#sadie come back to me my beautiful

[duckiiieluv]

sadie adler, the woman that you are 🙏

[odinsblog]

“I first started noticing the journalists dying on Instagram. I'm a journalist, I'm Arab, and I've reported on war. A big part of my community is other Arab journalists who do the same thing.

And when someone dies, news travels fast. Recently, I pulled up the list that the Committee to Protect Journalists has been keeping and looked at it for the first time. There are 95 journalists and media workers on it as of today.

Almost everyone on it is Palestinian. Scrolling through, I started to get angry. These were the people carrying the burden of documenting this whole war.

Israel is not allowing foreign journalists into Gaza, except on rare occasions with military escorts. These people's names are being buried in a giant list that keeps growing. What I want to do is lift some of them off the list for a moment and give you a glimpse of who they were and the work they made.

I'll start with Sadi Mansour. Sadi was the director of Al-Quds News Network, and he posted a 22-second video on November 18. That was a report from the war, but it also gave me a picture into his marriage.

Sadi's wearing his press vest and looks exhausted. He's explaining that cell service and the Internet keep getting cut off, and it's often impossible to text or call anyone, including his wife. So they've resorted to using handwritten letters to communicate while he's out reporting, sending them back and forth with neighbors or colleagues.

He ends the video with a picture of one of these letters from his wife. In it, she writes,

‘Me and the kids stayed up waiting for you until the morning, and you didn't come home. We were really sad.

I kept telling the kids, Look, he's coming. But you didn't show up. May God forgive you.

Come home tomorrow and eat with us. Do you want me to make you kebab or maybe kapse? Bring your friends with you, it's okay.

And give Azeez the battery to charge. What do you think about me sending you handwritten letters with messenger pigeons from now on? Ha ha ha.

I'm just kidding. I want to curse at you, but we're living in a war. Too bad.

Okay, I love you. Bye.’

A few hours after he shared that letter, Sadie and his co-worker Hassouna Saleem were at Sadie's home, when they were killed by an Israeli air strike that hit his house.

His wife and kids, who weren't there, survived.

Gaza is tiny, and the journalist community is really close. Reading the list, you can see all the connections between people. Like with Brahim Lafi.

Brahim was a photojournalist, one of the first journalists to die. He was killed while reporting on October 7. He was just 21, still new to journalism.

On his Instagram, you can see that in his posts just a few years ago, he was still practicing his photography, taking pictures of coffee cups and flowers. Then he started doing beautiful portraits and action shots. You can really feel him starting to become a journalist.

Clicking around on Instagram, I found a tribute post about Brahim from his co-worker Rushdie Sarraj. In this photo, Brahim staring intently at the back of a camera, his face lit up by the light from the viewfinder. He looks so young.

The caption reads, My assistant is gone. Brahim is gone. Rushdie himself was a beloved journalist and filmmaker.

And I know that because he's also on the list. He was killed just two weeks after Brahim. I read the tribute post to him too.

I saw this over and over again. Journalists posting tributes, who were then killed themselves soon after. And a tribute goes up for them.

And then the pattern continues.

Thank you.

Something else I saw over and over on the list, journalists later in the war who had become aware that they could be making their last reports. They'd say it at the beginning of their videos. And those were the hardest to watch, especially when it was true.

One video like that was posted by Ayat Hadduro. Ayat was a freelance journalist and video blogger. Her videos before the war covered a wide range from what I can tell, interviews about women in politics.

She even appeared in a commercial for ketchup-flavored chips. She clearly liked being in front of the camera. Once the war started, Ayat's pivoted to covering bombings and food shortages.

On November 20, she posted a video report from her home. You can hear the airstrikes hitting very close to where she is. It's scary.

‘This is likely my last video. Today, the occupation forces dropped phosphorus bombs on Beit Lahya area and frightening sound bombs. They dropped letters from the sky, ordering everyone to evacuate.

Everyone ran into the streets in the craziest way. No one knows where to go.

But everyone else has evacuated. They don't know where they're going. The situation is so scary.

What's happening is so tough, and may God have mercy on us.’

She was killed later that day.

Targeting journalists, in case you didn't know, is a war crime. So far, the Committee to Protect Journalists has found that three of the journalists on the list were explicitly targeted by the IDF, the Israeli military. Investigations by the Washington Post and Reuters, Human Rights Watch and the United Nations have also raised serious questions in these three cases.

And the Committee to Protect Journalists is investigating 10 other killings. When we reached out to the IDF for comments, they said, quote, the IDF has never, and will never, deliberately target journalists. That's the answer they always give in these situations.

Meanwhile, dozens of seasoned reporters have fled Gaza. Journalists who worked for Al Jazeera, the BBC, the New York Times, the Washington Post, Reuters, Agence France-Presse. So many media offices were demolished in Israeli airstrikes that the Committee to Protect Journalists stopped counting.

It's not just individual lives that have been destroyed. It's an entire infrastructure.

Thank you.

The name on the list that was hardest for me to look at was Issam Abdullah, because I'd crossed paths with him once. Issam was a Lebanese journalist, a video journalist for Reuters for many, many years. He had just won an award for coverage of Ukraine.

I'm Lebanese and still report there sometimes, and I'd worked with Issam a couple of summers ago. He helped me film a sort of random story in Beirut. I was interviewing this entrepreneur who had started a sperm freezing company after an accident where he spilled a tray of hot coffee on his private area, burning himself.

I know, ridiculous. It was a really silly shoot. Right after we said cut and started to rap, Issam started this whole bit about being in his late 30s, reconsidering his own sperm quality and everything he now realized he was doing to hurt it, and no one could stop laughing.

It was a really good day that felt good to remember and to remember him that way. Issam was killed by the IDF on October 13. His death was one of the three that the Committee to Protect Journalists has identified as a targeted killing.

He was fired upon by an Israeli tank while standing in an empty field on the Lebanon-Israel border with a small group of other journalists. Everyone was wearing press vests with cameras out. They were covering the Hezbollah part of this war.

A few other journalists were injured in the attack, which was captured on video. The IDF says they were responding to firing from Hezbollah, not targeting the journalists. But multiple investigations, including by Reuters, the United Nations, Amnesty International and the AFP, found no evidence of any firing from the location of the journalists before the IDF shot at them.

The journalists in the group and video footage confirmed that there was no military activity near them. I had only met Issam once, barely knew him, but it affected me so much when he died. I know that he understood the risks of his job, but somehow it still felt so random and unfair that he would be struck down like that, following the rules, wearing his press vest and helmet, and a pack of reporters on a sunny day in an open field.

I find myself thinking about him all the time. His last Instagram post was commemorating another journalist, this iconic reporter Shereen Abou Aql who had been killed by the IDF. When I first saw that post in October, I thought how ironic because a week later, Isam also was killed by the IDF.

But then, after spending time reading the list, I realized how common this had become. I still haven't finished going through the list and looking up the people on it. I keep finding things that stick with me, like the funny way this one radio host would cut off a caller who was rambling on for too long.

A tweet from reporter Al-Abdallah that quoted Sylvia Plath. It read, What ceremony of wars can patch the havoc? I'm going to keep going down the list, even though this story is over now.

Just for myself. My own way of bearing witness. Which is, in the end, all that these journalists were trying to do.”

—DANA BALLOUT, The 95. Dana sifts through a very long list—the list of journalists killed in the Israel-Hamas war, and comes back with five small fragments of the lives of the people on it. Dana is a Lebanese-American, Emmy-nominated documentary producer.

[jobean12-blog]

At First Sight

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (maybe he's a Mafia/Mob boss, maybe CEO- either way he's too delicious to ignore)

Word Count: 2,248

Summary: You're out to celebrate with friends when something unexpected happens.

Author's Note: We all know I love Mob/CEO Bucky and skirting that mystery line so you can use your imagination here! Honestly, if he approached me like this I'd just be putty in his hands haha 😏thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: flirting, Bucky is pretty forward, fun, drinking and mentions of alcohol but everyone is coherent and able to make clear choices, fingering, semi-public sex, curses

“I’m not sure…?”

You look between your two friends, Sadie, and Nia, and blink several times. “Too much?”

They look at each other then back at you.

“Definitely not!” Sadie squeals.

“And besides,” Nia adds, “the limo’s here. Too late to change!”

The space is dark, loud, and filled with moving bodies. You shove your way up to the bar and shout, “excuse me!” hoping to get the bartender’s attention.

With the music so turned up and so many other people slamming the bar, the bartender doesn’t even look in your direction.

“Heyyyy!” you shout with a slap on the bar.

“I’m not sure he heard you.”

At the sound of the unfamiliar voice, you look up at the man pressed close to you at the crowded bar.

He’s tall. And sexy. And gorgeous. And wearing a smirk that screams trouble…in the best way.

“Yelling won’t work doll,” the man says, motioning to the bartender. “It’s just too damn loud.”

You purse your lips as you try to think of a witty comeback but before you can he continues.

“But lucky for you, he’s my friend so I’ll help you order another round of those shots you seem to love.”

“How do you know what I love to drink?” you start, batting your lashes. “Maybe it’s a Whiskey neat.”

You lift your chin and smile sweetly, waiting for his reply.

“You’ve been ordering the same blue shots all night beautiful.”

Your mouth falls open to respond but nothing comes out.

Has he been watching you all night? Creepy or…amazing?

Instead, you stare and take in his features. Perfection.

The bartender comes over and looks at the man beside you expectantly.

“Three fingers of Whiskey, Steve and whatever the beautiful woman is having. She’s been waiting a bit.”

He turns to you, wearing a lopsided smile. “Will you be having Whiskey too?”

“I think I just might,” you tell your new friend.

“And how many fingers would you like doll?”

He watches you with an innocent expression as he spreads his long fingers out on the bar.

“Did you just…?” you stammer.

“Maybe just start with two,” he says.

A playful smile teases his lips, and you can’t help but stare at them.

“Fine, two fingers,” you say the bartender, “of whiskey…,” and then you give the man beside you a demure smile, “and more shots please.”  

“First time here?” the man asks, his gaze sweeping over you.

“How did you know?”

“I’d remember seeing you angel.”  

Even with his flirty forwardness you can’t seem to find anything that makes you uncomfortable. His eyes are friendly, and he’s standing close but not too close, just enough so you know he wants to be there to talk to you and only you.

You glance back to search for your friends but can’t find them anywhere.

“What are you celebrating tonight?” he asks when your eyes find his again.

“What makes you think I’m here celebrating anything?”

You raise an eyebrow and hold his stare.

“Do you ever just answer a question?” he counters.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth to stop your smile and fire back with, “do you ever stop asking questions?”

He laughs, the action lighting up his face and making his eyes crinkle flawlessly at the corners. It makes your stomach flutter.

You hold each other’s gaze for a beat before he continues.

“All the dancing and drinks…seems like a good time…a celebration.”

“Well, you’re right. My friend just got an amazing promotion at work.”

He smiles triumphantly and you smile back.

“So, there’s no chance you’ll be leaving here with me tonight.”

The bartender sets your drinks down in front of you just as your new eye candy finishes the sentence and you grab for your glass, downing as much as you can before you start to choke.

With a laugh the man takes a long and slow sip of his Whiskey, watching you. You put your half empty glass down on the bar with a dramatic bang and exhale.

“I…what? No!”

“That’s too bad,” he replies.

“You just met me,” you argue.

“And since the moment you walked in you’ve had my full attention,” he admits.

The shots seem to hit you all at once and you sway on your feet. He steadies you with a gentle but strong hand on your arm.

“Easy doll.”

“Ok…stop being so charming. The smiling and the touching… I like it way too much. It makes me want things…and we’ve only just met.”

“What kinds of things?” he asks, voice smooth like silk and deep.

You swallow hard and he tracks the movement of your throat before his eyes linger on your lips.

You gather up the shots for the girls. “We’re going to do these.”

He nods, slowly, his smile growing.

“So…um. I’ll see you later…?”

You wait, hoping he’ll give you his name.

“James, but you can call me Bucky.”

“Ok then, see you later Bucky.”

“I sure hope so angel.”

You find your friends at a table, catching their breath, and set down the shots.

“I met the hottest guy.”

Both friends pause with the drinks halfway to their mouths.

“What the hell are you doing here then?” Sadie asks.

“Girl’s night, we’re celebrating,” you say. “Duh.”

“Fuck that, go dance with the hot guy!” Nia shouts.

You lift your glass to your lips and shake your head. “No way, I’m here to dance with you all! Let’s go!”

You polish off the shot, wait for them to do the same then hold out your hands to pull them onto the dance floor.

The beat of the music surrounds you and you let go, forgetting routine and responsibility and just enjoying the moment.

Sadie yells something to you about the song that just started but you don’t quite catch it. Just behind her, set in the shadows off the side of the bar stands Bucky.

Your eyes meet and neither of you look away.

He doesn’t seem the least bit surprised to be caught staring at you. Every inch of your skin heats and when he lifts his glass, takes a sip, and smiles, you smile back…and start to move…just for him.

The hem of your dress inches higher as you lift your arms above your head, swaying your body to the rhythm of the music and getting lost in it. Your friends move closer and lean in.

“You’ve attracted an audience,” Sadie chuckles.

She whips her head to the side to point out the group of guys moving closer. You ignore the group and search the shadows for Bucky but he’s nowhere to be seen.

With unexpected disappointment you grab Sadie and tell her you need to use the ladies room, weaving your way though the crowd and off the dance floor. You follow the signs to the second floor, which is essentially a balcony overlooking the rest of the space.

After freshening up you walk out of the door and right into something hard. Bucky grips your biceps lightly, holding you close.

“You ok?” he asks.

You were standing close to him at the bar, but not this close, not close enough to smell his skin and feel the rise and fall of his chest. It makes you heady, but you manage a nod.

“Hi angel,” he smiles.

“Hi.”

“I was enjoying watching you dance.”

“I noticed.”

You hold his gaze, unable to look away. Down at the bar it was hard to tell the color of his eyes, but here, hidden away, even in the low light you can see they’re beautiful. The blue is like the ocean on a sparkling sunny day. Mesmerizing.

“Do you know what watching you does to me?”

You blink, trying your hardest to keep up with his directness.

He reaches down to take your hand, his grip loose and his movements tentative, waiting for you to tell him to stop.

