#mid dom

[sluparchives]

[becca-e-barnes]

Bucky pinning you down so you can’t squirm and he’s just sitting inside you while he tortures your clit feeling you clench around him. He makes you cum over and over until he finally cums.

Overstimulation + super soldier stamina = …

- 🍯

Dear God, I know I just don't have it in me to behave during cock-warming. When it comes down to it, I genuinely have no patience at all 😵‍💫

"You..." Bucky begins, pressing you down onto the bed before gripping your ankles and forcing you to flip over onto your front. "Have a problem with control."

With your face turned away from him, you can't help but smile to yourself. No one has ever said it out loud but you know he's right.

Being in control is where you're most comfortable. No hands are safer than your own. Except maybe his. You know he won't fuck this up.

"And you..." He continues, gathering your wrists behind your back, holding them tightly with one hand. "Need to learn how it feels to have control taken from you. Do you understand?"

As soon as you begin to nod your head, you feel him start to tape around your wrists, holding them together behind your back. Once he's content they're secure, he sits on the edge of the bed, facing the mirror before he pulls you onto his lap.

"Legs spread over the top of mine." He orders and you do as you're told, not because you have to but because you want to.

You notice the way your cunt is already glistening in the mirror and you're almost embarrassed because he hasn't even touched you yet.

"Fuck, you're made for this." He groans, lining his cock up to your slick entrance and you wonder if he's holding his breath too while he slides into you, as deep as your bodies will allow.

You're obsessed with the sight in front of you; your own naked body, with your legs spread so far apart you can see how your cunt is stuffed full of him.

Being shorter though, your feet can't touch the ground like this. There's no way you'll get enough leverage to fuck yourself on him but as soon as you start to tell him that, he silences you with two thick fingers between your lips.

"I'm not letting you fuck me." His free hand roams over your body, squeezing your breasts, pinching your nipples and then settling between your spread thighs.

"I'm going to play with you. I'm going to see how much you can take. I'm going to work out exactly how you like your clit stroked and I'm going to do that until your legs are shaking and your body won't let you cum any more. Maybe then I'll fuck you but sweetheart, that will be hours from now." His breath is hot against the side of your face, his fingers slipping from your mouth to your waist while he starts to flick gently against your clit.

"I'm going to start slowly. I'm going to do everything I can to drag this out as long as possible. I can feel every clench and flutter of this pretty little cunt and I'm going to enjoy it until you're dripping over my balls." At this rate, it won't be long until you're dripping onto the carpet, never mind over him. You dreamed he'd want to take control like this but you never imagined the way your body would respond.

"And then, when you've cum more times than you can handle, I'm going to tell you that I love you while I fuck you like I don't."

Update: Part 2

[ioniansunsets]

who in heartsteel would be willing to get matching piercings with reader 👉👈 and if so, where? 👁️👅👁️

[[Yes yes I have piercings I know licking them is bad but its sexy ok we close our eyes. Also I stopped writing NSFW like 10 years ago but this is tempting me to return..............deleted content in the comments.]]

✖ Heartsteel Matching Piercings ✖

Yone would get a tongue piercing with you. Sneaky smiles hidden under his cool collected exterior. Eyes narrowing, a smug smirk as he sticks his tongue out at you from across the room, the metal but a small teasing glimmer. No one else in Heartsteel knows about it. Just you. A very, interesting little secret between you two. In private Yone would also really like to delicately run his thumb across your lower lip, pulling it down just a little, voice low and soft as he asks you to stick out your tongue for him as he checks on how it is healing. Yone would then smile to himself as he looks at you and your matching piercing before pulling you in for a passionate kiss and enjoying the feeling of your piercing hitting his as your tongues intertwine.

Ezreal would get a naval piercing. He already has piercings all over his ears. But his tummy is sensitive and if you go with him. Run your hands up and down his abs. Ask nicely. Alright. He'll do it with you. A blush on his face as he gets a piercing with your colors while you get one with a green ball. He would pepper your tummy with little kisses, careful to avoid the freshly done piercing as his hands roam across your chest. Ezreal loves to see your exposed midriff as much as he likes showing off his to you, so the piercings were a nice way to add to that. When they heal? Ezreal is the kind to lick a trail up from the waist of your underwear to the piercing and lightly kiss it before giving you a smug laugh. He knows what he's doing.

Aphelios would get an eyebrow piercing over his right eye. Nothing too obvious. Only when you run your hands through his hair and lift up his bangs then you can see them. Two little metal balls neatly placed to mirror his eyebrow slit on the other brow. It's very cute. He is the kind to lovingly sneak soft kisses on your brow when you two were alone, so now with the piercings there, it kind of feels more special. Aphelios personally finding it nice to lightly run his fingers across the metal and gently touch them while he kisses you. Does he do it knowingly or unconsciously? You honestly still can't tell. The little trickster would also give you a knowing smirk as his runs His fingers through your hair, lightly tugging as he holds your hair up to inspect your piercings before he pulls you in for another kiss.

Sett would get an industrial on one ear and maybe a few helix piercings sprinkled in, however helix piercings work for his cute little ears. They would twitch expectantly as you gently help him care for it post piercing. Almost purring as you clean the piercings for him as your lightly rub and scratch the fur at the base as a treat. He would help you do the same, gently whispering how sexy you are with those piercings into your ears as his cleans them for you after a bath. Sett would also like lightly blowing hair out of the way, or carefully tucking your hair behind your ears as he admires the metal on your skin. After they heal? He is definitely the kind of guy to lick the edges of your ears, enjoying the cool metal of your piercings against his warm tongue.

K'Sante would get a dermal piercing on his collarbone. If you got one on the right his is on the left. It's nothing obvious and usually hidden under his clothes. It's something cute that only you get to see when he takes off his top in front of you. Or when he teasingly pulls the collar down to expose his piercings just to bully you with his bare skin and that nice decorative metal. In private, he likes how its perfectly where the tips of his fingers would rest when he puts his arms around your shoulder, gently circling around the piercing as the two of you snuggle and chat. He also loves it if you were to gently kiss his collarbone near the piercing while looking up at him with all the love in your eyes, hands slowly lifting up his top the admire the piercing better.

Kayn already has a bunch but would love to get snakebites with you. It is badass and honestly very sexy, he loves how the metal clinks against yours when you two kiss. The kind of fucker to bite on your piercings and pull on them. Loving the way your lips would part and how it would hurt just a little. Of course he takes care of it too, hands holding your face as he looks at you with a calm, almost serious expression as he helps your clean the piercings after he plays with them. He would be the kind to sit on your lap, hovering over you as his hands dexterously fondle with the metal, helping you change the accessories after they heal. When he's feeling a little special, he would look away all shy and embarrassed before lightly kissing each piercing.

[gladsimagination]

Susan

[applepiesupreme]

American Apple Pie

Pairing: Low/Mid Honor Arthur Morgan and female OC.

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Savigne Ricci is a temporary guest at the Van der Linde camp. Her path crosses with the enforcer of the gang, Arthur Morgan, and despite their differences, a relationship develops between them. Whole lot of smut and fluff, slow burn-ish.

Chapter 46

AO3 link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54945853/chapters/157264255

Sunday she woke up grouchy and tired. She declined to join his ride to the church, saying she didn’t feel up to it. He didn't press, reminded her ten times to call on Marston if she needs something, then left. She crawled back into bed and promptly fell asleep again, dreaming dark, wet, weird dreams. Sometime later the door banged open, there was a ruckus of things being carried in and she woke up, more groggy than she had been before sleep.

“Didn’t they have doors where you come from?” she growled from under the pile of covers.

“Actually no,” was his sheepish answer as he gently closed it. “Sorry.” A softer addition of “Come look.”

She begrudgingly heaved herself up, turned around and found him standing by the bed. Next to him, an elevated crib. He took off his hat and sank on the bed and she shifted to sit next to him, feet dangling. They stared at the crib for a long while, both with a mixture of anxiety and fascination. Savigne had been going to regular doctor appointments. She had felt the baby kicking and moving. And yet, seeing this simple piece of furniture gave it a realness, a gravity nothing else had until then. Tentatively he reached out a hand and poked it and it swung ever so gently.

“Looks kinda small,” was his hushed statement.

She felt exactly the opposite. How was she going to push something out of her that would fit into this thing? Her breath hitched at the notion. “Everything is small next to you,” she said quietly.

His eyes dropped to his large hands, then he gave the crib another narrow eyed look. “Fair.”

Fear burrowed into her again. Most of the time she felt removed from the fact that she was about to be a mother. But every now and then the idea would crystallize, rise and slap her in the face and then she felt a sense of blind panic; a compulsion to say 'Wait! Hang on! Can I slow it down a little? Can I put it on hold for a while?'

From the corner of her eye she saw him watching her profile. “Gonna be fine.”

“I know,” she lied.

These days, more and more she felt like a kite that was at the mercy of bouts of emotions that randomly rolled through her with alarming speed. She found herself flapping helplessly in storms before suddenly gliding through a warm summer breeze, then diving with the advent of a cold gust before soaring up with the lift of a spring gale.

Right about then, the kite dipped.

Talk to me when you have to push a melon out of yourself, she thought sourly. It was silly to feel like she got the short end of the stick, but here she was, feeling it anyway. She was blowing up like a balloon and according to Polleux, she wasn't even close to the size she would be and he looked fucking perfect. In fact, the day before the baby and the day after, he would look exactly the same. Maybe even better. But she was going to go through monumental changes, none of them pretty. Then there was the birth itself. She struggled with the bloody pictures she was painting in her head. Then there was the aftermath...

His hand enveloped hers. “This Polio guy know what he doin’.”

“But I don’t,” she wiped the hair off her face. She felt the ghost of sweat on her brow.

“You just do as he says,” he shrugged. The simplicity of Arthur's worldview! If only she could borrow it from time to time. 

She ran her palms over her face, rattled. 

“Baygal guy's wife has seven kids,” he offered. “Luther said he had eight siblings...”

“When did he say that?” she asked, surprised.

“When we was chattin’,” was his evasive answer. “Point bein’, you can do this."

She nodded, but with lack of conviction.

“Know what ‘m thinkin’?” A palm drew circles on her lower back. She hummed, her gaze still locked to the crib. “We should go to Valentine. Bath and laundry.”

She turned to him, eyebrows raised. “We can afford that?”

“Sure,” he waved the question away. 

Being clean always made her happy, but her work days had been slashed and she didn't know how much Arthur had saved up, so she played down her enthusiasm. “I don’t know…it’s not exactly necessary...”

“Course it is," he huffed. "Ain't no way yer doin' laundry, so we gotta go for that anyway, might as well take a nice warm bath." 

"There are cheaper places for laundry in Saint Denis..."

"We got the money, Savigne," he rose to his feet. "'Sides, could get lucky with game on the way and make the money back. Go on, get dressed."

She dimly thought that letting Arthur take care of the money had been a mistake because she doubted that he was ever going to deny her anything. Nevertheless, the kite smoothly tilted upwards.

"Okay," she smiled. 

After she got dressed they sifted through the big basket of clothes the church had donated and picked out the ones that seemed to fit to take over with their own dirty laundry. A lot of it wasn't exactly items she would pick off a rack, most were cheap and old, the ones meant for her too big and most donated for Arthur too small, but they found pieces they can use and Abigail could adjust and added them to the basket. The rest they left for the Marstons to go through. Her mood changed when they left the cabin and she found the donation of kitchen utensils. Several baking trays and pots and pans - a little scratched and dented and in need of some seasoning, but sturdy and usable.

"I can make dinner tonight," she grinned. "We have everything we need."

"You feelin' up for that?" was his dubious question. She nodded, enthusiastic. He chuckled and helped her up the cart. "Fine. Up you go."

The day was chilly and breezy and she huddled into her coat and blew into her hands as the horses clopped on.

"Maybe it's me but it feels colder this year."

"It's you," he smiled. "You think on what to do after?" was the more somber question a while later. 

Given Arthur and John's infamy in these parts, staying was out of the question. "I know we're going to leave," she mused. "But I haven't seen enough of the country to know where. For example, I've never seen the desert."

"Desert? Ya mean like Texas?"

"I guess. Not sure what Texas looks like." 

"Y'aint never seen night sky till you been in the desert," he offered. "It's quiet. Open."

"How do you pick a place to go?"

"Reckon you just pick a direction and then you stop when ya like what yer seein'."

They rode through the Heartlands as she watched the jagged mountain line on the horizon. There had always been less travelers about on Sundays, especially outside of cities where most folks still took church attendance seriously, but winter had made the crowds even sparser. She thought about the months she rode through here alone and later with Arthur and grappled with the fact that everything had happened so quickly. Beginning of this year she had been a daring and naive fledgling who thought of nothing but her career. Single and free and ambitious. Now, after a number of tumultuous events, she was finishing the year as a wife and a mother, her career suddenly not the first and foremost thing on her mind when she rose out of bed. And next year she was going to be somewhere new to start all over. As happy as she was - and she was deliriously happy at times - it also made her sad. And scared. The speed and enormity of the events brought a certain feeling of whiplash with them. In the deep folds of her gut she feared that she had made too many impulsive choices and too quickly and she had closed off certain paths of possibilities forever. 

The kite dipped.

"Where yer head at?"

"I don't know..." she sighed as they drew closer to Valentine. "There's so many things I wanted to do. And now..." She left it at that.

"Ya speak as if you can't do them no more."

The kite spiraled downwards.

She shrugged. There was a shadow in her heart and she couldn't release it into the world. It felt wrong to express these feelings of disappointment to Arthur because she really wanted to be with him. But at the same time, she felt like she had been the only one who had made sacrifices. After all, he had lived a full life. He had traveled the country, free as a bird, experienced a million things and was eager to hang up his hat and do something different. She, on the other hand, had wasted years on training she would never use and would do nothing in life but plate food. 

When they entered the town limits, she placed the fake ring on her finger. Arthur gave her a look. "I don't want people to look at me weird," she explained, forestalling his arguments.

They stabled the cart and the horses and when she saw a familiar face behind the reception desk, the kite turned upwards again.

Bill's eyebrows shot all the way to his hairline as they walked in. "Well I'll be!" he prompted, visibly happy to see them. She sensed the same elation in him that she felt when she had spotted him behind the counter: the joy of familiarity, of finding some things unchanged among the upheavals of life. A new century was around the corner and America was flying into it full speed. Small villages were turning into towns overnight, and a week later you found a city where that sleepy town used to be. Even outside of big cities electric power lines were being raised and cars were spotted. It was a period of dizzying change that was leaving many bewildered and forlorn.

Bill was a professional and not once did the eyes that crawled over her bump stutter. "Welcome back,” was his warm addition as he fished for the key of the room with the big tub. He took the baskets with practiced economy. "Congratulations, sir," was his tilt of the head to Arthur whose chin went up.

"Why do men congratulate each other when it's the women who are doing all the work?" she muttered when they entered the room and Arthur locked the door.

He did his 'it is what it is' hand wave. After they undressed, he guided her into the tub and pulled her on his lap, and brushed a finger over the crinkle between her brows. "Ya upset cause of that crib?"

