and his eyelashes flutter as he thinks of a fitting word, "a misapprehension. Not that you could have possibly known the outcome of what you doubtlessly suspected to be a kind gesture." 

You nervously cross your arms behind your back, intertwining your fingers so you do not meddle or ruffle the carefully layered fabrics of your dress. "I solemnly swear I was not up for any mockery."

His eyes widen again. "I would not have accused you of such!"

You tilt your head in confusion and bite down on your lip, ungraceful as well and a habit you should definitely quit, especially in the company of a King.

"What was it that startled the elves?" You think back to the way Thranduil had reacted, the wide-blown eyes, the pink lips formed to a delicate 'o' – "As well as you, Thranduil. You couldn't even get a word out except for a prayer." You let out a single laugh to cover up your embarrassment. 

The elf lifts his chin higher as if that could prevent you from noticing the blush deepening, growing much more red than just a delicate pink that stands out from his ivory skin but not much that it couldn't be interpreted as a light intoxication of either wine or fresh air. 

"I do not remember that," he lies with a dismissive voice. "Anyway, let me clarify the current dilemma instead of wasting time discussing the past." 

"Definitely not that far back that you could count it as 'the past' but sure," you sigh and decide to ignore the glare he sends you as you confront his very unsubtle passive- aggressive change of topic from him to you. Thranduil had centuries of building up a thickheadedness to lead the Woodland Realm and you had mere months on your hands in trying to push a way through it.

"Well, the behavior my folk portrayed was simply said the respect they pay for any honorable and eminent," Thranduil says, not batting an eye over the unbelievable words that come out of his mouth.

"What?" Your voice is nothing but a high squeal, "Why would they do that? They know I'm just a human!"

Thranduil scoffs, "Just a human, she says. Do not dismiss yourself in any way and most definitely not as just a human. Humans are such fascinating creatures, all those feelings compressed into an ephemeral life and bodies that endure pain and even if you waste away to dust you try to mark down your existence into every stone that you touch." Before you can burst into tears at his rather sentimental and emotional view of your people, he continues in a tone more factual: "To answer your question– you conveyed that I was courting you and they simply knew there would be grave consequences if they did not respect my intended." 

All the air left your body in a singular exhale, thus leaving you to grasp at the few thoughts that stayed through the cut-off of oxygen. Not that they were any good.

Courting you? Being his intended? 

You can only stare at him aghast. 

"But– courting? You weren't, we weren't– there was no courting!" you stammer.

The world is reeling. 

Black spots dance in the corner of your sight.

It takes all your focus to stand still and not sway back and forth, giving in to the abrupt slide downward reality has suddenly become. 

"No," Thranduil says.

A part of you withers at the finality of the statement because of course, he, Great Elvenking Thranduil, would never be caught courting a human. The absurdity of it must be why he was laughing earlier, praying to the Valar to become a witness of what must be your greatest humiliation.

"No, there was. I was simply waiting for your realization as well as acceptance to officially proclaim it."

Now it's your mouth that falls open without any strength left to prevent it.

Thranduil swallows, hard, his jaw set tightly and his eyes fixating on you. "All that I did, and thought to do, was in prospect of taking you as my betrothed," he states; the smallest of quivers underlining the massive impact this admission causes to him. He lifts one hand to his chest, pressing his knuckles against the fabric where underneath his heart lays. "I ache to love, treasure, and worship you. Every second of all the days I may have the pleasure of your company in my life or it shall be colorless from now on."

His eyes glitter, the endless blues of the sky, affection burning in them like the sun, broadening your horizon of what you believed love to be and there is no doubt in your mind that Thranduil's words are nothing but the truth. Confounding as that truth should be, it is that – certainty.

A smile breaks on your face, watery and wet as tears of pure happiness spill onto your cheeks and even if your heart has been on the tip of your tongue at every word you have ever said to him and in every glance that you have ever directed in his way, the need to validate his revelation.

You step carefully step closer and the hem of your dress brushes against his gowns as you close the bit of distance. Thranduil watches cautiously, leaving his hand against his heart, and only tips his chin down to follow you until you step into his personal space. The whole regal and stoic image he portrays even after confessing his love passionately mere seconds ago breaks as you feel his wavering breath and you swear you can hear the loud pounding of his battered-yet-strong heart. 

"Is it my hair?" you ask quietly and catch him off-guard. 

Thranduil smiles and his chest heaves in a deep inhale of air. "Yes," he laughs in an exhale, "Do you wish to know how you managed to completely dismantle me? Rob me of all powers?" 

You nod once and one hand of his comes to rest on your shoulder from where he leads you to a silver basin standing in a corner decorated with more oils and vines climbing the stone walls.

The sight that the clear water inside it shows you, Thranduil standing behind you, more than slightly taller, brings a warmness to your cheeks. Even if the prospect of his image finding a constant in your life from now on is undeniable, you're not sure if you will ever get satiated by it. 

Thranduil slowly reaches the elaborate braid you are so proud of despite the public tumult it had caused. "There are many things sacred to my folk and hair –" he starts and lets his fingers travel the length of free-falling hair, "holds the memories of our history, our connection to the Eldar and kemen – the earth. We do not cut it but rather let it grow to pay our respects to Eru for his creation, the natural and untouched world, flows in us all. It bears the marks of our ancestry though many cultures convey their personal history in many different ways." 

You listen intently, trying not to get distracted by Thranduil's hands smoothing your hair and the deep rumble of his voice wrapping around his language that pulls you into a trance. 

"Among us Sindar, we wave our customs into the very strands of this sacred hair. Our warriors, for instance, adorn themselves with tightly woven braids, serving not only as protection in battle but as a testament to their strength and unwavering discipline."

"The intricate and jeweled braids you wear," Thranduil's fingers glide along the white gems, thus nudging them against your head, "they speak volumes of noble heritage and high standing. Even if you do not have royal blood in your family, a braid like this will be more convincing to the contrary."

You blush as you realize how you unknowingly changed your entire status.

"By adorning your hair with the jewels I bestowed upon you, you declare to all my claim upon you," Thranduil chuckles and meets your eyes in the water, "Braids are the essence of our heritage, denoting rank and occupation, and they speak volumes in courtship."

"Oh," you say, "I knew Elves court through gifts. Would I have known this…"

Thranduil shakes his head, smiling widely as he continues playing with your hair, "You say that but not once have you realized all that I have given to you were of my pursuit."

"Well, I– this wasn't… I thought you were being nice," you sputter and grow even redder in the face.

"Unbelievably rude and ungracious to consider me ni–" he interrupts himself and shivers, "No I will not speak in such obscene language." Thranduil raises an eyebrow before returning his attention to the lesson in courting, "Through these intricate weavings, we convey our intentions and the profound depth of our bonds. While dalliances are not uncommon, my folk only marry once in their life."

"Love is eternal and unwavering, and each twist in our braids declares the union of our souls. By weaving your hopes and pleas for reciprocation into your hair, you speak a silent yet powerful language. The braid you chose, resembling my crown and adorned with my jewels and a silver ribbon akin to my own hair, could not have delivered a clearer message."

"So I basically lied to your elves," you pull a face in shame, "Great."

"You may call it a lie," Thranduil says slowly and his hands travel to rest on your shoulders. You lean into the gentle pull and let him turn you around so that you are face-to-face again. There is a dedication in his eyes, a look of hunger and yearning, "Or," his voice sounds even deeper and reverberates through your entire body, zipping up your spine that you automatically straighten, "You allow me to present our courtship openly if a deeper connection is what you desire to form between us."

Your heart thumps in your chest, double the tempo that one would call normal and it only speeds up when Thranduil cups your face in his hand and his fingertips graze the silver ribbon that sits tightly against your head.

"Allow me," he repeats, quieter. 