When you don’t he presses it firmly to where he’s hard and aching.

“All this?” you ask in a breathy whisper. “Just from watching me?”

“Come home with me.”

You let out a little giggle.

“No. I can’t.”

“Come to my car then.”

“I’m not leaving this club with you.”

Even as you hear yourself say the words you know they aren’t holding the force you want them to.

He bends and presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“But I’m dying to touch you.”

It’s impossible to pretend you don’t want the same thing and you place your palms on his chest and push him backward into the darkness.

“Is that a yes?” he asks as he runs a long finger over the curve of your shoulder.

“You aren’t some psycho are you?”

With a chuckle he moves closer, brushing his lips along your cheek. “You make me feel a bit crazy doll, but no, I’m not.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and tilt your head, whispering against his lips, “something tells me I can trust you.”

He moves willingly, and meets you with a smile, pressing his lips to yours.

“You taste as good as you look angel. What’s your name?”

“My name?” you whisper, so caught up in the feel of him you almost forgot.

“You know my name, so you’ll know what to call me when you’re about to come. It’s only fair I do the same.”

You let out a little gasp and hold onto his shoulders more tightly.

“I…,”

You feel his smile against your mouth before he turns you and presses your front to the edge of the balcony overlooking everything below.

He takes your chin between his fingers to turn your head and steal another kiss, lingering until you whisper your name against his lips.

With a satisfied smile his fingers tease the edge of your dress and then he lifts it, sliding his hands down between your legs to rub along your panties.

“You’re so wet. And all for me angel.”

You moan loudly when he slides a long finger inside you and presses a kiss to the back of your neck.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs into your ear as he presses the pad of his thumb to your clit.

You turn and look at him. His eyes are wide open and clear. He teases you more, watching your every reaction then turns you to face him and drags you against the wall, bending to kiss you, hard and hungry.

“Someone could come down here,” he reminds you, meeting your eyes, giving you one last out.

You don’t care. He’s too perfect. He feels too good.

When you don’t protest he kneels at your feet and carefully pushes up your dress, hooking his thumbs into your panties to slowly drag them down.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, standing and lifting your leg to spread you open.

Reaching between your bodies, you open his jeans and push them down along with his boxers. You grab for him, rubbing him through your arousal.

“Fuck doll, wait. I need to put this on.”

He reaches behind him and fumbles for the back pocket of his jeans, pulling a condom free.

“You’re big,” you whisper, loving the feel of his warm, silky skin.

His grin is wolfish. “That’s the best thing you could say to me.”

You run your closed hand along the length of him again, letting the tip just bump your clit.

“Fuck, keep that up and I’ll be coming all over your hand.”

His fingers are unsteady as he works to slip the condom on.

“Have you done this before?” you ask, unable to keep your eyes off his cock.

“Have sex with a beautiful woman in a public space?”

He starts to push into you, achingly slowly. “No angel, I’ve never done this before…but with you, I’ll take what I can get.”

His words die away when he’s fully inside you, rubbing against your clit with each stroke and filling you so completely. You grip his shoulders as his thrusts grow faster.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

He leans back and looks down between your bodies, his eyes squeezing shut for a brief second before he starts to move faster.

When he leans down to kiss you he slows his movements, pulling out almost all the way before sinking back in. The slow pace doesn’t last long, and he hitches your leg higher to go deeper.

You feel your release building in your stomach and it’s only a few seconds more before a cry falls from your parted lips.

“Oh fuck,” he gasps, his hips moving jaggedly and rough before he comes with a deep groan.

He leans heavily against you, pressing his lips to your neck. “You’ve wrecked me angel.”

His hand is gentle when it smooths along your leg, and he pulls out. You straighten your dress as he rolls off the condom.

“That was perfect Bucky,” you hum, meeting him for a kiss.

He nods, dazed. “You’re ok?”

“Better than ok,” you answer. “And I think I’m ready for another dance.”

His lips twitch with a surprised grin and you turn away before he can respond, leaving him standing with his pants still unbuttoned.

A few minutes later you find Sadie and Nia, both ready to head home. And it isn’t until you’re sitting in the quiet of the limo, reliving every second of what happened with Bucky, that you realize you’d left your panties on the floor at his feet.

[not-neverland06]

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙶𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝙲𝚊𝚐𝚎

Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

Next Part - Hell Hath No Fury Series

A/N: Sexually mature themes, no graphic or explicitly detailed smut

Summary: Even as a socialite, you've never had the honor of attending a mobster's party. Now, you get to say you've done it all. Tensions seem to ease with Arthur as you both relax into your roles. But things can never stay easy for long, can they?

Arthur had a fence in the city that could loan him a carriage in exchange for a favor down the road. You didn’t ask what the favor was and you weren’t interested in knowing. You’d offered to ride in the front with him but he’d just made a vague excuse of not wanting to dirty your new dress. 

He was lying, it was clear as day that he didn’t give a damn about the state of your dress, but you weren’t going to push him. If he didn’t want to speak, then fine. The entire ride back to camp could be spent in silence for all you care. Though, it seems like he’s purposely trying to hit every damn rock he can. You’ve never had such a horribly bumpy ride as this one.

You can tell when you get closer to camp as the wheels struggle to slough through all the mud. A moment later the carriage comes to a halt and Sean’s muffled voice slinks through the thick wood of the walls. “Arthur,” the H slips through the vowels of his accent and it sounds like he’s saying Artur. “What the hell is that?” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Arthur’s low voice calls back. The carriage rocks as Arthur climbs off the front bench and you slip forward, reaching for the door. It swings open before you can grab the handle. Arthur doesn’t look at you as he holds his hand out for you, just waits expectantly. 

You roll your eyes at his stubbornness but take the help anyway. This dress is far too tight for you to shuffle down the steps on your own. Arthur guides you out and releases you the moment you’re standing on steady feet. 

“Oh, be still my flutterin’ heart,” Sean calls out as he eyes you up in the dress. 

Arthur grimaces, lip curling in distaste. “Shuddup, Sean.”

“What?” He asks, voice full of all the innocence in the world as he sends you a brief wink. “I’m not allowed to compliment the lady? You’d have to be one sour bastard not to tell the lady how beautiful she looks.” 

The carriage being driven into camp has drawn the attention of a few others. They slowly move towards you and Arthur, eyeing you both with curiosity in their gazes. The door to Shady Belle flies open and Dutch stands in the doorway. “Now, what is this?”

He, fortunately, doesn’t make you walk to him. You’re standing on a slat of wood now, but one step forward and you’ll be ankle-deep in muck. “I think I might have gotten a lead while we were in the city. An Italian man invited me to a party tonight full of ‘influential’ people as he put it.”

Dutch’s brows raise in surprise, as though he hadn’t expected anything useful to come out of your trip. You’re not sure if he was just doubting you or the possibility of ever finding Jack, but you take his astonishment in offense. 

“Italian?” Dutch questions and his eyes dart toward Arthur. You and Sadie have been on the receiving end of that look quite a lot these past few weeks. The both of you arguing for more involvement in the gang’s activities. And every time you’d receive placating words and a dismissive glance that meant you really shouldn’t bring it up again.

Arthur nods at Dutch, he barely spares you a glance as they both walk back into the house. You feel like a fool, standing in the middle of camp all dolled up and terrified of dirtying the hem of your dress with mud. You don’t feel like the woman you’ve become over the past few months, it’s as though you’ve turned into that cowering girl once more. 

 “You look pretty,” a deep voice interrupts your spiraling thoughts. Glancing over your shoulder, you see Charles approaching you. He looks you up and down, not admiring, simply observing. 

“Oh,” you say, caught off guard. He said it so bluntly. There was no smooth delivery of a line. Instead, it felt like he was stating a cold hard fact rather than a sugary compliment . You were pretty, and he wasn’t trying to earn anything from you by saying that. “Thank you-”

“But this doesn’t suit you.” You clamp your mouth shut, lips thinning as your eyes narrow into slits. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” You grit out, arms crossed tightly across your chest. His lips curl up slightly, laughing at your soured expression. 

“It just doesn’t look like you. It’s like trying to force a bison into a herd of doe.”

Your jaw drops and you gape, stamping your foot at him, “I am in a corset! ” You’re halfway to outraged and it’s only making you angrier that he looks like he’s trying not to laugh. 

His nose scrunches slightly but he just shrugs. “There might have been a kinder way to put it, but that doesn’t change that it’s the truth.”

“What?” You snap, “That I’m a giant lumbering beast?” You throw your arms out, irritated by his insistence on this ridiculous metaphor. 

“That you’re trying to fit into a role you don’t belong in. You’re not a lady anymore, and you’re no outlaw. You can’t force yourself to be either of those things.” You hadn’t expected Charles, of all the people in this damn camp, to be the one to point out how you don’t belong. Not just among them, but in society in general. There’s no place anywhere for you anymore, not even here. 

“Well then, what’s a bison supposed to do?” You snap, looking away as you wipe away the warmth trickling down your cheeks. 

“I don’t know,” he says simply, his voice softer when he sees the glassiness in your eyes. You look back at him and he reaches forward, surprisingly gentle as he brushes away a tear. “That’s for you to figure out. But you’ll never be happy stuck standing between two worlds, especially when you don’t like either of them.” He smiles at you and places his hand on your shoulder, squeezing slightly. “But you look pretty,” he amends, as though that will undo the hurt he’s just caused.

“Thank you,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. He shrugs, eyes drifting over your shoulder. You turn, following his gaze, and smile as you see Mary-Beth and Tilly approaching. Charles walks off, not looking to get caught up in whatever it is the girls look so excited about. You can’t say you blame him, if you weren’t stuck in the only mudless spot here, you might try and make a run for it too. 

They look far too eager for you not to be suspicious. “Are you really goin’ to a party?” Tilly rushes out, cornering you against the carriage alongside Mary-Beth. 

“I don’t really have a choice, I’m the one who got the invitation.”

Mary-Beth gasps dramatically and swats at your shoulder. “Oh, I’m so jealous. What I would give to be able to look like a lady for once and get the hell out of this camp.” You’d switch places with her if you could. The laces of this dress are so tight you’re starting to feel lightheaded. 

“You have to let us do your hair,” Tilly suddenly blurts out, hands already darting towards the leather strap tying your hair up. You duck out of the way of her wandering hands and she shoots you a firm glare. 

“Well, I don’t know-”

“No arguing,” Mary-Beth snaps. She loops her arm through yours and Tilly takes the other. “We’ll get you looking prim and proper in no time,” you really don’t have the heart to argue when you see the dreamy smile on her face. You know it’s not often any of the women get to escape camp. Especially not for something as glamorous as a party in the city. 

If they want to live vicariously through you for a night, who are you to deny them the pleasure?

“Alright, fine,” you acquiesce with a reluctant smile. “But you’re gonna have to help me through all this mud.” Tilly and Mary-Beth shoot each other giddy smiles, dragging you along behind them towards the women’s tent. 

“Oh, Tilly, we should do her makeup too.”

Your eyes widen and you grimace. There’s a limited cache of rouge and lipstick hidden somewhere in camp. You know it’s only dragged out for special occasions. But it’s been so long since you’ve worn any that you’ve forgotten just how much you hate it. You’re remembering now, as you look upon their mischievous faces. 

“Hold on now-”

“I’ll get the vanity case of it from Mrs. Grimshaw,” Tilly interrupts, rushing off before you can stop her. You sink into Mary-Beth’s side, letting out a heavy sigh as you relinquish yourself into her care for the next hour. You pass by Charles and glare at the slight smirk on his lips as he shakes his head at you. Smug bastard. 

Arthur and Dutch finish up their talk while Mary-Beth and Tilly are still fussing over you. You manage to peek an eye open as Mary-Beth is slapping your cheeks with a powder puff. Arthur walks up to Hosea, sparing you a slight glance as he places his hand on the old man’s shoulder. He leans in close and you narrow your eyes, trying to decipher what he’s whispering to him. 

“Straighten up,” Tilly snaps, the hot tongs in her hand getting dangerously close to the nape of your neck. The smell of smoke drifts around you and your nose scrunches in distaste. 

“You’re not burning my hair off, are you?” You try to turn your head slightly to get a good look at her, but she nudges your face back around to a disgruntled Mary-Beth. Lipstick hovers over your face as Mary-Beth scrubs roughly at the smudged red on your cheek. 

“Relax, I know how to use these better than any of the other women in camp,” Tilly assures you. There’s a release of tension as she lets the strand of hair out of the tongs and pins it up. The last time you had your hair curled like this, it had been a much gentler experience. You feel as though you’re being punished for your reluctance to get dolled up. 

Here you sit, the opportunity they’ve always wanted landing right in your lap, and you want nothing to do with it. You suppose they might be bitter. The only times they’ve been allowed out of camp they’ve had to pose as whores or damsels in distress. You just get to be a lady. Letting out a heavy sigh, you force yourself to relax in their hold. 

“Alright,” Mary-Beth’s tongue pokes from the corner of her lips as she tilts her head, examining your face. You try not to have your nose scrunch so you don’t wrinkle the powder. “I’m done,” she says, stepping back from you like an artist scrutinizing their latest painting. “It would help if you didn’t have that sour expression.”

You roll your eyes but Tilly releases you before you can say anything rude. She places one last pin in your hair and rounds the chair you sit on. “Oh, some of my finest work, if you don’t mind me sayin’.” Mary-Beth nods her approval and they both share a smile as they ogle down at you. 

“We’re done?” You grouse, tired from sitting under their nagging hands for so long. 

Tilly throws her hands up and narrows her eyes at you, “A thank you would be lovely. Ain’t they teach you manners in that fancy school of yours?” 

You suppose you could be a bit more gracious. Swallowing your pride you nod in appreciation, “Thank you, ladies.” Mary-Beth rushes off and digs around in one of the crates beside the tent. She returns and thrusts a rusted silver mirror in your hand. The glass is slightly cracked but you can still see your reflection well enough. 

Mary-Beth certainly doesn’t hold as heavy a hand as your old maids. You don’t despise the way your face looks with makeup, but it doesn’t feel natural. And you can already start to feel the powder itching on your skin. Still, you force a smile, pretending to be awed by your appearance. 