She looked down at her bump between them; this new thing, somehow both exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. "I struggle with it..." she whispered, "...sometimes."

He kissed her, slow and long. "Gonna be fine. Everything's eventual, right?"

For no discernible reason, the kite caught an upslope flow and glided higher again. 

"Right," she smiled against his lips.      

Late afternoon they were back at the cabin and Savigne’s mood improved further as she cooked lasagna and pies in her new indoor oven. She hummed to herself, awash with contentment as she listened to the staccato of him chopping wood outside. When it was done, she told him to bring in the table the church had donated and place it next to theirs.

“Look over here,” she said as he was doing that. When he turned, she pointed to one tray - “This one is ours. ONLY this one.”

“Okay?” was his confused question. 

She pointed to the other tray. “Do NOT touch this one.”

He gave the second tray a slanted look. “Why that one bigger?”

“It’s not.”

“Is too.”

The kite shivered with the advent of a storm.

“It’s not," she growled. "But even if it was, there’s three of them, so that would still make sense.” He mumbled something under his breath but she ignored it. “I also made two pies, don’t touch the second one.”

“What 'bout leftovers?”  

She rolled her eyes, thinking 'as if'. “They can take it with them and eat it tomorrow.”

He muttered some more. 

She went and minutely adjusted the napkins and cutlery. “I made just as much as I always make, so you won’t go hungry, don’t worry.”

This time when he grumbled, she lost the thread on her patience and looked up. “What’s that?”

“‘M sayin’ I was starved in Guarma. Marston wasn’.”

“Arthur we’re hosts, we have to be generous, Jesus Christ!”

“Fine, but we get the bigger tray.”

“They’re the same size!”

“They ain’t. That one bigger.”

“Fuck’s sake!” She glared at him.

“‘M bigger, need more food,” he explained, rolling his shoulders.

She turned back to the counter to clean up. “There’s three of them, Arthur!”

Suddenly he embraced her from behind, a palm on her bump.“Three of us, too,” he grinned into her ear.

The kite angled upwards and her anger fell away.

“Do not touch the second tray,” she warned, half amused. “I made it so we can sit and eat like civilized people and you don’t spoil the evening by furiously trying to outeat John.”

“Fine,” he cooed into her neck before he kissed it. “Simmer down.”

Just then a knock on the door. He sighed and walked over to answer as she wiped her hands on her apron before she untied it and took it off. The Marstons filed in and Savigne grinned when she noticed that they had dressed up in their Sunday best. The parents looked a bit shy and nervous but Jack dashed towards her and pressed primroses into her hand.

The kite soared.

"Thank you! These are so nice! Welcome,” she smiled up to them, ridiculously happy to host dinner in her own cabin for the first time, feeling absurdly proud and grown up over it. “Please! Sit!”

A few days after that Sadie and Charles stopped by and informed Arthur that they had tracked Dutch, Bill and Javier north.

"He ain't goin' north," Arthur said. "He know we gonna go for that Blackwater money, he probably circled 'round."

"Yeah, I thought so, too," Charles agreed. 

"You think he means to ambush us after we get it?" was Sadie's question. 

"I know it."

"So what do we do?" John asked. "If we wait too long, he's gonna find someone to get it for him."

"Dutch?" scoffed Arthur. "He ain't gonna trust nobody to do that. He never even trust me to tell. No, he gonna wait for us to take it."

"So then...?"

Arthur thought on it a while. "We wait." John twitched a little at this but didn't say anything. "We go now, he gonna be ready," was Arthur's explanation. "He know we desperate, he thinkin' we gonna fly there first thing. But in a few months, he might slack off. Get tired. Might even think we slipped by and give up..."

"That's months without money for the gang," Sadie pointed out. "They ain't gonna like it."

"I don' like it either, but if he set a trap, could be no money ever and that ain't better."

"What do you think?" Sadie asked Charles.

Savigne watched him ruminate, Sadie’s eyes glued to him. They had grown quite close, these two; there was palpable trust and affection between them now. She didn’t think there was anything more than that but she wouldn’t be surprised if there would be, in time.

"I think Arthur is right. They're probably holed up somewhere. Let them suffer through the cold a little. Maybe their camaraderie won't survive the season." Charles offered at last.

The four of them thought on this for a while as the fire crackled in the hearth and Savigne refilled their coffees.

"Okay," Sadie sighed. "Gang ain't gonna be happy, but they wanna be mad, ‘m gonna remind them they should be mad at Dutch, not us." Her eyes glided to Savigne, mirthful. "'Sides...we got a wedding to attend to."

Two weeks after that Abigail called her over and surprised her with the curtains she had measured and trimmed to fit the cabin windows. Savigne had an emotional moment and cried and assured Jack that everything was okay and cried some more before she took the curtains and hurried over to the cabin, elated. She entered and stood stunned for a moment.

“Why did you dress up?!” 

He was brushing the lint off his shoulders in front of the mirror and looked immaculate in his fancy suit. Jealously flared in her at the sight of those broad shoulders that had filled back nicely again, the narrow hips and his flat stomach. 

“Ya forgot what Sunday is?”

“Of course I didn’t forget!” she said and closed the door.

“Then it should be obvious.”

“You can’t wear that!” she protested as she folded the curtains on the back of a chair. “I have nothing to match it! I’m going to look like the maid marrying the lord of the manor!”

He gave her a dry side eye. “I know you got a nice dress somewhere.”

“I outgrew everything I have! No…” she crossed her arms, “…you have to wear plain clothes.”

He glared at her through the mirror. “I ain’t wearing plain clothes. ‘M gettin' married.”

“Well I’m not standing next to…that,” she waved an arm at him. “Looking like I just came from field work.”

“Guess we gonna have to go shoppin’, ain’t we?” he said stubbornly. “Why ya haven’t yet, I don’ know, but we goin' now.”

“Or you can just dress down...”

“No.” He carefully peeled off his suit. “Get yer coat.”

“Why did you go spend money on-”

“You know god damn why.”

“It’s just some priest saying stuff,” she muttered.

He gave her a look. “How many times you got married? Cause this here is the only one for me, so...” His head jabbed towards her coat. “Go on.”

Savigne huffed and put on her coat. It required some navigating these days. She hadn’t thought Arthur was going to take it so damn seriously and dress up like it was a ball. “Nothing is going to fit me anyway, I’m enormous.”

“Yer barely showing,” he said, putting on his cowboy boots. 

“You should take Cricket with you and get him fitted. I’m about that size.”

“I worry ‘bout yer eyes, Savigne.”

“We can just buy a damn curtain and cut holes in it for my arms, would be cheap-” The slap on her buttocks made her jump. “Told you not to do that, god damn it!!”

He grinned and opened the door for her. “Wasn’ doin’ nothin'. Swung my arm, couldn’ avoid it.”

“It’s my belly that’s big, not my butt,” she hissed.

“Sure,” he looked away and bit his cheek, waiting for her to exit.

“You keep aggravating me, we’re going to end up at the doctors instead,” she muttered, heading towards the cart.

“Woman, waddle faster! Shop’s gonna close.”

“I fucking hate you.”

He pulled up at the dress shop and when she made to get off, held out his arm to stop her.

“‘M gonna go in first.”

“What? Why?”

“Need to see who’s doin’ the advisin’.” She gave him a confused look. “Since I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?”

“Ya grew up under a rock? Can’t see before the day of. Bad luck.”

“Since when are you so superstitious?”

“I ain’t. But a smart man takes no chances.”

“Please! It’s ridiculous.”

“Just sit here for a minute, won’ be long.”

“But…”

He pushed the reins into her hands and jumped off. “Don’ try to climb off by yerself, ya hear? You’ll roll all the way back home before me and Cricket can catch up.”

She opened her mouth to say something nasty but he disappeared through the door before she could.

He entered the shop and was relieved that there were no other customers. He walked up to the counter and the man behind it looked up, did a double take and paled so quickly, it was like someone had thrown white paint in his face. His step didn’t stutter but he cussed silently, thinking he was recognized. His mind spun off with panic, but when he spoke, his voice remained calm:

“Howdy. ‘Member me?”

The man opened and closed his mouth like a fish for a several long moments, then gave up and nodded instead.

Arthur inspected him a while. He didn’t remember this man at all so the likely theory was some old forgotten bounty poster. He scratched his beard to look nonchalant and glanced over his shoulder at Savigne who, surprisingly, for once was doing as told. 

“I ain’t so sure if you do,” he drawled. “Mind provin' it?”

The man’s Adam's apple bobbed up and down. “The train,” was the late choked whimper. 

“Be more specific, I ain’t got all day,” Arthur said roughly. 

“I…I was there...that night.” He fumbled for his handkerchief and hastily dabbed his brow with it. “Ice box.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes to hide his relief. This must be one of the kitchen staff. ‘Thank fuck’ he thought but outwardly just nodded and gave the man a long head to toe. It wasn’t ideal to be remembered as a train robber, but it was miles better than being recognized as Arthur Morgan who was supposed to be dead. 

“That’s right. What you doin’ here, you change careers?”

“I did,” was the whisper before he cleared his throat. “I thought…safer…to sell gowns.” The man exhaled a shuddering sob at the irony of it.

Arthur casually leaned on the counter. “My lucky day,” he said and smiled a toothy grin. The grin made a new wave of sweat break on the man’s brow which he hastily dabbed at.

“You got a name?”

“Lionel. Sir.”

If there ever was a name that don’t fit a man, Arthur thought. “Listen here, Lionel,” he drawled, immensely relieved at the turn of events and ready to take charge of the situation. He casually leaned back on the counter on one elbow, gesturing at Savigne with his free arm. “See that pretty lady?” The man nodded stiffly. “She with me. Gonna be my wife.” This seemed to surprise the store owner and Arthur’s gaze sharpened. “What? Ya sayin’ I can’t have a wife?”

“Absolutely not!” was the squeal. “I mean yes, yes, of course you can! Sir!” He dabbed his forehead some more. “I was just…surprised by her beauty!”

“You sayin’ she too pretty for me or somethin’?”

“No sir! I just-”

“I ain’t no god damn peg legged pirate,” Arthur growled, somewhat offended.

“Of course n-”

“Bag it! Like I said, ain’t got all day. She gonna come in here and buy a dress.”

The relief that washed over Lionel was so palpable that Arthur was momentarily tempted to glance over the counter to see if he had pissed himself. Obviously he had assumed that he was being robbed and had just now realized that Arthur was here as a customer. 

“Only here’s the thing...," Arthur added, "...she delicate.” The shop owner owlishly blinked at him with incomprehension. “Cause she’s with child,” Arthur clarified.

This shocked Lionel and he nearly flinched with the surprise. “Y-your child?” Then quickly: “Sir?”

“The hell ya sayin’!?” Arthur barked and was amazed how much paler a man could get.

“N-nothing!” cried the other man, voice breaking. 

“Of course my child! Ya sayin’ I can’t have a child!?”

“Absolutely you can, sir! You will sir! I was just…she barely shows was my meaning!!”

“See, that right there,” Arthur hummed, leaning closer as the man tilted back, “is exactly the attitude I want when she come in.” Lionel blinked again and Arthur sighed, exasperated. “'M gonna make this simple cause yer havin’ a slow day: she come in here and walk out upset cause ya have some dumb…opinions…” he spat the word with some venom, “… ‘bout her beein' with child but ain’t married yet, and you look at her wrong, or yer even more foolish and you say somethin’ of the sort…” he ignored the vehement head shake that Lionel was giving him, “…'m gonna come back and we gonna have us a little…reminiscin'…of our first meeting. Only this time y’ain’t gonna be a spectator. We clear?”

Lionel’s head bobbed up and down so fast, his hair lost the pomade. 

“Ya sure?!” Arthur roared.

“Abso-fucking-lutely!” His severe cry was even louder than Arthur’s boom and Savigne’s head turned towards them as she shifted around to see into the store.

“Good man,” Arthur drawled, giving him another long head to toe. “Now go change yer store sign.”

“Sir?”

“Ya seem smart enough, but I don’ want a dim-witted flock of women to come in here and look at her funny and upset my wife. Seein’ as it’s yer store, you’d be responsible for that,” he explained patiently.

Lionel scrambled from behind the counter, carefully gave Arthur a wide berth and flipped the sign to “closed”. Then he just stood there, dabbing his forehead. Arthur walked up to him and ignored his flinch when he reached out to smooth his jacket. “You advise her well, ya hear? Can’t do it m’self for obvious reasons.”

“Bad luck,” breathed the other man, standing stock still as Arthur patted his shoulders. 

“That’s right. So don’ insult my wife by sellin’ her somethin’ silly just cause ya didn’ wanna break out the good stuff.” A flurry of head bobs. “Also…” He glared into the man’s eyes long and deep to make his point, “…goes without saying…don’ mention the damn ice box.”

“Why, of course sir. Goes without saying.”

Arthur grunted in approval and exited the store to walk to Savigne’s side to hold up his hand.

“What were you doing in there so long? I need to go to the bathroom again, Jesus!”

“Ya damn near flooded the soil ‘round the outhouse with how much you piss, ground suckin m’boots in like it’s the Bayou.”

“Fucking liar!” she spat. 

“Any day now whole thing gonna sink into the lake o’piss growing under.”

“Give me your gun, I’m going to kill you!” She grabbed his hand and ambled down.

“Would if ya could shoot straight,” he growled. Then, softer: “‘M sure Lionel in there has a bathroom.”

She jerked her arm away and stomped to the door.

Arthur sat and smoked for a long while as he waited, hat tipping low every time a lawman strolled by. Finally she walked out, looking a lot calmer.

“It needs adjusting, we have to pick it up tomorrow,” she said as he came around to help her back up. “And he wouldn’t tell me how much it is so if we end up spending too much, I’m going to be mad.”

“Woman, ‘m the man and ‘m handling the damn money.”

She gave him a severe glare. “I think this whole thing is going to your head. You’re puffing up something awful.” She rolled her shoulders, mimicking his accent “Look at me, ‘m the manly man, big, burly, hairy man!”

“That’s right,” he countered, unfazed. “Finally learning, are we?” He walked towards the store door, ignoring her scowl.

“She’s a lovely lady, sir,” Lionel said, looking much recovered now that he was convinced that he wasn’t in mortal danger.

“Sure is.”

“If you don’t mind me asking…was the ice box for her? I remember your…colleague…umm…teasing you that day.”

“Was,” Arthur said, caught a little offguard by the question. Then he surprised himself by adding: “And he ain’t my colleague no more. I’m…retired.”

Lionel nodded and drew himself up a little. “The dress will be ready tomorrow by noon.”

“Now listen here,” Arthur stepped to the counter. “‘M retired but I ain’t stupid. ‘M gonna come pick it up myself. Not that I don’ trust ya, Lionel, but ‘m gonna tell my brother where ‘m goin’. So if I walk in here and I find a buncha lawmen waiting, he can come visit you after. ‘M sure you understand why I’d be pissed to go to jail and leave my wife in her state.”

“Goes without saying. And…congratulations, sir.”