"Your word and the world will know you are mine," he pleads.

You waste not a second to ponder over what your heart already decided. "I allow it."

©itsonlydana 2024, character art by MiracleAna on Devianart

[appalachiancowboy99]

After Dark

Arthur Morgan x CurvyFem!Reader Established relationship, high honor, grumpy Arthur in desperate need of release, 18+, MDNI (Minors DO NOT ENTER)

Arthur comes back to camp later than usual, with nothing but a bad disposition and a desperate need to release his pent-up frustrations.

Warnings: longer read, sexual content (oral, unprotected p in v, rough sex), mentions of violence, mentions of anger, and dabbles in sensual fluff.

Gif by: @sunwingsunset

A/N: Thank you so much to @photo1030 for not only being my sounding board in the never-ending chaos that is my writing process but also for being such a wonderful friend through it all. So grateful for you, don't know what I'd do without ya, C! <3 Thank you so much to @rivetingrosie4 for being an inspiration for my little works and being so supportive of my creative endeavors, not to mention the kind generosity of your friendship! Forever grateful for to have met you! @tortureddpoett I'm so excited to explore this budding friendship with you! Thank you so much for showing so much excitement for my work, IT MAKES ME EXCITED (EEP!). It means an absolute ton to me <3 @mr-inkslinger your friendship has been an absolute delight to explore! Thank you for posting that toe-curling smut that always has me giggling and kicking my feet! So happy to have met ya! And thank each and every single one of you for liking my first drabble and expressing interest in this next one. I'm so sorry it's taken me forever to publish this post, but hopefully, the next ones won't take me as long. I'll forever be grateful for your patience and kindness <3 But now, enough of my babbling, y'all enjoy yourselves with this one- I know I did ;)

Fuck. From the second he opened his eyes, he knew that the day was going to be fucking awful; his neck had a crick in it, his head was pounding from what little sleep he’s received over the last few nights, and now he had to trudge back out into the goddamn muggy heat to work. One disaster after another had piled up; everything that could have gone wrong, went so terribly awry that he wound up farther away from camp than he originally intended and managed to add a solid fifteen-dollar bounty to the mounting collection resting atop his head. Dutch had sent him out on a wild goose chase, following a lead from Micah that, of course, ended up being a complete waste of time. And that meant he was coming back to camp empty-handed, which almost certainly meant he'd be on the receiving end of another one of Dutch's lectures on the endless responsibilities placed upon his shoulders. He dreaded it, wanted to avoid spiraling down another conversation that would end in Dutch questioning his faith in the ever-evolving plan he’s found himself working on these days.

As if he needed any of that horseshit tonight. All he wanted was a moment of peace and quiet, a chance to catch his breath after the disaster of a day he'd just had, but instead, he was headed back to camp with nothing but bruises, a bloody lip, and a bad disposition to show for his efforts. Trees and other bits of scenery whipped by in a blur as Arthur spurred his horse onward, his surroundings melting together into a muddy mess of shapes cast by moonlight. He passed through New Hanover, his furious pace leading him down the familiar roads of Lemoyne, reaching the clearing outside of camp. Lenny and John are the first to spot Arthur approaching the thicket of trees disguising Clemens Point's main entrance. “Hey, who goes there?” Lenny’s voice echoes through the forest, bouncing off the thicket until it reaches Arthur’s ears.

“‘S me.” Arthur grunts out through gritted teeth, clearly not in the mood for any chit-chat. Even underneath the shadow of leaves and limbs, the scowl etched upon his face is easily distinguishable, a clear sign for anyone with any common sense to give him a wide berth for the rest of the night. Lenny and John, both, had a pretty good idea of what might happen when Arthur steps foot into camp and they don't want any part of it. As a result, they give each other a little knowing glance and stay in the treeline, preferring to avoid the impending shitstorm and let Dutch or Hosea deal with it instead. He strides past them in a fit of frustration, dismounting his mare with a jerky movement before she's even come to a complete stop. Kieran spots him and hesitantly approaches. That poor fool. "H-Hey, Mr. Morgan. Would ya like me to unsaddle the 'ol gal here?" Kieran's question was nothing more than an innocent query, but his expression turned the young man into a nervous wreck. If looks could kill, Arthur’s certainly could; his steely eyes are set ablaze with annoyance and irritation as he casts a hateful glance in Kieran's direction. Even Kieran knew better than to talk to Arthur when he was in this state, knowing that it would only lead to suffering at the hands of his unbridled wrath. Kieran’s eyes immediately darted to his feet, desperate to avoid Arthur’s icy gaze as his fingers trembled with the frayed ends of rope in his hands. Quickly as to not start any trouble for himself, Kieran took hold of the mare's reigns and led her away to the field of horses, putting as much distance between himself and Arthur as he could. A slight pang of guilt runs through him when he sees the way that Kieran high-tailed it out of his line of sight. He doesn't want to be harsh to the boy, he's been a useful asset to the gang, but his temper is just too far gone for him to muster up an apology. As fast as the angering thoughts snapping through his mind, Arthur turns on his heels and storms into camp in search of Dutch. His boots furiously hit the grass and reddened Lemoyne dirt as he passes by a few of the wandering eyes from those still awake at this late hour. Charles casts him a wary glance, and so does Sadie, but neither of them cares to look long enough to entertain what's about to happen. He passes by his own wagon and heads straight to Dutch's tent. Dutch is nowhere to be seen, yet the lamp light inside casts its soft golden glow upon the closed canvas flaps of the tent, indicating that he might be inside. Not wasting any more time than he has to, Arthur approaches the tent, not bothering to stop and think until it's too late. His hand raises, readying to peel back the canvas flap, when all of a sudden he hears the sweet amorous sounds of lovemaking echo through the night air.  Molly’s sweet voice gasps out between each movement of their squeaking cot, calling out for Dutch as the unmistakable sound of skin slapping skin penetrates through the thin canvas walls, revealing exactly what’s occupying Dutch’s time tonight.

“Oh, Dutch. Don’t stop,” she encourages through strained, unabashed moans of pleasure. Dutch’s deep, husky voice murmurs back something unintelligible, but the increased squeaking of their bed and the filthy little noises coming from Molly are a clear indicator that Arthur should be stepping away to give them some privacy. Embarrassment washes over him, causing a faint rosy flush to heat his face and bloom across his cheeks. For once, he's grateful for the distraction from his current frustration. On most nights, he'd find comfort in your presence, seeking you out to vent his grievances as a distraction from the ever-present aggravation that seemingly follows him around these days. But tonight, he just wants to retreat to his tent, away from everything and everyone, to try to calm down before he says or does something he regrets.

He strides past the dying campfires and tables that are askew from daily camp activities, and his mind tirelessly races from thought to thought, stealing his attention away from his surroundings. If Arthur had even bothered to look, he would have spotted your sleeping form laid out upon his bed the moment he stepped inside. You had been waiting for him all evening. After working yourself to the bone doing laundry, dinner prep, and other camp chores for Ms. Grimshaw all day long, you wandered your way over to Arthur’s tent in search of a quiet place to sit. Part of you wished to find him seated right there on his cot, wanting to simply have a conversation with the man who has stolen your heart, but to your disappointment, he wasn’t anywhere to be found. So, you waited for him.. And waited until the very idea of waiting became too tiresome and you unknowingly fell asleep.

Sneaking away from the gang for private talks with him has been one of your favorite things to do since you joined the gang so long ago. Y'all have always had a knack for avoiding the company of others. But somehow in the midst of squirreling yourselves away, both of you have come to find that you'd prefer being alone together. Eventually, this led to many nights where Arthur would seek you out just to speak his mind, allowing you to see the world through his eyes for a short while. You have not only embraced Arthur's thoughts, but in doing so, you have captured his heart all the same. If it weren't for you, he's certain he'd have lost his damn sanity long ago.

