#love ya mare

[lilyharvord]

It’s all: “you could have been my red queen” this and “thief/obviously” that, but WHEN are we going to talk about: “I thought of you in the end, I saw your face in the water.���????? HMMM?! When? When are we going to talk about this?

[galamurphy]

"Light is easy to show. Show me your darkness."

"Red Queen" by Victoria Aveyard

[ataryutaro]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE THIRD UNOFFICIAL FEXTSUBS MEMBER FROM CHASKA & KATYA

[calandrinon]

Stop idealising and commodifying moldovan culture

it's true, I do this constantly 😭

[cherrycranes]

A Proper Thank You (Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader) [+18]

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x female reader Summary: You're Tommy's younger girlfriend who he loves to spoil. Thankfully, you always know how to thank him. Word count: 2,954 Contents: (Minors DNI) Age gap (reader is in her 20's, Tommy is in his 40's), smut, daddy kink (a serious use of the word "daddy"), oral sex (male receiving), cum eating. Author's notes: Another collab with my bestie @fuckiingloser. Don't forget to give her some love too! Mandatory "english is not my first language" disclaimer. Love ya!

You were not the first young woman to be with a man in his 40's. It was still very common even if the times were changing. But there was something about this relationship that did mirror the societal shift. You were his sweet girlfriend who he paraded around town, who shamelessly sat on his lap while he worked and who shared his bed. Quite the scandal for those still stuck in Victorian times who would expect this to happen only between a married couple. Good thing the Victorian times had ended over 30 years ago. 

Tommy loved having you by his arm half of the time. The other half he loved having you under him. Or on top, he wasn't picky. He got a kick out of the variety of looks some people would give him for having a pretty, young girl as his sweetheart. But above all things, he absolutely adored the way his pretty baby looked at him whenever he spoiled her rotten.

Today, you went with him to a horse ranch near Southam. A lovely place where Tommy intended to see that beautiful look in your eyes once more. He smirked, seeing you caress a beautiful mare’s nuzzle, the animal calm and docile under your touch.

“Aye, I think she likes you.” Tommy announced with pride, already planning to buy the horse for his beautiful girlfriend.

“You think?” You turned your head to look at him and admire his poise. The cigarette kissing his lips, the fine dark suit, the piercing blue eyes. So intimidating to many, so dear to you. “She’s beautiful…” Your thoughts and eyes returned to the mare, giving her another soft pet.

“You two make a very pretty picture, baby girl.” He dropped his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out skillfully before making his way to you. His big arms wrapped around you from behind while he rested his chin on your shoulder. You smirked when a surprisingly sweet kiss was planted on the side of your head. Thomas Shelby was never sweet to anyone, not even in the dark humor jokes of those who knew him. His portrait could have easily been annexed to the definitions of “rugged”, “serious” and even “ruthless”, yet, here he was. This was what his lips that had spat out curses and threats were doing. Kissing. And very gently at that. 

Above all women, you had a special place in his soul. You had him wrapped around your finger like those expensive rings you wore. Anything you wanted, you could have it. And if tomorrow you were to ask for a heart on a silver plate, he would tear anybody’s chest open and serve it to you himself.

You leaned into him, just in time to meet his husky whisper:

“If you want her baby… She’s yours.” 

With a big, spoiled princess grin, you turned around and looked at him in complete elation.

“Thank you, daddy!” Your sweetness intoxicated him, the way you looked into his eyes killed him, and the way you called him “daddy” raised him from the dead. He absolutely loved it. 

A calloused hand came up to touch your cheek, his thumb gently rubbing over your bottom lip. He admired the joy upon your beautiful face and studied it devotedly.

“Anything for my girl.” He spoke softly, his sexy Birmingham accent made your knees feel weak and your pussy become wetter. In a heartbeat, Thomas spoke to the farm owner, purchased the mare without even caring about the cost and made the necessary arrangements so you could have your pretty horse. 

After a successful purchase, Thomas helped you into the passenger seat of his car, driving you back to town. You would have your horse tomorrow morning, right now, business called.

He drove you to the Garrison, the Shelby's family owned pub for a Peaky Blinder business meeting. Usually, women were not allowed, but you were not just a woman. You were Thomas Shelby’s woman. And the people who knew would rather chop a limb off than dare to deny you access.

With his hand on your lower back, Tommy guided you inside the rowdy bar towards the private Peaky Blinders table. Everybody was waiting for your arrival between sips of irish whiskey and puffs of smoke. Thomas took a seat and you took yours on his lap, the feeling of your weight on him as natural as the feeling of air entering his lungs. 

The men at the table did not bat an eye, your presence was the new normality. And in a way, a sign that things were good, that Thomas was relaxed and no conflicts were on the horizon. If something bad or difficult was preying upon them, you would be hidden away in some safe heaven and not happily sitting on Tommy’s lap. Perhaps, the only other emotion a few of the men could feel when looking at you was a secret, deeply buried longing. Anybody would love to have a beauty like you sitting on their lap. Not that they would allow Thomas to hear them admit that.

The meeting started around you, some usual business and many details you didn’t care for. Thomas concentrated, his thumb mindlessly rubbing back and forth on your clothed thigh. You liked the skirt you wore, the fabric was soft, and it incited Tommy to touch. It was not exactly close to the feeling of your bare skin when you fucked him, or when he would make you sit naked on his lap while he worked in his house studio, but it was pleasant. 

The more the meeting dragged on, the more you started to grow restless. And a little bored, in all honesty. Sitting on his lap sounded glamorous and sensual in theory but in practice it was a test of resilience and patience. Being a sweet arm candy girl like you required more than a pretty face and a hot body. You also had to possess the skills to tell when a meeting was dying out and calculate the exact perfect moment to lean closer to Tommy’s ear and whisper something to save you from boredom.

“You know… I never properly thanked you today for getting me my beautiful horse… I think daddy needs a proper thank you…” Thomas turned to look at you with a raised eyebrow and a little smirk.

“Is that right?” He leaned closer to you until your noses bumped together, giving your thigh a squeeze. “And just how would you thank daddy, then? Hmm?” He whispered, the meeting a mere background noise now. You leaned towards his ear again, whispering so quietly so only Tommy could hear.

“I wanna suck your cock… Or you can fuck me over your desk in the back?” You purred so innocently despite the pure filth of your words. His cock told you all you needed to know about his opinion. The twitch inside his pants impossible to miss. You pulled back to stare into his eyes and take in his tiny smirk. He knew that resistance was futile and completely incompatible with him when it came to you.

Without excusing words or explanations to the other gentlemen, Thomas scooted you two out of the booth, taking your hand and guiding you to the back. He kicked the small office door open and locked you both in. You could almost feel his piercing blues tracing the shape of your ass under that fashionable skirt you wore. 

“So...” You started, walking over to his desk and luring him to take a few steps closer to you. He towered over you, his rough hands touched your hips with interest. “How does daddy want me?” You purred innocently, looking into his eyes.

Thomas’ cock hardened even more in his dress pants. Your figure, your soft face, your pretty eyes, your voice, you. Lust took over his eyes.

 “On your knees baby… you know what daddy wants.” His voice was husky, overcome with his need for you and your pretty little mouth. You grinned, a hungry look in your eyes replicating his own. Steadily, you sunk to your knees, the fabric of your skirt your only padding on the cold floor. Tommy leaned against his desk and watched you work your magic. Your fingers undid the button of his pants with torturous care.

“You know… If you wanted to fuck me in front that whole room of men… I’d let you. I’d let you do whatever you want to me..” You were a tease, you killed him slowly. His breath hitched a bit, his possessive streak driving him to total insanity. You were right. You would let him do anything he wanted. He knew. But hearing you say that made the fire of his lower stomach ignite him whole.

“Oh, I know you would… You’d be my good little girl, wouldn’t you?” He whispered, brushing a hair out of your beautiful face. You nodded so innocently, and then lowered his pants down until they pooled around his ankles.

“I'll always be your good girl… I’ll always please you and let you use me however you need…” You whispered back, a soft sensual smile gracing your lips. Tommy couldn’t help but groan at your words, his painfully hard cock pulsing in his boxer briefs right in front of your face.

“God, you’re such a good girl… You’ll be good for daddy now won’t you?” He cooed. 

“Always.” You purred in devotion. Your hands reached up to grab the band of his boxers and, with one swift, well trained motion, pulled them down. His large throbbing cock sprung free for you to drool over. Mere inches away from your face. 

“You gonna thank your daddy properly, hmm?” He asked with a sexy smirk, heavily accented and incredibly husky. You nodded obediently, your eyes going from his beautiful irises to his hard cock. It had been over four months since you became his sweetheart and you still felt enamored at his sheer size.

“Yes daddy…” You answered softly then looked back up to his pretty blue eyes. “Gonna suck your cock and drain these perfect balls just how you like…” You made it a point to speak so innocently, stirring something in him. He could have lost himself right then and there from your words alone. It took him a second to fully take in the idea. The dirtiest promises coming from the prettiest girl he has ever seen.

“Fuck baby… You’re gonna be the death of me someday, you know that?” He asked in a playful little smirk, and you attacked. Your soft hand wrapped around his aching hard cock. He groaned softly.

“But at least you’ll die happy.” You purred, gifting him a few seconds to prepare himself before finally leaning in to swirl your tongue skillfully over the head of his dripping cock. Thomas let out a guttural moan, his hand gripping his desk behind him in an attempt to steady himself. His head fell back, the texture of your wet, warm tongue erasing each and every thought off his mind. It all became you and you only. You licking him, tasting his sensitive tip, you pleasing him.

“Fuck, baby… My perfect girl…” He managed to choke out, affected yet addicted. Your tongue swirled over him expertly, and you looked up at him. A sweet happy hum reverberated in your throat as you tasted the salt of his precum. Every drop that ran down his tip not making it far thanks to your eager licks. Your hum sent vibrations up his cock, making him feel like his knees were about to buckle under him. The only time he appreciated feeling vulnerable.

Tommy looked down at you servicing him, taking your sweet time on his sensitive tip. The fire in your eyes recognized his and burnt with it. 

“Holy-f-fuck.. my girl knows how to suck her daddy’s cock so good….” He groaned, and you took more of his lengthy cock in your mouth, working your way down and sucking it, your tongue massaging it slowly.

He tried his best to maintain his composure and control, but another swirl of your tongue made him admit to himself that he would not last long.

“F-fuck, baby girl… You keep going like that…” He groaned, gripping the edge of the wooden desk harder and urging you.

You bobbed your head on his cock in a skillful rhythm. The sounds coming from you were so filthy and obscene. Nothing could have torn his gaze away from you. It was a war between him and his throbbing cock. He wanted more, desperately needed more, but his orgasm neared closer than his next breath.

 “You’re too good to me, baby girl… You’re gonna make daddy come… And it’s gonna be right in your pretty mouth, and you’re gonna take every last drop, aren’t you?” He cooed with one hand touching the top of your head for support. You bobbed your head, up and down his shaft, with your nose bumping his pelvic area. You looked up and hummed in response. You always swallowed.

Noting his increasing pleasure, you pushed yourself to take more of his thick cock. You gagged a little and earned a loud moan from him akin to music to your ears.

“Goood girl… Good girl.” With his praise like a mantra, he watched over you, almost out of breath. “That's it. I'm gonna come for you… ‘m gonna come in this mouth and you’re gonna swallow all of it, aren’t you baby?” He repeated, unaware by now. No thoughts inside his head, only your perfect mouth that pulled back for just a second.

 “Yes, daddy.” You purred, looking up at him with innocent eyes before taking him in your mouth again, this time working faster and with much more intensity. Constantly swiping against the underside of his thick cock.

Thomas had to resist the urge of bucking into your mouth and fuck your face just the way he likes, but he found the willpower to stay calm. This was all about you pleasing him, putting that mouth of yours to work and thanking him. 

“Good girl, such a good fuckin’ girl…” He praised, his orgasm so close to hitting him and knocking him flat out. “Now, remember, baby girl… What’s my rule?” His voice almost cracked. Dominance was a hard thing to upkeep when his balls tightened this hard and your throat hummed around him. Your pussy grew wetter at the mention of the rule, one you had committed to memory.

“Before you can swallow, you have to show it to daddy... Need to see my come all over your pretty tongue, hmm?” Thomas said, barely hanging on at this point. One of his hands holding your hair back and the other gripping the desk behind him for stability.

You hummed as loud and as best as you can, his thick cock barely giving up space for sound to travel. You kept sucking him, and his resistance was hung on by a thread, ready to snap at any moment. His moans, his heavy breaths, the hot puffs of air he lets out, the way his cock throbbed in your  mouth… You wanted him done for. 

Your hand came up, gently cupping his balls and giving them a soft squeeze. His breath hitched and he cursed under his breath.

“Holy fuck, baby-” He choked out, and everything snapped inside him. “Coming..” That was the only word he managed to utter before his resolve crumbled and his orgasm hit him like a tidal wave. His hand grabbed your hair firmly, but not painfully, keeping you there, ready to take it all.

Your movements stopped in anticipation and his cock pulsed inside your mouth. A salty load of cum coated your tongue completely and his sensual low groan filled your ears. His eyelids fluttered shut for a moment and his lips stayed parted. When every last drop was unloaded, he opened his eyes back again and looked at you intently.