Arthur nodded and turned to leave before he paused. “I like yer shop. Yer good at this, stick with it,” he said over his shoulder before he walked out the door.

“Can we go home now? I have to use the bathroom.”

“The hell? Told ya to go in there.”

“I did.”

“Then go again.”

“No way I’m going twice,” she hissed. “That’s embarrassing.”

“Where does it all even come from?” he grumbled, clicking his tongue at Cricket. “Ya climbin’ down the well when I go to sleep?”

Savigne exploded into laughter and it quickly turned into sobs. She pulled out a handkerchief, wiping at her eyes, manically cackling and crying at the same time.

“Calm down, Christ,” he said gruffly, giving her a sidelong glance as he navigated the cart through the crowded streets. “Was just jokin’. I know ya won’ fit through the rim.”

“Just stop,” she laughed, wiping her tears. “You’re going to make me pee.”

“Think long and hard how ya gonna explain that to Bill when droppin’ off yer laundry on Sunday.”

“Oh my god!” she wailed. “Bill doesn’t go through my laundry, you sick man!”

“Ya sure ‘bout that?” he drawled.

“Of course I’m sure,” she said but the slight hesitation before she said it made him grin.

“Pretty little thing like you come in…” he shrugged, “I would wanna know what she wearin’ under them skirts.” She gave him a shocked look and crimson shot up her face.

“Jesus, yer face suckin’ up all yer blood like that, grub needs some o’that too, ya know.”

She wailed again, covering her face. “Go faster, I’m going to burst.”

“Just hold on, I know a graveyard close by if ya really gotta go.”

“I fucking hate you!” she yowled between her sobs.

When they arrived she ran to the outhouse and afterwards walked through the cabin door, sighing with relief. “God, I feel like I worked all day and all I did was sit on a horse cart and listen to your bullshit.”

“Did ya like yer dress?” he asked from behind her, helping her take her coat off and hanging it up.

“Yeah. Lionel was really nice.”

He hummed dismissively and embraced her shoulders from behind before she can walk away, hands caressing her shoulders, then gliding across her belly.

“Is it easy to peel off?”

“No.”

His hands gathered her skirts, fingers bunching them up slowly as he nipped her ear. “Is it easy to lift?”

“It’s a dress,” she shuddered. “Of couse it’s easy to lift. Why?”

His warm palms dived under the hem of her chemise and traveled over her belly, then crawled to the waistband of her bloomers.

“Might wanna drag you away for a bit if ya look too fine,” he whispered and kissed her neck.

“Don’t even think about it,” Savigne chuckled and squirmed against him.

“‘M thinking about it,” he said and kissed her jawline.

She moaned and dropped her head against his shoulder, mumbled under her breath. He could hear the shiver of lust in her voice and it hardened his cock. He marveled about the fool who had lived twenty years thinking he was living the good life, drifting around to pitch a tent in blizzards and heatwaves, eating slop and drinking his nights away, pitying folks who lived as he did now. He dimly wondered where that man was now, what sad location he was camped, if he was sitting alone on a cot and drawing in his journal. Or maybe right about now that fool was bleeding out in a desolate corner, lying in the muck, clutching at the highlights of his wasted life.

He walked her forward to brace against the counter as his hand worked on the buttons of his trousers. His breath hitched with excitement, the last vestiges of his blood circled out of his head and pooled into his gut and all thoughts of that man vanished like smoke.

Luther ambled into the dark room, lit a lantern, lit his cigarette with the same match, locked the door behind himself. He stepped to the little counter in the corner and pulled out a bowl, took out the package from his jacket pocket, cut down the slab of meat into cubes and emptied it into the bowl. Then he trudged over to the window and cracked it open and put the bowl to the low desk in front of it while he settled into his rocking chair. It creaked under his weight but held, and soon he made himself comfortable in the chair that had adjusted to all his curves over the many years he had been using it. The cool Saint Denis air wafted through the window. He didn’t have to wait long.

"Welcome, Bartholomew," he said gruffly as the dirty tabby slithered through the opening and settled on the desk to eat his dinner. "Yer fillin' up nice and proper, ain't ya?" he said. Bartholomew acknowledged him with his one eye for a moment. Then he turned around to the bowl. His ear with the tip bit off dipped in and out as he ate with silent enthusiasm.

"Was at a wedding, case yer curious," Luther drawled, watching his cigarette smoke unfurl in the small room, wavering with the breeze that licked through the opening. He loosened his tie and the top button of his shirt. "Was mighty nice, tell ya that."

The cat gave him a dismissive glance over his shoulder and went on eating. 

"Fine, I'll tell ya," Luther grumbled and sat up to open the drawer of the desk to retrieve a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass. The cat, used to this ritual, didn't acknowledge it. A pair of voices argued under the window, then came a smack of laughter, then they argued on, growing fainter as they walked away.

"First off, had my pal Gregory pick me up. Ya ‘member Gregory? He the one who rents his tent for fairs and circuses. Busy man this time of year, but I tol' him 'm collectin' my favor, so he came. Drove me to the cabin, yappin' all the way there. I don' mind - Gregory and I don' run into each other much, so was fine to listen. We got there early and as we came closer, big guy came out, shoulders all hiked, gun belt on his hip. He relax when he see us and held up a hand in greetin'.” Luther’s eyes narrowed as he punctuated with his cigarette hand: “I approve of this man's suspicious nature, Bartholomew. He weathered, like youse, ain’t trustin’ and that a good thing. Too much trust is a dangerous thing. Anyhow…he came to meet us and I tol' him we gonna erect a big tent for the guests and he blinked like 'm speakin' French.”

“‘A tent?' he says.”

“‘A tent,' I says. 'Nice and cozy so guests don' freeze and run off first thing after food.'”

“‘How many guests you cobble up, old man?' he ask, wary.”

“‘Just a few,' says I. I know he worried one or two will talk to the Law after, tell 'em who he is, where he is, but I assure him everyone invited is likely to flee in the other direction of the Law if they spot’em.”

“Then I go in and Savigne come hug me. She all jittery and anxious like a child. I say ‘Woman, stop jumpin' like a hare, you gonna have the child here and now!’.”

“She laugh at this like it's the funniest thing she heard and offer me coffee. She happy, Bartholomew. When you live as long as I, little things is where it’s at, so seein' her healthy and happy like that swells my heart. I known long time this man the right man for her.” The cat finished his meal and gave him another look over his shoulder before he dived back in to lick the remnants.

“Nah,” Luther waved as if Bartholomew had spoken, “Yer wrong. Sure, he an outlaw, sure he done bad things. But I been 'round and lemme tell ya, many fine men done worse. This man cut of old cloth. He ain’t gonna stray and he ain’t gonna betray her. He never gonna hurt her. That counts for somethin’.” He sipped his whiskey.

“I say ‘Call yer brother, let's set up the tent’. People roll in just ‘bout then and they help, takes us no time. Then the pastor arrive and Arthur and me walk to Marston's tent so he can change. Did I tell ya this man has a woman and a child? Woman pretty as a daisy and the boy cute as a button.” He scoffed to himself. “Lucky fool.”

“Anyhow, guests bring in food and deck that long table like a buffet. Told’em ain’t no need for gifts, but they bring a little somethin’ cause poor folk is generous folk. They bring a jar of pickles, a sweater, someone brought an old guitar, another his only other pair of shoes…I gave Savigne my mother’s cookbook. She never learned her letters, my mom, and I learned mine late, but I wrote it as I ‘member it. I ain’t gonna use it, ‘m glad she got somethin’ of mine.”

The tabby sat around to face him and began to groom itself. “I know, I know, ‘m gettin’ there. So time comes and we waitin’ with the pastor. I know this Arthur has nerves of steel, seen how he was with Ecco. But now he twitchin’ and shiftin’ like a boy, pullin’ on his jacket, fidgetin’ with his tie.” Luther rumbled a deep laugh and sipped his whiskey. “I look over at Missus Adler and she grin at me…” He sighed and gently slapped his knee and the cat watched him with that sparkly one eye. “Tell ya what - I was younger, that woman would crush my heart. Anyhow…”

He sighed and put out his cigarette and the tabby immediately jumped up into his lap and curled on the big cushion of his stomach. “Out comes my girl and lemme tell ya, she look like a cool drop of water, pure and precious.” He ran a large hand over Bartholomew as the cat purred and quietly drank his whiskey for a while. “I never had no children, but you wouldn’ known it today, all ‘m gonna say. I knew she was shy cause she was in a sea of new faces, but she didn’ stumble and didn’ freeze, she walked over all proper and made me proud. Was worried more for Arthur than her,” he chuckled to himself as he scratched behind an orange ear.

He raised a finger. “‘Cept when the ring came out, then her eyes brimmed and she twitched a little and her hand shook.” Another earthquake of a chuckle trembled through him. "She jump to kiss him 'fore the pastor was done say his bit, tell ya that!" he laughed.

His laughter wheezed into silence. He pondered on getting undressed and closing the window and going to bed, but he didn’t sleep much these days and the tabby was comfortably purring in his sleep, so he sat on and listened to the city sliding into silence little by little. He thought that in these late hours, years turned into paper walls and you could hear the past murmur through if you put your ear against them. It used to bother him when he was younger, but the older he got, the more he grew to like it. 

“‘M thinkin’,” he grumbled at long last, “Might be I helped a little, ya agree, Bartholomew? Might be...I fixed it. Took a long god damn time, but think I fixed it. Maybe just a little.”

He sat there a long time as the church bells rang the hours while the tabby slept on him and Saint Denis slept around him.

[neverlearnedtoread]

Uprooted

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐; my favourite kind of fantasy - classic fairytale with a side of 'dont worry about the details' and 'you gotta believe in the heart of the cards!'

Oh?? 👌😉😏

a really sharp, quick-witted, and willful female protagonist going 'fuck it!' every few chapters or so and doing something crazy (crazy fun) to drive the plot forward, off a new exciting cliff

a soft magic system that really shows off in the best light what makes soft magic systems so valid. its all about the metaphors!! you have to measure the chocolate chips with your heart!!!

nature is so magical and beautiful and deadly. specifically if you treat trees bad they will form a sentient vengeful forest to raze your civilization to the ground and salt the earth with your bodies

kasia. i love an atomic blonde unkillable bad bitch with the strongest queerplatonic vibes with her best friend from birth

a CLASSIC grumpy 'beastly' male love interest. he seals himself away in a lonely tower, makes girls hang out with him for 10 years at a time, and unironically calls himself 'the Dragon'. he even has the audacity to be offended that everyone thinks he's creepy!!!!!!

No.. ❌🤢🤮

if you like having explanations for how magic works and any semblance of a hard magic system in your fantasy, put this book back. 'round here we operate on Vibes Only, babey!!

similarly, if your love language is words of affirmation and/or you think that fanfic-style romance plotlines should stay in fanfic, this romance is Not For You. this is not a judgment, only a warning

Summary: Agnieszka loves her home in her little village in the valley - you know, except for the evil forest simply known as the Wood that's been around as long as there have been people in the valley, with terrible creatures and sentient walking trees. And the century-old wizard known only as 'the Dragon' living in the tower overlooking their land, who takes a young woman every ten years to serve him. But what Agnieszka dreads the most is that her best friend, Kasia, will be chosen next, and that Agnieszka is helpless to save her. Until the day of the choosing, when the Dragon picks Agnieszka instead.

Concept: 💭💭💭💭 I've never gotten along that well with a book blurb, but this one does its damn job - gives me enough plot premise to get me interested without giving it all away, and doesn't make me feel like I've been lied to once I start the book! some stories really don't do what they say on the tin, or take ages to get there at all, but Uprooted starts off exactly at the spot the blurb said it would - with a girl, in a valley, scared of a terrible wizard, about to be whisked away to a tower.

Execution: 💥💥💥💥💥 This story is EXACTLY what it says it wants to be, down to the cadence of the prose - a Polish folklore-inspired fairytale. The rhythm of Novik's narration even fits right - one day I'll get the audiobook for this and get to hear it the way I read it in my head, like a grandmother's bedtime story with twists and eddies and crescendos at the all the right bits. I was in love with the aesthetic of every character, they fit perfectly into the backdrop of what this story was.

Personal Enjoyment: ❤❤❤❤❤ This book aligns to my tastes much the same way An Enchantment of Ravens does, and shares of lot of the same elements without ever feeling derivative - smart girl meets magic boy, causes all kinds of irreversible political upheaval, and lives happily ever after being just as they are - a Girl with The Audacity. its a tale as old as time, and i'll hear it told just as often

Favourite Moment: you know its a good book when you really can't choose a favourite moment - one that comes to mind is agniezska choosing to save sarkan from being grafted onto the heart-tree in the Wood instead of setting fire to it. the 'fuck it!' energy agniezska brings to her moments of crisis is SO good, plus the motif of her always reaching out to sarkan to cast magic together - 'hey real quick, cast a spell with me while you're being pulled into an evil magic tree trying to twist your magic and life force against us. couldn't hurt, eh?' and then it WORKS

Favourite Character: now yall know i love a sarkan-esque character - pathetic wet cat men who are so offended by their own squishy feelings are a great time! and kasia is SO bad bitch extraordinaire, her and agnieszka's love for each other literally makes the plot go - every time, every time without hesitation she puts herself as the last thing standing between agnieszka and the Wood. but agniezska herself is really Something. the way she uses magic, her connection with nature and her refusal to be anything else than what she is - a grubby young woman who wields kindness as her weapon against the world, who holds onto her humanity with both hands and teeth - she shapes this fairytale to be the story she wants it to be, one of connection and empathy. and im still thinking about her introducing the lord of the whole valley to her mother 🤣 power move!!

[arklay]

a lesson in temperance.

pairing: diana afanasyeva x alex wesker words: 6.5k warnings: nsfw, mild degradation [read on ao3]

Vanilla and orange blossom. So heady, so sweet, as it swam out of the bathroom and filled the air surrounding Alex. She couldn’t help but breathe it in, wishing to be closer to the cause, to really smell all that lived on her partner’s skin; where jasmine thrived on her neck, down her chest and to her wrists, laced with gardenia and sandalwood.

Alex hummed to herself, directing her mind back on task when the loud whir of the hairdryer ripped her from her thoughts. She leaned down and plucked a small box from the back of her bedside drawer.

Wrapped in a pale blue silk ribbon, the little black box contained a surprise for only one other set of eyes to see, and that made her shiver in anticipation. She could already imagine the look she would receive. An amused laugh, or a pointed glare. Perhaps both. And that only served to encourage her plan for the day.

In only a few strides she stood before the bathroom, eyes landing on Diana clad only in a towel with the cause of that incessant noise in one hand and a comically large round brush in the other. So focused she was in tackling the thick, dark strands, it was as if Alex didn’t exist. Only when the blonde chuckled, low and velvety, did her eyes dart over to the doorway, and not a second later, the press of a button granted them silence.

Diana lowered the hairdryer and brush, discarding them on the counter as her eyes roamed over Alex. From the smug smirk painted on red lips, to the small box cradled in adorned fingers, she could only wonder what her partner was up to this time.

“Do I want to know what that is?” she asked, the jest hardly hiding the curiosity that clung to it.