Tilly certainly did better with your hair than you would have. You honestly hadn’t thought about attempting hair or makeup tonight. It’s been so long since you’ve been in polite society that you’ve forgotten all the work that goes into presenting yourself. Still, the updo looks pretty and the curled ringlets draped over your shoulder are a nice touch. 

You can’t help the disappointment festering in your stomach. It feels as though you should be more excited to see yourself all prettied up. It’s been months since you’ve been in a dress or put any thought into how you look. In your old estates, you were surrounded by mirrors and scrutinizing faces. The only thing you could think about was your presentation and how others viewed you. You’ve grown so used to not giving it any thought that it weighs heavier on your shoulders than you’d expected. 

“It looks wonderful,” you tell them with a strained smile, placing the mirror down by your side. Tilly and Mary-Beth nod, looking properly excited as they whisper to themselves about all the handsome men you’ll see at the party. You chuckle a little, they don’t know that you won’t meet any decent men where you’re going. Mary-Beth’s tales of whirlwind romance and being swept off your feet have ingrained themselves into the less jaded minds of camp. There’s no need to ruin their rose-tinted view of fine society. 

You get to your feet, taking light steps as you skirt around the deeper piles of mud. You just manage to stay on the firmer parts of the land, dress lifted above your ankles. Someone whistles and you grimace, prepared for Micah to be shouting something nasty out to you. 

Instead, a husky feminine voice calls out, “Lookin’ mighty fine, Lady Rowe.” You chuckle, turning to glare at Sadie. She stands a few feet away, lingering by the door of Shady Belle, likely trying to eavesdrop on the men’s conversation as she normally does. Her hand lingers on the revolver by her hip and she sends you a wink. 

“You’re ridiculous, Sadie,” you admonish. 

She shrugs and walks towards you, “Just the truth.”

“Well, did you have to tell it like a man?” You grouch, tugging the neckline of your dress up. 

She smiles at you, walking with you towards the carriage. “Men always seem to have more fun.” You suppose that’s true. They don’t have to spend an hour and a half primping and prepping for something as ridiculous as a party. All they need to do is lick their hands, slick back their hair, and throw on a suit. Lucky bastards. 

“I feel like a clown under all this makeup,” you resist the urge to claw at the skin of your face. It feels as though ants crawl under your flesh, it makes you antsy to just strip everything off. 

She narrows her eyes at you, smile giving way to something more calculating. “It is odd, seeing you like this again. I remember when you used to leave for dinners or parties all dolled up. You never really looked happy then, you were always fussin’.”

“I’m still fussin’,” you admit, tugging at one of the ringlets draped over your shoulder. She swats your hand away and laughs at your aggrieved expression. 

“It’s only one night. Then you can get back to pants and shootin’ at any bastard that pisses you off.” You relax slightly and send her a grateful smile. It’s nice that at least one of the women here recognizes just how constricting this role is. 

Sadie used to have to take orders from you. She’d even had to stomach you cutting her pay when your husband gambled too much. You were the face telling her she was gonna have to scrape for extra money and figure out a new way to feed herself and her husband. Still, she remains the only one who understands just how unfulfilling the life of the rich is.

The front door of Shady Belle swings open and Dutch comes striding out in a suit, Hosea, Arthur, and one very angry-looking Bill not far behind. “Don’t you look fancy?” Sadie calls out, scoffing as she takes in the men. 

“Why, thank you, Mrs. Adler,” Dutch bows his head towards her and she rolls her eyes. You share a brief glance before she walks off. Dutch comes to stand beside you at the carriage, the rest of the men following suit. Arthur opens up the door for you and gives you a hand up the steps. You squeeze his palm once, holding your breath until you feel him return it. Letting go of his hand, you settle yourself on the bench, smoothing out the wrinkles of your dress. 

Dutch has nearly made it inside when Abigail comes rushing up to you all, John not far behind. Letting out a weary sigh, Dutch holds his hands up, shaking his head before Abigail even has a chance to say anything. 

“I already told you, Abigail, it’s too much of a risk having you come with us. I can’t trust you’ll be able to keep your temper.”

Abigail shakes her head and glares at him, lips curled back like she wants to lunge at him. “It is my son that you are lookin’ for, Dutch. I’m not leavin’ him.”

“No,” Dutch assures her, voice calm and gentle in a way you’ve heard so many times before. You’re unsure where he’s learned the skills he has. But the way he puppeteers these people is near magic. “You’re trusting us,” he nods towards the men, “to take care of him for you. That boy is like family to me, Abigail, I’m not going to let anything happen to him.”

Every ounce of restraint is used not to mutter, you already have. Still, you know that won’t do anything but make Abigail fret even more. A little bit of petty satisfaction isn’t worth putting an already nervous mother on edge. 

She takes a step back from him and John reaches for her but she skirts out of his grasp. Things were already tense between them, you’re not sure they’re going to be able to recover from this. Everyone can plainly see that she blames him for her child going missing. Even though you all know there was nothing he could have done to stop it. 

John looks at her, face pinched with concern. He turns towards Dutch, something determined settling along his shoulders. “I’ll ride behind you.” He cuts Dutch off before the man can weasel his way out of anything. “I ain’t goin’ into the party, but if you’re going to be lookin’ for my son, then I’m goin’ to be there.” 

Dutch lets out a heavy sigh, you know he wants to argue, but there’s no point. John’s been butting heads with him more and more, he’s beginning to lose faith in Dutch just as much as you are. “Fine,” Dutch relents. “But you’re not to get involved in any way.”

John nods, already heading towards his horse. Abigail follows along behind him, something stunned painted across her face. Dutch finally makes it into the carriage, taking a seat beside you as Hosea sits across from you both. Arthur closes the door and climbs atop the carriage with Bill. 

“It’s gonna be suspicious,” you tell Dutch and Hosea as the horses start moving. “Walking in surrounded by so many men,” you clarify. Hosea nods and Dutch looks like he’s thinking about it as you continue. “Suppose you ought to be my father,” you tell Dutch. 

He scoffs, shaking his head, “I ain’t that much older than you, sweetheart.” Your skin crawls at the pet name. It sounds so much sweeter when Arthur says it. You just feel like an idiot child when Dutch calls you sweetheart. 

“You had me young,” you snap, glaring at him. His brows raise at the attitude and you suck in a deep breath, trying to keep your tone in check. “Look, the man we’re going to meet invited me to be his date. The fastest way to get to him is you present yourself as my father and ask for a meeting with him.”

Dutch sucks on his teeth, looking towards Hosea. “She’s got a good point,” the old man agrees, sending you a brief smile.

Dutch shrugs, “Alright then. I’m honored to escort my darling daughter,” he pats your hand and you screw your face up, jerking your arm away from him. Petulantly, you turn towards the window of the carriage, not wanting to be so close to him. He chuckles under his breath, talking to Hosea like you’re not even there. 

He’s already doing such a wonderful job playing the part of your father. 

Dutch files out of the carriage, Hosea following behind him. Arthur peers his head around the door, helping you out. You struggle a bit in the heels the girl’s had loaned you that are just a size too small. He places a steadying hand on your lower back and leads you around the side of the carriage to where the other’s wait. 

You feel a little of the tension from before ease as he doesn’t immediately pull his hand away from you. The whole argument feels ridiculous, but now isn’t the time to dwell on it. 

Still, you can’t shake how he'd made you feel when you were so vulnerable in front of him at the tailor’s, and the worry that the two of you might be too different to make this work. 

He’s an outlaw through and through, and you know it’s why his last relationship fell apart. But you’re not trying to change who he is—you just want him to be safe. And he, ever stubborn, just wants to keep you far away from the gang’s dangerous business.

“Mrs. Rowe, Mr. Willamison, Mr. Morgan, and Mr. Matthews, don’t you all just look fine,” Dutch admires as you all stand before him. 

“Almost look like we’ve got the same stick up our ass as the rest of them,” Bill snorts, tugging at the neck of his suit. 

Dutch shoots Bill a sharp look before addressing the rest of you. “Remember, we’re here for information on Jack. But,” he adds with a smile, “let us take advantage of the wonderful opportunity the lady provided for us.” He nods at you and you offer him a pinched look. “Mingle, see if you can’t find something to get us to Tahiti,” he instructs with insincere cheer.  

You shake your head at the mention of Tahiti. Dutch couldn’t point it out on a map if he tried. There’s never going to be an escape for these people, he’ll make sure of it. As Dutch is talking, Arthur slowly slips away from you, moving to stand beside Bill. 

Hosea notices, eyes narrowing in on the space between the both of you. “Arthur,” he calls out, stopping Dutch from spewing any more half-baked lies. Arthur turns towards him and Hosea nods to your side. “Take the lady's arm,” he instructs. 

Arthur’s brows furrow and he shakes his head. “The man in there thinks I’m just a half-wit chauffeur. Ain’t no fool holdin’ a lady’s arm,” he grouses, glancing over at you. 

“Arthur,” you snap, narrowing your eyes at him. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“What did you-”

“Arthur,” Hosea interrupts, voice firm as he nods once more at you. “Take the lady's arm, I won’t say it again.” Arthur sighs but his face remains infuriatingly neutral as he comes to stand at your side. He slips his arm into yours without a word and it makes your chest clench. “Well,” Hosea prompts, “aren’t you gonna tell her she looks pretty?”

“Hosea, really-” you start, but Arthur cuts you off. 

“You look pretty.” You snap your mouth shut, eyes narrowing as Hosea gives a satisfied nod and saunters off after Dutch, probably grinning to himself. You glance up at Arthur, analyzing his face for any signs of deception or reluctance. He’s being genuine, you can tell that much. Leave it to Hosea to wring a compliment out of the man. 

Arthur starts walking you both forward, following Dutch and Hosea. Two armed guards stand before the entrance of the estate. They each step forward, holding their hands up and stopping you all from progressing any further. 

“No weapons, by request of Mr. Bronte.” Bill opens his mouth to protest but Dutch holds up a silencing hand. 

“Not a problem, gentlemen.” You step to the side, letting them empty their holsters. One of the guards glances towards you and the beaded purse on your arm. He eyes you warily and you scoff with feigned offense. 

“You think a lady like myself carries weapons? Really?” You shake your head and do your best to look outraged. “I suppose next you’ll be asking to look up my skirt too!” You can see the other's faces blanche but the guard backs off, hands raised as he lets you through. “I never,” you huff, glaring at him as you pass by. 

Dutch is the first to catch up to you. He steals Arthuir’s spot by your side and takes your elbow in his hand. He guides you up the front porch stairs and you resist the urge to jerk your arm out of his grip. “You play your role quite well,” he compliments.

You give him an appreciative smile and open the clasp of your purse for him. “I’ve got a conveniently sized companion in my purse if you get too familiar, Father,” you bite out, showing him the small gun hidden within the fabric. He only chuckles, tucking you back into his hold. 

The sounds of the party outside begin to leak through the extravagantly decorated halls of the estate and you feel your heart kick up. It’s been a long while since you’ve had to entertain one of these functions. You haven’t had the time to worry about your hair, or makeup, or how scandalous your dress was, in so long. You’ve forgotten how nerve-wracking it can be. 

You find yourself squeezing Dutch’s arm, desperate for something to ground you and finding no comfort in him. Your hand fists itself in the silk of your dress, wrinkling it and staining it with your sweaty palm. 

You step out onto the back terrace and stride towards the railing overlooking the vast garden. Below, a sea of socialites, businessmen, and politicians mills about, their laughter and pleasantries drowning out the quartet playing. Each of them mingles and laughs at each other’s jokes. But you know better, you see through the charade. They’re predators cloaked in silk, circling one another, each waiting for the faintest scent of weakness before they strike. There is no true friendship or kindness between people like this. 

“Alright—” Dutch begins, turning to address the group behind him, but a thick Italian accent cuts him off.

“Ah, my guest of honor.”

The man from the bar strides past Arthur, his attention fixed on you and Dutch.

Dutch’s face splits into a wide, practiced smile as he steps forward, extending his hand for a shake. “Sir, this is my father-” you begin to introduce but the man interrupts. 

He takes Dutch’s hand with a grin. “Dutch Van der Linde. And you,” he says, turning toward you with a gleam in his eye that makes your stomach twist, “the beautiful Mrs. Rowe.”

Arthur and Bill exchange a tense glance, their hands twitching instinctively for the guns they were forced to leave behind.

The man bursts into laughter, clapping his hands together at the sight of their wary expressions. “Please, gentlemen, do not insult me. I am no fool.” His gaze slides back to you, his grin widening. “But I do enjoy pretty things—like your charming companion here—putting on such delightful performances for me.”

You should have known better. Information shouldn’t have come so easily. Your grip on Dutch’s arm slackens, and without hesitation, you step toward Arthur. 

“Well, you seem to know us, sir,” Dutch interjects smoothly, attempting to reclaim control of the conversation. “I can’t say we share the honor.”

“Angelo Bronte,” he introduces himself smoothly, shaking Hosea’s hand before moving through the men one by one. Finally, he reaches you. With a practiced elegance, he takes your hand, his touch light as he bends to press a kiss to your knuckles.

His eyes lift to meet yours, dark and calculating, as his lips brush against your gloved fingers. “A pleasure,” he murmurs, his voice rich with charm. “I do hope you’ll save a dance for me.”

Your face screws up in distaste before you mask it with a practiced smile. Words fail you as you’re overcome with the urge to put as much distance between yourself and Angelo as possible. 

He lingers, his presence making your stomach twist with discomfort, for another moment before finally stepping back and releasing you. He turns towards Dutch and gives him a greasy smile. “I believe we have business to discuss,” he says smoothly, nodding toward Hosea. “If you and your companion would join me in my study.”  

It’s a demand, not an invitation, as Bronte steps back through the grand doors of the estate. His men move swiftly to escort Hosea and Dutch inside. Dutch pauses, turning to the rest of you. “Talk to everyone you can,” he instructs, his tone clipped and focused.

You scoff under your breath. Even faced with an Italian mobster, Dutch’s mind is fixed firmly on profit.

“I’m headin’ to the bar,” Bill grumbles, brushing past you and Arthur without a second glance.

You turn to your partner, offering him a faint, hesitant smile but avoiding his gaze. “Feel like dancing?”  You fear the same cruel rejection he’d given you earlier. 

Arthur glances at you with a shrug, already heading for the stairs. “Oh, I don’t know,” he says, his tone teasing, dry. “I might be a bit too dull-witted for a dance.”