Arthur takes that dusty old gambler's hat off his head and runs his fingers through his hair, taking a moment to calm himself down. His eyes glance over the things laid out upon his bedside table before catching a glimpse of your figure awash by the pale moonlight in his periphery. Your hair is sprawled out over the small blanket you've rolled up into a makeshift pillow; curls flowing like a roaring waterfall, laying a mess, and finally free from the bun that was atop your head earlier in the day. His eyes rake over your voluptuous figure, noting every dip and curve from your plump waist and hips to the ample swell of your breast hidden by a layer of clothing. The moment his mind registers that your presence isn't a dream, his eyes soften and his mind no longer races with anger. You are his peace, the only thing in this world that he cherishes above all else. 

Sighing softly, he finally discards his hat from his hand and places it onto his nightstand before working off his worn leather jacket and satchel, resting them on the back of the chair nearest his shaving mirror. And while he's on his feet, he takes the time to carefully roll down the canvas walls of his tent, unraveling them with the quiet precision of a mouse, and securing them in a few simple knots to hide you two away from the world.

It's quite dark by the time he wanders over to the cot, dark enough not to notice himself brush against your legs as he takes a seat on the edge of the old creaking bed. The familiar, welcomed-warmth of his body pressing against your shins rouses you from your restful slumber. Your eyes flutter open to find his figure perched next to you, shrouded in a darkness so thick that you are sure you're still dreaming. His head and broad shoulders are slumped over as he begins working off his dusty boots, caked with remnants of mud and manure.

"Hmm... Arthur?" Your voice floats through the quiet darkness, laden with fatigue and clearly carrying the lassitude of someone who could fall back asleep at the drop of a hat.

He quickly glances over his shoulder at the sound of your voice, his eyes already adjusted enough to the shadows to see your tired face staring back at him with confusion. He silently curses himself for waking you. "Shhh, Darlin'. Don't wake up on my account. I'll be done in just a minute," Arthur lightly grunts out the last word as he struggles to remove his right boot.

Even in your own weary state, the exhaustion in his tone isn't lost on you. Thinking it best to rouse yourself as quickly as possible to free up his bed for him, you sit yourself up and will yourself awake with a slight stretch. "'S okay. You need rest more 'n me."

"No. You was restin' 'fore I got here. Go 'head and lay back down." He isn't having any of your courtesy tonight. He's worn out, far too tired to argue with you about whether or not it's appropriate for you to share his bed for the night.

The rest of the gang, aside from John, Abigail, Susan, and Hosea know nothing about the true nature of y'all's relationship. Although, the rest of the girls have picked up on the changes you've brought about in Arthur since your arrival so long ago now. Seeing him get all soft and doey-eyed at you over these last few weeks has most definitely tipped them off about what y'all really get up to when you're out running errands together. But they catch wind of you sleeping in his tent tonight, it will all but confirm their suspicions. And yet, you just can't bring yourself to move from the comfort of Arthur's cot with him sitting so close to you.

"What time is it?" The question falls from your lips, carried on the soft currents of a gentle breeze pushing through the tent flaps. Fine sinewy muscles flex beneath his shirt as he leans over to work off his other boot and you are powerless to admire the shape of his body beneath.

A muffled grunt escapes his mouth the moment he finally frees his aching feet from the confines of his boots, "Late," he simply replies.

You take a deep, cleansing breath, allowing the tranquility of the night to settle around you like a soft, comforting blanket. Outside these walls, no sounds of chatter or lively activity can be heard, aside from the gentle hum of crickets by the riverbank and the faint sounds of a squeaking cot stopping abruptly. The gang is unusually quiet, the air filled with repose now that Arthur's returned safely to you. Only a few stragglers tend to the campfires, their focus solely on themselves, interested in anything beyond the flickering flames; not even the sounds of Dutch and Molly or Arthur's irritation can disrupt the peaceful bubble encompassing Clemen's Point tonight.

The plush heel of your palm rubs over one of your eyes as you flit them toward the tent entrance, watching how the wind slightly ruffles the bottom of the canvas. It's only then that you realize that Arthur has tied down the walls for privacy on your account. Normally, he wouldn't bother setting up the walls before collapsing on the cot for a few restless hours of sleep. But tonight, he's gone out of his way to ensure your comfort. Your heart couldn't feel any more full of love for this man by your side, a man who puts your well-being above all else, even above his own. Never did you think that love would have been like this for you: sitting in the comfortable silence of privacy for lovers when that luxury is rarely afforded for women like you. But despite your gratitude for his thoughtfulness, a pang of guilt gnaws at you knowing he made the extra effort while you took up residence in his bed, a cot that's barely big enough for the two of you given your plump frame.

In an attempt to make up for taking up so much space, you roll yourself forward along the thin mattress and quickly slide past him, crawling toward the foot of his bed where his trunk of clothing is kept. You've decided to give him his space for the night, even though in your heart, you'd prefer to stay. Before your foot even slides off the trunk to touch the soft grass below, you're reminded of John stopping by Arthur's tent earlier in the day.

Through a half yawn, you speak, not giving Arthur the chance to catch-on to where you're headed, "'Fore I forget: John stopped by while you was out."

Arthur slightly leans back as his fingertips mindlessly fumble with the buckle of his gun belt. The slight clicking of the metal rings out as he works to remove the clunky accessory from his body. His strong back brushes against you as he moves with the comfortable ease he's come to enjoy over these last few weeks of secretly being yours.

"What about it?" His concentration is split half between himself and the presence of your body behind him.

Your words don't register in his mind until he's completely removed the belt from his body. He figures it was that stagecoach job he reluctantly handed off to John; it had completely slipped from his mind until this very moment, much like yourself. The cool metal filigree atop his trunk moves under your feet as you rest them just shy of slipping off its edge, causing the hazy memory to play out behind your tired eyes.

-

You were just settling yourself in, resting your weary body on the edge of Arthur's cot, just as you're doing now. Little beads of sweat accumulated on your forehead from working out in the intensity of Lemoyne's miserably humid heat. Grimshaw had you and the rest of the women working on camp chores, which you hadn't complained of, since it usually occupies the time until Arthur's usual return. However, the day was far too hot for you to not complain about the harsh conditions she had y'all in. Eventually, evening came and you were finally finished with the laundry, allowing you a moment's rest to seek out the comfort of Arthur's cot.

In the midst of wiping your brow down with one of his neckerchiefs you'd secretly swiped, the hard thump of boots hitting grass caught your attention. You'd anticipated Arthur's arrival, but something didn't feel quite right. The boots didn't move with Arthur's measured stride; they scuffed the grass and dirt, signaling a different, but familiar presence. The moment you look up, you spot John standing at the entrance of the tent, not at all surprised to see you sitting upon his cot as if it were your own.

For a brief moment, his brow furrowed in a mix of frustration and exhaustion. It was as if he was caught between the two warring emotions, each pulling him equally. Clearly, he expected Arthur to be back already.

"He not back yet?" The gruffness of his voice has you believe the former, rather than the latter.

"Not yet," you say in kind, hoping to ease some of his burden. "Was you needin' him for somethin'?"

John did and the news certainly wasn't going to sit well with Arthur at all.

-

When the thoughts finally coalesce within your fatigued mind, you internally grimace knowing that Arthur isn't going to like the reality of the situation. Gentleness has always been your strong suit, especially when it came to dealing with half of the bull-headed men in camp. So, you lace your words with the softest tone you can manage, "Said it weren't as much as y'all had planned on: about fifty-dollars tied up in what little him 'n Charles found."