Alex let out another rich, breathy sound, rounding the apples of her cheeks. The raised brow and inquisitive stare was already a reward in and of itself for her. But not enough.

She walked into the stifling room – no matter how many times she told Diana to turn on the fan, she never would – and closed the distance between them. Then, her forefinger began a slow, methodical trace of the top edge of the box, drawing Diana’s gaze for but a moment.

“You didn’t really think I would forget about last night, did you?” That earned a dramatic roll of blue eyes, followed by an amused grin. One that deepened the indents on her cheeks so deliciously. But she didn’t speak, only locking her eyes onto Alex’s and letting her continue. “Punishment is in order.”

“Can’t win your forgiveness through your stomach anymore, can I?”

Alex pursed her lips, drawing her brows inward in a look of mock sympathy. Then she lazily shook her head. “No.”

The breakfast she had made her was quite sweet, but it didn’t make up for the fact that Diana had come last night before Alex had given her permission to. She had been far too lenient in the past it seemed, because this behaviour only appeared to continue. Although, it did bring about a warm glow beneath Alex’s breast at how much Diana got off on pleasing her.

With her partner’s attention drawn so close, hanging on in anticipation, Alex closed two fingers around the ribbon to direct her gaze. A gentle pull and it came free. Yet she lingered, grasping the lid and doing no more, and Diana’s eyes raised to meet hers. It was almost desperate, the look in them. How much she wished to know exactly what was in store for her.

She finally opened the box. Letting the lid sit back on her palm, she plucked a bullet-shaped toy from pale blue satin. Diana wet her lips as she stared at the silver between her pinched fingers, and Alex turned it slightly. As if to show her more. As if Diana wasn’t already well aware of what it was.

“You, my sweet,” Alex drawled in velvet, smooth enough to make Diana almost drop to her knees right then and there, “are going to wear this all day for me.” At the flutter of dark lashes over half-lidded eyes, she leaned in closer and lowered her voice even more. “And… you are not allowed to come.”

The sharp inhale told Alex all she needed to know.

When Diana leaned back on one hip and crossed her arms, it did little to hide the effect she had on her. Even with the teasing smile pulling at her lips, the promise of challenge, arousal warmed porcelain cheeks and reduced blue to barely a thin line around blown pupils.

And yet Diana still raised a brow in defiance. “And if I do?”

Alex let out a heavy sigh. “I asked myself that many times. What should I do if you were to once again disobey me?” She tilted her head slightly to the side, clicking her tongue. “Would I procure a chastity belt, of all things? Would I confiscate all of your toys until further notice?” Diana shifted, opening her mouth as if to protest, but Alex only went on. “Would I have you scrub the place top to bottom? But no. None of that would suffice.” She closed her eyes and took a deep inhale, before releasing. “For a whole month, you will not be permitted to touch me. In any form.”

A loud laugh of disbelief left Diana as she threw her head back. Thinking it a joke was her first mistake; Alex’s eyes narrowed and her jaw set, emphasising the sincerity in her claim. That seemed to do it.

Diana lifted one of her crossed arms and scratched above her lip, looking down her nose as she seemed to be processing the severity of such a punishment. Then, she abruptly extended said arm and held out her hand in acceptance, meeting Alex’s gaze once more. “A month is absurd.”

Never one to back down, her Diana.

Alex let a soft smile pull on her lips, not quite an apology for the past harshness of her tone, and she placed the bullet in her partner’s palm. Her lashes fluttered again at the brush of Alex’s fingertips against her soft skin, but she regained herself just as quickly.

“Well then, you should start being more grateful and less greedy.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Diana replied while rolling the bullet up to the tips of her fingers.

One hand brought the silver to her lips, while the other parted her towel, and Alex found herself rather conflicted in where to direct her attention. Ultimately, her gaze settled on Diana’s face when the hand at her hip did no more than rest at the opening she created. Wet, rosy lips parted then ever so slowly closed around the toy. She still held onto the end with her fingertips. Alex watched as her cheeks hollowed while her tongue swirled, and she couldn’t prevent the warmth blooming at her hips even if she tried.

Her gaze wandered from her lips to her jaw, then down the elegant column of her throat. A droplet sat in the dip between her collarbones. Countless others littered her chest, but one took Alex’s attention more than the rest. It rolled down damp skin at a tantalisingly slow pace, until its journey was interrupted by the towel at her breast.

The movement of Diana’s arm brought her back to her senses, though she did find herself wishing to lean in and kiss over the peak that bobbed as Diana swallowed. Or lick the droplets from her skin. But all that followed was her lover’s hand lowering to the part in her towel before she slipped the toy easily inside herself.

Their eyes met again, and Alex offered a pleased smile her way. She all but purred, “Good girl.”

Her own hand disappeared into her pocket, and she pulled out a device not too dissimilar to her phone. One of Diana’s brows quirked at that. It wasn’t the typical remote control she was used to seeing in her past, and little did she know Alex had far more freedom with one such as this.

“I’ll be able to monitor your pleasure at all times with this,” she said, barely flashing the screen her way so Diana could take a look while she ensured the toy was connected. Satisfied, a rather wicked curl pulled at the corner of crimson lips. “Do remember, I will know if you’ve taken it out. And that will warrant further consequences.”

Diana gave her a slow nod, long past accepting what was to come, and opened her mouth to speak, but Alex had already turned on her heel, pocketed the device and left the bathroom. She could only laugh to herself at that, the notion that anything she had to say, or do, was all but irrelevant.

Not even a kiss this morning.

It was already past lunch and Diana had been at the edge of her seat all morning, wondering – waiting for – when Alex would turn the vibrator on. The possibility that she had forgotten about it altogether, swept up in her work, or by some new problem one of the researchers had brought to her attention, was entirely out of the question.

Diana knew the only explanation was that Alex wanted this.

She wanted her to sweat a little. To grow restless. To wait for the other shoe to drop and wish to be free of such suspense. That, in itself, was as much a punishment as what was truly in store for her.

And it worked.

For the third time in this report alone, Diana crossed out what she was in the middle of writing. More like violently scribbled over, in this instance; her pent-up frustration pressed the pen harder and carried the strike over innocent sentences, free of mistakes. Whether it was her cadence, a misspelt word, or merely a letter looking wrong, Diana was finding it increasingly difficult to keep her head.

With a heavy sigh, she freed the paper from her clipboard and crumbled it up into a ball, merely discarding it beside herself. It was ridiculous she was letting this get under her skin so much. Maybe she had been too eager for the challenge, holding herself to such high standards in wanting to prove Alex wrong – that she wouldn’t break from a little toy. But she had not accounted for this.

Diana brought a new sheet before her and slotted it into position. All of a sudden, the toy came to life. Her fingers fell free of the clip, letting it snap, and her mouth hung open of its own accord. The slow, rhythmic pulse was actually relieving.

Her eyes fluttered shut as she sank into her chair, pressing her thighs together on instinct. She would get back to their little game in a moment, but for now… For now, she needed to feel it.

It wasn’t one of her wisest decisions. Her mind wandered back to that morning, to the feeling of Alex’s hot breath on her skin when she whispered in her ear; the way she had purred praise sent a shiver down Diana’s spine, tingling across every nerve and stoking the warmth at its base. A hand lifted, found its way to her chest and simply lay there, fingertips either side of her neck, ghosting over the spot her lover had teased.

The pulse between her legs switched to a soft continuous vibration, pulling her back to the present. A slow exhale escaped parted lips.

If she truly wanted to get through this, she had to find some semblance of focus. There were actual stakes this time around. If that lack of a kiss before work was a taste of what she was in for, for an entire month, she might just lose her mind.

They may have spent long stretches of time away from one another in the past, on opposite ends of the globe, but that would be nothing compared to this. To live with Alex, to see her, and smell her, day in, day out, and not be able to do so much as press against her… To have to sleep beside her and stop their legs from brushing, pass her in the bathroom or the kitchen and not catch her hand or lean in for a kiss. That was torture.

She could get through this stupid little test. Or else a pillow wall may have to be built. Even worse, she would sleep on the couch and avoid her partner until one of them cracked.

Deep breaths, Diana. Slow, deep breaths.

It was much easier to try and ignore the toy nestled inside her with this setting. Diana was determined to show Alex that not only could she control herself, but she would excel in her work while at it. The discarded report was rewritten and completed, with not a flaw in sight. Not even the couple of times Alex had switched back to the gentle pulsing could put an end to that. She proofread it, not once, but twice, and analysed her next set of data from another experiment. It was, in all honesty, a rather remarkable motivator. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to keep her composure.

Or so she thought.

Diana swivelled around in her chair to reach for the stack of papers on the bench behind her when the toy doubled in speed, causing her to jolt in her seat. A breathy little chuckle escaped her, a result of such surprise. Then she blew out a long exhale, longing for composure. Warmth bloomed deep within her core, and she had to fight the urge to let her eyes fall shut. Doing so would only sabotage herself, and amuse Alex in the process.

And she really wasn’t about to let that happen. Diana glanced up at the camera in the corner of the room, knowing full well that Alex was watching her every move. She picked up the stack of papers, turned right around, and dumped them on her desk rather unceremoniously.

In direct response, the toy picked up speed again. Her thighs clenched together as she shifted in her seat, and that only made it worse; the bullet pressed right up against that sweet spot within her. No longer a benign teasing, the buzzing was insistent. Relentless. Diana meant to reach for the edge of her desk to steady herself, but shaky hands fumbled and found knees instead. It felt as if someone had lit a fire under her skin, making her flush head to toe. Somehow, she forgot how easily these things could send her into such a state.

She needed to do something, anything, to distract herself from the feeling. Focusing her leaden gaze on her hands, she shifted them slightly higher, settling firmly on her thighs for better leverage. Then she sunk her nails into nylon-clad flesh.

Mistake. That was a mistake.

Sparks shot up her thighs and to her hips, joining the vibrations, and she almost doubled over. What in the world possessed her to do such an idiotic thing? Of course the sting of her nails would only fuel her pleasure, not offer the distracting sensation she’d intended; she was better off stubbing a toe.

Her heart had only quickened, pounding at its cage as if begging her to let the pleasure wash over her. But she wasn’t going to give in. To do so would grant Alex the satisfaction she was looking for. In Diana’s mind, the consequence of her succumbing to her desires wouldn’t benefit Alex in any way either. A whole month without being loved on? What a miserable rule to set for oneself. But Diana knew it was merely a slight against her; she was tactile with lovers, it wasn’t her fault. A hand on a hip when she passed by, on an arm when she spoke. It was the little things Alex knew she could catch her on.

Diana dropped her hands to her sides and let her head fall back against the headrest of her chair. It was time for a different approach. She stared up at the ceiling and tried to focus on counting the number of metal bars making up the ventilation panels. It shouldn’t have been difficult, it was a simple task, yet she lost count and had to start over multiple times; the buzz of the fluorescent lights behind her kept stealing her attention, telling her to pay mind to the one between her legs.

She may have underestimated her capacity for restraint.

As though taking pity on her plight, the toy changed patterns once more. Back to that soft, sweet pulsing. It was so jarring compared to the torment she just endured, Diana couldn’t help the grin that stretched across her face as she buried her head in her hands.

Then the phone started to ring.

Could she not catch even one moment of peace today? Diana raised her head enough to catch sight of the phone on her desk, simply staring at the offending device and watching the light blink as someone tried to reach her. She let it ring.

The pulse between her legs sped up, informing her who was on the line, and she rolled her eyes much too dramatically. Reaching forward at the last possible moment, she lifted the receiver off the hook and brought it to her ear. “This is Diana speaking.”

A low chuckle sounded on the other end, stoking embers. “What’s the matter, darling? You sound quite frustrated.”

“Oh, shut up,” Diana replied indignantly. She secured the handset on her shoulder, holding it with her cheek, and gathered the papers still sitting on her desk. Needing to keep her hands occupied, lest they wander elsewhere with that voice in her ear. “I’m busy. Is there something you wanted?”

Alex sighed, and Diana heard a loud bang from somewhere behind her, followed by an unsteady rattle, like metal-on-metal. A trolley being wheeled off, most likely. Alex cleared her throat once it was almost out of earshot. “You’re needed in the Upper Spire.”

For what possible reason? The highest point of the Monument was still under construction; there was nothing of value up there that would require her assistance. Unless Alex was going to turn around and demand she pick up a toolbox and get to work. They both knew that was never going to happen.

Diana took hold of the phone again, then switched it over to the other ear. “Did I not just tell you that I am in the middle of something?”

“It wasn’t a request,” Alex bit back. Her voice slipped into one that radiated sheer power; it could so easily bring someone to their knees. It had, many times for Diana, as well-acquainted as she was with such a tone in their bedroom. The hairs on her arms and the back of her neck bristled with the shiver that coursed through her, all while the toy still pulsed within. “Now, hurry along. You can finish sorting your paperwork later.”

The little mocking remark she threw in there managed to break Diana free of her spell. She thought it only fair to respond in kind. “Yes, ma’am.”

Without waiting for any further comment, she lowered the phone from her ear and moved to hang up. But again, she was stopped in her tracks.

“Diana,” Alex called, beckoning her to crawl right back to her. And she did, bringing the handset up to its former position in a rather lazy fashion. “Watch your tone.”

With not even a second to possibly respond, Diana was met with a click then nothing more. Dead air. It was at times like this she was convinced she had fallen madly in love with the Devil herself. Though she was not without mercy it would seem; the vibrator lowered back down to that soft, persistent hum and brought with it relief.

The journey to the Upper Spire wasn’t necessarily a long one from where she worked – if she discounted the elevator ride, that is. But Diana would still need to brave a rather lengthy flight of stairs. In frustration, she threw her head back against her headrest a couple of times, then abruptly stood. The papers remained on her desk, a filing cabinet drawer was left ajar, only her handbag was forcibly removed and the door locked behind her.

Once she was but a few steps down the hall, the toy sped up again. It wasn’t unbearable, no, but it did challenge her to keep her balance as she walked. One wrong shift of her hips and she might just send the bullet pressing against a spot that would not hold back from making her legs tremble. That didn’t change the fact that she could already feel a bead of sweat threatening to roll down her back. 

Diana let her feet carry her towards her destination, the world around her fading away in a blur of bright lights and dull greys as she passed through winding walkways and platforms, not even registering how many turns she’d made. All her focus was on putting one foot in front of the other and hoping she’d end up where she needed to be. And trying desperately to ignore the constant vibration in her hips.

It felt so much louder now and she wasn’t sure that was possible. The hissing of doors sliding open for her, the humming and beeping of machinery, the clicking of her heels with each stride was all but amplified by the pounding in her ears, resounding from the toy in her core. Was it always this noisy? Every time there was a new sound thrown into the mix, it sent her heart racing, so fast she could feel it in her fingertips. She truly thought walking was going to be much easier to deal with than sitting in her lab, but this was a new type of hell.

Then there was the case of the stairs.

Deep breaths, Diana reminded herself from where she stood on the landing. She could do this. The effort of her journey left her flushed and weary, but not any less determined to reach her goal. The elevator was so close she could see it, sitting in the centre of the open room; her only obstacle was but a flight of stairs.