“Show daddy…” He murmured, his voice a little strained. You obeyed, pulling off him and sitting back on your knees. With pride, you stuck out your cum-painted tongue for his viewing pleasure.

“My good girl.” Tommy praised. You were indeed so good. So obedient. So perfect for him. “You can swallow now, baby girl.” 

His hand petted the top of your head with appreciative softness, and you, living up to his praise, did as he said. The salt taste of his cum mixing with your saliva before passing down your throat. A soft hum of approval coming from you made him smile ever so gently.

He reached down to pull up his pants, tucking his now soft, sensitive and tired cock back into his boxers and buttoning his dress pants. He reached his hands down, pulling you up from the floor easily into his arms. When you were close to his face, you gave him a cheeky little smile. His hands cupped your face and gently pulled you in for a burning hot, passionate kiss. His tongue invaded your mouth, making him taste himself on you. A pervertedly satisfied smile crept into the kiss.

Slowly, he pulled back, looking at you with half-lidded eyes.

“You know… If all it took to get you to do that for me is to buy you a horse… I think I'll buy you a horse, or anything else you want every single day for the rest of your life.” Tommy whispered in a mix of sensuality but also pure, deep love. 

Your eyes twinkled a bit and a soft smile appeared on your face. He was just as obsessed with you as you were with him. 

“Deal”.

[littlerequiem]

we mourned the sea ˚⁎⁺ chapter 3

> Crossposted on AO3

Levi hasn't seen you in a year, and he wonders how you will find him. Changed, perhaps. Lost, definitely. Or: After the war, you and Levi learn to live in this new world.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 - Levi Ackerman / Female Reader (Attack on Titan)

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 - Rated Explicit (18+). Post-Canon, Post-War, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Grumpy/Sunshine, Friends to Lovers, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Chronic Pain, Panic Attack, Depression, Ambulatory Wheelchair Use, Irregular eating habits mentioned specifically in this chapter (WC: 5.5k)

( Previous chapter / Next chapter / WMTS' Masterlist )

-

You spot him alone in the library. Months have passed and winter has made its presence known.

Levi is staring at the fire. When his eyes lock with yours, you think they lack their usual cutting edge. Instead, he just looks tired.

“You gonna gawk much longer?” he asks. 

“Well…” Your grip on your book tightens; you stay rooted to your spot. “You don’t mind if I intrude?”

“This is a public space, isn’t it?”

It is, but it doesn’t mean you won’t ask.

Levi doesn’t leave when you sit on the sofa opposite him. The two of you stay like this, letting the crackling fire be your guiding light into the night.

.

.

.

It isn’t that Levi always preferred being alone, it’s just that it’s had a way of finding him.

Growing up, Levi remembers seeking affection—craving it, in fact—like a moth seeks a flame. Levi worshiped the ground his mother walked on, loved to listen to her speak, imitated her, anything to hear a “Well done, my Levi”. He imagines it made him a needy brat, that he was probably a burden to his mother.

When she died, he thinks that's when it happened. When he began to close in on himself, when he started to keep his emotions close to his heart.

Because emotions weren't safe. Emotions got you killed. 

"My boy, what wonderful craftsmanship!" Mr Jakowski's joyful voice assault's Levi's ears, plugging him out of his wandering thoughts.

Levi looks up at the sight of his boss. 

Mr Jakowski is leaning over Levi’s shoulder, spectacles shining under the dim amber light. A large grin creeps on his rosy face, a contrast to the blue paint smeared on his white shirt. "What are ya making, hm? Is that something—"

"—personal," Levi cuts him off instantly, shifting in his seat to conceal his work.

His boss lets out a loud bark, pulling back from Levi. “Hah, mysterious as always, our Levi!”

Levi has been working at Mare Lumber Co. for a little more than a year now. His boss, Adam Jakowski, is the sole carpenter in town. 

Levi likes working here. Most days, he tends to the till, manages the inventory, and assists the Jakowski family with customer orders. All routine work, really, but it feels good to be working with his hands, with his mind. It strangely reminds him of Furlan, of the odd jobs him and Levi used to do in the Underground, before they established themselves. 

“And how are ya?” Mr Jakowski asks with a jovial tone. 

Levi looks up as Mr Jakowski props his back against the edge of the counter, facing away from Levi. 

“Fine,” Levi answers.  

"Are ya sure? You seem distracted today, dear boy."

Mr Jakowski got in the habit of calling Levi ‘dear boy’ shortly after he took the job. At first, Levi told him off—sure, Mr Jakowski was older than Levi, but Levi was nearing his forties at this point. Levi was not a boy—never had been, perhaps.

And yet, he soon noticed something strange: every time he corrected the man, Mr Jakowski would correct himself, a distant glaze in his stare… only to make the same mistake the next day.

One day, his wife took Levi aside.

“You musn’t be cross with him, Levi,” Mrs Jakowski had said with a gentle voice. “My Adam and I… we lost our son ten years ago. Marleyans butchered him. And ‘dear boy’… that was Adam’s nickname for our son. Sometimes, I think… I think in his heart, my husband never quite got over it.”

After that, Levi never corrected Mr Jakowski again.

“Levi, are you listening to me?" Mr Jakowski laughs, pulling Levi straight back into the shop. To the smell of wood, saw dust, and paint. "You’ve got that glaze in your eyes of a dreamer, the way my daughter be sometimes.  Ain't never seen it on ya 'fore.”

Levi clicks his tongue. “I think you need to clean your glasses, old man.”

“Is it that missy staying at your place that’s got you lookin' so—”

“No.”

“Sure 'bout that?”

At that, Levi stays silent. Of course, he’s sure.

And yet, Mr Jakowski's eyes glint knowingly all the same, as if catching wind of something Levi isn't aware of. It almost makes Levi want to speak up (though, to say what?), but before he has the opportunity to say a thing, the man leaves him be. Levi listens to his receding footsteps, to the tinkering noises soon coming from the workshop area of the store.

Levi reverts his attention onto the wooden figurine in his hands, casting it an altogether unimpressed look.

What he’s making… it’s fucking stupid, isn’t it?

For the last week and a half, Levi has been using his lunch breaks to work on it. Right now, this wooden creation is simply a great blob of nothing. And yet, Levi can’t stop from continuing it. It started with your arrival, this idea, when something spurred deep in him to create and he doesn't know if it will lead to anything.

Perhaps he's wasting his time, perhaps—

The bells on the door chimes. Levi's eyes swerve up.

And he promptly places the figure on his lap, concealed right under the counter.

Because you've just entered the shop, greeting him with a pleasant smile. “Afternoon, Levi!” The door closes, light pooling around you, dewy and delicate. "Are you on your lunch break?"

Levi lifts a brow but gives you a slow nod. 

"Oh, good, I was scared I got your lunch time mixed up..." You lift a basket that was hidden behind your back, showing it off like it was some prized thing. “Ta-da!”

Levi just stares, not understanding what he's supposed to be seeing. 

“I brought lunch.” 

Oh, that's a first. You've never come all the way into town to visit his place of work, let alone have lunch with him. Is this because he accidentally let it slip that he sometimes skips lunch on his work days? You seemed particularly affronted last night; you'd washed the dishes grumbling something beneath your breath... 

“Miss Adler, is that you?” As if on cue, Mr Jakowski appears to Levi's left side, safety glasses still lodged on his head. He lets out a full-belly laugh, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. "I reckoned I heard that sweet voice of yours! It's good to see ya! I’ve been tellin' Levi to bring you around for some time now, but he surely been keepin' ya all to himself."

"Has he, now?" you muse. "That's not very polite of you, is it, Levi?"

Levi keeps his expression blank.  

Mr Jakowski steps around the counter, interest laced in his voice. "Well, lookie here, is that lunch I spy? You know, Levi rarely eats much in here."

“I know, that’s why I’ve come. I'm on a mission to change that, sir. I've brought lunch and even my secret trump card… cake!”

“You sure know the way to a man's heart, Miss Adler!” You pinch your lips, seemingly flustered, but Mr Jakowski is already shifting his attention to Levi, something almost devious splitting in his boss' expression. Levi's gaze narrows instantly, suspicious of whatever is to come next. “Now, you heard the lady, dear boy. You wouldn't want to reject the hospitality of such a good-hearted gal, would ya?"

Levi considers Mr Jakowski's words. His offer sounds tempting enough, but Levi's already shirked his duties by working on his project. His lunch time is practically over.

His boss seems to read his mind. "Take an extra hour." Mr Jakowski walks over, squeezing Levi's shoulder—not painfully, but not lacking zest. The man leans closer, the smell of paint mingling into Levi's space once more. "Shop's quiet today, anyway—I'll handle it. And don't forget to hide that little secret of yours. Wouldn't want her to see your gift before it's finished, hm?"

Levi's eyes flicker from Mr Jakowski, then onto you. His shoulders rise... then fall again. He gives in with a sigh. Fine. You came all this way, after all, and Levi was never one to waste food.

“I'll be back in an hour,” Levi says, "on the dot.”

.

.

.

“What are you reading?” you ask him one night. The two of you are at it again—sitting on different armchairs, reading in front of the fireplace. It's been a routine these last evenings. 

“History books.”

You raise a questioning brow—that wasn't what you expected Levi to be interested in. 

Levi seems to pick up on your question before you even voice it.  “I want to understand why you upsiders do it.” 

Upsiders, the term coined by those living in the Underground for those living above.

You tilt your head. “Why we do what?”

“What you live for.”

.

.

.

Levi feels like he’s about to outright melt.

The park at this time of the day seems to gather heat like a damn magnet. Sitting on a picnic blanket under a large willow tree isn’t enough to stop sweat from coating his neck—summer is in full swing, and even the yellowing grass blades around them seem to feel its effects.

Over the last minutes, you’ve been telling him all about your morning: how you went into town to continue your search for a new job. 

“… I asked around for any shops looking for employees, but there's no vacancies." You sigh, one hand outstretched as you caress the grass blades with the tip of your fingers. "Still, one of the bakeries I went asking was nice about it; they even gave me a discount on this cake here. It’s a specialty from the Southern part of Marley, apparently.”

Levi squints, the eyelid on his bad eye trembling from the glare cast by the sun. Laid out between the two of you is nothing short of a small feast, what on Paradis would be fit for nobility: sandwiches, pie, fresh lemonade, and a takeaway box that contains what Levi can only guess is this infamous cake you're so excited to make him try. 

Vegetables, cheese, sugar. Levi still isn’t used to having these ingredients in such abundance. Maybe he never will be. 

"Hey, didn't I tell you to take it easy? You've barely arrived and you're already running around like a madwoman." Levi mutters, picking up a cheese sandwich. "Don't waste your free time and savings on crap like this.”

"You mean getting you lunch?"

Levi shrugs, scrunching his nose. 

"Come on," you huff, "after my big freakout from last week, it's the least I could do."

"I told you, it was nothing—“

“But it wasn’t to me. I wanted to do this,” you cut in, weighing each word like it held its value in gold. Levi notices you reeling your hands into fists... only to be ushered out of existence as you shrug off the uncertainty. “Besides,” a bright smile brackets over your face, "all of this is keeping me busy. If I don’t do this, if I don't have this goal to move forward, well… I've found that I just want to sleep all the time. At least, like this, I’m too occupied with thinking too much. Know what I mean?”

Levi thinks he does. It's why he always enjoyed cleaning so much, to some extent; it kept the edge off of things.

He isn’t sure what that says about either you or him.

"I'm glad I could see where you work," you continue absentmindedly. "The shop has a certain aura to it, doesn't it?"

"It's the smell of saw dust and paint. You get used to it."

"I meant there's warmth to the interior." You snort, rolling a particular grass strand between your index, tugging at it without ripping it out. "But I like the smell, too, now that you mention it. I've only dabbled in oil paintings here and there, but it reminds me of that. I imagine adding color to something—anything, really—for a living must be rewarding. You get to style furniture according to someone's wishes, make sure it's dear and personal to them. That's pretty amazing, right?"

If he were someone else, this might be the moment he might smile. Count on you to spin what some might consider mundane work and describe it as something magical. You've always had a knack for doing that. 

"And that boss of yours sure seems eccentric," you muse as you lean back, the curve of your neck bending back, "bet he makes every day feel extra special.”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

Your eyes drift up to the sparse clouds. “Special’s… good. Special’s fun.”

Levi's lips twitch. Yes, he supposes that's true. Many things can be said about Mr Jakowski, but boring is not one of them.

A gentle breeze soon picks up the front section of your hair; it makes the happiness on your face more noticeable, somehow more in the spotlight. For a moment, a delicate silence settles in, one filled with the sound of tree branches swaying above, its shadows moving across your face. Levi catches himself staring at you—again. It's not the first time today he's ogling you, he knows, but it's hard not to when there's nothing else to stare at. Before he knows it, he's watching as you draw your attention on the food options laid on the picnic blanket. Your eyes stop onto a particular plate. 

Almost on instinct, Levi raises the plate towards you.

You grin, grabbing a slice of spinach pie. "Thanks."

As Levi retreats his hand back, placing the plate back on the picnic blanket, he notices you pausing. His eyes meet yours; your eyebrows knit together.

"Hey, what's that on your hand?" you ask.   

Levi feels the heat of your attention as he glances down at his palm. Ah, the plaster. Levi forgot all about it. Earlier, while working on his project, Levi accidentally cut himself, leading to an outflow of blood which felt excessive. Like his body was being dramatic for no good damn reason.