And you were right. The news doesn't sit well with him at all. All of the compiled frustration of working a nothing-lead and now knowing that the other job didn't pay well either boils beneath the surface of his skin until he explodes like a whistling kettle. Preventing himself from lashing out at you, Arthur kicks his boot toward the other side of the tent, knocking it into the chair. The loud thunk of its sole hitting wood claps harshly and causes you to flinch, startling you fully awake from the suddenness of noise and his movement.

"Every goddamn day it's some shit," he spits through his teeth.

Although you know he'd never intentionally hurt you, the anger in his voice sends a cold shiver down your spine and your stomach flips and churns in knots. Usually, you'd blame yourself, reprimanding your big mouth for even opening up to mention something that you knew wouldn't bode well for his weary mind. But you're in too much of a shock to even consider self-deprecation as an option. Your wide eyes search through the darkness, watching the shadowed outline of the man you love heave in a deep breath to steal his nerves. His shoulders slump forward and head hangs low as he rests his elbows on his knees, utterly defeated from the compiled anger and exhaustion coursing through him.

It's at this moment that you remember the job Dutch sent him on earlier in the day; Arthur didn't want to go and had very little sleep after working on yet another lead that barely got them anywhere. If it had been left up to you, you would've made Arthur stay right here in this bed to get some rest like he deserves. You would've taken care of him so tenderly, but, as usual, what Dutch wanted would have far outweighed any of your concerns. You've learned to recognize the pattern of these situations by now, and given Arthur's aggression, assuming that today's job didn't go quite as planned would be hitting the nail right on its head. You test the waters with a quiet question, "Lead didn't pan out today, did it?"

The soft shake of Arthur's head, coupled with the shadow of his palm running over his face tells you all that you need to know: no, it hadn't gotten him any farther than where he had started. Another useless effort. Your heart aches watching him struggle with so much weight on his shoulders. No matter how strong Arthur might be, he's just a man struggling to carry his own burdens, let alone everyone else's. Ever since settling down here, Dutch has placed so much responsibility on him that you've wanted to scold the man for even mentioning Arthur's name in passing. He's worked himself thin and thread-bare, barely having any time for himself outside of the time he spends on the road traveling from place to place at Dutch's convenience.

Empathy for the man that you've fallen in love with so long ago breaks your heart, aching in desperation to relieve some of his pain. Instead of walking away, keeping to yourself, and silently shouldering any of the blame for setting him off, you choose to stay the night. Despite knowing full well that the girls will have their gossip circulating by morning, Arthur's needs are far more important than any snickering comment or playful jest that'll inevitably come your way.

You scoot back where you were and lean toward him with less apprehension than what your words had suggested. Resting your delicate palm between the broad expanse of his shoulders, you feel him tense at the soft slip of your tender touch over his shirt. The tips of your fingers glide over his shoulder and silently take purchase on the taut muscle there. With a gentle, yet firm pull, you coax Arthur back toward you.

"C'mere. Lean back 'n talk to me..." Your dulcet tone pierces through his irritation, encouraging him to rest in your awaiting arms.

Arthur slowly reclines back, allowing himself to unwind in your embrace as his much larger body sits snugly against your plump bosom. Relaxing doesn't come easy for him. Hell, you'd be surprised if it had, given the high tensions between him and Micah these days or the tiresome back and forth between the two rival families in Rhodes. He has every right to be terse and tensed up like a snake ready to strike, but you aim to comfort him even if that means you risk getting bit. Silence hangs in the air between you, aside from the gentle breaths and the occasional strained grunt catching in the back of his throat while he struggles to get comfortable against you, due to the remaining stress insisting on clinging to his tired body. Your loving hands splay out over the firm expanse of his chest, feeling the steady and reassuring thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms as you try your best to soothe your brooding lover. It's as if your mere presence cracks away at the anger lingering in the stiff tendons and taut plains of muscle along his torso until he relents and finally lets go. His body relaxes back into you as if he were sinking into the plush, luxurious drapery and bedding found in the finest hotels of Saint Denis; much like the bedding of the room he'd paid for the very same night he had whisked you away to bed you properly for your very first time.

He's silent for a long while, almost reluctant to burden you with his troubles. So, you take it up on yourself to start the conversation by spilling what had happened to you earlier in the day, thinking it might earn a laugh or two, "Well, I'm sure my day weren't as rough as your'n," you hum. "But I did fall off the dock, landing my hind-end right in that water."

The image would usually cause a humorous snort to escape him, but the irritation still bristling at his nerves prevents him from reacting with anything else other than a huff of annoyance, "I told ya to watch your footin' out there. Ain't no use to nobody if you get yourself drowned."

Fortunately, as he chides you his words begin to lack much of the anger from moments ago. But you sigh softly anyways, relenting to his incessant need to protect you from life's dangers, despite being able to handle your own, "I know, I know..."

With a few buttons of that old blue work shirt popped open by your deft fingers, the smallest opening there is just big enough to slip your hand inside and rest it up on the soft but wiry hairs at the very center of his chest. "You shoulda seen me, though," you murmur as you lean down toward his ear, lowering your tone as you press your cheek to the side of his head. "Was drenched head to toe, clothes clingin' to me like feathers on a wet chicken."

He sulks, trying to stay mad at anything and everything he can to give into the bristling anger at the back of his mind, but he can't. No, not when he can clearly envision you all soaked and surprised from falling into that cold lake. A faint smile curls up the corners of his lips and then, just as he almost chuckles, he clears his throat, holding his laugh back. However, you catch on far too quickly for him to play it off so easily.

You gasp softly in mock surprise as if offended by the idea of him laughing at you, "Arthur Morgan. Are you laughin' at me?"

That's when his temperament breaks, giving way to the huff of laughter rumbling through his chest. "I ain't laughin' atchu, per say..." he counters. "Just maybe at the thought of what ya mighta looked like comin' up outta that water: madder 'n hell, hair clingin' to your head," and as if to illustrate his point, Arthur reaches his hand backward and turns his head to try and catch a glimpse of you in the thick shadows, barely making your face distinguishable to his eyes, as he brushes his fingertips over the bits of hair clinging to your forehead from the muggy heat.

Though you narrow your eyes in mock annoyance, you lean into his calloused fingertips, accepting the gentleness of his touch while a giggle of your own creeps up into your throat, "Oh? Is 'at so? Maybe next time I find you out on that dock, I'll think 'bout pushin' ya in 'n lettin' you see how it feels."

He huffs out a skeptical breath and raises an eyebrow at the very thought of you even trying something like that with him. It'd be a futile effort and one that you truly wouldn't consider without the clear consequence of him pulling you right down with him.

And just as soon as the laughter came, it was gone again, replaced instead with a comfortable silence that settles between you two once more, giving him some space to think about what's happened to himself today. Long before the days of your arrival, Arthur would keep to himself and dwell on the ever-present burdens troubling his mind, brooding for hours. But with you, he feels a safety that men like him are rarely afforded.

"Well, if ya think fallin' in Flat Iron's bad..." he continues, "Try goin' halfway 'cross the state lookin' for a man that don't exist. Then when ya find someplace to get a drink, ya end up catchin' a few stray hits from some drunken bastard."

A soft gasp enters your lungs at the revelation. Another fight? You lean over his shoulder, reaching to take his scarred chin into your hand. It's hard to see through the inky-black darkness of the night, but even in the haziness, your eyes can make out the bruising along his jaw, the harsh scrapes of knuckles cutting over his cheek, and the jagged cut on his upper lip. It isn't a rare sight to have him come back battered and bruised by some job from time to time, but that still doesn't quell the uneasiness in your heart at him going through such pain and aggravation.

Your eyebrows furrow in sympathy for your rugged cowboy, eyes softening to match as you breathe out, "Oh, Arthur."

He's quick to dismiss your concern with a soft sigh, pulling away from you to lean forward and distract himself from your sympathetic gaze, "Ah, don'tchu go 'n worry yourself over me none, Darlin'."