She reached out and laid a hand on the railing, fumbling as the cool metal sent another shock through her system. Diana clenched her teeth and held it firmer, steadying herself before she could topple over. Then she began her descent.

One step at a time. That’s all there was to it, no different than any other day. She just had to get out of her head, focus on where her feet landed, and not on that dogged assault on her nerves. With another shaky breath, Diana lowered her eyes to make sure she didn’t miss a step with how unsteady she was, how heavy her legs felt with each footfall. The last thing she needed was to slip and make a fool of herself.

If she did fall, she hoped it would bring about a swift end and let her escape this torment.

Halfway down the stairs, a flicker of movement danced at the corner of Diana’s eye. Her gaze darted over to follow the blur over the railing only to see Stuart, Alex’s loyal little servant, rounding the side of the staircase.

Don’t come this way, she pleaded, voiceless, hoping he wouldn’t notice her and simply carry on with his day. The last thing she needed was to speak to anyone in this state.

But Stuart, the ever so irritating Stuart, sporting his finely-tailored suit and rectangular rimless glasses, seemed to be heading right where she had come from. Luckily, he seemed to be in a hurry, taking two steps at a time, so he shouldn’t bother her for long. But she knew him well enough. The man could talk up a storm if you let him. Just keep going.

“Oh! I didn’t see you there,” he exclaimed, followed by a slight bow of his head. The toy ramped up in intensity and stole the breath from Diana’s lungs. To try and stifle a whimper, she bit down on her lip hard enough she thought she might draw blood, and Stuart paused. He let his eyes scan over her, from her face down to her white-knuckled grip on the railing. “Are you alright, Dr. Afa—”

“Fine,” Diana snapped. She wasn’t even able to take a full breath, her words coming out rushed. “I’m fine. Thank you, Stewart.”

She left him standing there, bewildered, as her need to get as far away from him as possible carried her down the rest of the dreadful staircase unharmed. She didn’t know if he’d heard the buzzing of the toy, she hadn’t bothered to take in his expression at all, really. Maybe she was just imagining the vibrator louder than it actually was, or maybe the thrumming of machinery echoing off the endlessly tall walls of the tower saved her an awkward conversation.

The walk to the elevator wasn’t far once she hopped off that final step. The doors opened automatically for her upon her approach and she practically fell into the safe haven of steel.

With a slam of a fist against a button, she was off. Diana let herself sink against the wall, dropping her bag from her shoulder and resting trembling hands on her knees. She couldn’t even get a moment of reprieve; the insistent teasing between her legs wouldn’t subside any time soon.

The way warmth built in her core, radiating across her hips and threatening to rush down her legs to curl her toes, had her biting back a moan. She took slow, deep breaths, trying to focus on calming her heart as opposed to how blissful the waves of pleasure felt. She couldn’t let herself unravel. Not here, not now.

Diana gripped the handrail beside her and turned, resting the side of her head against the wall. The coil in her belly only wound tighter, and she cursed Alex. Cursed her for playing with her like this, for watching her struggle on every camera she passed, for pressing all those stupid little buttons that left her shaking and longing for air. But truly, she cursed herself; she was the only one to blame. Why did she ever agree to this?

She needed to breathe.

With each slow inhale, and exhale, the twist in her belly began to recede, pulling her from the haze. It did nothing, however, for the shake of her hands, the heavy feeling in her limbs, or how aware she was of her blouse brushing against her chest with each rise and fall.

It was the elevator’s turn to catch her cursing. Just as she was about to question how long it was taking to reach the Upper Spire, the lift jerked and shuddered, before coming to a halt.

“Oh, fuck,” Diana whispered under her breath. The rumble that sent through her did nothing to help the state she was in.

She aimlessly reached around for her bag, not wanting to look down in fear she might lose her balance. Finding leather under her palm, she hoisted it up and onto her shoulder. She would be fine. Her hips ached as she lifted herself to stand up straight, using the handrail as leverage. One last rest against the wall, one last moment, then she would be on her way. Then she would face Alex and try not to fall apart at her feet.

Just beyond another walkway, then she could hopefully sit again. Somehow that was much easier to handle.

The clicking of her heels was a welcome sound, distracting her from the heat simmering in her belly. She didn’t dare look over the edge of the railing along the walkway either – another thing she wished to push to the back of her mind; she was so high up, one wrong step and that was the end of her.

A foolish thing to think about given what she was dealing with right now.

After a short walk, the hiss of a door granted her access to the area Alex had been fussing over for months. Wanting to get it perfect, she said.

Odd, considering the large room Diana entered was completely bare. And dark. The only thing she could make out was maybe some type of stand near the far end of the room. Alex hadn’t exactly divulged what she was planning to do up here, other than having her own personal laboratory.

Off to the side, cool white light emanated from an open door. The only clue she had to go on as to Alex’s whereabouts. She ventured forth, then, as another set of stairs came into view, audibly groaned.

After today she might just develop a personal vendetta against staircases.

The stairwell was interesting, to say the least. The overhead light did not offer much in way of brightening the room, but rather, it was the individual strips set into each step, along with the columns in the corners of the room. Not four, as expected, but rather six. What really caught her attention though was the latticework in the centre of the stairs, much like that of the supports surrounding the elevator.

Diana steeled herself and, once again, focused on putting one foot in front of the other, watching her feet the entire way up the two flights of stairs. It wasn’t any easier than her trip to the lift, but she couldn’t allow herself a moment to falter. Even as the toy shifted with each step, the railing remained her lifeline.

Once she reached the landing, the door slid open for her before she even had a chance to catch her breath. This time, revealing a sparsely furnished bedroom. But Diana did not care much to look around; her eyes settled on the source of her anguish. Sitting on a black leather couch was Alex, dressed in white and gold, with wine red at her feet. Her attention was on the wall opposite her, and Diana glanced over to see a large screen, filled with camera feeds. That didn’t surprise her in the slightest.

Alex looked toward the door, and a smirk threatened to pull at the corner of her lips. She stood, turning the monitor off with a remote in the process, before tossing it aside. “Ah, there you are.”

As if a puppet on a string, not quite in control of her own limbs, Diana made her way over to Alex. Whenever she was near, there was a certain pull to her, always drawing Diana in. The need to hold her, to touch her in some way and breathe her in, was a constant. That is why she couldn’t afford to misbehave this time around; the stakes were too high. Or else, she would’ve chased her release just to spite her lover and get a rise.

Her handbag was taken from her by cold, gentle hands, discarded on the coffee table at her side, while Alex’s eyes were busy slowly scanning over her form. She hummed. “Stuart just called. He was quite concerned, honestly. Said you looked rather unwell.”

Diana glared up at her. She wasn’t that much taller than her, and yet she felt larger than life itself. The way she spoke only added to that; there was no denying the smug air that clung to each of her words. She was so proud of herself for humiliating Diana in such a way, making her look a fool in front of her staff when she was only ever composed.

“Yes, well, I wonder why,” she said through clenched teeth.

A melodic little laugh spilled from her partner’s lips and tugged at her heart. “Look at you… So cute when you’re all riled up.”

Diana held her gaze, wanting so desperately to remain annoyed with her. To show her she wasn’t amused with her antics. But her body betrayed her, unable to focus on such trivial things with a more pressing matter between her legs. Lips pulled in a warm smile, one she tried and failed to hide, and the heat in her hips rushed up to her chest.

Alex never took her eyes off of hers, not helping in the slightest. There was so much warmth in those icy blues of hers it almost made Diana dizzy. She had to be the first to look away.

Letting her gaze wander around the clearly unfinished room, she cleared her throat. Well aware of the fact that Alex was still staring at her. “What was it you needed me for?”

“Oh, it’s not ready yet,” she said, sounding almost disinterested, and Diana’s head snapped to look back at her. Alex gestured vaguely at her side with a sigh. “It won’t be for many months yet. I still need all of my equipment brought up here, and well… It is looking rather drab, as you can see.”

“You’re telling me I walked all of those stairs, and took the longest elevator ride of my life, for nothing?!”

“Nothing?” Alex brought a hand to her chest in mock outrage, drawing her brows in a frown. “Did you not wish to see me?”

Of course she wished to see her. She always wished to see her. One of the many side effects of having found your match. But in Diana’s current state, that had been the least of her concerns. It was near impossible to stave off the longing in her core with her so near.

Pent-up frustration trickled over and dripped from every word. “I cannot believe you.”

Diana brought her hands up to cover her face, the tips of her fingers carving along the curve of her brow bone. Her skin was so hot, she wouldn’t be surprised if she was flushed pink up to her ears. The toy sitting pretty inside her hummed away, more of an annoyance than anything at this point. Or maybe she was just annoyed, full stop. But she was so high-strung, she couldn’t deal with these little games anymore.

A shaky breath left parted lips, then a soft tsk reached her ears.

The intoxicating smell of Alex’s perfume swept over her senses before touch even registered. Woody, spiced, rich with amber and musk – a hint of plum lingering. Diana couldn’t help herself but lean into her lover’s touch, to drink in all that flowed from her wrist. Fingertips danced across her temple, causing her hands to fall from her face as she looked up at Alex again. Her head was tilted ever so slightly as her eyes followed the path she traced along Diana’s hairline.

“I’m impressed,” Alex admitted, then tucked a strand behind Diana’s ear. “I thought for certain, in the lift, away from all but my eyes to see, you would”—her fingers trailed down the side of her neck—“take care of yourself.”

Her touch was exhilarating, addicting even, sending a pleasant shiver down Diana’s spine to reignite the pleasure. When her fingers reversed the motion, letting nails scrape along her skin, her legs almost buckled beneath her.

Then Alex cupped her cheek. She leaned in and whispered against Diana’s lips, “You’ve done so well. But can you keep it up?”

Too entranced, Diana had missed when Alex pulled the remote from her pocket with her other hand. A quick tap and the toy sped up even more, knocking the air from her lungs. This had to be the highest setting; there was no way it could get any worse than this. Warmth rushed from deep within her core, over her hips and up into her chest. It was stifling.

There was nowhere she could grasp onto for support now, save for the woman before her. Her hands found Alex’s sides, gripping her blazer before she could even think about what she’d done. But Alex didn’t seem to mind. It was when she hung her head that Alex suddenly gripped her chin, tilting it back with force to look into her eyes.

“Do you think you can last?” She all but purred, her breath hot on parted lips. Diana was well and truly at her mercy now; waves of pleasure rolled over her, pulling her from her surroundings in a lust-addled haze. Yet she still managed to lazily nod in her grip.

Alex hummed then slotted a thigh between trembling legs, causing a soft whimper to spill from Diana’s lips. Though it offered support, it pressed too sweet, too deliciously. She didn’t know how long she could fight off her oncoming climax at this rate.

“Really? The greedy little slut you are…” She applied more pressure with her thigh, drawing a choked sob. “You’re not going to come?”

“No,” Diana said with firmness she didn’t even know she could muster, even if it wavered in the end.

The chuckle that followed barely registered. Her heart was beating so loud she could hear it in her ears, feel it throughout her entire body. It drowned out every other noise. The grin that pulled on crimson lips as Alex gripped her chin even harder sent molten sparks across her skin. The coil in her belly wound impossibly tight, begging for release, and it hurt. Oh, it hurt.

Diana shuddered in her lover’s arms, eyes fluttering shut. The toy continued its relentless pace against that sweet spot within her, a low whine built in her throat. She didn’t know how much longer she could handle of this. She blew out a long exhale, trying to halt her panting, but her breaths only came faster.

Stars began to form behind her eyes, signalling her impending release, and she couldn’t even fight it anymore.

Then it stopped. The buzzing stopped altogether. So abrupt, it drew a loud gasp and she fell against Alex. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, clouding her vision even further, and she had no idea whether she was crying from relief or frustration. She was so close, teetering right on the edge, only to have it ripped away from her.

“Shh,” Alex shushed her, then wrapped her arms around Diana. She carefully lowered her onto the couch, pressed up against her side. Then she smoothed back her hair. “Very good, my sweet girl. Have a rest.”

Diana buried her face in the crook of Alex’s neck, trying desperately to calm her breathing. Despite the toy no longer teasing, the throbbing between her legs persisted. Longing for more.

She had no doubt Alex knew how close she had gotten to failing, to suffering the consequences. But the absence of any scolding let her melt against her partner, wrapping her arm around her waist and taking in that sweet scent of hers once more. If this was the last time she was to hold her for a month, she wished to savour every second of it.

A soft kiss was pressed to the top of her head, yet the words that followed held no semblance of such tenderness.

“Do not think this means you’re forgiven. You still have the rest of the day ahead of you.”

[christinered]

I miss my Pretty Gritty New York City. I liked her dangerous and dirty. I Love New York!

They call me ~Red

[kaidanalenkosprmanager]

THE BEST OF PRIORITY: PALAVEN

Featuring: Cmdr. Sophie Shepard, Lt. James Vega, Dr. Liara T'Soni, Garrus Vakarian, and EDI With: Flight Lt. Jeff "Joker" Moreau, General Corinthus, Primarch Adrien Victus, and Councilor Tevos War is your resume- and at a time like this we need leaders who have been through that hell. And honestly? Uniting these races may take as much strength as facing the Reapers. Mass Effect 3: Legendary Edition (2021)

+BONUS:

[sluparchives]

[ladytauria]

trick or treat!!! 🎃🎃🎃

(and thank you for your comments on my lil drabbles!!!! i loved reading your tags & thoughts<3<3)

(<3 i'm glad! i love reading your stuff!! it's always so good! & ty for ur tags on mine, i appreciate them sm <33333)

this is a snippet from a wip i've been working on for... i think about a year now, lol. working title is "slipping tongues" & is v loosely inspired by that one panel, where jason calls himself "daddy" while defusing a bomb xD

i shared a slightly earlier snippet of it here~

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Of all the things he could have said—

It’s all Tim’s fault. He’s been driving Jason crazy all night. It’s Jason’s fault, of course, for agreeing to Tim’s idea all those weeks ago in the first place. He’d been complaining, again, about his nights at the lounge, and at the time… Well. He hadn’t seen how Tim playing as Hood’s arm candy could go wrong.

Big mistake.

He’d forgotten just how much effort Tim put into his undercover identities.

Or—

No, that wasn’t quite right.

Jason had been expecting Tim’s identity to cater to their audience. And in a way, it did. There was nothing threatening about his appearance, the act he put on. The amount of conversations that had taken place right in front of him, as if he wasn’t even there would be infuriating if it wasn’t playing right into their hands. But the appearance of the disguise…

That was tailored specifically to Jason.

Subtle makeup to soften his face; just enough padding to give him the illusion of curves. Small breasts, a black wig, just a bit longer than his natural hair—and jewelry to draw the eye from anything he couldn’t disguise. And—look, okay. Jason is biased. He thinks obsessive, 72 hours no sleep, wearing his rattiest clothes, caffeine-addled gremlin Tim is hot. This Tim? Dolled up in provocative outfits and sultry make-up? He’s a goner.