You roll your eyes, trailing after him, his jab lingering between you like an unspoken challenge. You take his arm and he begins shouldering through all the nicely dressed people. They send him affronted looks but he pays no mind, heading toward the bar Bill isn’t standing at. “Don’t keep pretending I intentionally hurt your feelings,” you taunt.

He pauses at the bar, gently pushing you in front of him to create a buffer between you and the throng of people. His presence shields you like a wall. It doesn’t help the way the air feels more suffocating with every passing moment. You’re unsure if it’s the corset or the amount of people swarming you that makes it hard to breathe.

“’Course my feelings ain’t hurt,” he mutters, flashing a brief grin before waving down the bartender. Without needing to say much, the man places a glass of whiskey in front of him and moves on to the next person. “I know you had to lie,” Arthur continues, voice quieter now. “I just don’t like you being mixed up in all this, alright? You could-”

“What?” You interrupt, turning to face him, your chest pressing against his. The sight you make must be quite a spectacle for polite society- two people so intimately entwined, neither of you wearing rings. You take his hand in yours, “I could get hurt?”

You let out a self-deprecating laugh and shake your head. “I already have been hurt, Arthur. The O'Driscolls were what dragged me into this, not you. Just being in that camp puts me in danger.”

His brows furrow, something that looks startling like hurt playing across his face. “I can’t be responsible,” he utters, voice low and heavy, “for someone else I care about dyin’.”

You sigh, heart aching for him. “Arthur,” you say softly, hand drifting up to cup his jaw. He leans into your touch, and you practically melt at the sight. You wish you could just keep him locked away. Away from all his troubles and the pain he carries, but you know you can’t. 

“You can’t be responsible for everyone,” you tell him, voice low. “I make my own choices, I’m my own woman. If I choose to put myself in danger that’s my fault, not yours. You’re always gonna be worrying if you keep shouldering all this weight. Let some of it go. Please.”

He sighs heavily, and you know deep down he won’t listen to you, not about this. He’ll always blame himself for the gang’s troubles, and it eats you up inside. You wish he could see himself the way you see him, the way Hosea or Tilly or Sean sees him, not as the man Dutch created.

“Alright,” he whispers, an empty promise, and pulls your hand from his face, lacing his fingers through yours. Your throat tightens as you swallow hard. He’ll never let go. He’d give his dying breath to save someone else.

You blink rapidly, looking away from him as your gaze drifts toward the partygoers. Women in extravagant dresses pass by, on the arms of powerful men, nothing more than accessories to them. You find yourself reaching for the ring on your left hand, only to remember it's long gone.

You had hoped you’d never return to a place like this, to a life full of bad memories. But you should’ve known. No matter what, you always end up back here. It’s what you were raised for, trained for, to please men like Angelo Bronte.

“Can’t believe Hosea had to tell you to compliment me,” you tease, trying to lighten the mood.

He rolls his eyes with a small smile, “You look gorgeous, sweetheart,” he tells you, wholly earnest in his words. “But-”

You swear if he's about to call you a bison-

“Arthur!” A voice calls from above, cutting through the moment. You both frown and look up to see Dutch bent over the porch railing. He nods toward the door, then disappears back inside the estate.

“Alright,” Arthur mutters, pulling a key from inside his jacket and turning toward you. You raise an eyebrow, leaning against the bar,  and giving him a questioning look. “Take this and head to the hotel down the road,” he says, handing you the key. “I’ll meet you when this is all done.”

“What is it?” You gingerly take the key from his hand and turn it over. 

“A room key,” he deadpans and you roll your eyes. 

“I see that, but why did you get it?” You ask, but before he can answer, an impatient voice calls his name from above. You tuck the key into your bag, waving him off. “Go on. I need to get out of here before Bronte collects on that dance.”

He grumbles something under his breath and heads back toward the stairs. He’s nearly at the landing when he turns back toward you.“I’ll be with you soon,” he promises, then rushes the rest of the way up to meet Dutch.

You stare at the key in your purse, then glance back at the women around you. This will be the first party you’ve ever left under your own volition. And, without the looming proposal of twenty men you’ve never met. This will be the first party you’ve ever left by choice. If that’s the only win you have tonight, you’ll be happy. 

Saint Denis might be the most backward place you’ve encountered during your time with the gang. Perhaps not as stifling as Rhodes, but certainly no better.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the hotel clerk drawls, his tone dripping with false courtesy. “But we don’t allow women of your… caliber in our establishment.”

You glance down at your fine dress, the way Mary-Beth had carefully styled your hair, and try to reconcile his words with your polished appearance. For the life of you, you can’t fathom how this man sees anything but a proper lady.

“And what, exactly, is that supposed to mean?” you ask, your voice sharp.

The man sniffs, his expression folding into something both condescending and disdainful. “Well,” he says, as if speaking to a wayward child, “I happen to remember the gentleman who retained that room. He seems the type to… hire someone like you.”

It takes a moment for his words to land, but when they do, the whites of your eyes flash in disbelief. A whore. That’s what he’s implying you are. Just some woman off the street Arthur must have paid for companionship.

Your fingers twitch, the weight of the gun in your purse suddenly tempting, but you know better. Causing a scene here would accomplish nothing but attracting the attention of Saint Denis’ finest.

Instead, you step forward, your voice dropping into a low, icy drawl. “My husband is going to be quite upset by this treatment.”

He nods his head, lips tilted in faux pity, “I’m sure he will be,” he agrees, voice dripping with sarcasm. He doesn’t believe for one second that you’re married. And maybe you aren’t, but that doesn’t matter. You refuse to let him get away with treating you like this. 

“Oh,” you trail off into a bitter chuckle, the sound sharp and humorless as you glare at the smug little man behind the counter. “Alright. I see how it is.”

He has the audacity to feign innocence, shaking his head with wide, exaggerated eyes. “How what is, ma’am?”

You don’t answer. Instead, you nod to yourself, your decision made, and storm over to the bench by the entrance. Without hesitation, you plant yourself down, smoothing your dress as you settle in for the long haul. “I’ll stay here all damn night if I have to,” you declare, voice loud enough to draw a few curious glances from other patrons. “But I will not be leaving this spot until you apologize.”

The clerk’s smile widens, smug and condescending. “Well,” he says with mock cheer, “I hope you’re comfortable.”

It takes Arthur an hour and a half to finish whatever Dutch had needed him for. You don’t have a clue if it had to do with Jack, Tahiti, or who knows what else. All you know is that your legs are practically numb from the tight heels you’re wearing and the uncomfortable wooden bench beneath you. Still, that doesn’t stop you from leaping to your feet the second you see Arthur walk through the hotel door. 

His eyes narrow in confusion as you stride toward him. “What’re you still doin’ waitin’ out here?” 

You scoff, grabbing his wrist and storming back toward the little man behind the counter, whose wide eyes have already clocked Arthur’s imposing presence. “This little-” You bite your tongue, sucking in a deep breath to steady yourself. Arthur’s brows quirk in amusement as he watches you wrestle your temper into submission. 

“This man,” you start again, glaring at the clerk with barely restrained anger, “refused to let me into our room. Says he doesn’t think people like us belong in a place like this.”

Arthur’s expression hardens with interest, and the clerk quickly starts bumbling excuses, his words tripping over themselves in a frantic effort to backpedal. You plant a hand on your hip, your smile sharp and smug as you watch him squirm under the weight of Arthur’s silence.

“You left my wife,” Arthur says, his arm slipping around your waist as he pulls you close, “sittin’ out here. All night?” 

The word wife rolls off his tongue so easily it catches you off guard, but you don’t have time to dwell on it. The clerk pales, shaking his head as he stammers, “It was an innocent mistake, sir, I swear. I will happily take you up to your rooms now.”

“No,” you snap, stopping him before he can step away. His strained smile falters as he turns back to you. 

“Ma’am?” Both men look at you, but you’re too incensed to notice Arthur biting back his laughter. 

“I want a proper apology,” you demand. “I sat on that bench for near two hours and all it takes is one word from him,” you jab a finger in Arthur’s direction. He makes a noise somewhere between affronted and amused, but stays quiet.  “And suddenly everythings just fine and dandy?”

The clerk inhales deeply and forces the most half-hearted apologetic look you’ve ever seen. “I am truly sorry ma’am,” he says, tone clipped and mechanical. “Your dress had me mistaking you for someone of much less standing.”

Your jaw drops, and something between a squeak and a growl escapes you. Arthur swiftly snatches the room key back from the clerk and shoots him a glare.“We’ll find our own way to the room.” He tugs you along before you can lunge at the man, whose smug smirk makes your blood boil. Arthur steers you toward the stairs, pushing you gently ahead of him.

“He thought I was a whore, Arthur!” He chuckles and you gasp, whipping around and swatting at his arm. “Do I look like a whore to you?”

“Well, you’re pretty enough to be one—”

“Arthur!” you exclaim, smacking him harder as he laughs and ushers you down the hallway.

When you reach the door, your irritation fades. “Why’d you even get us a hotel room?”

“Well,” he says with a small smile, “I know Shady Belle ain’t up to your standards.”

Guilt twists at you and you shake your head. “Oh, Arthur, no-”

“It’s alright, sweetheart. It ain’t my house.” He takes your hand and leads you inside.

You have to admit, the second you see the clean walls of the room and the freshly-made bed, it’s like weight taken off your shoulders. You hadn’t realized just how much you’d been craving the cleanliness of your old life until now. The idea of a proper bath makes your heart ache with longing.

“How much did this cost you?”

Arthur quirks a brow, slowly sliding your purse off your arm. He frowns slightly at the weight of the gun inside, shooting you an odd look before continuing. “Is that any way to talk to a gentleman?”

“Oh,” you tease, grinning as you turn toward him, “I didn’t know I was talking to a gentleman.” He sets the purse on the table by the bed and closes the distance between you, his hands finding your waist as you loop your arms around his neck.

The conversation takes a more grave shift as you ask, “What did Dutch need?”

Arthur sighs, rolling his eyes. “That Bronte fella. He was the one who took Jack. Needed me and John to fetch some family heirloom. Still, robbin’ graves for an Italian mobster ain’t the oddest job I’ve worked.”

“So, Jack’s back?” you prod, intrigued by the grave-robbing but saving your questions for later.

He nods, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Back at camp. They’re probably celebratin’ by now.”

“And you didn’t want to celebrate with them?”

He shakes his head, his hands drifting to the laces of your dress. “Nowhere I’d rather be than right here.”

“Mr. Morgan,” you scold, your voice low and breathy as he leans closer. “What exactly are your intentions tonight?”

“To get you out of this damn dress,” he murmurs with a chuckle, plucking at a lace and loosening your corset. His eyes meet yours, warm and intent. “Feels like I’m holdin’ someone else’s woman. Wanna see you again.”

You can’t help but smile at the tenderness in his voice, though the words cut a little deeper than you expected. This dress, this persona, the polished veneer of a proper lady- it’s all a mask. And in Arthur’s arms, it feels like it’s already slipping away. 

You tilt your head up, eyes fluttering close in invitation. He doesn’t waste a second before he’s pressing his lips against yours, eager hands working on pushing the corset the rest of the way off. You stumble towards the bed, your fingers drifting down his neck to tug at the bowtie still knotted too tightly around his collar. 

Arthur seems to have better luck than you do with shedding your layers. He also seems to have more experience with ladies garments than he’s let on. You’d laugh at his eagerness if you weren’t just as desperate, fumbling at the buttons of his shirt with frustrated huffs. 

He gives you a gentle push, your legs hit the edge of the bed and you fall back with a soft gasp. You prop yourself on your elbows, looking up at him with a coy smile as your fingers toy with the neckline of your shift, sliding it a little lower. 

“Well, Mr. Morgan?” You tease, your voice low and inviting. “You really gonna keep a lady waiting?”

His lips quirk into a crooked smile, but he doesn’t bother with words. Instead, he leans down, his weight pressing into you as he captures your lips again. Your laughter melts into a quiet gasp as his hands find your waist, tugging you closer. 

The room grows warmer, the world outside fading to nothing as you lose yourself in him, in the way his hands and lips feel against your skin. Your dress slips further, pooling around you like a forgotten memory. Whatever unspoken words linger in the air are stolen away, replaced by breathless laughter and the sweet whispers of a night that belongs to you and Arthur alone. 

The ride back to camp is slow, neither of you in any rush to return to the chaos. Your conversation is devoid of your usual banter, instead you opt for soft glances and easy smiles. Thoughts of your intimate morning together, the way he’d brushed the hair off your bare shoulder, the two of you splashing out half the water figuring out if that bathtub was big enough for the both of you, it was all so perfect. Neither of you want to shatter the rare, fragile peace. Besides, what more is there to say after last night. 

It’s easy to forget why there had ever been tension between you, until you make it back to camp. The noise is overwhelming immediately, loud cheering and shouted questions that you can’t make out through the cacophony of voices. 

Arthur pulls Diablo to a stop, and you follow suit, hitching Lady beside him. He swings down from the saddle first, his eyes narrowing at the commotion around Dutch’s tent. Coming to your side, he offers a hand to help you down, his grip firm and steady. Without letting go, he threads your hand loosely through his,  guiding you through the small crowd gathering near Dutch.

You lift up the edge of your skirt and follow along after him. After last night, you’ve learned the dress can survive some wear and tear, you’re no longer worried about messing it up. The tight tendrils of the night before are loose waves around your shoulders and the flush on your cheeks can no longer be blamed on rouge. You glance over at Arthur and grin, the bowtie and the jacket abandoned back at the hotel, his hair fussed from your wandering hands.

Sean comes bounding up to you both, hollering a loud, “Arthur!” The over-excited redhead practically bounces on Arthur’s shoulders as a broad grin splits his face. Arthur grimaces, swatting Sean’s hands off.

“What the hell’s gotten into you?” Arthur snaps, already out of patience for Sean’s antics.

Sean grins even wider, “Oh, he’s done it, Arthur! We’re finally gonna get the hell outta here!” Arthur looks over his shoulder at you, wearing a confused expression that you share, just as lost as he is.  