Unsurprisingly, your reaction blows out of proportion, too. "Are you alright? Did you hurt yourself?" 

You lean closer.

"S'fine." Levi grips his sandwich with both hands, trying to shield his bandaged hand so you don't reach for it (somehow, he thinks you will). He's not sure how to handle your care right now, so he turns away from you, pretending to be interested in a patch of yellowing grass blades. "I patched it up."

“Still, you should disinfect it when we’re home…”

(Levi still isn’t used to that term of possession. We. Like it's his home, as much as much it's yours. Something shared.)

"I can make an ointment that'll speed up the healing process, perhaps, so you're not encumbered for very long,” you continue. Levi glances back at you. You're holding your chin thoughtfully. “I’ll need to go buy some tea tree oil for that. Maybe I should also stock up on ethanol and other essentials while I’m at it...”

The sight of you all pouty causes Levi to scoff. “Thought you weren’t a doctor no more?”

He takes the last bite of his cheese sandwich. 

“For you, Levi, always.”

Levi chokes. He begins to cough, the half-eaten bread hammering at his chest. 

Your hand is on his back just as soon as his coughing fit starts. "You okay?"

Levi nods with a blank expression, swatting your touch away. He stares at you from the corner of his eyes, disbelief lodged behind his gaze. Shit. Why do you have to say stuff like that? It's like you're trying to make his heart explode or some shit. 

“Cutting yourself at work and almost choking to death.” You whistle lowly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re losing your touch, Ackerman.”

“I choked because of you, smart-ass.”

“Because of me?” You blow air with your lips. “Why, what did I do?”

“You—“ Levi feels himself growing hot—too hot. Blast this damn heat. “Forget it.”

You lean back, looking at him curiously. “Is this the fate that awaits me in a few years when I reach your age? Choking and half-finished sentences?”

Levi’s eyes narrow. “Well, aren't you full of jokes today?”

“Thanks. I’m trying real hard, in case you couldn’t tell.” You bite back a full-teeth grin; Levi hates how adorable you look, even when you're teasing him—especially when you're teasing him. “Maybe that’s what I should pursue next, huh? Comedian… that'd be quite the career change.”

Levi shakes his head. “I’ll have to support you financially for the rest of your days.” 

A burst of laughter rolls out of you.

It makes Levi feel queasier still.

“Hey," you say once your laughter has dimmed down. Your gaze holds his, bright and true. "What were you working on anyway, that you ended up cutting yourself?”

“Nothing.” Levi doesn’t supply you with more information, the memory of the unfinished figure flashing in his mind. It's trivial, the sort of work he's been doing, especially compared to what Mr Jakowski builds. “Just keeping busy.”

Because Levi’s life is just that now. He has to keep himself busy, to fill it with things so he doesn’t stop moving.

“Hey, Levi?” Levi looks back at you, and you shoot him a lopsided smile. “Do you ever think your past self would believe you’re out here now, carving wood for a living?”

Levi considers your question. He’s not the sort of person to wonder about these questions, but he’s not surprised that you still are. 

The answer is simple. No, his past self wouldn’t believe it. His past self wouldn’t believe most of it.  

He tells you as much, aching to change the subject. “Picked up a pencil yet?”

“Hm… not yet. Haven’t been feeling it, to be honest." There's something a little sad hanging on your face for the shortest moment, only to be replaced by wide eyes and parted lips. “But, oh, I promise, that doesn't mean I don't like your gift or anything. The supplies you bought—I'll make sure they don't go to waste! I just—”

"Hey, breathe," Levi interrupts, his eyes charged on you. "It's fine if you don't. There's no pressure.”

Your shoulders deflate. You give him a tired smile. “Thanks.”

In the distance, a school bell rings. Children begin to pour out of the building, like a flock of birds leaving the nest, knowing it is there to come back to.

“Anyway,” you say, reaching for the sealed container. “Enough of that. It's time for my favorite part of any meal: sweets. I’m eager to know your thoughts on this lemon tart.”

(The answer? Levi will discover he has a taste for lemon desserts.)

After that day, it becomes a routine of sorts. You show up some days to have lunch with Levi. On the grass under the willow in Mare, you and Levi watch the sea drift from afar, cake laid out between the two of you.

.

.

.

“Oi, what’s this?”

You look up from your notes on your desk. Levi has barged into your office, holding the silver tin you asked to be delivered to him. 

"That's Valerian root,” you answer.

”Valerian root,” he repeats, eying you suspiciously. “Why?”

"Um... think of it as a gift, I guess?"

"Why? We’re not friends."

A grimace flashes on your face—ouch. So, Levi doesn't see you as a friend, even if you're starting to consider him as such, anyway.

"Well., I noticed you seem to have insomniac tendencies, so I...” You clear your throat, swatting a dismissive hand in the air. “If it makes it easier to accept it, think of it as a medical order. A decree by yours truly."

"A medical order." Levi scrunches his nose, pinching his lips together. "So what does Valerian root do, anyway? "

"Valerian root is tea. Or well, not tea. It's an infusion. But you can brew it the same way and it helps... it helps to fall asleep.".

.

.

.

When Levi comes home that night after work, the sun is setting low over the sea, a red dot over the horizon. There's a gentle breeze in the air, one that carries with it the smell of salt and sand from the beach just below the valley. 

As soon as Levi is home, he slips into his usual patterns. He takes his shoes off, swapping them for the soft slippers Gabi and Falco once gifted him. He grabs his indoor cane by the entrance, just where he left it. Then, like a rite of passage, he makes his way to the common room, expecting to find you. 

You're not there. Instead, the quaint room that serves as a kitchen, living room, and dining room is empty, a distinct smell of herbs in the air.

Levi recognizes the scent immediately; it's the same fragrance that hung around the Survey Corps infirmary on any given day. Frankly speaking, Levi equates the smell with, well, you. It's been years since he smelled it.  

Peppermint, chamomile, tea tree oil... there was always a particular mixture of herbs you favored to treat ailments. Funding within the Survey Corps was sparse, after all, all the more within the medical wing, so to remedy this, you had to get creative: you bought cheap herbs in bulk and created balms with what the Survey Corps could afford. The same herbs Levi now smells in the air.

And Levi suddenly gets a sense of...

Home. 

It's corny, really, that all of a sudden, he feels more at home than the home he's inhabited in the year of living alone. But maybe that's the thing about getting older; there's just smells and sights and details that remind of the past, that open up memories long since forgotten. 

In a way, Levi is grateful that those scents are what he associates with your infirmary, with your hands. Later, when his leg was wounded, and he became accustomed to the stomach-flipping stench of strong antiseptic solutions so prevalent in Marleyan hospital tents, the memory of you—of his fucked-up sense of home—remained untainted.

"Oh, fuck!"

A crash assaults his ears. Levi turns, only to find you half-bent down, picking up a pile of books from the ground. You straighten back up, looking flustered at the sight of him.

"Levi,” you huff, “y-you scared the living out of me!"

You've changed since lunch; you're now sporting a long skirt that reaches slightly below your knees. Levi has never seen you wear anything like this. He wonders if you got it at the market in Mare, or if this is something you bought on your travels.

Sensing your heated gaze on him, Levi's brows draw low. "Then you should pay better attention." He shoots you an unimpressed look. "If these were the streets back home, you'd be a dead woman by now."

His words cause you to roll your eyes at him, though a playful tug of a smile graces your lips not a second later. "This isn't the streets, 'Vi. There's no one out there to hurt me, least of all within the confines of this house."

Levi knows you make a point, but his nature has always been to be suspicious of everything, and that much hasn't changed here. He wishes you'd be a little more careful, at least for his sake.

"Anyway, welcome back... how was the rest of your day?" You dart past him, placing your pile of books on the kitchen table.

"Same as always." The rest of his day was, in fact, just as Mr Jakowski had predicted. Quiet. "What's all of this, then? You starting a bookclub or something?"

"Not quite. I spent my afternoon at the public library. Have you been?" Levi shakes his head. "Walls, Levi, it's even bigger than the one we had back hom–I mean, back on Paradis." You pick up a random book, flip through it and show him a page that's all about flower propagation. "I'm gonna make sure your garden's perfect."

Ah, that. Your garden project. It's been your fixation since you arrived, this ambition to fill the space around the house with flowers of all kinds.   

Levi doesn't know why you're so pressed on it; he doesn't see the point of flowers. He's got a little patch of herbs growing near the patio, but he thinks if he had to really commit to a crop, it would be some kind of vegetable. Or tea. Flowers, on the other hand, just seem to take up place and suffer the risk of easy destruction.

"Hey Levi, are you listening to me?"

He hasn't. 

"I'm listenin',” he says anyway. 

"Oh yeah?" you say, defiant. "What was I talking about then?"

He crosses his arms over his chest, face impassive as he stares back at you. "Some crap about flowers."

You snort and shake your head, placing the book back on the table. "Actually, I was asking you if I could get your opinion on where to plant what tomorrow. You've got the next two days off, right? Can I spare a moment of your time?"

Levi doesn't work Saturdays and Sundays. The weekend, as Marleyans call it, is for rest.

"Yeah," he concedes, "I'll help."  

With that decision out of the way, Levi leaves you to it. He stops in his bedroom to grab a clean change of clothes and then heads to the bathroom to start his pre-dinner routine. 

It starts with a shower, where Levi rubs at his skin until it is raw and pink, massages his scalp and hair until it's lathered and soapy, the scent of his lemon-scented soap rampant and all-consuming. Once Levi is pleased that every part of him is sufficiently clean, he rinses himself with hot water. The act makes every muscle, every sore spot in his body, come undone, one limb after another.

As soon as he's done and toweled dry, he moves onto shaving. 

Tonight, as Levi lays out his shaving kit by the sink, he can't help but pause at the sight of his reflection.

Levi stares at himself. 

Over the last three years, time has caught up to him, in more ways than one. His hair has gotten longer, yes, but it's the strands of silver now framing his face that Levi lingers on. There are wrinkles on the sides of his eyes, on his forehead, on his smile lines. He's even accrued a collection of tiny freckles speckled on the ridge of his nose; somehow, Levi thinks the warmer weather in Marley is responsible for that. 

In some strange ways, Levi thinks he looks more and more like Kenny, minus the facial hair. That son-of-a-bitch got his way with him after all, it seems, and despite this, Levi suspects Kenny would still call him a runt if he were here standing next to him right now.

"Still can't grow facial hair, huh, kid?" Kenny would say. "And you're still just as short."  

Yeah, that sounds like Kenny alright. 

A shy knock snaps Levi out of his reveries; he turns his head towards the door. “Hey, Vi'? I forgot to give you the balm I made for your cut. Do you want me to bring it now?"

"Too humid in here. Just... gimme a moment," he mutters. "I'll be right there."

Levi finishes his routine. He shaves his face and massages his leg. He changes into indoor clothes. 

By the time Levi’s done, he finds you sitting on the sofa, flipping through one of your books while stroking Scout. It seems you've already started the preparations for dinner; there's simmering onion soup that's replaced the smell of herbs over the stove.

This time, upon hearing him approach, both you and Scout look up, almost synchronically. It makes Levi's heart a little warm—why does it feel so strange to have an audience waiting for him? 

Before Levi can contemplate on this very question, you've swung to your feet. "Here, sit down; I’ll get the balm."

Levi does as he's told, taking a seat on the free spot—on the other side of the sofa, next to Scout. His peripheral catches you first washing your hands over the kitchen sink, then retrieving something from the ice-box. 

As you do, a meow comes from his other side. Levi glances down at Scout, who's made her presence known. Levi doesn't need to guess what she wants; by now, they've got a routine going. And so, like clockwork, Levi lifts his unwounded hand towards her, scratching the spot just under her chin.  

Soon, the kitten's purr vibrates against his fingertips. 

"She missed you today," he hears you comment in passing. Levi glances over your shoulders. You're moved on his other side, bending down and looking at his palm laid flat on the arm of the sofa. "May I?" 

Without saying a word, Levi nods.

Carefully, you take his hand into your own, flipping it to remove the old, soaked bandage and analyze the cut. Levi scrunches his nose as soon as he spots the result of his clumsy mistake.

The wound runs across the tender flesh of his palm, ending with his index. It's not a deep cut by any stretch of the imagination, but it is on his five-fingered hand. Just his luck. 

“Did you know that Scout sometimes goes into your bedroom, meowing into the void?" you comment, eyes still trained on the wound. "It's like she's looking for your ghost or something.”

"That cat does strange things." 

"She's just attached to you. Can you blame her?"

Levi's throat goes thick. No, he supposes he can't blame Scout, not when he's felt that same emptiness himself before, knows how damaging it can be. 

"Anyway, I hope she grows used to me being here, too. For now, she still refuses to enter my room when it's just the two of us, but I think we may bridge that gap soon." Your voice turns into a coarse whisper, leaning closer to Levi like Scout might somehow overhear—and understand you. "I may or may not have bribed her with some leftover tuna."

Levi clicks his tongue. "You mean you’re spoiling her."

"Hey, all's fair in love and war." You lean back. A knowing smile tugs at your lip, delicate like the first bloom of spring. "Besides, there are worse things for a cat to be."