And Tim knows it. He walks a fine line, teasing just enough to drive Jason mad without also compromising his persona as Hood. It’s maddening… and hot as hell. Could anyone blame him, if maybe his brains were a bit addled? Or if maybe, just maybe, he wanted to turn the tables on Tim, even if just for a moment?

Jason doesn’t think so.

If Tim asks, Jason will tell him it was a slip of the tongue. He got too deep into the Hood headspace. Otherwise—they can just… forget about it. Pretend it never happened in the first place.

Yeah. That sounds good.

[tentacleplains]

how are y’all getting cute scenes with whitney like going to her room n meeting her aunt/uncle(??) and stuff all she does to me is tell me to strip

[horsegirlhob]

In a lot of ways having sex with me is like having sex with a befuddled dolphin.

[applepiesupreme]

American Apple Pie

Pairing: Low/Mid Honor Arthur Morgan and female OC.

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Savigne Ricci is a temporary guest at the Van der Linde camp. Her path crosses with the enforcer of the gang, Arthur Morgan, and despite their differences, a relationship develops between them. Whole lot of smut and fluff, slow burn-ish.

Chapter 47

AO3 link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54945853/chapters/158135713

Things were going really well. She was eating breakfast, working less and everything else Polleux recommended. Then she had one bad day, there was some pain, some blood, and an emergency visit to the doctor.

Polleux assured a pale Savigne that the baby was fine. But then he proceeded to say that some women could plow fields, walk off to the side and drop a baby and go on with their day, and some women…well…couldn’t. And she was the latter. She didn’t take the news well and tried to explain how she was doing everything she was told but all Polleux did, in his usual no nonsense fashion, was to turn to Arthur who stood there grim faced and silent like a stone statue, and address only him for the rest of the conversation.

“The baby is not underdeveloped anymore. Well done on that front. But she needs more rest,” he said coolly.

“Yes, sir.” was the cowboy’s dry answer.

That’s when everything went to shit.

Next thing she knew, she didn’t have a job. Luther and Arthur made sure of that. Even her tears didn’t assuage their resolve. She begged and pleaded for at least one shift or two per week, but, just like Polleux, Luther didn’t even acknowledge her, just turned and gave Arthur a hard stare as if to say ‘do what’s necessary’, so Arthur just gently grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the steakhouse and that was that.

Savigne had worked all her life. Three days after she had aged out of the orphanage she had found her first job and she hadn’t stopped since. She had scrubbed floors and washed dishes until her skin bled and peeled mountains of potatoes and eaten the leftovers of diners before she had become a cook. The idea of not working for months, of not making money, of entirely depending on others terrified her because she was hardwired to think that not working meant not eating. She felt more vulnerable than ever in her current state and panicked over the prospect of not standing on her own feet. 

“I ain’t other people,” Arthur growled when she tried to explain the reason for her distress. He was visibly shaken by the events and annoyed at her resistance. “‘M yer husband. Ya sayin’ you married a man ya don’ trust, Savigne?”

“Of course not! But-”

“It’s temporary,” he interrupted, growing irritated. “Ya don’ have to like it, but ya heard Polio. He say if you don’ listen, ain’t just the kid yer riskin’, it’s yer own life.” The blue eyes that flicked at her were so hard, she was stunned into speechlessness. “Might be you don’ care ‘bout that bit, but believe me when I say, I do.”

He looked so angry (or worried - it was hard to tell with Arthur), she swallowed her arguments and decided to let his ire pass before she tried again. In her secret heart she thought all manner of dark things. Like What if he strays? What if he gets desperate and reverts to his old ways to make money and it blows up in his face? What if he tries to rob someone, gets recognized and is hunted down and hanged?. This led to more obscure fears like What if none of that happens but he slips and hits his head and dies? Snakebite? Bear attack? Terminal sickness? Her mind churned with the possibilities. For most women that would mean falling back on family. However for her, an orphan with a baby, it meant disaster.

Things only got worse from there. Because now the man who she had likened to water that sprawled and expanded in whatever room she allowed him, became a raging river and tore down all her barricades.

Even though Polleux had stopped short of strict bed rest, had underlined that she didn’t need to go that far, these nuances were lost on a man like Arthur.

First she was banned from carrying buckets from the well. Fine, that wasn’t anything she was going to miss. Secretly she celebrated that as restrictions went, that wasn’t so bad and she had gotten a mere slap on the wrist. 

But then soon after, he told her that running around in the farmers market was too exhausting, that from now on he was going to do the shopping and she should just make a list. This had stung as Savigne really liked going to the market and chatting with the different sellers and touching and smelling and tasting the wares.

Then he said he would do the cleaning and soon he said she shouldn’t be cooking either - too much time on her feet - and she should also just tell him what books she wants from the library because it had a million steps and tilling her little garden was out of the question, it was winter anyway, and so on and so forth until she felt like a fish that was frantically swimming in a puddle of water that was progressively getting smaller. 

She tried to fight him, but his anger and determination were enormous and impossible to scale, and even when she changed tactics and tried coaxing and pleading, it fell on deaf ears. She lost battle after battle and the more she lost, the more discouraged she became to try. So she did nothing all day and the less she did, the more she was exhausted and the less she wanted to do.

She missed getting up with a purpose and interacting with other people and feeling a sense of fullfilment when she took her double caps off at the end of the day. She became sad and cried (never when he was around because she didn’t want to listen to his endless yapping) because she felt like she was slowly being erased out of existence. She felt like her happiness only mattered as far as it benefited the baby. Her ambitions were unimportant if they didn’t serve the baby. Her worries needed to be discarded because it might hurt the baby. She felt like a carbon trace of herself and the next day, a carbon trace of that carbon trace and so on until Savigne Ricci was reduced to a bunch of squiggly random lines that didn’t even constitute a shape. The person who was, was no more and nobody cared because all that mattered now was the baby.

Polleux had told her that she should still walk about and exercise to remain healhty, but she lost her motivation to do that, became sullen and petty and withdrew to her bed and started to sleep longer and longer and only got up to eat or to use the bathroom (soon that too was banned and she was told to use the chamber pot), and she lost the will to read because what was the point of reading about places she would never go to or food she would never cook or things she could never experience? Then it was the beginning of December and she realized she had barely left the bed in three days, so she resigned and stayed until it was a week and longer still, until she didn’t even count anymore and the days became just the presence and absence of light.

There were days, shameful, unthinkable days when she found herself hating him for putting this baby inside her, hating herself for being dumb, hating Sister Rodriguez for being a liar, hating Luther for getting her fired, hating, hating, hating. At some point he sensed her drift off like a boat that had decoupled from its anchor and tried to swim to catch up, but she bristled with resentment and wouldn’t let him and embarked on a journey of solitude where all his playful jabbing, his gentle coaxing, his persistent nagging - none of it worked. She hardened a pupa around herself and shut him out and breathed her own rancor and fed on her own misery. On this still lake, she pondered on the grimness of life, on those short few years between the orphanage and pregnancy, on the loss of her dreams and aspirations.

One of those shapeless, blurry days when she was lying in bed and facing the cabin wall, trying to will time to go faster but also grappling with the depressing idea that maybe nothing would change if the baby was out of her, that her imprisonment would just continue in a different form, he entered the cabin with a gust of cold air as companion and said “Hey.”

“Hey,” she said from under her heap of covers.

She heard Arthur take off his jacket and hat, hang them up and come over. He carefully sat on the bed and dug around until he found her back.

“Ya cold?”

“No.”

He pushed the covers aside, leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Feelin’ okay?”

She nodded.

His hand, cool from the outside, glided over her big bump. “And the grub?”

“Fine.”

He caressed her belly for a while and watched her profile, then whispered “Ain’t too much longer now,” as if in consolation. “Few months. Maybe less.”

“Yeah,” she mumbled.

“Ya got up today?” he said after he kicked his boots off and stretched to lie down behind her.

“No.”

“Why darlin’?” was the careful question.

The nerve, she thought, her mood growing dimmer still. If I get up you’ll just chase me back to bed. His lack of self introspection was appaling. She shrugged. “What for?”

His palm drew circles on her bump as he kissed the back of her neck. “Fresh air? You wanna go for a walk?” 

“No.”

He looked at the book lying on the bed. “Read this yet?”

“A little.”

She felt him pause when he found the bookmark on the second page. Savigne was a voracious reader and he had checked this out from the library for her weeks ago.

“It’s about the desert,” he said, casually flipping through the pages. “Figured if ya like what you read, maybe we can go sometime.”

All she heard was lies. A carrot dangled to keep her stupidly hopeful. With men like Luther and Arthur and Polleux around her, there was no desert for her. There was nothing but motherhood, now and forever. “Probably not going to happen,” was her late mumble.

He placed the book on the floor as he peeled back the covers to find her face. He kissed her cheek again. 

“Why?”

“I’m not exactly in traveling shape.”

“I meant after,” he chuckled.

“After, there’ll be a baby.” How stupid did they think she was? This prison sentence was not going to end with birth. That was just the kind of nonsense they told you to keep you blissfully ignorant of the disappointments that were waiting for you.

“So? Those grow up, no?”

“Yeah. Takes years.”

He stilled again and she knew he worried but she also couldn’t make herself care. He worried all the time, enough for the both of them and every time he worried, the puddle shrank.

“‘M sure people travel with babies. Jack traveled with us since day one.”

“I’m sure I won’t be allowed,” was her bitter retort.

“Allowed? By who?”

She shrugged again. “Some doctor. You. Whoever. Someone.”

His palm over her stomach paused. “Polio recommend the rest for yer own good, Savigne.”

“I know,” she sighed.

“So that’s over when the grub comes.”

“Then it will be for recovery.”

“Okay,” he said carefully, getting back on an elbow to look down at her. “That temporary, too.”

Sure, she thought. Life is temporary after all. I’ll get probation when I’m old and bent. “It’s okay. No big deal.”

“What ain’t?”

“That I’ll never see the desert. Most people don’t.”

He nudged her to lie on her back and she did as he adjusted the covers over her. “Savigne, life don’ end when a kid comes.”

She frowned at the ceiling as he wiped the hair off her flushed face. “Yeah. I think it kind of ends before that.”

He gave a frustrated exhale and grabbed her chin to turn her face to lock eyes with her. “Woman…no. It’s a new beginning. Not end.”

“For you.”

“The hell that mean?”

A long moment passed. The paragraphs of explanations in her head were exhausting to think about, let alone say. “It’s the entire point of my existence now,” she said at last.

“The grub?” he scoffed in an effort to make light of the matter. “What ‘bout me?”

“Yeah,” she huffed, thanks for reminding me of my other purpose in life. She shuffled to lie on her side again, turning her back to him. “And that.”

“Was jokin’,” he muttered, taken aback.

There was a long bout of silence. “Savigne, talk to me. You haven’t talked to me in weeks. I can’t read what’s in yer head.”

She didn’t really want to, but he lied there perched up a good while so she spoke just to make him go away: “What did you do today?” 

“Fixed the cart. Hunted rabbit. Bought hay for the horses…”

“Sounds nice.”

She didn’t engage further so he pushed “You?”

“Just lied here and made more baby.”

He ruminated, seemingly unsure how to navigate that. “Kinda more important than all I did,” he tried.

“Sure,” was her listless response.

He brushed fingers through her hair. “Ya wanna dress up and come sit outside? I can make us tea.”

“No. I’m just going to sleep.”

He looked down at her profile, a silent ball of anxiety. She was actually surprised when, by some miracle, he suddenly asked “You wanna go to the market tomorrow?”

Normally she would jump at this offer, she loved going to the market. But she hated appeasement because appeasement meant he didn’t understand or accept her point of view, he was just making a one time offer to cheer her up. Like candy for a child.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Was told I shouldn’t.”

“You had an…,” was his frustrated huff. “Was tryin’ to-”

“Yes, I’m the first woman who ever had an incident. Must be my fault.”

“Listen here, I ain’t never said that.”

“But you’re punishing me for it.”

She felt him flinch behind her. “The hell ya sayin’?”

“I don’t want to argue,” was her listless response.

He perched above her a while longer in decision, then said “Okay,”, kissed her cheek again and got off the bed. 

He put his boots, jacket and hat back on and took the chamber pot to empty it on his way out. Then he walked to John’s tent. 

“Where’s everyone?” he asked Abigail who was mending a shirt.

“They rode to sell pelts, should be back soon.” He nodded and shifted on his feet, adjusting his gloves. “Savigne okay?”

He grimaced. “Don’ think so.”

“Why?”

“Don’ wanna get up. Or do nothin’. Talks weird.”

“Weird how?” Abigail said, pausing her stitching.

“Like…her life is over or some shit,” he said, rolling his shoulders.

Abigail gave him a long look. “In a way, it is, ain’t it?” she said carefully.

“No?” he huffed. “After the baby-”

“She gonna be in bed for weeks. Then she be feedin’ it every few hours. Then she gonna run after it a few years…Then…well that’s where ‘m now, so don’ know the rest.”

“Ain’t gotta be like that,” he mumbled.

“You told her she shouldn’t work,” Abigail drawled. “Or cook. Or do stuff around the cabin.”

“Doctor asked,” he said defensively. “Was tryin’ to help. This ain’t easy on her. She could…” he trailed, unwilling to say it.

“Don’ care what yer fancy doctor said. Told ya but ya wouldn’t listen. You stuffed her in there, ya can’t be upset if she stays there now.”

He clenched his jaw and looked away. “Told her ain’t forever.”

“Maybe she ain’t believin’ you. Maybe she think you gonna keep askin’.”

“Why would I ask if she was fine?” he said, exasperated.

“Yer doin’ too much. I get it, yer tryin’ to do it right…” she didn’t say it, but Arthur heard the ‘this time’ all the same, “…but she a person, too.”

“The hell that mean?”

Abigail took a deep breath and continued her stitching. “Me? ‘M happy bein’ a mom. Happy to be here, livin’ the simple life. Savigne wants more than bein’ a wife or mother.”

“That’s fine,” he leaned against the wagon. “I ain’t tryin’ to choke that outta her.”

“But y’are. Or she thinks baby will. She like a show horse hitched to a wagon to pull, feels all she good for now. Folks call that depressed.”

Arthur thought on that for a while. “She big. Worry that labor ain’t good for the baby.”

“This clearly ain’t good for her,” Abigail said pointedly. “And that mean it ain’t good for the baby, too.”

He bounced off the wagon, bid her goodnight and walked back to the cabin, picking up the chamber pot before he entered.

He sat by the fire for a while and had a cup of tea, watched the heap of covers on the bed. He remembered her excitement when they went treasure hunting and it was like she had been a different person. All that was gone. Was Abigail right, had he killed it? Had he chocked the spirit out of her? He grappled with the notion for a long while, drinking his tea and feeling an overwhelming sense of dread because this was supposed to be a happy time for them - mere weeks into their marriage and a child on the way - but she was miserable already, and as a consequence, so was he.

Next day he entered the cabin late afternoon and she was in bed again. 

“Hey,” he said, taking off his coat and hat.

“Hey,” came from the pile of covers.