“Arthur! Finally!” Dutch’s voice cuts through the noise, silencing the crowd. He strides over, smiling at Sean before nudging him aside with casual dismissal. Dutch’s sharp eyes flick to you, narrowing with suspicion. “I was wondering where you’d disappeared to,” he says smoothly, though there’s a pointed edge to his tone that makes your stomach twist. You stand straighter, unwilling to bend beneath his gaze.

“Dutch,” Arthur starts, his tone unsure. “What’s got everyone so worked up?”

“My dear boy, I have finally found our golden ticket out of here and onto a boat to Tahiti!” You can’t help but feel a spike of doubt. You rarely trust anything he says, but especially not when it comes to Tahiti. But what catches you off guard is the flicker of hesitation in Arthur’s expression.

“Really?” Arthur asks, his voice laced with skepticism as he eyes Dutch warily. If Dutch is surprised, he doesn’t let it show. 

His grin doesn’t falter as he steps closer, resting both hands on Arthur’s shoulders. There’s an air of practiced paternal affection about him. “Arthur,” he says warmly, his voice almost a purr, “have I ever given you reason to doubt me?”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “I can think of a few,” you mutter under your breath, your glare sharp as you meet Dutch’s gaze.

Dutch turns to you with a polished smile, laughing as if you’ve shared some inside joke. “Ah, that tongue of yours—always so sharp, my dear.” You roll your eyes at his patronizing tone, your irritation barely contained. Arthur shoots you a warning look, silently asking you to hold your temper. But you can’t help it. Every instinct in you rails against Dutch, every polished word and easy charm grating like nails on a chalkboard.

There’s no way that whatever Dutch has planned actually works, it never does. In fact, it seems every mission, robbery, or even shopping trip since the mountains has ended up with you being chased by Pinkertons or Cornwall. It’s almost as though someone is letting them know where you’re going to be. You linger on the thought, swirl it around before dismissing it. Dutch’s power comes from having control over the gang. He wouldn’t so foolishly give that away by letting in a rat. He’s a conman, but he’s no idiot.

“I’ve received a tip from our friend Mr. Bronte.” Dutch starts, turning towards the rest of the gang so they can hear him. Arthur watches him with narrowed eyes and a scowl. You observe, face pinched as you try and discern what he’s thinking. “If we want to finally get out of here,” a few whistles from the group and he grins, “our future lay in trains.” he laughs, clapping his hands together and shaking his head. “I don’t know how I never thought of it before, but if there was one place that’s going to have the most foot traffic and money, it’s going to be the train station.”

You walk up to Arthur, snagging the elbow of his jacket and tugging him towards you. He shoots you a bewildered look but you shake your head, urging him not to say anything. “Do you really think this is smart?” Your voice is hushed, one eye trained on Dutch to make sure he’s busy regaling everyone with his tall tales. “Following a tip he got from a mobster sounds risky, even by the gang’s standards.”

Arthur lets out a rough sigh and scrubs a hand down his weary face. You steel yourself for his usual defense of Dutch, instead he just looks like a man beaten down too many times. His shoulders sag in a weary gesture that you’ve seen one too many times. “What choice do I have?” He asks, already sounding resigned to the mission. “It doesn’t matter what I think, he’ll drag everyone else along on his scheme. Someone’s gotta make sure they don’t all get themselves killed.”

“Does it have to be you?” You snap, biting back your volume as your frustration threatens to boil over. Your eyes narrow into slits as you tilt your head, trying to catch his eye. “We’ve had this conversation before, Arthur. Last time you were nearly dead, I don’t much feel like having you come back to me in a casket this time around.”

Arthur’s jaw tightens as he meets your gaze, looking like a rough mix of guilt and anger. “We’re going to keep having this conversation until you just accept that this is who I am,” he says sharply. “This is what I have to do, if you can’t live with that then this is gonna end just like it did with Mary.”

It almost feels like he’s trying to hurt you, trying to push you away. With a pained scoff, you shake your head, “Dammit, Arthur, maybe she had a point,” you shoot back. “There’s nothing wrong with you being an outlaw, but there is everything wrong with always being the first to throw yourself in front of a bullet.”

He snatches his arm from your grip and your stomach drops to your feet. The emptiness of your hands feels like a physical blow. His expression softens, ever so slightly. “One last job,” the promise lingers heavy in the air between you. His face is a quiet plea but you  can only take a step back from him. Your heart is aching and he isn’t even gone yet. “I swear,” he adds.

“You’ve said that before,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “Go, Arthur. It doesn’t matter what I say, you’re never going to choose me.” He hesitates, his hand hovering near yours like he wants to reach for you. But before he can say anything, Hosea’s voice calls his name from the wagon, pulling him away. You watch him go, your chest tight and your vision blurring as the space between you grows. He doesn’t look back, and you don’t call after him.

This is who he is. And you? You’ll always be the one left behind.

You’re supposed to be packing Arthur’s things. After all, the miraculous Dutch Van der Linde is about to lead everyone out of the wetlands and onto a boat to paradise. You scoff at the thought, twirling a bottle of whiskey in your hand. The last time you drank this, you’d killed a man. You wonder what you’ll do this time. 

A commotion breaks out at the edge of camp, dragging you away from whatever foolishness you were about to get into. Frowning, you drop the bottle to the ground without a care for the way it shatters. You step over the shards of glass and run towards the horses, dread coiling in your stomach. The job was supposed to be quick, but an hour seems far too fast for you. 

Mrs. Grimshaw shouts at whoever’s parking their horse and you narrow your eyes in confusion when you see Charles struggling off Taima’s saddle, his movements sluggish and pained. Concern gnaws at your already frayed nerves when you realize he’s the only one to return. Your mind immediately follows the worst scenarios, Arthur thrown lifeless over a horse. Or, worse, never returning at all. 

Charles staggers to a stop in front of you and you’re forced out of your spiraling thoughts. His face is a mottled portrait of bruises, blood still leaking steadily from his nose. This is the first time you’ve ever seen him look out of sorts and it’s chilling. “They’re gone,” he croaks, hand clenched around his ribs. 

Your hands dart to his shoulders, steadying him. “Who is?” You ask, though you already have the sinking feeling you know the answer. 

“Hosea and Lenny,” he says, his voice cracking. “Dead. Cops got them. Sean and John, were dragged off to prison-”

“Arthur,” you interrupt him, voice short as you impatiently wait for his answer. He winces, from pain or the reluctance to tell you, you can’t tell. “What happened to Arthur?” you ask slowly, voice low and tense. You feel like the string of a bow, taut and pulled back, just waiting to be set free. 

“Got on a boat with Dutch and the others. A ferry, I don’t know where they are, but they’re gone.” He stumbles back from you, turning towards the rest of camp. The world seems to slip upside down. Your hands fall to your sides, grasping at nothing but empty air. 

“They left us,” you whisper, the weight of it sinking in like a blade to the chest. Arthur left you. All the warmth he’d given was stripped away and left you cold.

Your mind races, but it always lands on the same bleak truth: this isn’t the first time you’ve been abandoned. You’d been foolish enough to think it might be different with Arthur. Foolish enough to believe he might stay. 

Charles’s voice cuts through your haze. “The Pinkertons will be here soon,” he shouts, turning toward the rest of the camp. “We need to leave, now!”

You don’t move. Your feet are rooted in place, your mind screaming at you to react, but your body refuses to listen. You’re disgusted with yourself by how much this betrayal is surprising you.

Charles spins back to you, his hands gripping your shoulders with no care for gentleness. “We need to go,” he snaps, shaking you. “Now.”

His urgency finally breaks through, and you nod stiffly. 

Next part

end. — I do not own the characters or the game Red Dead Redemption 1/2, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2025. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

Hell Hath No Fury Taglist: @buckysblondie @littlebirdgot @heloixe @summerdazed @committingcrimes-2047

@m1stea @pokiona @fleouris @soupvender00

[hysteria-things]

can u do a story of like chris sturnolio being a dad ??

UNEXPECTED TURNS

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dad!chris x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: at first, you were devastated to find out that you were pregnant at this age. now, realization hits and turns out it’s not so bad for not only you; but chris too.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: FLUFFY, angst in the beginning, flashbacks, panic attack

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 760

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: IVE BEEN WAITING FOR A REQUEST LIKE THIS I FIND THESE SO CUTE!

was gonna save this for another day but i’m too impatient LMAO

i’m trying to get through my inbox so there should be lots to come! hope you like it anon :)

*flashback*

‘pregnant’

you read the word at least ten times on the test in your violently shaking hand.

a sob leaves your throat as you tremble. “no.” you choke out.

you try your best to grab your phone and text chris, your boyfriend. you need him here, and you need him here now.

“y/n?” his voice echoes through the house. you steadied your breathing, but you’re still a trembling and crying mess on the bathroom floor.

you hear footsteps coming up the steps. “y/n?” he calls out again.

he runs over to the bathroom door and opens it. the panic shoots through your body again when you see him, and you breathe heavily. “i’m sorry.” you say between sobs.

chris worries all over his face. he kneels to you to take your shaky hands in his. “sorry about what? oh my god, what happened?”

you point to the counter where the test is. he knits his eyebrows together and grabs it off the countertop. he scans over it for a few beats before looking into your crying eyes.

he sets the test down, taking his thumbs and trying his best to rub as many tears away. “i’m sorry.” you repeat.

he brings your head into his chest and tries to shush you. “you have nothing to be sorry about.”

he rubs up and down your body in a soothing motion, whispering in your ear. he rocks you from side to side.

his chin is resting on top of your head. “i’m with you on whatever decision you make. you know that right?” he tells you, kissing your head.

you nod. your ear is on his heartbeat, which is strangely calm. you close your eyes to focus on the rhythm, your breathing steadying along with it.

*9 months later*

tears of joy leave your eyes when the doctor carefully places your daughter in your arms. chris held onto your hand tight the whole birth. he rests his forehead on yours and kisses your nose, then the top of your little girl’s head.

“thank you for giving her to me.” you smile at chris.

“are you kidding? you’re the one that went through hell for nine months.” you and him both chuckle. “you’re a warrior, y/n. don’t ever forget that.”

holding your child for the first time is a different type of love. you never want to let them go.

despite both of you being 20, you know you guys can be the best parents to your baby girl.

*now*

chris sighs when he hears your one-year-old in the pack-and-play he set up in the living room. she’s been crying nonstop.

he gets up from the couch and walks over, leaning to get a better view of her. “what is it, little miss?” he says, reaching into the pack-and-play to pick her up.

she stops her crying to look at her father for a split second, but then goes back to the tantrum. “ma-ma.” she cries.

“your mama is taking a nap. she needs to rest.”

that only makes sadie cry harder, and chris tuts. “let’s take a look outside.”

you guys bought a house during your pregnancy, still close to his and your family. it came with a beautiful backyard.

ever since sadie was born, she has been so fascinated by looking outside. it always worked to calm down her little outbursts.

chris turns so his back is facing the glass door. her head rests on his shoulder as she looks at the summer greenery and flowers. her crying immediately stops, and now she’s doing rapid sniffles.

he rubs her back in a soothing circular motion and rocks from side to side. “i don’t like when you’re this upset, little miss. everything’s okay, i promise.”

her cheek rests on his shoulder, her breathing going back to normal.

when it seems to be a little too quiet, he peeks to look at her face, seeing sadie holding on tight to his arm and sleeping peacefully.

he rolls his eyes but smiles. “so dramatic.” he mumbles. “i wonder who you get it from.”

chris walks the sleeping infant into her nursery to set her down in the crib. before doing so, he kissed her on the cheek.

he stays there to admire what’s in front of him. she most definitely has your face and hair, but she has his blue eyes.

this was not a part of the plan in your relationship; at least not this soon. however, you guys wouldn’t want it any other way.

and that’s the beauty of unexpected turns.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom

[dreamsagain]

I figured it would be a good time to share an update with you. I completed 5 radiation treatment sessions in 10 days. I had a new Pet Scan today but no results yet. I wish I could say I'm confident of what the outcome will be. You see when I had the scan prior to the radiation, three new growths were discovered. The cancer in my body is very active. Honestly I was never supposed to live this long but here I am.

Each day I struggle. I can't walk anymore or use my legs. I have become quite the wheelchair master though. My dear friend Holly once told me to keep all four wheels on the ground. Sorry Holly. You get a little bored in my situation. I have come to accept some things that I never thought I would have to. I can't feel the sand of the beach on my toes anymore or the cool ocean water. I can't dance anymore not that I was every very good at it. No more hiking on our trips to northern New England. These may seem trivial to all of you. You never think of these things until you can't do them any longer.

The bigger issues exist. I know my survival chances are slim. I will never give up though till my last breath. I know I will never fall in love with that special girl or settle down or even have a family. Why would anyone want a cancer ridden cripple? My days are consumed with doctors, physical therapy and trying to keep my head up.

Through all of this I'm grateful. I'm grateful for the people that try every day to lift my spirits, to encourage me and support me and most of all love me.

So to the following people, I say thank you and I love you forever.

Lauren @callmenonames my best friend in the universe. I have no words to describe the love you have shown me and the love I have for you. You sacrifice for me every day even at the cost of your own health. You are truly amazing.

Ellie @everylittlethingshedoesismagic my sweet London friend and her beautiful partner Sarah. Not a day goes by that I don't get a sweet message or picture. Unconditional and unwavering support and love. I have dreamt so many times about coming to London to just give you a hug and tell you thank you. I hope some day I can do that. I love you my friend

Karen @karenpillagain where do I begin. You are sweet and kind. Very silly and quirky and I think a little crazy too. You make me laugh and smile. When you had your accident I cried for days. Your partner Kate is a very lucky girl as are yo to have her. Two beautiful Aussies that deserve life's very best. I love you both and do hope we can make that Disney trip someday.

CJ @crystaljaydeinside1 Another incredible Aussie. You never hold back your care and encouragement. Always a sweet message, encouraging word or song to lift me up. I'm glad we connected the way we have and always love our chats. You have become very special to me and Lauren as well. I do love you my friend.

Breelynn @breelynnxoxoxoxo Where do I begin? You were a big support to my sister till the end. You remained close to Lauren and have always supported us. One of kind with a heart bigger than your body. Caring, loving and beautiful. Thank you for your continued support and love. I love you girl! You are amazing

Holly @hollys-coffee-cafe I fell in love with you so easy. You are beautiful, caring, and very special to me. I know we had our moments but there are no conditions on my feelings. You are an encouragement to me to never give up and I never will. I will always love you.