After that, you focus on tending to Levi's wound—disinfecting it, adding a layer of balm over it, wrapping a clean bandage by the careful press of your hands. It brings Levi back to the old days, when he'd watch you either tend to him or his comrades. There was always this intensity, this non-bullshit attitude, that would always wash over you at any given time. It made Levi aware just how seriously you took your job, how dedicated you were to your craft. 

Now, as Levi watches you at it again, there is something else, too. Something changed about him. Something that speaks volumes of just how touch-starved he's become, how lonely this past year has been on him. He tries to ignore the warmth that blooms under your touch, tries not to think about how long it’s been since anyone that wasn’t his doctor touched him like this.

He fails.

It might be why, when at last you seem satisfied with your work and rise to your feet, Levi finds himself doing the same. He stands, moving with no objective in sight, the scent of herbs and home and you beckoning him closer. 

As he does, he ends in your personal space, shoulder almost grazing yours. 

He freezes. 

You seem just as surprised to find him in your space. Levi watches as your lips subtly part, the smallest shift in your expression that narrows into your eyes widening. He listens to your breath catch; it makes the tip of his fingers tingle.

"Um... Levi?" 

Levi blinks, panic swelling in his chest. But before he can say a thing, a sudden "mrrrp" vibrates below. What happens next is a blur: Scout has somehow jumped off the sofa, intertwining herself between you and him, and the sudden feeling of fur on your bare legs must have taken you by surprise.

Because the next moment, the back of your calves bump against the edge of the sofa, causing you to almost tripping back. 

Luckily, if there's one thing that hasn't changed, it's Levi's instincts. He instantly latches onto your elbow, steadying you and drawing you closer, your warmth blooming beneath his grasp. 

“Walls,” your voice vibrates against the shell of his ear, breathless. "... Thanks." 

You straighten and take a subtle shift back. Levi lets go and moves further away. At his sides, he flexes his hand, trying to rid himself of the tickling sensation lingering where he held onto you. He looks at anywhere but you. 

Instead, Levi focuses on Scout. The kitten has skittered away, hiding in between the dining chairs, just behind the sofa. Levi exhales harshly as he stares at her. "Tch, have a care, you damn cat. We're practically titan-sized to you; don’t creep around like that or you'll get trampled on."

The rest of the evening is less eventful. Like every other evening since you moved in, you and Levi share a meal (onion soup and leftovers from lunch).  Seated at the dining table, facing the window with a viewpoint on the sea, you share tidbits of information you've learned about the village and its inhabitants, while Levi comments here and there. You discuss Gabi and Falco’s upcoming visit for the solstice, and everything you plan to do with them.

Everything is just as Levi remembers it being. The setting is different, there are people missing… but there is something soothing that he is here now, with you, with scents that don't feel foreign, with foods that feel familiar. 

One thing does loom over Levi's mind, though.

Levi swears you drew closer when he stood.

.

.

.

One night, you fall asleep in front of the fireplace.

Come morning, Levi's gone, but there's a blanket draped over your body.

.

.

.

That night, Levi can't sleep. That in itself isn't shocking; Levi's always been a chronic insomniac. Still, when the telltale signs of a sleepless night make themselves known and Levi realizes he's in for one of those nights, he doesn't waste time. He gets up and goes to make himself a fresh cup of valerian root tea.

Half-way there, however, something stops him in his tracks.

It's your the door to your bedroom, half-ajar, warm light pooling out.

And Levi sees you.

You're on the floor, crouched over something. Next to you, it seems that your bribing paid off; Scout is by your side, staring at you with keen interest, tilting her head as she looks at your every movement. 

That's when Levi notices what you're doing, what you're twirling around one by one, as if to show the cat.

Your drawing materials, his gift to you. You've taken them out of the desk he built, laying them all on the floor to inspect them.

Pencils, an eraser, a notebook.

Huh.

-

Thanks for reading! This is a slow build into feelings and healing, but I hope the journey will be worth the read. If you have a minute, I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments/tags. Take care <3

[anna-proxx]

☆ evening in camp ☆

pairing: arthur morgan x fem!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 1882

a/n: my dear readers, this is my first attempt at a rdr2 oneshot here on tumblr, I started with something easy but will definitely add more action in the future. this right here broke my writer's block and for that i am grateful. hope this brings you some comfort whenever you need it.

It was a chilly evening, meek distant noise of nocturnal animals creating a peaceful ambience, along with the crackling fire nearby. The whole camp was already either asleep or holed up in their tents.

It has been a good day. Arthur and Javier successfully robbed a homestead, Micah was still locked up in jail and Bill brought a good catch from his hunting trip.

Javier sang and played the guitar by the campfire earlier and some people sang along. In general, this evening was one of those that made you feel warm inside.

The night sky was clear, stars peeking down at you as you wished your mare a good night, patting her neck and giving her a carrot before you'd leave her to sleep. That girl was dear to you and you showed her gratitude every day.

A small kiss on her nose and you finally turned around, admiring the full moon shining bright on the ink black sky. You walked across the quiet camp, careful not to make too much noise. You made your way straight towards the small light of an oil lamp in Arthur's tent.

He sat on his bed, slouched over his journal set on the table, writing with all focus. You smiled, feeling all the affection you felt for that man.

When you came close, he looked up from his journal, his gaze softening as he patted the place beside him. "C'm sit."

You sat right next to him, putting your hands in your lap as you gave Arthur a bright smile. He chuckled. "Ya done givin' that horse a g'night kiss?" he asked with a small grin on his face, returning his attention to the half-filled pages.

You slightly poked his arm with your elbow, a soft smile lingering on your lips. "She's like my family," you explained.

"I know. 'S cute."

You shuffled a bit closer, watching the pencil in Arthur's hand move swiftly. You enjoyed watching him write and draw, those idle moments always brought you comfort. And you had the honor to be allowed to watch. Arthur believed his drawings were nothing special but you knew better. His ability to draw details of an animal or scenery he saw just once from memory still blew your mind. You could barely recall such details, let alone draw them.

You quietly continued to watch, taking in every pretty letter he drew one after another. When he was done with the entry, he flipped the page and started sketching.

"What are you drawing?" you asked, watching the first lines of the sketch.

"A moose I saw t'day," Arthur answered, his voice calm and focused.

You continued to watch him and set your elbow on the table after a while, leaning your head against your hand. As always the drawing came out beautiful and you admired the authentic features of the animal that was looking up at you from the page. Arthur put the pencil aside and sighed, stretching his arms.

He then looked at you, a warm smile on his lips as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders. You leaned back from the table and snuggled into the half-embrace, resting your head on Arthur's shoulder. His body was warm and so were his fingers that drew small circles on your arm.

"Ya tired yet, darlin'?"

You smiled at the pet name and slightly shook your head. "Not really."

"Do y'want me to draw s'mthing for ya?" Arthur offered, watching your face intently as you thought.

"Me," you eventually said with a small grin. He drew you all the time and you loved every each one of those drawings.

"M'kay." He shortly caressed your arm before removing his from around you, shifting in his seat as he took the pencil again. He slightly nodded towards you. "Sit there, wanna hav' a good look at ya."

You slightly moved away to sit at the other edge, still facing Arthur who turned his body towards you, bending his leg on the bed to lean his journal against it. You shortly ran fingers through your hair, setting strands over your shoulders, and straightened your back, ready to be his model.

His face was relaxed as he started sketching, the soft sounds of the pencil gliding over the paper filling the air between you. Arthur kept looking up at you regularly, a gentle smile on his face as he met your soft affectionate gaze.

There was silence between you two but it was comfortable, happy. The light from the oil lamp lazily danced over the left side of his face, highlighting his features.

He was beautiful. As you remained motionless, you thought about how often he put himself down, being completely clueless about how he looked in your eyes.

"You're so pretty," you said quietly, nothing but affection and genuinity in your voice.

Arthur looked up at you surprised, then got visibly flustered as he blushed and looked back down at the sketch, scribbling on. He let out a small low chuckle. "I ain't pretty."

You slightly frowned, displeased with him rejecting the compliment like that. "So I am a liar?"

Arthur looked up, for a short moment he looked like a clueless child trying to find the right words. "I ain't meant it that way..."

You couldn't hold back a smile. "Just take the goddamn compliment, Mr Morgan, it's not so hard."

Arthur softly huffed as he returned his focus to the sketch, seemingly uncomfortable. A sad feeling grew in your chest. He really had no idea, did he?

"Am I a good model?" you asked after a while of silence. You knew very well he could draw you from memory but this was easier and you enjoyed being the center of his attention in any way. Frankly, Arthur enjoyed studying your features as you sat in front of him as well.

Arthur smiled. "M'favorite."

After a few more moments, he took a few glances at you and back at the journal with a satisfied expression, putting the pencil away.

Your face lit up as you shuffled over, curiously peeking at the page. You were met with your own soft gaze staring back at you, every detail of your face in its place. It melted your heart how carefully drawn each line was.

You kissed Arthur's cheek, loosely wrapping your arms around his neck. "Beautiful as always. Thank you."

"Yer beautiful," he said in response, putting the journal flat open on the table.

You slightly blushed and moved to sit behind him, resting your chin on his shoulder as you kept your arms wrapped around him. You weren't great at accepting compliments either. "Thank you, Mr Morgan." You sighed softly, feeling Arthur's hands envelope yours. "My talented outlaw," you mumbled quietly but clearly enough for him to hear.

You heard a chuckle. "What?" you asked, unsure of what that was for. "Yer in an affectionate mood t'day," he stated, amusement in his voice.

"There a problem with that?" you asked but the smile on your face remained.

You slightly leaned back and moved your hands to his shoulders, instinctively massaging them as you thought. Arthur was out hunting, riding and shooting most of the time, so your massages were always appreciated.

You heard a quiet sigh of relief as his body started becoming more relaxed.

"Would u like to go hunt with me tomorrow?" you asked. You were tired of being stuck in the camp and honestly going on a little trip with Arthur wouldn't be bad at all.

"Sure."

You smiled and reached for his suspenders, then slid them off his shoulders. He understood and unbuttoned his shirt so that you could get a better access to his back and shoulders.

"Thank you, darlin'."

You hummed in response and continued, your gaze moving over his exposed skin covered with small scars. You wondered about the story behind each one of them, some seemed to be almost faded while there was one very fresh bruise, a red line of dried blood.

Arthur took out a cigarette and lit it, puffing as he relaxed under your touch. He probably would've offered you one as well if you smoked, but you didn't, only ever tasting tobacco when you kissed him. You never minded.

After a few more moments you put a kiss on the nape of his neck, then kissed the fresher wound as well. You were always so worried whenever he left to do a dangerous job, only praying he'd return in one piece, but you knew it was his life; and you were a part of it.

When you moved to sit next to him again, cheeky smile on your face as your eyes met, Arthur sighed, mumbling with cigarette between his lips. "Yer too good for'm, woman."

You stared into his blue eyes for a long moment, a quiet voiceless conversation happening between you two with eye contact alone. He cared for you as much as you cared for him.

Without a word you snuggled up closer, soon being enclosed by body warmth as he embraced you. You relaxed into the hug and closed your eyes, just listening to Arthur's inhales and exhales of the smoke.

You assumed Arthur must've been thinking as well, as there was yet another comfortable silence between you two and you were slowly but surely slipping into sleep.

Arthur stubbed out his cigarette and wrapped his arm around your waist, making you open your eyes just as he moved back to a half sitting half lying position on his bed, effortlessly taking you with him so that you lay between his legs, head resting on his chest. You quietly giggled at the sudden movement and made yourself comfortable afterwards, positioning your head exactly so that you have Arthur's heartbeat beneath your ear.

You were happy to have him all for yourself, safe, alive. The mess in Blackwater or the emergent stop in Colter could've been much more fatal for you two. Davey and Jenny were gone. John was attacked by wolves. And although you loved Horseshoe Overlook, the homely feeling and the beautiful view, you knew you'd have to move eventually. You needed money and you weren't getting it exactly the legal way, and you could only lie low so long.

And frankly, with Micah in the gang now, your worry rose even more. Dutch trusted him, for some goddamn reason, but he seemed to be reckless and dangerous, bending some of the morals this gang used to have. Not to mention him being a straight up jerk to everyone.

"Arthur?" you spoke, your voice slightly worried as you caressed his arm with your fingers.

"Hm?" His chest vibrated under your head.

"We can't let another Blackwater happen again."

Arthur understood what you meant. Him and Hosea tried convincing Dutch that the ferry job was a bad idea but it happened nonetheless, putting your gang in a situation worse than ever before. You worried about the influence Micah had on Dutch and the potential limits.

You knew that Arthur trusted Dutch, him and Hosea raised him, after all; but he wasn't stupid either. And the plans Dutch claimed to have planted seeds of doubt in almost everyone.

Arthur's response was a sigh and a kiss on top of your head, his arms hugging you just a bit tighter. There wasn't really much he could say to comfort you, he always tried to be honest and he couldn't know how the future would unfold, after all.

But you trusted him. That he would do the right thing.

With Arthur's heartbeat echoing under your ear and embraced by his warmth, you were slowly being lulled to sleep by his regular breaths.

Whether you'd stay outlaws forever or not, this really was all you had wished for.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Tiny Shelby Feet - A John Shelby/Reader Short Story.

Just a fluffy lil' short that came to me this morning, besties. Hope you love it :)

Words - 700

Warnings - None. Fluff a' plenty!

“You alright, sweetheart?” 