Being fussed over or thought of so tenderly still isn't something he's used to; he's shown you that time and time again. But it never deters you from trying to make things better, to make things easier on him however you can. Whatever turmoil Arthur's got rolling about in his mind is far from the usual and it takes patience to understand; a patience that he finds only you can give.

You reach your hand out toward him. The delicate ends of your fingertips reach up to brush over the nape of his sun-kissed neck, grazing over the ends of his slightly overgrown hair, silently making a note to yourself that you'll trim it for him tomorrow. His body shuffles slightly backward, leaning in to accept your touch while he slips off his suspenders: pulling them down his shoulders heavy with burden, before taking his time to unbutton that tattered old work shirt you're so used to seeing around his muscular frame.

"'Sides..." he starts. "I did have some good that came from today."

"What's 'at?" you hum softly with a lilt of dryness. "Hittin' that feller back?"

He can't help the chuckle rising in his throat at the dry sarcasm touching your words. Arthur shakes his head softly, "Nah, Darlin', " the last word strains from his lips as he rises to his feet with a groan, leaving the safe comfort of your touch as he stands to undo his pants.

He glances over his shoulder, peering down at you through the darkness with a smirk curling up at the right corner of his mouth. Watching as your sweet eyes follow his every movement, Arthur turns to face you, allowing you to gaze at him as he slowly pushes the brass button through the eyelet at the top of his riding pants. The fabric opens effortlessly, revealing the red cloth of his union suit underneath. The sight of him before you, suspenders hanging loosely on either side of his long legs and his pants aching to be peeled from his strong form has your lips parted in awe at the man standing mere inches away from you.

He continues from just seconds before, "Seein' you laid out on my bed, purdy as a dream."

After stepping out of his pants now crumpled around his ankles, Arthur lowers one knee upon the cot nearest your thighs. He leans over you, using his thick fingers to tilt your chin upward, meeting his crystalline eyes. "Was one helluva sight I could get used to seein'."

The low timbre of his voice sends a shockwave of desire straight through your heart and into the aching pit of your stomach. Your lips draw up into a shy smile, and a faint dusting of pink envelops your cheeks just like the moment you'd first professed your feelings for him under that canopy of trees he led you through so blindly. Although it hasn't been long since that fateful night, the closeness of your relationship has escalated so quickly that your head and heart dizzy at the mere mention of his name.

Arthur's calloused thumb brushes over the supple swell of your bottom lip, enticing you to part them just for him. You comply, of course, unable to resist how a ghost of his touch makes you so pliant beneath him. And when he leans down to meet your lips with his own, your heart swells with tender affection. Those warm, slightly chapped, but pleasantly plush lips are heady as they connect with a passion that stokes the burning coals of desire in the very base of your core.

"Been waitin' to use that one for a while, hmm?" You hum contently while blindly guiding your hands toward the flare of muscle encasing his ribs. God, how you could worship this man and never tire of feeling how warm, how strong he is beneath your palms.

"Depends. It workin'?" He murmurs, smirking cockily against your lips.

Your mind begins to spin as the calloused pad of his thumb dips from your chin and swipes over your jawline. His fingers splay out over the side of your neck, fingertips gripping you with tender passion to hold you in place. He could easily break you, bend you with his finger and thumb as if you were nothing more than a twig beneath his rough and weathered hands. Never have you felt so small and fragile, always knowing in your heart that you took up much more room than other women. But, when you're with Arthur, he makes you feel as delicate as the petals on a beautiful flower, something so precious and worth loving; it's so much more than you'd ever experienced in your whole life. He touches you so tenderly as if you were made from nothing more than ash, a veritable pile of matter waiting to slip through his fingers at any moment.

You want to hum your praises to your lover, to let him know exactly how much you've wanted this, how much you've missed him, how well he's kissing you, touching you... But you can't. There are no words. He's stolen them from you, drawing all the air out of your lungs with his lips, leaving you gasping for the air coated in his divine masculine scent: sweet tobacco, wood ash, and mossy earth. He encompasses you, wrapping one arm around your waist as he pulls you close to his body, all the while shuffling himself forward to join you on the small cot. Your back presses against the hard wooden frame of the wagon making up the other half of his tent. He presses against you, holding you close to his strong body as he slides his right hand from your jaw, trailing it down over the soft skin of your neck, and down to your chest, where he heatedly palms your breast hidden just beneath your blouse. To have him touch you like this, like a man frenzied and dying for a taste of intimacy, has your head spinning and your heart on the verge of exploding if it hadn't already; for all you know, you could've died the moment his lips crashed into yours, and all that's left is a heaven you'd only dreamt of.

A low growl of appreciation rumbles through his chest for the plumpness of your body. Most men do not know the fine pleasures that extra curves on a woman can bring. But Arthur sure does. And oh how he worships your full figure, despite your opinions about yourself. His large, calloused palm shifts his attention to your other breast, kneading you tenderly while his lips work from your mouth, and instead, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses over your jawline and supple neck.

His name is a breathless sigh across your trembling lips as you allow your hands to explore his body in return. Touching over the large expanse of his torso and gliding your fingertips over the worn fabric of his union suit, you desperately search for the button that would bare him wholly to you. In the time it takes you to undo one of his buttons, his skilled fingers undo two of yours. Button after button unthreads upon both of your bodies, though his hands are much quicker at ridding you of your layers, leaving them strewn about on the ground until he's stripped you down and laid you beneath him in nothing more than your chemise and bloomers to conceal your decency. Arthur then crawls over you, his movements deliberate and enticingly slow as he cages you in with his hands pressed into the thin mattress on either side of your head. Shadows danced and shifted restlessly, playing tricks on your perception as you try to focus on what little of Arthur you could see through the haziness, making the absence of light feel alive. To feel him above you like this has your stomach in knots, tightening with a firey passion that's ready to snap at any given moment. Hearts are pounding, thrumming wildly against your ribcages like birds desperate to escape the confines of your chests. You hear it, hear how his breath shutters with each wild thump of his heart, and you feel it in his breath as it puffs over your cheek. He's losing himself to you and you him, slipping so quickly that rational thinking is no longer of use. You need him and he needs you.

The flaps of his union suit hang loosely from his body, allowing your hands to reach in and press flat over his heated skin. He shivers slightly at the contact, his muscles tensing and flexing beneath the tender meeting of your palms placed upon his scarred, goose-pimpled flesh. Your fingertips ghost over a scar on the right side of his ribcage, causing your face to crinkle with sorrow for what hardship your lover, this great outlaw, has had to endure in his lifetime. The damaged tissue is the result of a nasty fight he had as a young man: when someone stabbed him with the broken end of a beer bottle; they had aimed to kill him, but he had survived. The spot still aches with the memory of Hosea digging out the shards of broken glass from the angry, bloodied wound. But somehow, the way your delicate touch brushes over that old scar with such love and care causes the outlaw's skin to tingle, and his cock to ache with the pride of knowing that you love him so.

He takes his time with you here, laid out beneath him like a perfect little thing he's captured and kept safe by hiding you away in the privacy of his tent. After the day he's had, he wants to savor every bit of loveliness he's blessed with in your presence, so he can't rush this with you, not now. Arthur takes his time admiring you, letting his eyes rake over what he's able to see, and feeling what he cannot. Leaning down close enough to your face to capture that seductive glint in your glittering, lust-blown eyes, Arthur searches for any change within them as he maneuvers his right hand away from the mattress to trail along your sensitive flesh. The rough pads of his fingers ghost over your thigh, caressing the plump deposit of flesh along your middle, snaking up over your collarbones, and over your neck in search of your delicate face before sealing your mouth with his own in a kiss so tender you whimper from the initial contact.