Last but not least Sadie @bambibrowneyes when I met you thanks to Holly, you were dealing with your own issues. Your beautiful wife Shelby sick with the same awful disease as me. There was an instant connection with the three of us. Shelby has since passed and your life has gone on. New career, new city and new love. I'm happy for you my friend. Love you

Okay that's it from me. I probably missed several people. I'm sorry for the long worded post. If you remember, say a prayer, send me you good vibes or whatever you believe in. I need them all.

[photo1030]

Leather and Lace - Chapter 20: All The Little Things 

Summary: Arthur takes note of all the little things you do for him and tries to decide if he’s ready to take your relationship to the next level. 

Warning: 18+ please. Minors - DNI; NSFW - This one is a bit longer than I planned, sorry!

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

*This beautiful images comes from the always stunning @foundynnel

*Beta-read by the wonderfully supportive @readingcoco (Thank you for herding in my thoughts, my friend!)

Tag List: @rivetingrosie4​ @bimbo-dollz​ @pine4pple-b0i​ @redwritr​ @kuri-chans-blog​ @queer-sadie-adler​ @joelmillerswifey​ @gimmethosedaddymilkers​ @pcotarelo​ @delilah-grimes​ @maemortem​ @wistfulwisteriawitch​ @lilacxxdreams​ @mentallyillfrogs​ @absolutegeek​ @spurz​ @sophiaj650​ @uniqueclodzinevoid​ @lookingformaurice​ @pawoui​ @randomidk-123​ @yyiikes​ @eddiemetalheadmunson​ @twola​ @kmartkiddieisle​ @red-dead-simp @regwishesshehadmagic​  @rhehr241​  @earwen-x​ @akariver75​ @djennty​ @nervousmumbling​ @xliliths​ @unbotheredbeeeee​ @onnetonprinsessa​ @kittiowolf210​ @ezrynn​ @suhiss @arthurmargon​​ @codnerd1999 @queer-sadie-adler​​ @alice-vanderlinde​​ @sweetandstoned21​​ @j4llyf7sh @spooky631​​ @m0r4rx @ilovrxats​​ @i-69-urmom​​ @ddbluesie @ivuravix @nervousmumbling @sickvictorianangel @tirededuxhours @ezzythereal1 @chloepluto1306 @ivys-valentine @spiritcatcherxo @lea-khena @brccklynbaby1 @foundynnel @readingcoco @carmelamontezlikr @ultraporcelainpig @sofiaa-xcx

*I tagged people who expressed interest in the continued story. If you’d like to be added or removed, please let me know. There are a few that would not let me link, so I apologize if this doesn’t ping some people. 

It’s been a few weeks since you and Arthur proclaimed your affections for each other and you have quickly settled into a comfortable routine. With Arthur being a senior member of the gang, and with you as his woman, you feel that you need to step up and contribute more to the Van Der Linde Gang. And Dutch and Ms. Grimshaw couldn’t be more thrilled. 

The gang must always come first - that is what Arthur has instilled in you and it’s what you have come to adopt as your own adage too. You feel that same sense of belonging and responsibility for these people and finally begin to truly understand Arthur’s unrelenting loyalty to them. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link, and as long as the gang does well, the people within it will prosper. 

You are quickly becoming more embedded into this rag-tag group than you had ever thought you would. It’s not just a group of random individuals or a place for you to hide for safety, they are your family now, just as they are Arthur’s. These are the people who comfort you when you need it, and protect you as one of their own. They laugh with you; they yell and stomp angrily with you. You affectionately think of them and pick-up little gifts that will make their day, and you are rewarded with their love and appreciation in return. This is what Arthur is devoutly devoted to, this sense of belonging. For this is much more than a gang of lawbreakers. These people chose each other, which is a bond tighter than most blood relatives. 

The sun is just climbing into its zenith in the autumn sky, desperately trying to break its radiant beams through the gray, overcast clouds to shine down upon the earth below. You and Tilly rumble into camp on a wagon, having just come back from town with a load full of supplies. Mr. Pearson greets you as the old wooden vehicle creaks to a halt. He waddles over and peers his chubby face over the side. The cook is thrilled, seeing an extra crate of potatoes, two more tins of lard and a sack of grain more than he expected you to return with. 

“I guess battin’ those eyelashes of yours at the store owner goes a lot further than I thought,” the portly man teases you as he grabs some of the items from the back of the wagon. 

You beam back at him with a smile of pride as you hike up your skirt into your hand and climb down from the wagon seat. “What is it they say? ‘Catch more flies with honey than vinegar?’”, you hum.

“Well, don’t be surprised if I start sending you out more often, then. We’ll probably get further along with your pretty face than mine.” Pearson’s round figure vibrates slightly with the laughter of his own joke.

“Just let me know what you need, I’ll be happy to help.” Suddenly you halt dead in your tracks, realizing that you’ve just repeated one of Arthur’s sayings. Tilly is right:  you and Arthur are already starting to act like an old married couple. The phrase causes you to shake your head before moving back to the wagon to grab more of the items to unpack.

You pick up one of the smaller boxes and turn to head over to the tables where the men lazily sit about, discussing random topics and enjoying a brief moment of peace and quiet. Arthur and Hosea sit, each relaxing with a cigarette in hand, listening to Dutch carry on about something that he's read recently. He’s been obsessed with “An American Eden” by Evelyn Miller lately and takes it upon himself to “preach its teachings”, as it were, to whomever is within the sound of his voice to hear it. The small group of men currently around him are not what you’d call “high-brow” and his philosophy lessons tends to fall on deaf ears sometimes. 

“Hello, boys!” you sing as you saunter over, being met with a collection of head-nods and grins of acknowledgement.

As you grab their attention, you proceed to hand-out a few thoughtful extras that you pilfered in town. You toss a package of new guitar strings to Javier who snatches them out of the air with one of his nimble hands. 

“Gracias, mi amor!” he beams happily as he examines the small bundle in his hands. “Where did you come across these?”

“Don’t you worry about it. I have my ways,” you smirk with an accompanying wink.

You reach over to hand a new book to Hosea with a smile, and offer a premium cigar to Dutch, who gratefully accepts your gift with appreciative eyes. Placing the empty box on the table, you look over at Arthur. “Oh, and by the way, Arthur, I think I saw that jack-rabbit you’re chasing in town today.”

Arthur’s head perks up right away. “The Petersen bounty?”

“Yeah. He was over by the brothel. By the looks of it, he’ll be holed up there for a while,” you say nonchalantly as you pull an apple out of your skirt pocket and rub its red skin against your sleeve before biting into the crisp, juicy fruit. 

“Well shit, why are you just telling me this now?” Arthur huffs impatiently as he quickly gets up and starts moving towards the horses.

“Like I said, he’s in no hurry.” You shrug. “Do I get a finder’s fee for my part?” you call after him with a grin as you watch him pull Buck from the hitching posts. 

Arthur just waves you off as he slides his dusty boot into the stirrup and hastily slings up into Buck’s saddle, taking off for town. 

—---------------------------------------------------

The flames of the evening’s campfire pop and crackle softly as they roll and crawl over the slightly damp wood. The aroma of heady oak permeates the air and the smoky plumes rise and dance up towards the night sky. You and Arthur sit alone on the ground by the fire, leaning back against a log with a blanket wrapped over your legs. The night is quiet as the stars sparkle overhead. Most people are playing cards at one of the tables, or have drifted off to their tents for the evening. 

The fire offers its warmth and golden glow, creating a soft ambiance. Arthur pulls you in for a gentle, absentminded kiss, and you find yourselves wholly content with each other, forgetting that the rest of the world exists as lovers often do. Your lips run languidly, with no urgency or demand as if working of their own accord. You start to gently rake your fingers across Arthur’s chest, slowly flexing to curl around the worn fabric of his faded brown shirt and occasionally reaching up to caress along his neck and chin. The feeling of his skin radiates through your fingertips and down into the palm of your soft hand. Eyes rolling shut, you smile into his mouth in blissful happiness as his arms lovingly and protectively envelop you. 

Arthur’s strong hand sits on your hip, lightly grasping at the supple flesh hidden under the fabric of your skirt. He loves the feeling of your skin on his, it doesn’t matter what the scenario is. Whether it’s his fingers grazing yours when he hands you a cup of fresh-brewed coffee, or when his hips are pounding into yours in the throws of passion, or even just as it is now when the softest of kisses land upon his chapped lips: the feeling of you against him is like electricity pulsing throughout his entire body, bringing him to life, just like that weird story by Mary Shelley that you read to him.  

It’s a rare thing for the two of you to be left alone in camp like this. Usually you have to hide away if you want any sort of privacy. But truth be told, the rest of the gang is respectfully giving the two of you some space. It’s nice not having a bitter and angry Arthur around all of the time. Ever since you publicly claimed him in the middle of camp as yours, he hasn’t been as snarky or barking at people like he usually does. And of course, people will do anything for you. The demands of daytime chores and responsibilities are one thing, but the calm evenings are left for you two. Sure, not every night is as peaceful as this, so you revel in the rare moment of solitude when the two of you can get it. 

Arthur’s lips eventually part from yours to leave a trail of delicate kisses under your jaw and down your neck, hitting that favorite spot of his. The place behind your ear is where the softest skin he has found on your body is hidden. That spot always tastes so heavenly to him and draws that little breathless noise from you that drives him wild. 

Arthur’s nose buries into your hair, picking up the floral notes of the soap you use to wash it with. You giggle and nuzzle him as your hands come up to cradle his head, your fingers entwined into the locks of his hair, hugging him to you as your nose wrinkles in merriment when his beard stubble delightfully tickles your sensitive skin. 

And suddenly, as you roll your body closer into his, before you can even think twice about it, the words just float from your lips like a dandelion seed being carried on a summer breeze. 

“I love you, Arthur.” Your voice is a breathless sigh of utter contentment, a melody singing through the air.

You haven’t seen his face yet, but feel his movements halt as his whole body goes rigid against you. Arthur slowly pulls his face from your neck and looks at you, speechless, with shocked and confused eyes, face flushed a shade of scarlet to rival the fire in front of you.

But you quickly place your fingers over his lips as if to hush any sort of protest he may have. “Now before you go crazy, Arthur, you don’t have to say it back. I simply said it because I wanted to, because it felt right just now.” You give him a soft and reassuring smile, amused by his reaction as he continues to stare at you, blinking quietly. You can tell he wants to say something in return, but can’t find the words as his mouth begins to work, but no sound comes out. 

“It’s okay, Arthur,” you giggle. “Really. I didn’t tell you that to hear it back. I just wanted to make sure you know it. And you can say it if, and when, you’re ready.”

You pause to give him a moment to answer, to make sure he understands that you have no demand of him, but you can see that he is still troubled and finding it hard to articulate what he needs to say. You honestly do not need him to say it back to you. How he treats you is how he feels about you, regardless of words stated or not. Words are used to manipulate people. His actions show you everything you need to know. So thankfully, you put him out of his misery by leaning over to kiss the corner of his mouth as he continues to look at you dumbstruck.

“Don’t get too worked up over it, Arthur.” You pat his cheek affectionately as a look of empathy sits upon your face. “I don’t need you having a heart attack over it. Like I said, you don’t have to say it back. I just wanted you to know where my heart lies.” 

Arthur’s forehead creases as he watches you stand up, brushing the dried leaves out of your skirt before reaching down for your blanket. You bend over to catch his scarred chin in your fingertips. “Goodnight, Arthur,” you whisper and kiss him again. You give him an impish little grin before heading over to your tent for the night. 

You leave Arthur still sitting speechless on the ground, a troubled look settled upon his handsome face as he watches your lovely form fade into the darkness of night before disappearing from view altogether as you close your tent. 

—-----------------------------------------------------

In the days that follow, Dutch announces that he is going to move the camp again. You are all sitting around the fire when he proceeds with an impassioned speech about moving south just outside of a town called Blackwater. 

You watch Dutch as he presents himself to the group, noting how he carries himself in front of others. He is charismatic and passionate, a natural-born leader. Since you have known the dark-haired devil, he has always had a dramatic and commanding presence, drawing his people to him with his idealism and wit. 

You find it amusing how Dutch’s boldness and optimism is a perfect compliment to Hosea’s skeptical wisdom. The two of them together make quite the dynamic duo, two sides of the same coin. Sometimes you wonder at the true nature of their relationship. Are they “brothers”, just as Arthur and John are, or is there more there, smoldering under the surface like hot coals left after a raging fire has burned down? Both men had their lady-loves in their lives, and both were left devastated when these sparks of light were extinguished in their otherwise dark lives. But you can’t help but wonder if there was ever more to Dutch and Hosea’s relationship than meets the eye. The “curious couple and their unruly sons.” The very idea of it makes you regard them with a softer spot in your heart.

The gang is preparing to go to work and the new location has some hot tips emanating from it. The camp is abuzz with packing and planning with everyone sprinting about and working on their assigned tasks. Arthur and Hosea are discussing a real estate tip around West Elizabeth, while Micah and Dutch have their own plan…something about a ferry boat. 

Arthur and Hosea wander to sit at one of the campfires, away from distractions, and are busy discussing their tip and planning for the new move when Hosea casually asks Arthur about you.

“So…how’s things going with (Y/N)?” He gives Arthur a sly smile with that twinkle in his eye. Hosea has been silently observing the budding courtship from the beginning, carefully watching for any signs of discord that would need to be nipped in the bud before trouble brews. 

A slight pink dusts Arthur’s face at the older man’s inquiry, visible even under his week-old beard. A sheepish little grin tugs at the corner of his mouth as he purses his lips in thought. 

“Have you ever wanted to listen to every word someone says, even about the smallest thing in the world just so you can see their face light up and hear their voice?” 

Hosea gives a light-hearted chuckle as he brings his cigarette to his wrinkled lips. “Yeah, that girl broke down those walls of yours without you even noticing she was doin’ it, didn’t she?”

But the smile slowly drips from Arthur’s face as a dark cloud settles over his features. A deep and sad sigh pushes its way from his broad chest under his worn beige jacket. His eyes relax their focus and stray to look out over the camp as he absentmindedly chews on his bottom lip. Hosea notices the change in mood and immediately fears the worst. 