No, you absolutely are not alright. And it’s all his fault.  

Being angry at him isn’t an option, though, because he’s always so good to you. Hell, it was him being very good to you that got you into this in the first place, your stomach swollen and rounded with the next Shelby offspring due to arrive into the family in the next couple of days.  

You toss and turn a little more, albeit slowly, heaving your bulk to lie on your back. “I can’t get comfortable.”  

“Bet ya can’t, bab. Can’t even imagine what it’s like,” he speaks softly, removing one of the pillows from beneath his head. “Lift up.” Pushing yourself up, he slides it beneath your lower back, the downy plumpness soothing against your aching back. “What is it like, though? Is there anything it’s similar to that I’d understand?” 

It’s sweet of him to even want to try and comprehend the feeling of being pregnant, at least. “Imagine if somebody gave you a gallon of Epsom salts and sewed your arsehole up.”  

His eyes bulge. “Jesus fuckin’ wept. That don’t sound like fun.” Those eyes continue to widen when he sees you beginning to wince through gritted teeth. “Ain’t coming, is he?”  

“No, no it’s a cramp in my thigh.” 

“Left or right?” 

“Left.” Your instruction has him reaching beneath the bedcovers, beginning to massage said thigh, the tightened muscles finally relenting within the grasp of his warm, skillful hands. Bloody John Shelby and his skillful hands. Again, it’s how you ended up like this in the first place. “Okay, that’s better now. Thanks, love.” 

He props himself up on an elbow, hand lovingly stroking your bump, smiling as he feels his unborn child wriggling beneath his palm. You still remember the day you felt those first kicks, running down to the betting shop and grabbing his hand so he could feel them, too. You’ll never forget how lit up he looked at the sensation of tiny feet nudging against his big hand. “Who do you think he’ll look like most, you or me?” 

You can’t help yourself. “Me, hopefully.” 

“Oi, you cheeky mare!” Desired effect achieved. “I suppose it’d be better. I know I’m handsome, but we don’t want two freckled ginger nuts in the house.” 

“I really hope she has your hair, and your freckles,” you speak, putting extra emphasis on the word she. ”You know I love your freckles." 

“Fuck off,” he mutters, batting your hand away from where your finger trails over his shoulder. 

“Oi, no violence! I’m carrying your daughter!” 

“Son!” he corrects with a pointed finger. “You’re carrying me son. No girls, they’re too much headache for my liking.”  

“Poor thing’ll likely never see the outside of the house until she’s eighteen,” you chuckle, stroking your bump lovingly. 

He snorts, curling his lip slightly. “And the fucking rest! Ain’t having no boys round her, oh no, none of that malarkey.” He then lifts his chin a little, nodding to your rounded belly. “That is if it’s even a girl in the first place, and I’m still saying it’s a boy.”  

You smile, your eyes growing tired, yawning right on cue. Finally comfortable, you’re able to settle, drifting off to the rhythmic stroke of John’s hand over your belly. He thinks you’ve nodded off, unaware that you can hear every word he whispers to your unborn child.  

“Don’t even matter to me, you know, what you are,” he speaks softly, leaning to lay a kiss just above your protruded belly button. “I’ll love you until the last beat of my heart. I will. Anything you want, it’s yours. You ain’t gonna grow up poor and scratching around to make ends meet like we all had to. I’m gonna be a proper dad to you, little’un.” 

You can feel a lump in your throat form thickly, smiling on the inside as you drift into slumber. It’s nothing compared to two days later, though, when you see John holding your newborn son in his arms for the first time, his eyes filled with happy tears. Or, when five minutes later, you birth the twin sister nobody knew you carried, too.  

[harrietswriting]

Can you do a Johnny Cade x fem reader where it’s basically the drive in scene and he defends her from dally? Thank you!!!

an: Thank you for the request!! I used Marely for the friend's name. This is 1.3k words... I got carried away. Also, I literally took out my copy of the outsiders to try to make the scene semi-accurate

Tw: Dallas😥, swearing, cigarette mentioned, not fully proof-read(sorry) warning for Dallas again

Johhny Cade x fem!reader

He defends you from Dally at the Drive-in

"Come on! We gotta find seats before all the good ones are taken!" Marely tells you eagerly as she pulls you away from her car.

"Why can't we just stay in your car? It's freezing out here." You hug your arms around yourself as the two of you walk towards the seats.

She shrugs. "Can't meet cute guys in my car."

You sigh. "I mean, you're not wrong." Marely smiles. The two of you don't have to walk around much longer before you find some seats with a good view. You seat down next to her.

The movie was a few minutes in and you were trying to pay attention and catch up to what's happening. You almost don't notice when three boys sit behind the two of you, but you definitely noticed when one of them started talking real dirty, real loud. You had a feeling whoever it was was trying to get some reaction out of you and Marely, so you tried to ignore it. You did however look at Marely from the side of your eye, trying to communicate "ew, what the hell?" She looked back and you could tell she was not loving it either. Then someone's feet were put on your chair, and you had it.

You turn around and are not surprised when you see the infamous prick, Dallas Winston. "Excuse me, get your feet off my chair." You made sure to express disgust.

"Who's gonna make me?" He smirks, not moving his feet. This asshole-

Marely turns around now. "Leave us alone, will ya?" She's not having it either. You glance over at the other boys he's with, hoping they don't start too, but they don't look the type. One likes real young, and the other, gosh he's cute, looks kinda timid. You look back at the hood with his feet still on your chair.

"Yeah, be nice and leave us alone." You add.

He grinned. "I'm never nice, baby. Want a coke?"

The audacity! "Oh, go to hell, hood!" You say angrily.

Surprisingly, he actually got up and walked away. You look back at the other boys. "Don't you guys start too," you warn them.

"Oh- we weren't gonna!" The younger looking one says. The other boy nods and adds, "sorry bout him."

"Oh, it's fine." Right before you can turn back around and enjoy the movie, Marely decides to be social.

"Say, what are your names?" She asks them, and suddenly it feels rude to look away.

"Ponyboy Curtis." The younger one says.

"Aw that's cute, and really weird. I love it." Marely smiles. You don't waste time thinking about why anyone would name their child that because you're too focused on learning the name of the cute boy.

"I'm Johnny Cade." He says. You smile.

"How old are you ...guys?" Phew, great save there on your part.

"I'm 14 and Johnny's 16." Ponyboy answers.

Hehe that's an appropriate age for you to date.

The four of you talk for a little, well, mainly Ponyboy and Marely. You learn that the four of you go to the same school and learn more than you'd ever need to know about a stranger's brothers. Wow, Ponyboy was talkative, but that's okay.

Unfortunately, this fun chatting is cut short when Dallas comes back with two cokes in his hands. He hands one the Marely who, surprisingly takes it and drinks it. You look at her in disbelief. She shrugs.

"This might cool you off." He hands one to you as well then sits down next to you. He lights a cigarette and winks at you.

So, naturally, you do what any rational person would do and dump the coke on him. "This might cool you off! Stop being a jerk and I'll cool off too."

He, unfortunately, doesn't seem fazed. He wipes off his face with his jacket sleeve and grins dangerously. "Fiesty, huh? That's how I like 'em." He starts to put his arm around you but Johnny reaches out and stops him.

"Leave her alone, Dal," he says.

"Huh?" He's mad.

"You heard me, leave her alone." Johnny repeats. You can't help the bit of heat that rushes to your cheeks as you watch him.

Dallas scoffs and stands up, angrily walking off with his fists shoved in his pockets. Later, loser.

You look back at Johnny. "Thank you." You say as sweetly as you can.

"Oh, you're welcome." He's real shy. And that's adorable.

"Why don't y'all come sit up here with us? I'm hurting my neck lookin back like this." Marely suggests.

The boys smile and excitedly look at eachother then agree. As they move to your row, you're hoping that Johnny sits next to you. He does (yay!) and Ponyboy sits between the two of you.

You smile at Johnny when he sits down, and he smiles back. Boy, did you get butterflies.

Suddenly a hand comes down on Johnny's shoulder, paired with a deep voice saying: "Okay, greasers, you've had it!"

You get scared for a moment before you hear laughing and Ponyboy says, "Glory, Two-Bit, don't scare us like that!"

Two-Bit sits down next to Marely. "These your grandmas?" He jokes with a grin on his face.

"Great aunts actually." Marely says. Two-Bit laughs. You glance at Johnny again, and he's already looking at you. So, you blush and quickly look away, then proceed to mentally flip the fuck out. Then, you get a fantastic idea.

"Hey, you guys want anything from the concession stand?" You ask Marely, her new crush, and Ponyboy.

"Yes! Another coke please." Marely smiles.

Two-Bit digs in his back pocket for change. "You mind getting a popcorn for me and Pony?"

"Sure." You smile and graciously accept his 2 quarters and dime.

"Dime's for her coke." He says.

You smile and glance and Marely. "Alright." Then you look back at Johnny. "Will you come with me?"

He seems a little surprised, but he nods. "Yeah, sure."

"Great. C'mon." You stand up and so does he. Together, you walk to the concession stand.

The two of you make small talk as you walk over there. You tell him a bit about yourself and he tells you that he's been friends with Ponyboy, Dallas, and Two-Bit a long time. You keep talking as you stand in line, and as you grab the popcorn, as he grabs a coke and hands it to you, as he grabs another soft drink, and as you pay, as he pays, as you walk back to your friends, as you hand them the coke and popcorn, as you sit back down, and as he hands you the soft drink he bought, the same kind you had mentioned liking while you'd been talking.

"Oh, you didn't have to." You smile happily.

"Yeah.. but I wanted to." He smiles back bashfully.

You look at the bottle in your hands, smile still on your face, as you try to build up the courage to make some sort of move.

You shiver because it has only gotten more chilly out. Yes, you've been freezing this whole time, though, Johnny had been distracting you from that. He must notice you shiver, because he takes of his denim jacket, hesitate for a moment, then puts it over your shoulders.

You blush then look at him and smile. "Thank you, Johnny."

"Don't mention it. Um," he swallows, "would you ever want to.. hang out sometime?" He asks nervously. He looks up from his hands to meet your eyes.

Your cheeks heat up for the millionth time as butterflies swarm your stomach. You nod.

"I'd love to."

an: guys did I eat? 😋 this took over 3 hours what the flip. Please send more requests, lovies!!!

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Humm🤔, 18 or 31? With mid 70s Elvis.

I just always picture him with funny girl, thats just showers him with love but also is a funny person and wild to be around! Keeping Elvis always on his toes. But teaching to be a little selfish for himself too.😊

Cutie pie

A/N: Cute! I chose cheek pinching.

Pairing: BDE x reader

Word count: 1K

TWs: Angst. That's about it. Otherwise it's pretty fluffy.

“Honey, stop that.”

You’re pinching Elvis’ cheek between your thumb and forefinger and giggling as you do it. He isn’t pleased. 

“Why? You look so cute.”

“I ain’t cute,” he replies, grabbing your wrist and squeezing it hard, making you let go of him with a little “ow!”

“Are too,” you reply, waiting until he’s let go of your wrist and then immediately pinching both cheeks at once. “Such a cutie pie… ahhh!”

You squeal as he grabs both of your wrists and pushes your arms behind your back, wrapping one big hand around both of your tiny wrists as he stands up, towering over you and frowning. 

“I’ve had about enough, lil girl.”

His other hand wraps around your jaw, fingers pinching just a little. 

“Sorry,” you pout, trying to look apologetic. 

“Hmmm.”

He looks down into your pretty blue eyes. He’s not sure you really are sorry. He wishes you wouldn’t pinch him like this. He feels fat enough as it is without you going on about his cute face all the time. 

“I promise I’ll stop bothering you,” you tell him. He’s been reading through paperwork at his desk all morning and you’ve been bored, and his cheeks have looked… pinchable. But you can find another way of occupying yourself. Probably. 

Elvis hums again, then lets go of your face and moves his hand to the top of your arm rather than your wrists, manoeuvring you to the other side of the room. 

“There,” he says, putting his hands on your shoulders and pushing until you sit down on the armchair. “Sit. Be quiet. Daddy has to work.”

You nod and smile and cross one leg over the other, folding your hands neatly in your lap. He looks at you for a minute, and then walks back to his desk. You try to stay still and be quiet but it doesn’t last long. 

“What’re you doing?”

He huffs. “Writin’ cheques. I told ya that earlier.”

You nod silently and try to spend a while thinking about writing cheques and serious things like that. But it’s very boring. You’re more of an action sort of girl, you like to be outside doing things, whether that’s riding horses or painting fences. You’re not a big fan of being trapped indoors like this. This year it seems like when Elvis isn’t touring he’s locked up in Graceland, and it’s driving you a little nuts. 

“You got many more to do?”

“Loads.”

Another silence, where you try really hard to do what he wants, but inevitably you fail. Getting up from the chair, you very quietly creep towards him, completely forgetting there’s a big old mirror in front of the desk until it’s too late. He looks up at your reflection tiredly. 

“Why don’tcha go out and have a ride on Milly or something?”

Milly is your roan mare, and you’d like to ride her but not on your own. You want company. There’s not that much of that around here lately either. 

“Will you come with me?”

Elvis closes his eyes wearily and shakes his head. “I have these cheques, honey.”