He sighed, feeling stupid for being disappointed and idled around for a bit, not sure how to pull her out of this quicksand she had sunk into.

“Was thinkin’…what happened to that third map?”

There was a pause. “The treasure map?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s on the bookshelf. In my parents’ book.”

He went and retrieved 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, found the third map, unfolded it and brought it to the bed. “Ya find where this is?”

“Didn’t look.”

“Why?”

There was a rustling that indicated a shrug. “That second trip scared me I guess.”

“Sure could use that gold right now,” he teased.

Her dismissive “There is no gold,” stuttered his heart and wiped the grin off his face.

He knew of course that she was upset about the restrictions but he had thought she would get used to it in time, that she might even be pleased about it. All she had to do was rest and not worry, how was that hard? Instead, she was sad and withdrawn and for the first time he felt a sense of panic. Of course I fucked up everything again, he thought. I always fucking do. All I had to do was take good care of her and instead I broke her.

He sat on the edge and peeled the covers off. This time she was facing him. He leaned down and kissed her gently. “Savigne, you gonna get up?”

“I got up earlier, cleaned up, changed gowns, now I’m back to bed.”

“I mean come outside? Ya turnin’ into a bat in here.” Her broken smile didn’t elevate his mood; in fact, it intensified his trepidations. “Please come outside with me.”

“It’s cold outside.”

“That why we got coats.”

“What are we going to do? Waddle about and come back?”

“Please,” he insisted. In his desperation he told her what he had initially decided he wouldn’t: “Think Cricket misses you.” That gave her pause. “He ain’t eatin’ well.”

He had thought the horse would snap out of it - what animal starved itself? He gave it extra grooming and gentle exercise but the damn horse was as stubborn as his owner and wouldn’t even take the offered apple, just stared at him with those judgy dark eyes day after day.

“Really?” she whispered, face dropping.

“He fine,” he said quickly. “Just…misses you I think. Ain’t seen you in weeks now.”

She thought on this for a long moment before she finally whispered “Okay”.

He hastily folded the map and put it in his satchel, then came over and helped her before she could change her mind. “I’m not that bad,” she chuckled but the lying in bed for weeks had weakened her and she only managed with his help. She was a petite women and from behind, looked perfectly normal. But her bulge, while not enormous, was much bigger.

He helped her dress in a winter dress and then a thick coat and wool socks. Then he carefully slid the boots on. Her ankles and feet were swollen so they had been using some men’s boots the church had donated to accommodate the wool socks, too. She put on her gloves and her wool cap and said “God, I’m tired already.”

“Shush. We goin’.”

She groaned with disgust when he opened the door and a wave of cold blue sunlight hit her face.

“Out with ya,” he gently pushed her out the door. 

She stood on the porch and blinked around in the winter sun. In the distance, John raised his hand from where his tent was and she returned the greeting. “Aren’t they cold in that tent?” She said, a shiver running through her.

“Winter cover keeps it warm inside.”

Jack ran over with his half mitts and a little wool scarf flying around his neck. Nemo, the puppy he had found on one of his trips to Saint Denis and had asked Savigne to name to cheer her up, was yapping at his heels.

“Hey, my clever little friend,” she said and ruffled his hair when he arrived, cheeks rosy. He lifted the puppy so she can pet him, too.

“How is she?” The boy panted.

“She?” Savigne asked, surprised. “How do you know it’s a she?”

“I dreamed of her. We’re going to be good friends.”

“Nice,” Savigne ambled to step down the porch. “You can teach her how to read.”

His eyes sparked up at that. “And you can teach her how to cook. And Uncle Arthur how to shoot.”

“Damn, she’s going to be formidable,” she groaned, stretching her back. 

“That means dangerous, right?” 

“Yes.” She grabbed Arthur’s offered arm and walked towards the stable. When they entered, Cricket danced in place and threw his head back in his stall to neigh with excitement. Her breath hitched. “I’m sorry,” she said, voice wavering. “I missed you, too.” She hugged his neck and he stood there, snorting with happiness and enjoying her affection. He sniffed her bump and she kissed his forehead. “I’m sorry. You okay, my precious?” She turned around: “Can you bring me some apples, Jack?”

He ran to the barrel in the corner and retrieved two. She cried softly as she fed one to Cricket, and he fed his to Frost. Arthur had extended the stable and John’s horses were here too and she told Jack to feed them too, because you can’t just feed one horse and not the others. 

After that was done Arthur broke a stack of hay and scattered it across all the stalls and Cricket immediately began to eat. 

“Look at that,” was his disgruntled rumble. “Eatin’ now, ain’t ya? Mommy’s boy.”

She watched him for a while. “Aren’t they cold in here?”

“Nah, they okay.”

She brushed Cricket’s neck. “You think he will be alright now?”

“Ain’t sure,” was his careful answer. “Think he eatin’ cause yer here.”

She thought on this and he didn’t push, waiting for her to make the offer herself. He didn’t have to wait long.

“Maybe I need to come out to make sure he eats?” she muttered, kissing the snout.

This made him very happy but he masked his pleasure with a gruff protest: “You gonna spoil this asshole?”

“Of course I will,” she shot back with some heat, gave the horse more kisses and pats, then went around petting the other horses as Jack followed in tow, watching and mimicking her behavior.

Then they exited the stall and Arthur swung an arm around her shoulder to turn her to the path that led to the main road. “Might as well walk a bit. Dressin’ you took an hour.”

“It wasn’t an hour,” she snorted but placed her hand in the crook of his arm and complied.

“Gonna be Christmas soon,” he said as Jack ran ahead. She hummed, squinting up at the winter sky. “Was thinkin’…” he scratched his beard, “…maybe we can have a tree.” He shrugged when her eyebrows rose. “Why not? Maybe we celebrate a little.” He gave her a side eye. “Make some food…” When she pursed her lips and refused to jump at the idea as he had hoped, he added “But you gotta do the decoratin’.”

“Why?”

“Don’ think yer pullin’ yer weight ‘round here no more,” he grunted. “If ‘m gonna chop a tree, least you can do.”

She gave him a startled look. “What bullshit is this?! You told me to stay in bed!”

“I ain’t say melt into the damn thing,” he grumbled. “Almost had to peel ya off today.”

“Just stop!” she tsked with disgust and he tried but failed to hide his grin. At least she was getting a little riled up now, that was progress.

The sky turned burnt amber but sunsets this season were brief and it dimmed quickly. It didn’t snow here, but the air was chilly and their breaths frosted as they walked to the main road, slow and easy. Except for Jack, who did everything in bursts of energy. He brought them pretty leaves and snail shells and bird feathers and Savigne told him to collect them so he can draw them. She said then he could date it and remember the day.

“‘M tryin’ to help but ain’t sure if ‘m helpin’,” he said quietly when Jack ran off again. “Wish you would talk to me. Why ya so upset?”

She didn’t say anything for a while as they walked, the dry and stiff leaves crunching under their feet. “Nobody cares what I want,” she sniffed finally.

He was taken aback by that. “Course I care.”

“No you don’t. You care what’s best for me but you don’t care what I want.”

He thought on this for a long time. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want to do things that make me happy.”

“Thing is,” he tried carefully, “grub’s inside ya. Once it’s out, you gonna be yer own person again and do what you want, no?”

“Don’t think so,” she said, eyes misting over. Her hand in the crook of his arm stiffened a little.

“Why?”

“That’s when it really needs care. So it just gets worse.”

“How so?”

“Then it’ll be like, ‘you can’t do this, the baby needs care. You shouldn’t do that, baby needs its mother’.”

“Listen here,” he sighed. “Y’aint gonna do all that alone. I can help. Can’t help with this.”

“Let’s say you do,” she sighed, kicking at sticks and chestnuts. “That still means you will take care of the baby and nobody will care about me again.”

It was one of those things he had a hard time wrapping his head around: what women went through not just physically but also emotionally at a time like this. It was like a land border he wasn’t allowed to cross and he could only make assumptions about what was beyond. He had precious few intimate experiences with women and even fewer healthy ones with pregnant women and felt like she was drifting beyond his reach. Everything he did was common sense, but resulted in bizarrely unpredictable consequences. Taking chores off her hand made her unhappy. Bed rest made her tired. Trying to talk made her withdraw.

“Explain it to me plain,” he said at last. When she grimaced as if it was too much work he added “Please.”

She took a shuddering breath. “You won’t understand.”

“Might be. But ‘m gonna try.”

“I’ve been saying it but you won’t listen, it’s pointless,” she waved dismissively.

“Promise I will today,” he pushed. She was running again and these days, wherever she went, he couldn’t follow. He had the stark feeling that despite being physically right next to her day after day, he was slowly being walled off and it scared him; scared him even more that he had done this. Somehow, somewhere he had used a sledge hammer instead of a gentle tap and now what he was trying to mend had cracked.

She huffed in disbelief and looked away. A long time passed, Jack and Nemo came and ran off again but he didn’t push. He was distressed. He felt like she was swaying at the edge of an abyss and he had hearded her there somehow. Something was percolating in her, something she had been wrestling with and he had failed to see it coming. He liked to think that he knew Savigne pretty well at this point, that he could read her better than most. The idea that she had arrived at the edge of this abyss, in danger of tumbling off without him even noticing terrified him.

“I feel like…” she started, hesitant, “…our lives - you and me - was just six months and just when we were supposed to enjoy our time together, it’s all about the grub now forever.” She gave him a side eye, trying to gauge his reaction. When he didn’t react how she feared, she continued: “I thought we’d do all these things together. And have a full life. I would work and you would do whatever you want and then we’d be together to talk about it and have nice quiet baths and long dinners. We would travel and see things. I’ve barely been outside a city.” She fell silent, ruminating miserably.

“Go on.”

“Now there’s a kid and…it can never be like that.”

He nodded. “I can see what you mean.”

“You think I’m terrible for thinking it?”

“No,” he grinned at her. “‘M a bit flattered that yer worried ‘bout sharin’ me.”

“I don’t want to disappear,” she whispered as they reached the main road and turned around to head back. “I don’t want us to disappear. I know things will be different. And maybe better, even. But I also want some things to stay the same, because I liked them the way they were.”

“Okay,” he sighed. “‘M with ya on that.”

“Right,” was her dry comment.

“Course I am,” he huffed, a bit offended. “I want the grub. But not just the grub.” She grimaced like she didn’t believe him. “Timin’ ain’t great, I give ya that. But didn’ think I was ever gonna be so lucky to have a kid again, so I’ll take it. We can make it work.”

“I don’t know,” she mumbled, unconvinced. “I don’t see how. The kid will need so much time and attention and work. And before we know it it’ll be ten years and then twenty and well… I guess that was my life.”

“I know yer…upset ‘bout this bed rest thing. Think ya can’t see beyond that.”

“I’ve seen people raise kids, Arthur. I’ve seen the mayhem and exhaustion.”

“That’s just the poor folk.”

“We are poor folk,” she laughed.

He was quiet for a while. “I will work when we settle, we ain’t gotta be poor.”

“Sure. You go work, so I can do house chores all day,” she grumbled. “All I’m good for anyway.”

He remembered his conversation with Abigail. “I know you wanna work, too. You can if you wanna.” She gave him a dubious look. “What?” he said defensively. “I ain’t never said you shouldn’ work.”

“Except you did,” was her sour reply.

“Savigne, that’s temporary.”

“Everything is temporary, Arthur!” was her heated retort. “A month is temporary and so is a year and so is ten years.”

“Listen here, nobody askin’ you to lie in bed for a year. Or not work or do nothin’ else for ten.”

“Yet.”

He stopped walking. “‘M startin’ to feel insulted you trust me so little. What kinda man ya think I am?” She didn’t answer and he tried hard to not be offended. “Think ‘m gonna put you in a cage and lock the door? I care that little for what you want?”

“I think,” she repeated pointedly, “you care about what’s best for me and not what I want.”

“Woman,” he growled, voice tight, “I ain’t yer master. And y’ain’t the kind to take one.”

“Could have fooled me,” she muttered under her breath.

“Why? Cause this nonsense?” he said, waving his arm towards the cabin, meaning their current arrangement.

She didn’t say anything for a long while, seemingly having made her point and seeing no reason to talk in circles.

“Doctor said…” he tried.

“Doctor only cares about the baby,” she scoffed. “He thinks I should, too. He can’t even fathom that I might feel otherwise. And if he knew, he’d think there’s something wrong with me as a woman.”

“That ain’t true,” he said, although in all honesty, he wasn’t so sure anymore. He thought back on their recent appointments and how all the doctor had asked her was how she felt physically. Was she tired? Was she in pain? Was she eating well? How he had rattled off the things she needs to do to make the baby comfortable and things to avoid to make it uncomfortable. And he hadn’t even addressed her, but him. He didn’t think that odd, but in the state she was in, Savigne obviously regarded it as an insult.

He wondered if she was just the odd duck out or if a lot of women felt this way and never said it because they got talked over. He made a mental note to ask Abigail.

“Look,” he tried. “Maybe I got carried away. I feel…useless. Wanna help. Maybe thought I was helpin’.” He gave her a side eye but she gazed ahead, lips sealed. He ran a palm over his beard. “Thought you’d be happy if you do less.”

“That’s because you don’t listen to me. You just…squeeze,” she flustered, waving an arm, “…always squeeze and I have nothing that brings me joy anymore! And I’m tired of fighting you, I just don’t fucking care.”

He recoiled at this, flabbergasted. The resentment in her voice and bewildered him.

A long while passed and he slowed their steps so they had more time to talk before they arrived back. 

“Okay,” he resumed. “I can see we took a wrong turn somewhere. ‘Spose we can meet in the middle?”

“What does that look like?” was the skeptical question.

“Don’ think ya should go back to things as they was…” He ignored her chuff of ‘I knew it’ and pressed on: “…but, we can do’em together? We can cook together. Go shoppin’ together?”

She turned this over in her head. “Is this like a one time offer so I shut up or…?”

“No?”

“Feels like appeasement.”

“Woman, ‘m sayin’ I might have overdone it,” was his frustrated sigh. “‘M tryin’ to find a middle road.”

“How often?”

“What?”

“How often? Like once a year or what?”

“Ya know, yer really makin’ me out like a brute.”

“You are a brute.”

“Listen here, I wanna do this right. I ain’t gonna let ya do it all like before. But we do it together, less work, no?”

She gave him a sullen shrug. “What about my job?”

“Ain’t gonna happen,” he nipped the idea in the bud. “‘Sides, we go back now, Luther gonna stab me with that stupid fork.”

As much as she tried to hold a serious face, the idea forced her to crack a smile which softened things between them.

“You want yer husband stabbed, Savigne?” he teased.

“Let’s just say right about now, I wouldn’t shed too many tears over it,” she mused, but there was no rancor in it.

He stopped and she stopped with him. He cupped her cheek. “But I need you honest. You can’t hide shit and push on cause you want it too much, ya hear?” She gave him a side-eye. He could tell she was enthusiastic about the idea, but cautious with her trust. “Deal?”

She chewed her lip and watched Jack chase Nemo for a bit. “If you promise,” was her haughty response.

“I promise,” he said quickly.