“Ah, shit, what did you do?” accuses the old man in disappointment.

“Nothing!” Arthur counters defensively as his face snaps back to Hosea’s attention. But he is met with the clever fox’s skeptical scowl. Arthur hesitates to share what’s on his mind, afraid that once he verbalizes the phrase again, it will become all too real. 

“She…she told me that she loves me,” Arthur admits quietly, before letting his gaze float to the worn leather of his boots, his toe poking at the grass.

Like a switch has been pulled, Hosea’s face lights up like a Christmas tree. “Well, that’s great news, my boy!” He claps Arthur on the shoulder in congratulations. “Although I could’ve told you that after the first week she was here with us.” But when Arthur doesn't return his friend’s enthusiasm, Hosea’s smile quickly turns down again in confusion, eying him up cautiously. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know.”

“What, are you tellin’ me that you don’t love her?” Hosea asks incredulously, his face drawing up in disbelief. 

“No, I wasn’t sayin’ that at all,” pouts Arthur. “‘Cause I do,” he says with a slight, yet definitive nod. The man fidgets slightly, his hands suddenly sweaty and shaky as he finally admits outloud what he’s known internally for awhile. A short, yet sharp exhale escapes him, as the statement is now out there, exposing his fragile heart for the first time in a long while. 

“Well, then I fail to see the problem,” presses Hosea with a flippant wave of his hand in exasperation.

Arthur fidgets with the cigarette in his fingers, slowly rolling it between his thumb and index finger. “What if she realizes that she doesn’t? Love me, I mean?” He catches Hosea’s eye. “What if she wakes up one mornin’ and decides she don’t want me no more?” He turns his gaze outward, focusing on nothing again. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Arthur cringes when he hears his own voice whining about being loved, bitching about the same thing he said to Marston a few weeks ago. Yes, it’s sooo horrible to have a wonderful woman love me. He thinks sarcastically. God, I’m pathetic.

“I suppose I see your point.” Hosea nods his head in understanding, as Arthur’s worry becomes all too clear. “So what if she does one day? Hmm?” The old man waves his hand dismissively in the air. “But, what if it turns out that (Y/N) wants to be with you forever?” Hosea squints at Arthur. “Don't you think she’s worth the gamble?”

Arthur turns his pained eyes back to his old friend. “I can’t go through that again, Hosea. I just…I can’t do it.” He leans out on his elbows onto his thighs, head swimming with ever-present self-doubt, coupled with the desperate yearning for the love and acceptance he’s craved since he was a child. 

“Arthur, if (Y/N) tells you she loves you, you better believe her.” Hosea points his weathered, crooked finger at Arthur, poking him in the chest. “Don’t be afraid to start over. You may like your new story better this time around. (Y/N) ain’t like that other one,” he grumbles, his jaw clenching slightly without even needing to mention Mary by name. 

“No, I suppose you’re right. She surely ain’t.” Arthur sits quietly for a moment, mulling over Hosea’s words. Hosea always has a way of getting him to see reason, always had since Arthur was a kid. Hosea could quiet his mind with just the simplest words. Arthur takes another deep drag of his cigarette before that roguish little grin pops up again. “You know…if I somehow manage not to screw this up, Hosea…I’m gonna marry her.”

The admission makes the old man’s heart almost burst with happiness as he huffs out a laugh and pats Arthur’s shoulder again in approval. “God willing, I’ll live long enough to see that.”

The two men share a soft chuckle between them. They have been through so much together to get to this point in their lives and the idea of hope and love in the future gives them a feeling of contentment that is rare for their kind of life.

Arthur wants you, of that, there is no doubt. After Mary and Eliza, ‘love’ was just a word to Arthur, some meaningless string of letters that he’d hear from Mary-Beth as she read her silly stories. Four little characters that created an empty and almost cold feeling for him. L.O.V.E

But now, the word has taken a whole new form in you. You are his definition of desire. Arthur never knew how engulfing the flames of love could be until now, until you uttered those three simple little words to him. You are the only thing that could have brought him back to life with your hands, your lips, your soul. Arthur would journey to the ends of the earth to keep you in his life. He misses you from the moment you separate. All he knows is that nothing else makes as much sense to him as loving you. This is what it feels like to fall and not know, or care, where you land. 

You have no idea the depth of how you affect Arthur, how you calm the chaos in his head and still the tornado of thoughts that threaten his sanity. When he holds you in his arms, you become the eye of his storm, the center that is safe while the gale rages wildly around him. 

When two souls fall in love, there is nothing else but the yearning to be close to each other. The very presence that is felt through a hand held close, a voice heard drifting into one’s ear, or even that slightest smile that you know is only for you. Souls do not have clocks or calendars; they do not function with the idea of time or distance. Devoted souls only know it feels right once they have found each other. Like a magnet to steel, beloved hearts will always be drawn to each other with that force of nature that is undeniable. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------

“Uh oh”, whispers Abigail. Her brunette head pops up as she watches with trepidation from where you both pack supplies into one of the wagons. 

You lift your head to follow her sightline and see Micah and Arthur arguing again. The two of them have been at it for the last few days as the plans to move out of the area are beginning to be set into motion. You wonder how Dutch could put his trust in two men who are so drastically different. It follows suit that Micah will run his mouth with Arthur getting a few verbal, sarcastic jabs in here and there. But it usually ends with Arthur simply towering over the much smaller man until he shrinks down into submission in fear of an iron fist landing into that filthy mouth of his. 

This latest fight seems to be in regards to the competing jobs which have been planned for once you all move down towards Blackwater. Arthur wants nothing to do with this ferry job that Micah is pushing, citing it to be reckless and overreaching. The gang has been in the law’s cross-hairs for some time now and he and Hosea both think sticking to smaller, more reliable jobs is best right now. But Micah has been pitching a more grandiose scheme, arguing that the gang needs to strike bold and quick, garnering as much money as you can so you can start to move away from the civilization that is slowly strangling the gang. Unfortunately for Arthur, Micah seems to be like an earworm, burrowing into Dutch’s brain and playing on his already inflated ego.

You and Abigail observe with baited breath to see how far this current argument will go. But it appears Micah is not backing down this time, continuing to push Arthur to the limits of his patience. Suddenly, in a bold move of newfound courage, Micah steps up right in Arthur’s face, almost nose to nose. The cool autumn air is sucked sharply into your lungs as you gasp and your whole body freezes in apprehension, adrenaline like a knife suddenly thrown into your belly. 

“(Y/N)…” Abigail warns, placing her hand on your forearm. But you are already ahead of her, quick to stride over to the feuding men. As you get closer, a small group begins to gather as the yelling continues to escalate. 

“I’d take a step back and reconsider myself if I were you, Micah,” John smirks with a half-hearted warning from where he sits off to the side, sharpening his knife. John knows full-well that it is only a matter of time before this gets physical, as Arthur has little patience. He has seen Arthur pummel men into a pulp for less offensive actions. But truth be told, John would love to see Micah get his ass beat by Arthur. Hell, he’d even consider paying for it. 

Arthur isn’t saying much but you can tell by the heaving of his chest and the scowl etched into his face that he’s a bomb seconds away from exploding. His broad shoulders set hard as stone as Arthur stands even straighter, towering over Micah. His large hands slowly curl into themselves, fists clenched tight like boulders at the end of his pulsing forearms.

Carefully, you approach the two men from the side, watching them closely and trying to gauge how much time you have before Arthur’s fuse burns to the end of the powder-keg. The tension in the air builds uncomfortably, causing a knot to settle in your stomach. 

“Arthur?'' You call his name softly, trying not to startle him. You tilt your head to look up into his face, trying to catch his attention, but Arthur’s icy stare is trained only on Micah. But then you notice that Micah’s hand is hovering at his side, fingers flexing over his gun in its holster. 

This has now elevated to a precarious situation that needs to be diffused quickly and delicately. You don’t understand why no one else is stepping in to break this up, but assume it’s probably to avoid getting caught in the crossfire. Out of everyone in the gang, these are probably the two men that you absolutely would not want to tangle with. 

Dutch, conveniently, is not around for this show, which may be why Micah is suddenly so bold to openly challenge Arthur like this. While he likes showing off for Dutch, Micah knows he can push the envelope when the leader of the gang is not around, as if trying to insert himself into that coveted role. Over Arthur’s dead body, that is. 

When Arthur still doesn’t answer you, you inch even closer. Carefully, your arm lifts and moves fluidly across Arthur’s chest to lay your hand against his cheek. You calmly say his name again, “Arthur.” 

The simple act cuts to the outlaw instantly as he blinks out of his angry trance and turns to look at you, confused as if he hadn’t even noticed you were standing there. 

Once you catch his attention, you offer Arthur the softest of smiles, your eyes bright and sparkling, distracting him from the weasel that is his ire at the moment.

“Come with me, please.” Your request is quiet yet authoritative.

“What for?!” he snaps, the fury radiating off of him as you can feel how his whole body is flexed and rigid.

A slow and deep exhale emanates from you as you intensely hold his gaze. “Would you rather go for a walk with me..alone…by the river where it’s peaceful and quiet? Or sit here and argue with Micah Bell?” 

You can see Arthur’s mind trying to process your words, his anger and frustration wrestling with your simple logic.

 “Fine,” he barks, not really directing his venom at you.

Arthur reluctantly lets you snake your arm around his and turn him away from Micah. It’s like trying to pull a tree out of the ground with your bare hands. But Micah will not be dismissed so easily. His eyes narrow as he stares you down, just as you begin to maneuver Arthur away. 

“Oh sure, run and hide behind a skirt!" Micah teases. “Pretty damn sad, Morgan!”

“Shut your damn mouth, Micah, or I will shut it for you. Permanently!” Arthur’s voice booms through the camp as his finger points in Micah’s direction to accent his point. Arthur’s eyes lock coldly with Micah’s as he cranes his neck to shoot Micah one last heated glare before he continues to walk away with you.

“Come on, you,” you delicately chide Arthur, your arm and hands tightening around his bicep just a bit more, eager to get the two of them separated as fast as you can. 

Behind you, Micah stands pouting as the two of you walk away. A pain clicks in his chest as he watches how you handle Arthur. He sucks his lip between his jagged teeth, jaw clamping down on the tender skin. He’s irritated to no end with Arthur, but even more so, with your infatuation with the man. A pang of jealousy cuts deep into Micah as his fists clench open and closed as they still hover over his holster at his side.

“Micah’s got a point. Looks like Arthur’s gone soft on us,” Bill snarks as he stands with his thumbs hanging on his gunbelt.

“I’d like to see you tell him that to his face, Bill,” John quips. 

“Mock all you want, gentlemen,” adds Javier, waving his hand towards Micah and Bill. “But the fact of the matter is, that man is taking that woman to bed tonight.” And he points in your direction. “You two have fun all by yourselves in your tents later.”

“Shut up, Javier,” mumbles Bill. But Micah only stands in angry silence before spinning on his heels and heading off in a huff to get a whiskey bottle from one of the supply wagons to sulk.

The wind kicks up a bit, biting at your cheeks as you walk down the path out of the camp. Arthur is heatedly silent as you walk. It is little wonder to you why so many find him so intimidating and fearsome. 

Passing by the hitching posts, your gray Gypsy gets antsy, whinnying and stomping the ground in a tantrum at the possibility of being left behind. “Ugh, are you acting ornery today, too?” you huff as if scolding a child. “Alright, come on. You can come along, too.” You quickly grab Blue to follow, as he’s been pent up quite a bit lately and is itching to move about. 

You lead Arthur, with your horse in tow, as the path takes you down to the river’s edge. The soft lapping of the water against the sandy edge of the bank offers a calm and welcomed change of scenery. And it is here that you turn Arthur loose, letting him vent loudly, while you simply agree with everything he says, replying occasionally with “I know” and “I get it”. 

“Goddamn fool! Don’t know his ass from a hole in the ground!” shouts Arthur, waving his arms around.

“I know,” you reply calmly as you rub your hand along Blue’s nose and face. The horse nickers softly and nudges into you, like a cat purring in your hands as you watch Arthur pace back and forth in frustration like a wild animal in a cage. 

“And Dutch is gonna go along with it?! Just like that?” He flashes his intense blue eyes at you. 

“I know, it’s crazy,” you shake your head at him.

“Are they even thinkin’ ‘bout the rest o’ us?”

You just shrug. “I don’t get it, either,” you say calmly.

Arthur momentarily stops in his ranting and looks at you, finally taking a moment to breathe. Why you are not as heated as he is is beyond him. “Is that all you’re gonna say?” 

“Well, I figured I’d let you carry-on and wear yourself out and when it’s my turn to yell, you just point and then I’ll go.” You cross your arms over your chest and give him a little smirk. 

But Arthur’s face holds anything but amusement, as he firmly plants his hands on his hips in frustration. “I ain't in the mood for jokes, (Y/N),” he grits out slowly. 

A grin creeps its way across your face. “I bet I could get you to laugh.” 

“I doubt it,” he grumbles with a slight eye roll.

Squinting slightly in challenge with a teasing look, you walk over to him, placing your hands on his ribs before letting them slowly drift down to his waist. He raises an eyebrow at you but is quickly disappointed when your hands divert from his waistline to reach into his satchel and dig around until you pull out his leather gloves. Confused, Arthur’s eyes follow you as you saunter over to Blue and step up towards his great head, stopping to place each glove over one of the horse’s ears. As your horse twitches his ears, the gloves appear to be hands waving back and forth at you. 

“Huh…Huh?” You point at Blue, a huge grin erupting over your face, clearly pleased with yourself and your childish little distraction. 

Arthur just stares at you blankly, totally taken aback at your adolescent behavior. “You’re ridiculous,” he snorts with an eye roll to the heavens.

“Oh, come on, that’s funny and you know it!” you snicker, hugging Blue’s neck affectionately. 

Arthur rolls his eyes skyward once more, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head at your nonsense as he finally ambles over to you. “You drive me crazy, you know that?” he huffs. 

Knowing he’s been beaten, Arthur sighs with resignation, wrapping you up against his barrel chest and bear-hugging you tightly. Your glittering laugh gets muffled by his chest as your arms hook under his to return his embrace. Arthur pulls back for a moment, collecting your happy little face into his giant hands, and looks down at you. But all he can do is shake his head once more before hugging you again, placing his chin atop of your head. 