“You’ve been doing them all morning,” you tell him, your hands falling onto his shoulders. He tries to shrug you off but your fingers grip him tightly, and then you start to push your thumbs into the base of his neck, massaging there. He lets out a little involuntary sigh. “Why don’t you give yourself a break?” You ask, not just talking about the cheques. 

“Honey, I…” he begins, but then his eyes close in pleasure as you squeeze and knead his shoulders and then press your thumbs all the way up his neck. Grasping at the very base of his skull, you push your thumb and forefinger into the flesh underneath the bone, pulling back and pushing forward until you hear him moan. 

“Feel good?” You ask.

“Mmmm. So good, honey. Don’t stop.”

You grin, pleased, massaging behind his ears, his temples, his forehead. You can feel him relaxing under your touch. 

“How’s that?”

“Amazin’. You’ve magic fingers, honey.”

You kiss the top of his head. “Thanks. You wanna come out for a ride with me now?”

Your hands are still massaging, back to his shoulders now and much more gently than before. You look at his reflection hopefully. 

“Ah, maybe in a bit.”

Sensing the opportunity for negotiation, you keep talking. “How many more cheques have you got to do?”

He tilts his head to one side, curious as to what you’re up to. “This pile here.”

“Okay. Five more then come for a ride with me. Then the rest after.”

He smiles, realising when he’s beaten. “Alright then. C’mere, you.” Pushing his chair back from the desk, he turns and pulls you into his lap. You grin as he gently brushes your hair from your face and then presses a kiss to your cheek. “I guess I can take some time out. We’ll go now.”

You throw your arms around his neck joyfully, kissing first one cheek then the other. 

“Yay!”

Your enthusiasm warms him inside, he loves seeing you so happy and full of life. Sometimes he thinks it’s the only reason he gets up in the morning. 

“Still think you’re cute,” you tell him, as he smiles at you, his cheekbones prominent. You know you’re pushing your luck but you can’t help it. He is cute. 

He hums and shakes his head, but he can’t keep the little smile off his face. “Fine. Ya can think that. Jus’ don’t go tellin’ anyone.”

You kiss him firmly. “I won’t. Cutie pie.”

He growls, grabbing you and tickling your sides a little. You giggle and squirm. “An’ definitely no tellin’ them yer callin’ me that.”

He stops the tickling and your foreheads press together. “Promise I won’t,” you whisper, conspiratorially. “It’ll be my secret name for you,” you tell him, pressing your lips together and hoping he’ll say yes. 

“Okay,” he whispers back, feeling himself colour a little. 

You kiss the corner of his mouth and then across his cheek, finishing at the sensitive patch of skin under his ear. You feel him wriggle underneath you. 

“Cutie pie,” you whisper. 

***

Taglist:

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed:

@vintagepresley @arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @cattcb @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @ccab @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas @pocketfulofpresley @dkayfixates @iloveelvisss @kxnnxy

[imjulia-andilikecats]

YESSSS THE QUEEN IS BACK TO FEED US WITH MARECAL FANFIC!!!!

Too Sweet

“Thief.” I remark with a hint surprise as she finally stops struggling. It’s too dark for me to see her features fully, but I can make out the outline of tousled loose curls framing a thin but round face. She’s small, barely coming up to my shoulder. She could truly be a young girl. I almost jeer at the thought, is this what they are resulting to around here? Sending children out to steal? She blinks, and by the light of the stars, those lashes flash over sombre brown eyes. She doesn’t protest when she scoffs at my accusation. “Obviously.”

Hello I am back and I have a fic for you all (: Available here on AO3 (:

[shiorimakibawrites]

The Plan (Happy Little Accident #2)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem! Reader Word Count: 3431 Summary: Matt has a plan Warning(s): Undescriptive sexual fantasy (f receiving oral sex, p in v intercourse), horny thoughts, sexual innuendo, flashback, clumsiness Happy Little Accident Masterlist Matt Murdock / Daredevil Masterlist General Masterlist Tag List: @loves0phelia, @sarahskywalker-amidala, @fanfiction-fanatic221, @nowheredreamer, @marshmelloyellow02, @milkbummm, @writtenbyred, @beezusvreeland, @dorothleah, @m1cky-y-y, @yarrystyleeza, @justvalkyrie A03 link

Part 2 - The Plan

“You’ll have to. I can’t.”

Matt ignored his partner’s groan on the other end of the line. He knew perfectly well that Foggy loved his blind jokes just as much as he loved Foggy’s puns. You did too. It was one of the things that he liked about you, that sense of humor.

“Left myself wide open for that one, didn’t I?” you said, ruefully but without rancor.

“Yep,” he said, grinning at you. “But yes, I’ll see you later.” That earned him a smile. “Bye, Matt.” “Bye, sweetheart,” he said.

If he had his way, this would be a short good-bye. He had a plan.

The plan had been underway for a while. Ever since Matt realized that he liked you more than a neighbor or a friend, he had been trying to signal that. Subtle flirting at first as he didn’t want to scare you off. You were rather shy after all. Well he thought he was being subtle. Karen and Foggy had told him that he had been anything but subtle about his interest.

Subtle enough for you it seemed. You had yet to realize that he was interested in you. The same could not be said for your roommate Serena. She had tried repeatedly to get you to see that Matt wasn’t flirting just to flirt. But you kept insisting that there was no way he could be interested in you that way. That he was way out of your league.

Nonsense. If anything, it was the other way around . . .

“Thurgood Marshall’s legal reasoning was full of logical fallacies!”

“What?!” Matt said, snapping back to the present.

“Knew that would get your attention, ya big nerd,” Foggy said. “Now, how long do I and Karen have to wait for you to put your pants back on and join me at the office?”

“I didn’t take off my pants.”

“Kinky.”

Matt rolled his eyes. “Nothing happened.”

“I’m sure.”

“Nothing happened,” Matt repeated. Not that your arousal perfuming the air hadn’t been the sweetest temptation. But he had some self-control. He could refrain from having his way with you on his kitchen counter. No matter how much his mouth watered at the thought of being buried between your thighs. Or his half-hard cock longed to be deep inside you, no more walls between him and those breathy moans of his name . . .

Foggy let out an exasperated sigh. “I thought you said you were asking her out today. Remember that guy at Josie’s?”

Matt scowled. “I remember.”

‘That guy’ hadn’t done anything wrong. Just found you attractive and flirting with you every chance he got. He had no right to be jealous. You weren’t his girlfriend. You weren’t even his lover. Just a friend and a neighbor. That didn’t stop the Devil inside him from snarling in fury. That you showed no attraction to that man and didn’t even notice his flirting only mildly appeased the beast.

Especially when you returned to the pool table with the stink of his pheromones maring your sweet scent.

The Devil only stopped rattling its chains when, during the walk home, you gratefully accepted the offer of his jacket. This covered that man’s scent with his own. Much better. Curiously your scent still held traces of his. Perhaps he had “forgotten” to ask for the jacket back and you kept using the jacket during the sudden cold snap this week.

Even if those traces had made it even harder to keep his hands to himself. Which was already a struggle. You felt so right in his arms and you smelled so good . . . the crisp apple of the beauty products you favored complemented well with your body’s natural odors . . . .

“Well?” Foggy demanded.

“I was working up to it.”

“I thought you were done being subtle.”

“I am,” Matt said. “But stripping down to my boxers felt a bit much before the first date.”

“Fair enough,” Foggy acknowledged with a laugh. “So what’s the plan, Counselor?”

“You know how we have that hearing in front of Justice Watanabe in an hour? Well . . .”

His good luck had continued. The hearing had gone well. For them at least. Not so much for opposing council. Justice Watanabe had ruled early enough for Matt to arrive at the Daily Grind at a little after ten. Almost an hour before closing time. Good, early enough that he wouldn’t be making a pest of himself. The rich aroma inside was a refreshing change from the streets.

“Hi! Welcome to - Matt!” You said, sounding surprised but happy. A good sign.

“Hello sweetheart,” he said, smiling and hearing your heart make that excited little skip. It happened often around him but he never got tired of hearing it. Same with the rush of blood flooding your cheeks every time he called you sweetheart. “Told you that you’d see me later.”

“So you did,” you said. He could hear the smile in your voice. “What can I get you?”

Yourself, naked, on the nearest flat surface was the answer the Devil wanted to give. But the lawyer was firmly in the driver seat right now so instead he answered, “A latte, please.”

“Gotcha,” you said. He heard the squeak-swish of the marker writing his name on a cup. “Just the drink? We still have one of those cinnamon rolls you like.”

That was surprising. In addition to its coffee, the cafe had become known for its cinnamon rolls. Usually they were sold out well before closing. Especially the ones with the apple topping that Matt was particularly fond of. But there it was, smelling like it had been baked within the last two hours. Upon that realization, his stomach decided to remind him that he hadn’t eaten any dinner yet. By growling loud enough to be heard over the soft music playing in the cafe. Matt felt the tips of his ears flush with blood.

You giggled. “Sounds like your stomach has voted for cinnamon rolls.”

“Apparently,” he said, ruefully. In fairness to his stomach, the food here was very good. Much of it was made in-house with high quality ingredients. The things the cafe didn’t make themselves were sourced from other small businesses with a similar commitment to producing a quality but reasonably priced product. “I’ll take the roll.”

“Coming right up,” you said. “Your usual table?”

“Yes, thank you,” Matt said, paying before moving toward what he considered to be ‘his’ table. It was tucked in the back corner, away from the large windows. This lack of view caused the table to be avoided by most patrons unless the cafe was packed. But that’s why Matt liked it. It was a shame that he hadn’t discovered this place sooner. It was a perfect study spot. Quiet without being too quiet with readily available caffeine and many foods that could be eaten with one hand.

And he might have met you sooner. He remembered you mentioning that you had worked here since college.

Not that he minded your first meeting. It was so memorable. You’d probably say that was a bad thing. He would disagree.

Matt had been aware of someone moving into 6B. Hard to miss the rumble of the old freight elevator, the chatter of unfamiliar voices. Two women about his age, old friends from the sound of things. A theory confirmed when he met one of his new neighbors, Serena the barista, in the elevator the next morning.

He fully expected to run into you in the elevator sooner or later. 

He had no idea how right he was about that.

He was headed toward the elevator when you stepped out of it, struggling with an armload of groceries. He had been about to offer some help when it happened. Distracted by an escape attempt by an orange, you completely missed his presence. Right up until your face smacked into his chest.

You bounced back, dropping one of the bags and scattering its contents. You babbled out apologies while trying to get out of his way without dropping anything else. Never noticing that you were backing up right toward the stairwell. Not until you were teetering on the edge of the top step. And starting to fall.

Matt didn’t think. He just moved.

He made it in time. Barely but he made it. Holding you in his arms, he let out a sigh of relief. Safe. Frightened with your heart beating against your ribs like a trapped bird but alive and unharmed.

“T-thank you,” you said, your voice thin and shaken. “Mr . . .”

“Murdock. I’m Matt Murdock,” he said. “And there’s no need to thank me, sweetheart.”

“Umm . . . sorry about . . . bumping into you like that . . . I didn’t see you,” you said as Matt eased you back on your own feet. Your voice was hesitant but pleasant to listen to. 

“I didn’t see you either,” he said and waited. It didn’t take long.

It wouldn’t be the last time he had saved you from a dangerous fall. Or even less dangerous falls. It was a little concerning how often you lost your footing. But he couldn’t deny that it had some benefits. Namely how often he got to hold you in his arms.

Never for long as he would like but catching you was one thing. Holding you without explicit permission was something else. But it was nice while it lasted. Your body felt so right against his. And those times your shirt had ridden up, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from rubbing his fingertips into your skin. It was soft as satin. It always took more willpower than was pretty to let you go during those moments. His hands itched to explore, find all the spots that made you shudder like that . . .

Matt shook his head, pushing away that thought. This was not the time or place to be thinking like that. He didn’t need to get an erection right now.

He focused his attention on you making the latte. There was something quite enjoyable about listening to you work. Your hands moved with practiced confidence, much like when you were sketching or painting. Humming along with the radio as you measured out the expresso while your coworker plated up his cinnamon roll. The song was a favorite of yours. He had heard you sing it before.

He enjoyed listening to you sing. And talk. What was that Shakesphere line that described your voice perfectly? ‘Her voice was ever soft / Gentle and low, an excellent thing in a woman? Yes, that was it. He had found it comforting on those days when he got overstimulated. He could just tuned into your humming, the beat of your heart, and drown out the painful world.

The grinder was far less pleasant than your singing voice, painful even at this distance. At least the results smelled good with all the rich complexity of good espresso beans. The powerful aroma only grew as you pulled the shot.

Though he found himself curious why pouring in the steamed milk had your heart making that little skip. Your coworker at the bar gave him no clues. Just made him even more curious by whispering “Dark and Beardy in the corner? That him? . . Damn girl! You weren’t kidding!”

“Lex!” you hissed, that delightful flush returning to your cheeks.

“What? That is one fine ass.”

“Lex!”

Matt had to cough to hide his laughter. So you liked his ass. He had suspected as much but it was nice to have confirmed. He managed to get his expression back under control before you reached the table. You were less successful at banishing that flush. Or keeping your heart from speeding up as you approached him.

“Apple cinnamon roll at your twelve o’clock, latte at one, fork is about an inch to the right of your plate,” you said, giving him the rundown that he didn’t, in the strictest sense of the word, need but did appreciate. Just because he could do something didn’t always mean that he wanted to.