Shivers of anticipation roll through him as your body responds to his touch: back arching off the bed, hands pulling on the nape of his neck to hold him down and assure that his lips won't leave yours, and the way your bloomer-clad hips roll upward in search of some much-needed friction. God how he could spend hours with you like this, letting his hands roam over your body to make you shiver and plead for any ounce of affection that he can give you. Your needy state is only exacerbated by the slight tremble in your thighs as he snakes his hands down over the pillowy flesh, seeking out the waistband of your bloomers. Ridding you of the cloth separating your pussy from his line of sight is an easy feat: the clad, slightly damp undergarment peels away from your plump hips with ease at the help of his precision; the Lemoyne heat causes the clothing to stick to your slightly dampened skin, but dammit if the temperature pales in comparison to how heated Arthur makes you feel. He tosses them down onto the ground, and places his hands upon your knees, spreading them apart as he sits above you to admire the feeling of your plump body beneath him.

His hand is unhurried and exacting, gently brushing his calloused knuckles down over your inner thigh, then lightly petting them over your soaked need covered by a soft thatch of hair. He can't see you fully, but that does nothing to stop his mind from envisioning how your cunt glistens with slick, all for him. The moment he presses his fingertips to your seam, parting you with the practiced precision of a lover, he lets a low, ragged breath escape his nose in appreciation for how wet you are. You shiver and instinctively try to close your knees from the pleasant surprise of his touch, and fuck does it feel good to have him brush over your folds like that.

"Always so ready, ain'tchya?" He murmurs, a teasing lilt to his voice as he takes his time in savoring the feeling of your slick upon his fingertips.

Your hips involuntarily twitch, bucking upward into his hand, seeking out his fingertips to make him swirl them over your aching little clit. You want him to touch you right where you need him, feel him right on that little spot upon that nub of nerves that makes your mind swirl and your body careen into a blissful orgasm. But he doesn't give that to you, not yet. He wants to work you over slowly, savoring every little sound he can draw out of those pretty lips. You're far too shy to answer him directly, instead favoring to cover your face with your forearms as he takes pleasure in taunting you like this. But the moment his fingertips threaten to part your folds, you let out a delicate little noise, someplace between a whine and a prayer to let him know that you're in no mood to endure his teasing tonight, "Arthur... Please."

Oh, how he loves to hear the sound of you begging; he's already half-hard at the idea of you wanting his touch, let alone hearing how desperate you are for it. He answers your prayer with a long, smooth stroke of his thumb parting your puffy, wet folds. You keen at how just a simple touch causes your stomach to flutter and your slit to clench around nothing at all. Your thighs, thick with strength, covered by a layer of squishy softness, part for him, relaxing lazily as he guides his thumb over each of your labia.

It was nearly impossible to get you to lay like this for him a few weeks ago; you'd been concerned about the unsightly appearance of your inner thighs: scarred over with dimples and imperfections, as well as the slight discoloration of having them rub together after so many years of being a larger woman. Most women that you've seen naked, don't have the same ailments upon their bodies as you have on yours. Just the other day when bathing with some of the girls in the lake, you'd noticed that even on Karen's body, a woman closer to your size, still didn't have the scars or discoloration across her skin in the same way that you have. And that night that Arthur had you laid out for him for the very first time, he'd noticed that apprehension in you, taking it as having second thoughts. But once you had explained how you felt about your own body, he hadn't even given the idea a single thought; his own body is mauled up, covered in old and ugly scars, and carrying more than three colors from all his time spent out in the sun. So, he couldn't have cared less about some scars, a little extra hair, weight, or even the discoloration over your thighs. What he did care about, however, was making sure that you felt loved in spite of it all. And now, it feels no different. To have you spread your legs for him like this, without a single worry holding you back, is a goddamn treat.

Fuck how good it feels to have the soft press of his thumb tease over your cunt, tracing the delicate path between your weeping entrance, to your swelling bud with a pressure so teasing and light that you squirm to feel more. Your plush lips tuck between your teeth to hold back any sounds that give away what you two are doing in here after dark, but it's useless; the lewd sounds of his thumb circling over your clit echo throughout the tent: a dead giveaway to anyone that dare walk by. Holding your breath like this isn't easy, not when the pounding of your heart echoes in your ears and your chest feels as if it's being seared from the inside out. A ragged gasp finally inhales through your nostrils, desperately trying to fulfill your body's need for air when you can no longer restrain your breaths.

He huffs out a low chuckle in amusement at the state he has you in: clearly desperate and in need to have your clit rubbed just the way you like it.

"Hmm.. Hear that?" He rasps out before going silent, letting you hear the sounds of your own slick being spread over your soaked cunt. He only continues when he finally reaches your clit, circling over the throbbing little nerve-ending to make you sigh out in pleasure for him. "So goddamn wet. All for me."

In a blur of movements, Arthur's chapped lips and teeth skim over your knee, slowly working their way down over your inner thighs. He nips at you, earning a few little squeaks and giggles until he kisses over your plump mound. His thumbs take hold of either side of your cunt, spreading you open to let the night air hit your wet skin. It's pleasant like this, to feel yourself spread out beneath him like a meal ready to be devoured and dammit if he ain't starved for a taste. Being eaten out has quickly become one of your favorite acts of intimacy in recent weeks; his tongue is so skilled at finding spots on you, making you come so deliciously, that most days it's all you've been able to think about. Hell, it's all you're thinking about now as his head sinks down to your core and his hot breath fans out over your aching need. His tongue slips out of that perfect mouth and flattens out over your seam, lapping at you once to earn him that little sigh of pleasure escaping your throat.

Your hands immediately seek out his head, combing through his slightly sweat-dampened hair as he swirls the blunt tip of his tongue over your clit.

"A-Agh, Arthur.. N-Not so fast," you whine out in protest, yet your hips bucking up into his mouth says otherwise. But he relents, nonetheless, giving you a moment of reprieve before he delves back in at the same pace.

He's aiming to make you cum quick and hard: slithering his tongue over your clit with the precision of knowing exactly what side and spot makes you writhe beneath him. Just left and then a little upward beneath that little hood of skin and he has you singing for him. Explicitves roll off your tongue one after another in between sweet little sounds that praise him for what effort he's putting in just for you. To hear you, feel you crumble beneath him like this is better than any robbery or score he gets out on the road. But just before he lets you come, he pulls his head back slightly and puffs cool air over your clit, making you whine.

"Shh.. Shh.. 'M gonna let ya cum, Darlin'. Don'tchu worry 'bout that none. 'M gonna take real good care of ya," he hums lowly as his lips and bristly scruff brush over your quivering inner thighs.

His promise isn't far off from fulfillment, not when he sinks his tongue into your heat and presses his opened mouth over the entirety of your cunt. He sucks hard, feeling your walls constrict around the wriggling muscle of his tongue as he laps inside your spongey center. Your thighs tremble with need as he fucks you with his mouth and slurps up your slick, drinking in as much of you as he can and relishing the tangy sweetness of your delectable taste. You throw your head back against the rolled-up blanket you had been using as a pillow earlier in the night, all while he eats you out like a man who's desperate to consume you.

But the aching throb of his cock, constricted by the thin fabric of his union suit, is far too angry for him to ignore. He's got to have you, now.

As he shuffles back up to his knees, leaving your cunt longing to cum on his tongue, you flutter your eyes open and snap your head up to try and catch a glimpse of what he's doing. Clearly, you ain't pleased with him teasing you like this, but when you feel his fervent movements, you realize that he's trying to work off his union suit. He wastes no time it peeling it away from his torso, but the moment he starts to tug it down his thighs, allowing his weeping cock to spring free, he nearly topples over and just about slams head-first into your body. Thankfully, he catches himself in the knick of time, grunting out a few curses as he grows impatient with his incapability to slide that damn fabric off his legs.