“Okay,” was her quiet sigh. For the first time in weeks there was a glimmer of life in her eyes and cool relief washed through his heart. “Then I promise, too.”

“Okay then,” he exhaled. Before they could resume their walk she abruptly threw her arms around his neck, pulled him down and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Her bump pushed into his ribs as he carefully hugged her shoulders. “Don’ smush the grub,” he grunted into her neck but enjoyed the embrace too much to break it.

He took a shudder of a breath, grateful that she wasn’t dead after all, that he hadn’t irreparably broken her and she was still in there somewhere and could still be who she had been before. Most of his life, he had done things that he was comfortable doing, practiced in doing, experienced in doing. Now he was doing something he had no idea how to do and more often than not it terrified him. He just hoped that he would be afforded grace for his mistakes and the chance to reverse out of them.

“So we’re going to cook those rabbits together?” she asked as she took his arm again and they started walking again. “Share the work? And the meal?”

“Honest truth…” he looked around to make sure Jack wasn’t nearby. “…Abigail’s cookin’ makes me miss Pearson.”

“It’s pretty bad,” she said, then cupped her mouth, embarrassed by her own chuckle.

“Vile is the word you lookin’ for. Been starvin’,” he agreed and enjoyed her muffled peals of laughter. “Gotta say, I pity Marston.”

“We can finally cook that kouneli stifado?” she grinned when she recovered. Her eyes flicked up at him mischievously and he thought she had never looked more beautiful than she did at that moment with rosy cheeks, hair bursting out full and dark from under the cap Abigail had knitted for her. Pregnancy had softened her features, just like rubbing his fingertips on a pencil drawing softened them.

“Sounds damn fine t’me.”

They did a detour to the tent on the way back. 

“How ya feelin’?” Abigail said and dropped her work. 

“Like I’m walking on stints,” Savigne sighed. “My center is all off.” She dropped into the chair John pulled out. Arthur was boyishly pleased by the enthusiasm in her voice when she chirped up “We’re thinking of putting up a Christmas tree!”

“Oh how nice!” Abigail clasped her hands. “Haven’t done that in so long!”

“Try never. Most I ‘member was Karen carryin’ a pine branch ‘round,” John scoffed. 

“And drinkin’. Not like she needed reason for that,” Abigail laughed.

“Do you miss the gang?” Savigne asked a while later, leaning back in her chair.

“I miss some things ‘bout it. Sometimes.” The other woman sighed. “But then I remember the chores…and always bein’ on the run…and you never knew if folks was gonna come back from wherever they went…So no, not really.”

“It’s quiet here,” John shrugged when she looked at him as if that explained his opinion.

“Too quiet?”

“Sometimes.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Just wanna…do somethin’.”

“Yeah, I get that,” she said, hands running over her bump. “This spring, I hope.” She looked up at Arthur who was standing by her chair. “Do you miss the gang?”

“No,” was his simple answer. When that didn’t satisfy her, he added “I like quiet. I like simple.”

There was a certain tranquility that he had enjoyed when he used to camp away, alone. A kind of limbo where all mayhem was suspended. He used to wonder if that was how folks felt when they went on vacation. His life now reminded him of that, only better, because he had excellent company.

They chatted a bit longer, then Arthur helped her rise up and amble back to the cabin. 

She told him to bring her the rabbits and some turnips, carrots and potatoes. Then she sat at the table and cut some vegetables and guided him on how to cut the meat and asked him for the spices in the upper shelves. He hung a cast iron pot on the fire and she added and stirred and roasted the ingredients in batches, explaining why she was doing what she was doing while he cleaned up and prepared the table. The stew cooked for about an hour as they talked about his day and what they could do for Christmas and his heart felt twice as big in his chest because she looked healthier and livelier than she had in weeks and so much more like her old self who he had feared he lost forever. 

After that he cleaned up and she changed into her nightgown and he came over to stack the pillows behind her so she can sit up against the headboard.

“That was nice,” she sighed as he dried the dishes. “But…I’m jealous.”

“Of?”

“Your girlfriend.”

He clicked his tongue and glared at her over his shoulder. 

“What? I can’t help it.”

“Thinkin’ ya got a dirty mind, Savigne.” She laughed and he thought how much he had missed her laughter. “Real filthy,” he added as he stacked the dishes away. “‘M talkin’ nasty.”

“Stop,” she chuckled. “I know it’s pathetic. But she looks like a goddess next to me now. Hurts my vanity.”

He scoffed at that. “No, she don’. I think ya look great. Soft and plush.” He hung up the towel and undressed to pull up his cotton pants for bed. Then he brought over the lantern and came to sit next to her with his journal and the map. He flapped it open and inspected it again.

“Why are you curious about that now? You said there’s never any gold.”

He shrugged. “Wanna see it through before we leave these parts. This the final piece.” That was only partially true. He wanted to do it because he knew she would enjoy it, even if all they would probably find was a joke like a quarter or a note that laughed at their folly. He thought on their earlier conversation about doing things together and decided that at the very least, it would create a memory and he wanted as many of those with her as life would spare him.

She rested her head on his shoulder and inspected the map with him. “That horizon line looks familiar,” she said, running her finger over it.

“Does, don’ it?”

“I can’t place it but I’m sure I’ve seen it.”

He hummed, eyes locked to the map. Then she abruptly gasped. “Bastard’s kicking my insides around again! Ow, god damn!”

She peeled up her nightgown and they watched a small bulge appear and fall back on the dome of her belly. Surprised, he looked up at her stunned face, then back down. Another bump, this time in the clear shape of a foot rose like bubble in water, stood suspended for a moment and withdrew.

“Holy shit!” she whispered, “Did you see that?”

”Did.” Something squeezed his heart and he grinned from ear to ear. “You think she dreamin’?” was his quiet question.

“So it’s a she now?”

“Jack said so,” he shrugged. “I kinda like it.”

“Why?”

“Girls are nice.”

She watched his face, curious. “Could be a hellcat. Could be like Sadie?” she countered.

He was never going to say it in case it turned out to be a boy, but deep down inside he liked the idea of a daughter. For one thing, as embarrassing as it sounded, he was less likely to compare her to Isaac and he was more afraid of doing that than he cared to admit.

“Good,” he drawled. “Fierce is good.”

She tensed suddenly and his eyes dropped to her belly again, expecting another kick. But instead came her low whisper: “I know where I’ve seen it.”

“Seen what?”

Her hand shot out to the map on his lap, finger pointing to the line of mountains. “This! You’ve seen it, too!” She sputtered, kicking the covers off to sit up. “It’s on the way to Valentine. We must have passed it a hundred times!”

He inspected it, trying to recall the geography. “Ya sure?” It was such a nondescript horizon line, it could be anywhere. No unique boulders or trees that stood out.

“I’m sure!” she yelped and he couldn’t help but chuckle at her enthusiasm. “These three low peaks flanked by the higher ones….We just have to find this stream!” Her eyes, frantic with excitement locked to his. “Can we go tomorrow? Please, please, please!!”

“Calm down,” he laughed. “That don’ even look right.”

“It does, I swear, it has to be!”

He hummed and gave her a calculating look. “If ya feel up t-”

“I do!” she scrambled up to her knees. “I do, I swear!”

“Simmer down, I mean if ya feel up to it tom-”

“I will!”

“Christ,” he sighed and shook his head. “Serves me right.”

He was surprised when she crushed her lips against his and gave him a passionate kiss. He cupped her cheek and kissed her back. She hadn’t kissed him in what felt a very long time and in that moment he fully grasped how barren the absence of her joy had been, because it flooded back in now and his heart thrummed with pleasure.

“I’ll prove to you that I’m fine,” she grinned against his lips. He grunted with surprise when her small hand ran up his leg and brushed over his cock.

“Woman, ya tryin’ to…bribe me?” he managed as heat pooled into his gut with shocking ferocity. His breath stuttered and a moan fell from his lips as she gently caressed him.

“Why, I would never!” she grinned as her hand disengaged, slipped under his cotton pants and started to stroke him properly.

His hips twitched and he groaned a low sigh as his cock stiffened immediately and tented his pants. The journal and the map slid from his lap and clattered onto the floor. His eyes fluttered and his toes curled as that small cool hand pumped him with expertise, fingers tightening and relaxing with a cruel rhythm. 

“What do you think?” was the sultry whisper into his ear, followed by a suckle of his lobe.

Lust exploded in his chest, pushing his lungs aside as he panted with a sweltering desire. Her fingers curled tighter and a thumb brushed over his slit and his hips bucked again. When her other hand peeled his cotton pants down, his cock was red and swollen and already wet with precum. In the back of his head he was appalled by how aroused he was already but it was a dim thought, weak and distant and dwarfed by severe hunger.

“Yes,” he exhaled. She smiled and threw back her hair, then slowly, ever so slowly leaned down. Her hot breath over his skin made his legs tremble with anticipation. “Yes,” he moaned when her tongue licked his cum and twirled on the tip. “Yes,” he hissed when her lips glided playfully around the head, then slid back off, then did it again. His hand shot down to tangle her hair. “Yes,” he groaned when she slowly, so torturously slowly took him deeper all the while stroking him downwards so she had more access to the sensitive spot under the head. “Jesus, woman,” he panted, hips reaching up into her mouth, his desire swelling like delirium. “You’re too…fuck…good…oh…good at…at…” she hummed around hi shaft and the reverberation would have made him cum if she didn’t tighten her grip just then around the base. His fingers involuntarily gripped her hair by the roots. He hissed with unfulfilled need and couldn’t help but gently buck up to urge her on. She took mercy on him then and released her grip and pushed down her lips. The tightness of her throat drove him into a frenzy and he didn’t say much else for the rest of it.

The next morning, after hours of riding around, aiming for the mountains in the distance that Arthur still insisted didn’t look like a match to the drawing, she spotted the dry stream bed and almost tumbled off the wagon with excitement.

Arthur’s hand shot out to grab her arm. “Settle down or ‘m turnin’ ‘round!” he barked.

“Okay, sorry,” was her quick whisper. 

He stopped the cart and gave the stream bed a skeptical look. “That don’ mean nothing, there a number of dry streams here in the winter.”

“Okay, I understand,” she said calmly, all the while thinking he must be fucking blind because this was obviously THE river bed. Lucky for them it was winter and the bed was dry except for a trickle. “We have to find a bend around a hill.” She pointed upriver, at the smudge of a hill. “Like that one.”

He hummed, squinting in the direction. He turned the cart that way and he gave her tapping foot a pointed look, so she stopped.

“Savigne calm down or we gonna gave the grub in the back of this cart,” he grumbled.

“I’m calm,” she said but it took all her willpower not to start tapping her foot again. He mumbled something about how stupid he was for digging this nonsense back up again, but she ignored him. The hill grew bigger and bigger as late afternoon approached. There was nobody around for miles and it felt like they were the only two people in the world.

He grunted with surprise when they arrived because there indeed was what looked like a slim opening on the bank across. He gave her a sharp head to toe as if to assess how well she was keeping her promise and she sat stock still with baited breath, hands fisting her skirt, back straight as a board, the way she would sit when a Sister sauntered her way in class.

Satisfied, he pressed one of his guns into her hand. “Listen here, ya see someone ‘proachin’, ya shoot.”

“But what if it’s just someone who thinks I need help?” she asked, bewildered.

He coughed an amused huff. “Don’ shoot the guy, Savigne. Shoot up. So I hear.”

“Oh. Right. Okay.”

He gave her a long look and she almost flustered with impatience. “You can do that, right?”

“Even I can do that,” she scoffed defensively. “Are you going to check today or what?”

There was a deflated sigh, he dropped his hat into her lap, took the lantern, jumped down and proceeded to climb down the boulders to walk across the stream bed. He stuck his head into the opening, lighted the lantern and held it in, looking around.

“Will you fit?” she called.

“Barely,” he yelled back. “It goin’ up, into the hill.”

She shifted with excitement, then carefully placed the gun beside her so she wouldn’t grip it wrong and pull the trigger by mistake.

He gave her a final look, pushed in the lantern, then slithered after and disappeared from sight.

Silence descended.

Savigne tapped her foot again, looked around to see if anyone was coming their way, twitched a little with paranoia and fished out the binoculars to scan the horizon. There were no birds chirping and no insects buzzing and she marveled again how quiet and unpopulated the wide expanses of this country were. Then she thought of their previous trip and the Murfrees and a spark of fear ignited in her as she pulled up the binoculars again. 

He was gone for what felt like a long while. Too long to scramble around in a hill of this size and a grim idea occurred to her: ‘What if he’s stuck?’. She leveled the binoculars at the opening and it looked small, especially for someone of Arthur’s size. 

“Stop!” she muttered. “Relax. He’s fine.”

She pulled out her pocket watch. It was a quarter after three but she hadn’t marked the time when he entered, so that didn’t mean anything. The light shifted and a breeze came up, rustling the dry grass around her as she watched the horizon again. Then she couldn't contain herself anymore and despite knowing he would be angry with her for climbing down by herself, shifted to do just that when she looked up and he was at the entrance, covered in dirt and dust.

She sighed with relief and plopped her butt back down. “Did you find anything?”

He gave her a long, weird look and worry vibrated in her. His Adam’s apple bobbed, he blinked and glanced around as if confused and distracted, then looked back at her. 

“Yeah,” was his quiet statement that she only heard because it was so silent here.

“You okay?” she called, her uncertainty growing. He looked dazed, like he had hit his head. She rose up again, nervous now, trying to see if there was blood on his head. It was impossible to tell from this distance and with all the caked dust.

He nodded, then looked at his hands and thoughtfully wiped them on his jeans.

Oh my god, he must have hit his head, she thought, panic stirring in her. Or maybe something bit him. Maybe it was poisonous. She scrambled down the cart and hurried around and her panic grew when he didn’t even yell at her for that.

“What is it?!” she yelled, voice breaking with terror. “Did you hit your head? Did you…”

He waved his arm, sluggish, almost as if he couldn’t speak.

“I swear if you’re being silly, you better stop, Arthur! It’s not funny!” she called, breath hitching as she felt at the verge of tears.

He waved his arm again and placed his hands on his knees to double over, huffing to get air into his lungs. She eyed the boulders, calculating her route down, but before she could climb down, he spoke: “Stay. ‘M fine.”

He sounded winded, so she stayed, but barely.

“Are you bullshitting again? I’m going to be so mad if you’re bullshitting!”

He took a deep breath and straightened, then took another.

“Stay,” he said, firmer now, so she did. Then he gave her a look as if he wasn’t sure what he could tell her without risking her spinning off the handle. He took another deep breath. A conciliatory small smile bloomed on his lips as his hands rose to placate her. “‘M okay, promise.”

She shifted on her feet with indecision. The breeze clattered the empty husks of grass around her again.

“This gonna take a while,” was his huff of a statement. He shook his head with disbelief before he waved her back and disappeared in the crag again, leaving the trail of a chuckle and a confused woman behind.

[thespoonisvictory]

save me Bottom Line by Dom Fera save meeee pleaseee

[1o1percentmilk]

i wish i had a pet mid-30s man.... wahhh