And it wasn’t like you knew about his senses. Not yet anyway.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said for the sheer delight of deepening that flush. He couldn’t help it. You seemed to find your blushing embarrassing but he thought it was adorable. While it was tempting to ask you for that date now, Matt refrained. You’d be off work in just under an hour. He could wait.

In the meantime, he could enjoy his meal.

The roll was soft and bursting with flavor as usual. The tart apple was such a pleasing contrast to the sweetness of the sugar and spices. The coffee matched the richness of its aroma. The warmth was also welcome. It was April so the nights were warming up but some were still bitterly cold. Tonight wasn’t one of those nights but it was cool and windy. He hoped that you brought his jacket with you.

“Hey,” Lex said as you returned to the coffee bar, “Mind holding down the fort for a minute? I need to ask Abby something.”

“Go ahead, I’m good.”

“Thanks!”

Lex ducked into the kitchen while you tidied things up at the coffee bar. There were two people moving around back there, the owner Abby and a male employee who seem to be assisting her prepare tomorrow’s batch of baked goods. Matt tuned out their conversation in favor of listening to you softly sing along with the radio as you swept the floor.

The song had finished when Lex returned, making a beeline for you.

“Hey,” Lex greeted you. “You wanna head out early? Abby said it was okay.”

“Hmmm,” you hesitated, fidgeting with the ties on your apron. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Lex said before lowering her voice. “You could bring Dark and Beardy home, see if he wants to taste your cinnamon roll.”

Matt had to pretend to cough again. Her tone made it clear she wasn’t talking about baked goods. Judging by the sputtering and blushing, you picked up on that too. He had never heard it called that before. It was an apt comparison. Soft, warm, good to eat . . .

“Alexandra!” you hissed. He couldn’t help noticing the shift in your scent. The first hints of arousal . . . If nothing else, your body was interested in the idea of him eating you out.

“What?” she asked with faux innocence. “It’s important. Trust me, never date a guy who won’t eat your cinnamon roll.”

“Since when have you dated guys?”

“Hey! I went to college!”

This got you to laugh.

“So, you stayin’ or goin’?”

“I’m going,” you said. “Before I die of embarrassment.”

“Excellent. Gonna share a cab with Dark and Beardy?” Lex asked in a tone that from Foggy meant waggling eyebrows.

“Doesn’t matter if I do,” you said. “Matt has no interest in my cinnamon roll.”

That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart, Matt thought. I am very interested in your cinnamon roll.

He waited until you had gathered your things and said good-bye to your coworkers before standing and calling your name. Despite having already clocked out, you walked over to him.

“Yes, Matt?”

“Are you coming home, sweetheart?” he asked, as if he didn’t already know.

“I am.”

“Why don’t we share a cab?” He offered. “Since we are going to the same place?”

Your heartbeat spiked at the offer. Probably due to the conversation with Lex. Nevertheless you agreed. It didn’t take long to hail a cab and be on your way back to the Kitchen. The cabbie wasn’t the chatty type, seemingly content to allow you two to talk without interruption.

“How did the rest of your lawyering go?” you asked.

“Good,” he answered. “Judge granted our motion.”

“That’s wonderful!” you said. It wasn’t an empty platitude. You actually meant that. One of your most endearing qualities was your sincerity.

“The DA will probably appeal but we can handle that,” Matt said. “How was barista-ing?”

You giggled. “It was fine. Be glad you missed the afternoon rush.”

“Busy?”

“As a bee. Abby put strawberry shortcake on the menu today.”

“Thought I smelled strawberries.”

“Really? Even after they were all gone?” you asked, surprise clear in your voice.

Matt nodded, then waited for your reaction. This wasn’t revealing his senses. Just hinting at them. But it still made his stomach clench.

Fortunately he didn’t have to wait long.

“Neat!!” You said. “You can settle the debate between Serena and Lex about what ‘starry night’ is supposed to smell like.”

Matt blinked, unsure of how to react. On the one hand, relief at your positive reaction to the barest hint of his senses. On the other . . . 

“What ‘starry night’ smells like?” Matt repeated.

“Scented candle they both love but cannot agree on what its scent profile is supposed to be.”

“And that wasn’t on the label?” He didn’t have a lot of experience with scented candles. Most didn’t play well with his senses. Sometimes an individual candle was tolerable or even pleasant but just walking across from a Yankee Candle gave him a migraine. But he had been told the label had the scent profile on it. Or least what the manufacturers thought it smelled like.

“Not really,” you said. “Just something about the woodys aroma of a night under the stars. Serena thinks its oak, musk, leather, and rose. Lex thinks it's applewood, leather, and amber.”

“And what’s your theory?”

“No, no, no,” you said, shaking your head. “Not it. Wrong number. I plead the Fifth”

Matt laughed. “Not going to ask that, sweetheart?”

“Absolutely not,” you said, voice firm even with that little skip of your heart. “I remember the Fresh Rain discourse. Never. Again.”

Matt chuckled as the cab pulled to stop in front of their building. He paid the fare before you could dig out your wallet. You grumbled about it a little but the argument was half-hearted. Perhaps because you were tired. Your steps were dragging a little as you led the way into the elevator. It still smelled faintly of your arousal. Something his dick took immediate note of.

You turned toward the control panel and kicked something small and plastic that smelled like paint.

“Wha-?” You bent down to pick up the mystery object and made a faint groan. “So that’s where the cap went.”

Matt had to suppress a grin. “The cap to what?”

“The magenta paint that I sprayed all over your suit,” you said, blood flooding your cheeks again. “Along with the some of the wall . . . God, I hope the super doesn’t find out it was me who did that . . . the offer to pay for your dry-cleaning still stands.”

“Appreciated but unnecessary,” he said, then took the plunge. “Are you free tomorrow night?”

“Hmm, yes?” you said, after a moment’s thought. “Why?”

“Because I want to take you to dinner.”

“Oh! Okay . . .,” you said, fidgeting with the cap. “As a friend?”

Matt shook his head. “As a date.”

For a moment, you just stared at him with your mouth opening and closing. But then you found your voice, “A d-date? With me?”

“Yes, with you,” he said. “Unless you don’t want-”

“No, no, I want to,” you interrupted.

“Good.” The ding of the elevator alerted them to the arrival to the sixth floor. Matt offered his hand. And, after a moment of hesitation where you surreptitiously pinched your thigh, you took his hand. Your hand felt right in his. Like it was meant to be there.

The only downside was that it was a short walk between the elevator and the door to 6B. Far too soon for his taste, it was over.

“How does seven sound?” he asked, squeezing your hand.

“Seven is good,” you said, tentatively squeezing back.

“Wonderful,” he said, lifting your hand to his mouth. He kissed the skin across your knuckles. The first of many kisses, he hoped. The skin was silky smooth under his lips, tasted of coffee and sugar. So much nicer than his rough hands, crisscrossed with scars and stained by blood.

You shivered. It was tempting, oh so tempting, to trail kisses up your arm until he reached your mouth. To mold his body against yours and fill this hallway with the sounds of your moans. But he restrained himself. Soon, he reminded himself as he forced his mouth away from your skin. Soon. 

“Tomorrow at seven,” he said.

“Tomorrow at seven,” you repeated, your voice a touch breathy.

He waited for you to close the door behind you before entering his own apartment. Phase One was complete. Now for Phase Two.

To be continued . . .

NOTES

Special thanks to Riley aka @chaos-and-ink for answering my barista questions.

Thurgood Marshall (1908 - 1993) was a United States Supreme Court Justice from 1967 until 1991 and civil rights attorney in NAACP (National Association for the Advancement of Colored People) where he argued numerous cases, most famously Brown vs Board of Education that ended school segregation.

Justice - In New York, trial judges are called Justices.

Her voice was ever soft . . . - quote from William Shakespeare’s King Lear, Act V, Scene 3.

Latte - Coffee drink made by pouring steamed milk into shots of espresso (usually around two), the way the milk is poured in can produce patterns like a heart in the crema.

Pulling the shot - refers to the procress of brewing a shot of espresso of pulling the lever that forces the hot water through the freshly ground compacted beans.

Bar - The counter set-up where the espresso and other machines to make the coffee, along with the supplies like beans, milk, syrups, etc.

Dark and Beardy - continuing to be inspired by the leaked Daredevil: Born Again trailer.

DA - District Attorney, the attorney who represents the government's position in a criminal case.

[deathbxnny]

So we know that Boothill had a daughter but what is he had a S/O that also was killed but their consciousness was put into a robotic body(?) and they work for the IPC. Not having any memory of what the IPC did to their family and they meet Boothill again after a long time. Maybe they didn’t even recognize Boothill. Just angst.

ʕ •̀ ω •́ ʔ congratulations on 1000!!!

Oooh, I really love this request, Anon!! I've been craving something angsty and tragic, so I hope you'll like this and thank you for the request!!<33

Content: Reader is similar to the Androids from "Detroit: Become human", spoilers to Boothills past!!, past romantic relationship, heavy angst, hurt/no comfort, swearing, reader kind of is hinted to have a southern sounding accent, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!!

((Not proofread))

"You promised your next life to me." (Boothill x Gn!Reader)

"That was close-" "-Too close! I told ya not to shut the gates too hard! The damned hens nearly got us killed when they woke up!" A young Boothill hissed to you, although there was no malice in his voice, only a playful tune of amusement. You grinned, biting into one of the apples you had stolen. "But we're alive right now, aren't we?"

The sun was slowly peeking out from beyond the mountains, painting the skies above you in soft blues, pinks, and oranges. You leaned against the tree you were both hiding in, trying your best not to fall out of it or make too much noise, lest the swearing and enraged farmer nearby heard you. It was just supposed to be a little early morning fun, in which you both hopped your neighbors fence to get some of his freshly harvested apples.

Some may call it stealing, but you often liked to call it "borrowing". Served the old man right anyway. He always sold them for too high of a price at the market!

"God damn you, brats! Once I get my hands on you, you'll never think of crossing my damned fields again!" The farmer yelled, loading his shot gun, before he seemed to trip over the pots you had accidentally run into on your way to the tree. Both of you snorted at the cursing intensifying, your hands pressing against your mouths to weakly muffle the laughs that threaten to bubble out of you.

A door creaked open in the distance, the disgruntled old wife hobbling out in annoyance. "RANDY! WHAT ON GOD'S GREEN EARTH ARE YOU DOIN'? IT'S NEARLY 5 AM!" She yelled, the farmer quick to scramble up and pull on his hat with a gulp. "Those damned kids are back!-" "-I don't care! Get your ass back in here, or so may the Aeons help me!" The man only reluctantly did as told, trudging back inside in sizzling rage, yet decided that for today, the little rats could escape him just one more time again. He'll get them next time.

You two waited for a while after the door slammed shut before you finally let out a relieved giggle. "That's what he gets! Old man Mr. Roger had it, comin'!" You slid down the tree, skillfully landing on your feet, before you ran towards the cornfield you came from. "Let's get back to the horses!" You called out behind you, making the young boy follow after you quickly, albeit slower due to being the one carrying most of your "borrowed" goods. You had always been the braver one. The one with the most energy and the most strength to do things. He looked up to you in moments like these, nearly admiring you when you jumped over the fence with no difficulty. He struggled alot more than you did before he too finally reached your horses on the otherside.

"That was really fun..." Boothill trailed off as he helped you load up your half of the apples onto your mare, that was attempting to take one for herself. You hummed in agreement, thanking him right after whilst he helped you onto your saddle. "It's always fun when you're with me." You commented with a shrug, not understanding the weight of your kind words that made his heart beat faster. You rode next to eachother in silence for a while, your eyes glued on the sunset before you, and yet the boy found you more interesting to look at. He bit his lip nervously when the sun hit your eyes just right, making them glow.

"I'm gonna hit the bed the second I'm home... but we'll meet later today again, okay? See ya!" It wasn't a request in Boothills' mind. No, it was simply a natural demand, a requirement to be there, to see you. He watched you ride on the opposite path back to your home, wondering when he too could be braver than you and spill the words that were on his mind for his best friend.

--

That was one of the only memories of Boothills childhood with you that he could remember anymore now. It was odd to think that you two were once nothing more than little troublemakers ridding through the early morning hours together. Only years later however, you'd see eachother every day through marriage.

Your home was a small cottage near the oceanside, miles of fields and meadows surrounding it, in the distance, unexplored forests and mountains. It was your idea to move there as it was still close to his family, and he couldn't have been more grateful. Especially with the small bundle of joy he one day found whilst he was out checking on the cattle during a strong thunderstorm. You were resting at home that night, your fingers moving quickly as they crocheted a blanket you had been working on for a while, ears strained to listen to the music over the static that played through the radio. The fireplace was warm, eyes beginning to drop shut from the exhaustion of a busy day on the farm, when suddenly the front door creaked open and in came your husband, soaked to the bone.

You sat up, watching carefully as he set down his dripping hat and pulled off his boots with one hand clumsily, the other tightly wrapped around something you couldn't see from the dimness of the room. "Come here, honey. Look what a sweet little thing I've found out there." He chuckled gently, holding out the wrapped bundle to you, whilst he pulled away some of the cloth to show the face of a small, sleeping infant. You gasped in surprise, eyes widening, as you were quick to take her out of the wet cloths and wrap her into your own warm arms. "Oh she really is so little!" You whispered in awe, and Boothill could see the love you had for what would soon become your adoptive daughter from the start.