Amid his struggle to bare himself, you can't hide the giggle creeping up your throat as he curses under his breath, frustrated with how the fabric insists on clinging to his muscular legs. You help him slide the old red union suit off his body by digging your heels against the back of his thighs and pushing it down the long length of his legs until it reaches his ankles. The undergarment hangs loosely off his feet, causing him to kick it haphazardly off the side of the bed, letting it fall onto his trunk to skirt down on the grass below.

The instant his turgid length brushes over your inner thigh it twitches with the anticipation of feeling your tight, wet walls clamped around him, milking every drop of spend nestled away in his balls; spend that he so desperately wishes he could drain right inside of you. For now, however, just a single brush of your fingertips against him is enough. He has to hold his breath as he guides your delicate palm over his velvety shaft to stroke the needy ache away; if he isn't careful, he'd cum just like this. He hisses, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth as your fingers wrap around him and your thumb seeks out the weeping slit of his blunt tip. Arthur is, by no means, a small man: his legs are long, torso strong and wide, feet and hands are like bear paws, and his cock.. God, his cock is big. You could use both of your hands to stroke him and still, there'd be enough room for his tip to be entirely untouched. But you make sure as you stroke him with one hand, you pay extra attention to his tip, smearing his drooling precum over as much of him as you can, even down to the dark and wiry curls along his base and balls.

He's trying so hard to hold himself back, but with each tender pass of your thumb over that sweet spot along the underside of his tip, the last remnants of his patience crack away. You feel him crumbling like this, crumbling into a frenzied mess of low-hummed breaths and grunts through gritted teeth, and you fucking love it. Before you can even think about the desire roaring in the cavernous pit of your stomach, aching to be quelled, he smashes his lips into yours so hard that you're sure one of you is bleeding. The pain of his busted lip splitting back open is an angry reminder of the frustration still lingering at the back of his mind; he's as tensed up, pent-up, as a taut rope ready to snap.

With a quick movement, he swats your hand away, preventing you from jacking him into a fast climax. Then, in one swift motion, he grabs hold of your thighs and forcefully yanks you toward him, making the round swell of your plump ass plant firmly against the hard front of his strong body. Your thighs spread out, squishing over and conforming to the contour of his hips, the intimate contact leaving you both ragged and breathless. Your heart drums a frantic rhythm in your ears, drowning out all other thoughts and sensations that belong to you alone. It's as if your mind has descended into a tangled web of strangled noises and glorious sensations that only Arthur seems able to untangle or soothe. The faint outline of his body nestled between your thighs is a constant reminder that nothing beyond this moment, beyond him hidden away with you inside of this tent, matters.

The hard length of his turgid pride parts your folds, gliding over the slick thatch of curls usually concealing your cunt from his eyes, but with his sight hindered, he can explore every single nook, roll, and crevice without you shying away. His weight bares down on you as he holds your legs into the crook of his arms, nearly bending you in half as he drags his cock over your seam. It feels so good like this, even though you can hardly breathe with the thickness of your thighs pressing against your already plump stomach, but when the tip of his cock knocks into your clit, it makes the strained pain well worth it. The back of your hand flies over your mouth as he continues on like this, pleasuring himself and you with each agonizingly slow thrust. Hearing your ragged, strangled half-breaths, he releases your thighs, leaving them to splay out lazily on either side of his hips as he leans down to steal a tender kiss.

Upon breaking his lips away from yours, the low hum of his voice finds its way through the haziness of your lust-broken mind as he murmurs against the shell of your ear, "Gonna take ya just like this..."

Chapped lips skim over your jawline and trail to your lips, where he gives you another tender kiss filled with gentle affection: polar opposite to the rough sex-driven outlaw you've gotten a taste of tonight, but aligning perfectly with the man you fell in love with all those years ago. Scraped knuckles skim against your slick heat as he slips his hand in between you both and presses flat over the thick, dark curls at the base of his throbbing length. His fingers spread wide over his pubic bone, holding his cock between his middle and ring finger, stiffening himself outward to seek out your clenched entrance. With a slight pullback of his hips, he guides himself to your slit, catching right on the taut muscle before pressing forward and splitting you open.

A soft cry hums in the back of your throat and he shushes you so tenderly, sliding his hands over your knees and down your shins to soothe the ache he knows you're feeling. You're so fucking tight, hardly different from the first night he took you and bedded you properly back at the Saint's Hotel. It nearly shatters him when your walls flutter around him, squeezing and pulling him in inch by inch as if you were carved out just for him to sink into. He stills only for a short moment, letting you feel him nestled up against your cervix before he slides himself out and enters you again with a sharp snap of his hips. Lingering anger and frustration from the shit day he's had still pulsates at the back of his mind, desperate to be released as the tension in his body rises.

The tight walls of your cunt clench onto him for dear life as jolts of pleasure and pain rack through your body.

Behind the shield of your palm, you cry out, "A-Agh, Arthur!"

You're trying your best to be quiet, to still your ragged breaths and hide your whimpers, but he's making it incredibly difficult. Each slow drag of his cock coming out of you with a satisfying pop, only to pierce you with a hard roll of his hips, sends you reeling. You're seeing stars, shaking from the pleasurable burn of the passionate fire he's stirring within you. Strong hands grip your hips, keeping you still as his thrusts guide you into a steady rhythm that makes the old wooden frame creak and groan with every subtle and sharp movement that your bodies make. Being discreet has left his mind entirely, no longer concerned with what sounds are coming out of his tent as he fucks you good and proper. No, he couldn't care less when the sounds of your slick pussy squelches as he presses himself flush against you and groans against the pulse point of your neck.

"Don't want ya hidin' them purdy sounds, Darlin'. Let 'em out for me," he grunts out between slow but hard thrusts.

Usually, intimacy like this is savored in the shaking breaths and whispered little sounds only audible to your ears, but tonight... Tonight Arthur is something else entirely. Primal. A damn, dirty outlaw. You love this new view of him, but you can't allow yourself to let the others hear. What if someone were walking by? Or Hosea or Dutch hear you two going at it? You wouldn't be able to look at them for a week! But he doesn't give you much choice in the matter: snaking his hand down between your bodies, his muscular forearm presses against your plush belly while his thumb immediately finds your clit.

"O-Oh, God," you whine as the pad of his thumb circles over you, followed by his name dripping off your tongue like the sweetest honey. "At's it... Such a good girl takin' me so deep. Mmm.. Gonna cum 'round me ain'tchu? Gonna give me a real good one, baby?"

God damn him if his mouth ain't filthy. The way he croons out those little praises and words of encouragement has your climax building faster than you ever could have anticipated. And the swirling of his thumb? It has you shaking, whining, pleading, practically begging for your release as he talks you through it, "C'mon, Darlin'... I feel ya squeezin' me real tight," he praises, "'At's it. Focus on me."

With one more swipe of his thumb over your sensitive clit and his cock hitting that sweet spot right against your cervix, you're tensing, digging your heels into the thin mattress, and cumming around him so hard that you see white. It takes everything in you not to scream, but the strangled sound coming out of you is loud enough to warrant some head-turning if anyone were awake. The moment your walls flutter and start milking him, he falls forward and drops down onto his elbows to cage you in. His thrusts are relentless as he takes his anger out on you in this way, using every movement of his body to release the bristling anger clutching onto his mind like a damn vice grip. No matter how fervent and frenzied, he's still careful not to hurt you, always thinking about how good he's making you feel while chasing his own release.

Arthur isn't a man of many words, but when you're gripped around him like this, clutching him with your arms, legs, and your fluttering pussy, he is downright mouthy. "Oh, such a good girl for listenin' to me. Shh.. Shh. I gotchu, baby. I gotchu."