She was your everything ever since that fateful night, you two lovingly calling her "Lavender" after the fields her father had found her in. She was a lively, easy child, so loving and sweet, that your heart couldn't help but be filled with her the moment you met her. Boothill found alot of purpose in raising her with you, often times taking her on horse rides around the land he owned, or taking her out to fish, whilst you taught her how to garden and crochet things herself.

You and Lavender were his sweethearts, his everything. All that Boothill lived for... until eventually, you weren't.

--

The day came in which the devil's from above, also calling themselves members of the "IPC" came down to slaughter you all senselessly. No one survived, no one but Boothill. Your daughter was dead instantly, her small daughter hidden under the heavy rubble, never having stood a chance against the bombs.

He could never forget the relief he felt when he found you, even if it was short-lived. You were fatally injured, breath labored and short, as you tried to hold on for just a moment longer. His arms wrapped around you, tears in eyes when he saw the fear for the first time in yours. No amount of bravery could save you now. "(Y/N)... you... please, you can't die." He chocked out, unable to comprehend the agony he was in. Yet you couldn't hear him over the ringing in your ears, your hand reaching up to grasp his shirt tightly with all the strength you had left. "I'll... I'll find you. I swear I will. In my next life. I promise... I..." Your arm dropped, the fear relaxing into nothing, as your breathing came to an end, the only thing left being the crackling of flames around you.

.....

....

..

"Mr. Boothill? Are you... alright?" Dan Heng awkwardly nudged the now Cyborg man, his head tilting in confusion. Aventurine raised a brow, his arms crossing as his gaze met your rather unamused one in thought. "My... he only seemed to malfunction once you arrived, (Y/N)!" He grinned teasingly, making you roll your eyes and cross your arms. "Can we please continue? You claimed we didn't have any time to waste." The blonde raised his arms in faux surrender, knowing he shouldn't bother you any more than summoning you here has.

A high-profile IPC android like you surely had better things to do after all than to deal with a failing country, but here you were.

Boothill, meanwhile, blinked a couple of times, his head hurting and throbbing in agonizing pain. Just how was this possible? Just how were you alive?

Why did you not recognize him?

"... I... sorry, they look really familiar." He said, trying to compose himself when you gave him a sharp, uninterested look. Your eyes always held so much kindness for everyone. How could you forget even that? Pulling down his hat to cover his eyes, he sighed and shook his head. He supposed both of you had changed beyond recognition in one way or another.

"Anyways... let's get goin'... that nice, wing-headed Mister ain't gonna go down on his own..." He continued, trailing off for a moment, before he simply turned and left to fulfill his part of the plan. He heard you scoff lightly, obviously unamused by whatever seemed to have angered you so much before coming here.

His soul ached for you in ways he couldn't ever utter out loud again. And whilst you did keep your promise of seeing him again, this is not the life or the way he had preferred.

At least you weren't a liar, he supposed bitterly with a cold chuckle.

Alrightyy... I finally found the time to write this, and I'm unsure how I like it... BUT it's done, and I hope it was okay for you, Anon!! Thank you again for the request!!<33

[themareverine]

Stone Cold | Logan Howlett x fem!OC | TEASER

synopsis: They look at you differently, in mountain towns. Sure the female to male ratio—anywhere in Alaska, really—ain’t exactly cut down the middle. Women are territory, little else. And belonging to Logan—learning to be nothing short of an animal? Bred with his child? It’s another thing entirely.

warnings: mentions of a breeding link, implied sexual themes 🌶️, PG-13, pregnancy, comic adaptation, pre-established relationship from my Mare & the Wolverine series, angst, survival aesthetics, mentions of hunting, dead carcasses, extreme minimalism, blood, mentions of Logan's time at Weapon X, etc.

a/n: takes place in the Wolverine: The Long Night universe and follows up my Bed of Bones universe. I’ve been in my feelings lately and hormonal, so I wanted to play around with this—since survivalist Logan makes me feral and would love nothing more than to give him an entire litter. you’re welcome for this pure self indulgence.

masterlist | navigation | tags let me know if you want added!

TEASER

Freezing chill trojans into the supply store behind a bold arch of sunlight as the heavy door kicks open, arctic skies faraway in a sense that feels storybook, ethereal. Like this almost isn't real — in some ways, it doesn't feel like it.

Thick shadow takes up the full of the doorway like God, door braced open with an arm no smaller than trees growing in the sleeping forest beyond city lines.

“Logan,” there’s a relief she can’t fingerprint, but it jackrabbits against her bones all the same. Turning, she abandons her selections faster than the speed of light, they drop with a solid thud! at her feet enough to shake the world.

“You’re here,” it’s like breathing sweet air. His full scent takes up the space of the four walls, making parts of her tremble she hasn’t felt in weeks. Parts of her that spin and swirl with new life, with purpose “Missed you somethin’ bad, baby.”

Breathe deep of him, honey—don’t ever let him leave. Never again—never leave me, Logan.

Slipping between shelves and stacked wares like whisks of death, her feet are light. Airier than they should be, carrying around steel bones, the seed of a man older than new stars. The weight of universes were less than the life knitting in the depth of her womb, but she was designed for this—built.

Mere sight of him, scent of him stirs her blood like a swirling, hot little thing she didn’t know—his child in her womb all but leapfrogs into her chest cavity. He’s strong, she knows it—and it is a boy. Her bones know it. Nothing short of Logan’s son could brave the adamantium of bones like this child kicks around her womb.

Meeting his shadow in the door is just short of staring God in the face, stepping into the embrace of his extended arm is Eden. Nearly forbidden, how sinfully good it is.

A fortress to which she can stake hope, serenity. A future.

The smile knifing at his lips is genuine, more of Logan than many will ever know in this life. Steady heartbeat up against her breast as she rests against him, his arm falls around her shoulders perfectly. Fortressing her away from the press of the world, the dark eyes staring at them from the counter, the aisles.

Thumb gently kneading against her shoulder, his low rumble of approval lights her soul on fire, his other hand lifting to brush knuckles along her cheek.

“‘Course I’m here, darlin’,” he angles his head enough for his lips to skip over the line of her jaw, “couldn’t keep me away if ya tried.” Smelling of ocean salt, fish, sweat, he invades her senses like an assault. Capitulating quickly, her pulse kicks to life in a way that sends her spine almost numb. Lips chapped from frigid air as they skip across her skin, it's like tasting starlight as he kisses her, softly. Tenderly, so unlike everything he, actually, is.

A large hand palms graciously over the swell of her belly, protectively. Possessive, like she's made of the finest wealth buried in mountains. Reserved for his, to defend. Fight for. Kill for. Skin to skin that never ceases to drive her within an inch of sanity.

“Look at you,” his finger dips beneath her chin, lifts it a little to consider her eyes. Satisfied she's paralyzed under his gaze, right where he wants her, Logan's big hands find either side of her belly, feeling. Seeking, yearning in fascinated little way he's been since she started showing early in her fertility.

Kissing her cheek, he nuzzles his nose along the shell of her ear.

“You look good, all fat ‘n full’a me, darlin’.” Oh, he was wicked.

Strength evaporates, taking with it all the air from her lungs as she manages, somehow, a low growl of approval. Knees buckle. Swear to Christ— if she weren’t already so full with his child, well—she would’ve been. In shorter order than she probably could realize.

[someverygaymoth]

Nightmare's boys giving him Crow trash/autistic pocket wonders as gifts pt.2:

Horror brings him a snail shell from the garden.

"Boss, lookit this."

Nightmare looks up from his book, trying not to look as startled as he is by the sudden voice and aura of excitement in such close vicinity. Horror has a way of sneaking up on people, for as big a monster as he's become by now.

"Din't mean to startle ya, boss." He only looks mildly apologetic. Still, genuine enough.

It's at this point that he realizes his tendrils are sharpened and raised over his shoulders in preparation to attack. He forces himself to relax, sighing a little. "It's quite alright, I was simply engrossed in my literature."

"Whatssit about?"

"Death, mostly."

"Rough..."

"Quite, but rather eloquent..." Nightmare blinks at him, observing the soil between his joints and dirtying the cuffs of his sleeves. He's holding something. Right, "did you need something?"

"Oh, yeah, I found this." Horror opens up his hand, showing off a small, round shell. It's a light brown, unassuming. "It's a snail shell."

The corpse of a small land mollusk. He recalls finding them with his brother under mossy logs or along their mother's roots

"Fascinating..."

"I know," Horror says softly. "They're born with these shells, then they leave em behind. Isn't that somethin..."

"That it is. Something." He's not entirely sure what happens when he dies, you know, on account of never having done it before. Though, if he had to venture a guess, it'd be something like the death of an ordinary monster. Nothing but dust left behind. Maybe his true form would survive undamaged, maybe he'd simply pop right back up somewhere else, maybe he wouldn't dust at all. He's much more keen on testing that theory with a certain ray of sunshine than himself, however.

"Ya want it?"

"The corpse of this land mollusk?"

"Uh... yeah?" Horror laughs a little. Amusement wafts off him. Nightmare doesn't understand what he finds so funny...

Night scoffs, looking at the small shell within Horror's grasp. It's... he's unsure what exactly to think about it. "Hm, fine. I'll accept it."

Horror grins at him, closing his hand and moving to turn away. Nightmare grabs him by the wrist and squints at him. Horror seems even more amused by this. "What's up?"

"Where... I thought you were offering it to me?"

"It's covered in dirt, I was just gonna wash it off fore I gave it to you."

"You act as if I've never touched a little dirt before," Mare huffs.

Horror's amusement grows by the second. It's irritating. "Kings rarely do."

Nightmare rolls his eye, "some kings. Foolish ones." He holds out his hand.

Horror places the little shell in his palm, smiling. It looks much bigger in his palm than it did in Horror's. He thinks of where he'll put it... a shadowbox, maybe? A shelf...? He can think of a few shelves...

"Whatcha thinkin?"

"Only of how ridiculous you mortals are..."

"Ya love us."

Nightmare prickles, scowling at him, "that's frivolous. You forget yourself."

[drymushroomfics]

Reminiscing

Sandor Clegane x Female Reader

Next

Chapter One

"Sandor."

"You don't want this, girl."

"It's all I want."

You take in a breath, thoughts drifiting back to what you lost... To who you lost.

Your brain drifts to him less and less as time goes on. The pain of what happened hurts less and less as the time passes too.

You'd never been one to trust or love anyone.

You kept to yourself when you worked in the kitchen at the Red Keep.

He always waited until there was no one left in the kitchen, then he'd come in and ask for dinner. It became like clockwork. You'd finish all your cleaning duties once everyone had left and he'd walk in and sit at the table. You never understood why he never ate with the other Kingsguard but you never bothered asking. For at least a month, you never spoke to each other; just sharing silent glances.

When you had spoke to him finally, he only gave small responces. He was not one for social situations and you were almost glad for it because you were just the same.

Everyone was always so scared of him but you never felt that fear. You only felt curious toward him. You wanted to know more about the King's guard dog and you had learned more than you expected all those years ago.

•○•◇•○•♡•○•◇•○•

Taking a break you step down from your horse. After tying her to a tree off the trail, you move to find anything to ease the ache in your stomach.

You're greatful to whatever gods looking down at you when you manage a rabbit and two apples.

You feed the apples to your mare, relieved to see her not hungry anymore.

Moving to the fire you'd started, you began skinning and cooking the small rabbit.

Digging into your small find, you let more memories play through your head.

  One day while working the kitchen, you had heard the servants talking of King Joffrey. He had apparently been rather cruel to Sandor. He had been the object of Joffrey's amusings all day. You knew it was bad if the servant's had thought it was cruel treatment to Sandor.

You expected him not to show that night but there he was, right on time.

You had just finished cleaning up the kitchen when he walked in. You pushed the plate toward him and gave him a small smile. He looked you right in the eye. He never did that and you felt sometime shift inside you.

When you turned your gaze away out of embarrassement, he scoffed.

"Can't stand to look at me either, girl?", he had asked you.

"I have not a problem with you.", you had told him, moving to continue your duties.

"Don't lie to me, girl."

"Just because you've had a shit day, doesn't mean you can can come down here and be crued towards me, Clegane."

You had watched him stand up and move toward you. He had you pinned against the counter, trying to intimidate you.

"You don't scare me.", you told him.

"Why's that?", he smirked.

"If you're a dog like everyone says, then all dogs can be tamed by certain people."

"Think that'll be you just because you set my supper aside and I don't yell at ya every time I walk through the fuckin' door?"

"May be... But I'm not sure if you deserve to be a tamed dog."

"Have no need for being tamed. Especially by a little bunny like you."

That's where the nickname he gave you started. You remember it all too well as you eat the meat from the rabbit.

It was weeks before you saw Sandor again. You always left him food anyway, just in case.

When he did come back, you could see his surprise that you still left out his dinner.

"Starve?", you asked with a smirk on your face, "Figured you'd have to return to eating down here some time."

He didn't reply as he sat and scarfed down his food.

"Why'd you call me little bunny?", you had asked me a few moments later.

"You're always hopping about the fuckin' kitchen like a rabbit.", he had told you.

You had laughed and nodded in aggreement.

That's how your friendship with Sandor Clegane had started. From that night on, you did start talking and the romantic feelings had seemed to just seep into the both of you.