His mouth hovers over yours, claiming your lips as he kisses you hard and possessively. Moans spill out of you, traveling through the expanse of his throat until it hums within his chest and he echoes one back. To talk like this with him, in a language only two lovers could understand, is far more intimate and pleasurable than anyone could ever know. Arthur is yours and you are his, no ownership or proprietary claim, but just the pleasant knowledge that both of you choose to love each other is enough.

With a few more rolls of his hips, he's nearing his own orgasm: length twitching and engorging as his balls tighten. In desperation, he quickly climbs off of you and pulls his cock out from your core. His right hand tightens into a fist around himself, and although you can't see it, you hear the lewd, effortless slide of his hand vigorously pumping over his tip like his life depends on cumming for you.

Finally, his orgasm hits him, working its way out of his tightened balls and spurting over your plump mound and belly. If he could see his spend on you like this, it'd be enough to make him cum all over again. But both of you are far too exhausted to even consider that so soon. You're still shaking, panting heavily as he lowers himself down onto you, not caring that his sticky spend is now covering the front of his body as well, as your sweaty bodies come down from such an enormous height.

His touch traces a slow, deliberate path down your leg until his fingertips reach the softness of your hip, where he gives your flesh a gentle but firm grasp. Reveling in the smoothness of your skin and the feel of your curvy form beneath his palm, he lets out a slow exhale through his nose. The heat of his breath spills over your neck and shoulder, doubled by the heavy breaths leaving his lips as he lazily peppers your clammy skin with kisses.

After a long stretch of quiet spent nestled into his hair, breathing in the comforting remnants of campfire intermingled with his musky scent, your breathing finally begins to steady. Slowly, your senses return to you one by one, like pieces of a puzzle falling back into place. Shock and disbelief jolt through your entire being as it finally hits you how easily he manipulated your body with his own strength and skill as a lover. You'd heard of men being rough with women, but never did you think it could be this pleasurable.

Your voice finally cuts through the relative silence, carrying a deep sense of satisfaction and astonishment with it, "Wh-here in the hell did that come from?"

An amused chuckle rumbles inside his chest, slightly huffing out of his nose as he slightly pushes himself off of you to gauge your reaction, "Reckon I were a little pent up. Why? You like it?"

To say you liked it was an understatement, but you'd like anything as long as Arthur were right there with you to experience it just the same. While his right hand slides up over the plump contours of your body, appreciatively grabbing at the plushness of your stomach and breasts, he lovingly brushes a few stray strands of hair off your forehead stuck there by the sweat covering your body. You hum softly in agreement to his question, deciding that you did enjoy this different side of him you hadn't expected, despite his rough exterior.

"Mhmm.. 'S always good with you," the loving words you murmur cling to his heart and earn you a pleasant kiss that tastes like the remnants of his busted lip.

As his lips trail back down over your jawline, his beard delightfully scratches over your sensitive skin, causing you to hum in appreciation for him loving you like a man who worships the very ground you walk upon. Your own body follows his lead, fingertips glide down the entire length of his back, tracing the contour of muscle that hint at the immense strength lurking beneath. You can't help but marvel at his shape, this man you love so dearly, and how his body was molded for love and carved from such a hard life. While your fingertips glide across his muscled frame, you can feel the subtle shift of his body as he adjusts himself on top of you, notricebly more relaxed than before: a clear testamanet to the calming eddect your touch has on him.

Curiosity peaked, you murmur, "You relaxed now?" as your fingertips idly trace the two little dimples that grace the base of his spine, just above the firm and muscular curve of his ass.

An amused smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, obviously enjoying the path your fingertips are carving out over his back. He'd never admit it, but he loves it when you grab him unabashedly, palming his ass like he so often does to you. The warmth of his cock brushing over your leg, hardening much faster than he expected for a man his age, tells you all you need to know.

He agrees with you, humming softly against your chest as he inches himself down to where his mouth hovers over the plump swell of your breasts, "Thinkin' that we just might need a little more time for relaxin', don'tchu?"

A/N: Big thanks for the divider from @saradika-graphics and the beautiful gif from @sunwingsunset, please go send them some love for their work! <3

Other creators that expressed interest and drew inspiration from: @subpopizzy , @cassietrn , @coltermorning , @redwritr, @zae-heeyyy, @twola , @amorgansgal

Please do go check all the blogs I tagged! You surely won't be disappointed!

As always, sending my love - M. <3

[visenyaism]

jaehaerys administration dashboard simulator

🫧maidenpooled Follow

listen i know all kingsguard are bastards but jonquil darke put a cigarette out on me. i think i huave shivers

♟️redwhine

ok bootlicker. you know what she did

🫧maidenpooled Follow

boots not the only thing id lick

🌸queencrowned Follow

this could literally be me and my brother if it weren't for my bitch mom trying to send me to the other side of the fucking continent

🍒saerious

GIRL STAND UP

🤎bowlofbrown

doctrine of exceptionalism meatriders when someone asks them why 75% of dragonstone is blonde and me and half of flea bottom have gleaming amethyst eyes and/or beautiful delicate cheekbones

🥀maegorwife Follow

that's different...targaryens are literally divinely ordained by the seven to rule because they're stronger and better than us...that's why they have the dragons it is in their sanctified valyrian blood

🩸knifeinthedark

SO TRUE...THEY WANT TO ABOLISH THE RIGHT TO FIRST NIGHT BECAUSE OF WOKE. AND YET THEY STILL DO IT. BUT NO ONE CAN SAY ANYTHING ANYMORE OR THOSE GENDER-NEUTRAL DRAGONS WILL BURN YOUR KEEP DOWN

🤎bowlofbrown

cannot stand this fucking website. spending my last silver stag on tyroshi blue hair dye im not going to be associated with you people.

🍒saerious

oh so when maegor has seven wives he’s “aegon’s true son” and “cool” but when i have three boyfriends suddenly im a “whore”

🫀lustywench Follow

op i support you but they did call him “the cruel” for that it was a very important part of the story that he was in fact maegor “the cruel”

🌟sevenpointedstar

🌗maidensgrace

doing all of this with a FAITH OF THE SEVEN URL...girl you better pick a hell and start hoping

#bring back the faith militant

❄️theythemderly

hey isn’t it weird that so many of the king’s children have suddenly and mysteriously died lately. under the care of the maesters. what if they’re planning something…,

🕯️glasscandled

ugh i wish🙄 speed that shit up fr

🥵ullerscorpion

likes charge reblog cast

😈themarcherrrrrr-deactivated5699

me when im in a being dead combination and my opponents are jaehaerys' whole army of childraeyn of the corn

🙌fleabottomtop

yoooooooo theyre quarrelling again.

🙌fleabottomtop

alysanne targaryen if you're reading this i could change your life just give me one chance let me hit

🙌fleabottomtop

there are gold cloaks outside of my house

⚔️errantmaid Follow

kingsguard dick is good as fuck when you don't have a motherfucker in your ear saying it violates a sacred vow made in the eyes of the king and the seven😜

⚔️errantmaid Follow

the king chopped it off and sent him to the wall i fucking hate this place can't have SHIT in king's landing

🏵️floriansjonquil

hey has anyone seen princess gael. it's been literal months and she seems to have up and disappeared with no official announcement from the palace? would be the third female relative to go missing in the king's custody after aerea and saera....

🐝beeeeeeeeeeeeesbury Follow

damn that's crazy. im sure shes fine though anyways i'm a big fan of this new road the king built theres a lot of nice new roads does anyone else like the roads

🐦‍⬛cloakedinfeathers Follow

day 18262 of not fighting the brackens. this is boring as fuckkkkk what am i supposed to do. pretend to care about the triarchy?

🐎brackennation

kill yourself

🐦‍⬛cloakedinfeathers Follow

192.158.1.38. doxxed. get your dumbfuck horse breeder knights ready because our strongest and noblest raven warriors are on the way to your nasty ass keep right now bitch