Amazingly, you were right: he has forgotten all about Micah Bell. 

Later, after you’ve gotten Arthur to calm down enough to safely be around other people again, the two of you are tucked away in his tent. He sits on the cot, scribbling something in his journal, as you stand in front of his shaving mirror, unpinning your hair and getting ready to retire for the evening. 

“Oh, I forgot to tell you, I found something for you!” Your face lights up with excitement as you spin around back to his table and pick up one of the items sitting there. You eagerly shove a small aluminum tin into his face, hardly able to contain yourself. Arthur peers inside, curious what it is that has you so worked up. 

“Cherries?” he questions, surprised to see the little jeweled fruit inside. 

“Yeah! I found a cherry tree that the birds hadn’t gotten into yet, so I picked some for you. I remember you telling me that your mother used to make cherry cobbler for you as a kid. So I was going to try and make you some.” You look down at the tin of deep red fruit, shaking it a bit and watching them roll about. “I’ll have to mix these with some that we’ve jarred up, so it probably won’t be as good as hers,” you admit, mouth twisting a bit in disappointment, “but we’ll see.” You look back at him with a simple smile and shrug before turning to set the tin back down on the table. 

Arthur stares at you, thinking back to the other night at the fire when you whispered those lovely little words to him. His mind rolls over how you treat him, how you care for him, how you’ve made him your focus like no one ever has before. 

“Hey, you”, he mutters softly. 

You lift your face back to him, eyebrows arched awaiting him to continue. “Hmm?” 

The outlaw reaches out with his calloused hand and gently wraps it around your bicep, pulling you over to him. You stand between Arthur’s knees as he holds your hips and stares up at your angelic face. You lean over and kiss his forehead, his eyes fluttering closed as you run your fingers through his hair. After a moment, his eyes slowly open again, drinking you in. And Arthur realizes as he stares into your beautiful eyes that he has fallen in love with all of the millions of simple little things that you do, things that you do all of the time, and don’t even realize you’re doing them. 

“I love you, (Y/N).” 

You smile brightly down at him as his gravelly voice utters those amazing words so softly from his lips. You observe the seriousness in his face, so earnest in his declaration, as if he is trying to convince you of it. Arthur waits for your reply, hoping he hasn’t taken too long to tell you, fearing you’ve had second thoughts. 

After a brief moment you lean forward and kiss the tip of his nose. “I know,” you whisper, raising an eyebrow with that smart look you get. 

“I mean it”, he insists. “I never wanted more ‘til I had you. And I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner.” His hands grasp a bit tighter as if he’s afraid you’ll walk away from him. “I suppose I was just too afraid to let myself go there again.” 

“It’s not love that you’re afraid of, Arthur. It’s that the next person that you love will be like the person who left you broken.” You cup your hands around his face, your thumbs drawing against the weathered skin of his cheeks. “I promise, I won’t do that to you.” 

Arthur’s eyebrows crease even further, that shadow of worry cascading over his face again. “(Y/N), I can’t give you the life you want, the life that you deserve.” 

“Are we doing this again?” you ask with a tinge of admonishment. “Arthur, I don't want someone who will promise me the world. I want someone who will hold me when I need it; who will bring me coffee in the morning; who will pull the blanket over me on cold nights when I’m sleeping. I want someone who will love me the same as I love them: madly, uncontrollably, inconveniently, and, yeah, maybe even foolishly.” A bright smile illuminates your face. “And I think you’re just the fool I’ve been waiting for.”

This makes a small chuckle break from his stern face as he shakes his head.

You pull his stubbled face in closer to yours. “I don’t care how complicated this gets, Arthur. I still want you.”

He lifts his hands from your hips and wraps them around your wrists as you continue to hold his face. “Maybe I’m afraid because you mean more to me than anyone ever has. I don’t want to mess that up.”

“Just keep doing what you’re doing, and you won’t mess it up, Arthur.”

You watch the idea of it settle over Arthur, wrapping him up like a warm blanket and just as comforting as one, too. The tension in his shoulders ebbs away and his eyes soften and twinkle, making them rival the bluest ocean. 

He smiles up at you again. “Say it.” 

“What?”

“Say it again for me, would ya? Say you love me.” Arthur beams up at you as he wraps his arms completely around your hips, pulling you in and holding you tightly.

“I love you, Arthur Morgan. More than you can ever know or even comprehend.” You lean your face in close again, hovering sweetly over his. “We can do this, Arthur. I promise.” 

“Yeah, we can.”

—--------------------

The next day, Arthur, Charles and Javier have gone into town to get more supplies and stop for a round of poker and a quick drink. A quick drink soon turns into many. And many drinks turns into an argument with the locals. One that ends with the boys coming home victorious, but pretty banged up. Even as drunk as they were, the Van Der Linde gang is not a group of men to be messed with. 

Charles and Javier come back with mostly superficial wounds, black eyes and bruised ribs. Arthur, of course, always seems to carry the brunt of the trauma in these situations. If he’s not taking on the largest brawler, he’s dealing with more than one man at a time. Either way, Arthur is always the one to come home more torn up than the others.

But thankfully, you now have Arthur safely in your med tent, stitching up a shallow knife laceration in his side as he sits quiet and guilty. Arthur sheepishly avoids your eyes, as you are unusually silent about the situation, a clear indication that you are not happy about it. You tug on the thread of his stitches a little too aggressively as short huffs emanate from your nose in frustration.

“What if you get tired of this?” Arthur grumbles as he watches how you carefully pull the thread through his red and inflamed skin, wincing slightly as the needle pushes into his flesh over and over again. 

“Of what? Patching holes in you that you get from being reckless and stupid? Or seeing you without your shirt on? Because those are two totally different things,” you quip as your eyes briefly dart up to meet his before going back to your handiwork.

“You know what I mean.”

“Well, I do hate seeing you all busted up and bleeding,” you frown. Your delicate fingers dance across the damaged skin, deftly folding the thread around your fingertips with expert precision.

“It ain’t so bad. If you think I look bad, you should see the other guy’s knuckles,” Arthur jokes.

“Funny,” you deadpan.

“You ain’t the only one who’s funny, you know.” He pokes his long finger into your ribs in jest, making you squirm as you try to keep your hands steady.

“Point taken.” You continue to fuss, cleaning his wound and scrutinizing the stitchwork. “I will always take care of you, Arthur. I promise.” 

“And I will always be reckless and stupid,” he snickers. 

An exasperated sigh escapes you. “That wasn’t the point.” 

“Nope, can’t go back on your promise now,” he gloats.

—--------------------------------

You wake in the middle of the night in your tent, cold and lonely. Arthur was still out of camp when you went to bed tonight, but you miss him terribly. Sometimes when you are separated, you get this overwhelming feeling of emptiness without him. Maybe it is the ever-impending threat of danger that you live in. Or maybe it is that you just love him so much that it hurts to be apart. 

Still half asleep, you meander out of your tent and quietly pad over to Arthur’s, hoping to find him there. When you get to his tent and pull back the opening, you find him asleep on his cot. He still has his boots on, too, which means he came home and just plopped down and passed out. (Usually he will stop by your tent upon returning to camp, but you figure he was either too tired or didn’t want to disturb you.)

You smile with a great sense of relief and slip inside the tent, affixing the tent door down behind you again in privacy. You tiptoe over to the cot and carefully crawl onto the bedding. You snuggle-up next to Arthur’s side, lifting his arm and wrapping it around yourself as you rest your head on his chest. Once settled, you breathe out a sigh of contentment, nuzzling your face into his chest and eager to feel the warmth that radiates off of him. Within moments, you are back asleep, tucked safely under Arthur’s arm.

But while you fall back to sleep, Arthur is awake for the next hour that follows. He stirs at the feeling of your delicate hand around his wrist when you settle in next to him, but he has a hard time going back to sleep now. As you lay there together, Arthur listens to your peaceful breathing and inhales your flowery scent. He relishes the feeling of your weight on his chest and your feline-like body up against him. As he lays in the soothing darkness, his gaze lands on your gently sleeping form laying upon him. He observes how your chest steadily rises and falls with each delicate breath. He notices how you have carefully entwined your leg around his own, and your fingers gracefully splay across his beating heart. Arthur realizes that he has in his grasp what he’s always wanted:  someone to come home to, someone waiting for just him. And he doesn’t want to miss a single moment that he gets to hold you like this. 

When Arthur eventually shifts his weight, it causes you to stir from your comforted slumber. A large and deep yawn escapes you as you roll your eyes up to meet his blue orbs gazing down at you. A sleepy grin blooms across your face when you see that he is awake. 

Arthur softly runs the back of his dirt-stained knuckles against your cheek. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No, it’s alright. I should probably be getting up anyway.” You sigh with a slight pang of disappointment as you roll yourself up and stand off the cot. 

“Aw c’mon, stay with me,” Arthur whines, catching your hand and holding it tightly. 

“All night?”

“Yeah, all night,” he insists. “It ain’t like people don’t know what we’re up to in here. And either way, it’s none of their business anyway.” He rolls onto his side, propping his head up with one hand as he continues to hold yours, playing with your fingers and drawing his thumb over the back of your hand.

“Do you really want to roll over and wake up with my face smashed into yours?” you tease.

“More than anything.” Arthur tugs you back down to him and kisses the corner of your eye, making you giggle. ”I’ll make it worth your while,” he utters out in a sultry tone, causing your knees to go weak. Your only response is a flutter of your eyelashes and a deep kiss to his pillowy lips as you climb back onto his cot. 

Arthur shifts his body and wraps his muscled arm around you to usher you back down, pinning you under him. A quiet hum escapes into the quiet, still air as he quickly deepens the kiss, his tongue pushing past your sweet lips. You hungrily reciprocate his affection, your hand gliding from his cheek to the back of his head as your fingers card through his hair. The feeling of your fingernails gently scraping along his scalp sends shivers throughout his whole tired body. Slowly, your knee bends, rubbing your leg against his much larger frame, indicating that you want more. 

Arthur’s hand roams freely and greedily over your sumptuous body as his palm firmly clamps over your breast, massaging the tender flesh before his mouth encompasses it over the thin cotton of your nightgown. Your chin floats back at the feeling of him touching you, your mind already lost in an incoherent fog. He works his way from your breast to your sternum, and proceeds to leave a trail of kisses and caresses down your figure. And as things go, your heat begins to tingle and ache with dire need. The anticipation is wreaking havoc with you, drawing soft whines and moans from your throat. 

The delicious sounds emanating from you set Arthur ablaze inside. He quickly sits up onto his knees as he begins to impatiently pull at your nightgown. But instead of just pushing it up, he yanks the obstructing article up and over your head. With the top half of your body exposed, Arthur makes quick work of your bloomers, folding your legs up in front of him so he can work the fabric down your lovely calves and over your feet. 

You are now completely bare to him, your large, shining eyes staring up at him as he looms over you like a predator. Arthur’s own eyes are filled with a divine mixture of love and lust, just for you. Your arms stretch out to him as a silent plea for him to continue. With a smirk, Arthur is quick to pull his shirt over his head and undo the buttons of his trousers and union suit underneath. You reach up and clumsily tug at the sleeves of his undergarment, exposing his chest to the cold night air. He has no time to strip himself down completely, as once his hard cock springs free from its confines, it is very clear he is ready to get things moving along. 

Arthur covers your body with his own once more, slowly rocking back and forth with a hypnotic motion. Your leg snakes around his backside in response, your heel digging into his thigh. Hot, steamy breaths cover each other’s faces from the barrage of wet heated kisses as the intimacy quickly escalates. Arthur’s hand drifts down between your two bodies to seek out your tender folds. A sharp moan jumps from your lips as the pads of his fingers sublimely rake across the delicate skin between your legs and your pelvis jerks up to grind against his palm. 

“Christ Almighty,” Arthur pants with his lips crushed against your temple.

“I know”, you sigh in agreement. 

A deep and guttural groan erupts from his chest, filled with want and desire for you. Feeling how your slick coats his fingers already, Arthur reluctantly withdraws his fingers to give himself a few quick pumps of his cock, using your wetness to lubricate himself. He rolls his hips to align his large body at your entrance, looking down at where your hips conjoin. Your hands find their way under his arms and grasp tightly to the flesh of his back, urging him to move forward and to do it quickly. Arthur’s chin lifts to meet your gaze, finding your mouth gaped and eyes heavy-lidded with wondrous longing as his name falls as a whimper from your kiss-swollen lips.

He hastily pushes himself into you, his usual slow and careful pace forgotten about. The feeling of his thick cock being roughly shoved into you makes you cry out, but you are quickly muffled with his scorching mouth over top of yours. Arthur is quick to start a fast pace, as his hips snap sharply into yours, rutting deeply into your core. The velvety walls of your cunt flutter tightly around him when you feel his length twitching inside you. The grinding is euphoric, sending waves of pleasure shooting throughout your bodies. The way the two of you sync up in the throws of passion is glorious, transcending any pleasure either of you have ever known. 

Arthur proceeds to sit back up onto his knees so he can fully take in the vision of you, your body shuddering beneath him from his force. The cot creaks beneath you as the very strength of its joints is being tested. He wraps his hands around your soft thighs for leverage as he observes how his cock glides in and out of you. Your back lifts off of the cot, arching to angle your pelvis towards him, eager for him to fill you even more, if that is even possible. Your hands seek out his thick wrists, slightly pulling yourself towards him to match his motion. When your head drops back against the canvas of the cot again, Arthur immediately falls forward to suck on your exposed jugular, leaving slight bite marks that pinch your overly sensitive skin. 

“You are so fucking amazing,” he garbles into your skin. “I don’t ever want to leave this tent.”

His burly body covers yours once again, encasing you under his muscled limbs as his arm snakes around your head, his face tucked tightly into your neck. 

“Then we won’t,” you whisper. You turn your face towards his, your bottom teeth dragging across the plump skin of his earlobe, your panting hissing in his ear as he continues to rock into you. You can taste the saltiness of his skin and the faint notes of earthy musk from being out all day in the elements as your tongue flicks at the bare skin of his shoulder as you attempt to muffle your moans into the muscle there. Your whole naked body feels as if it’s on fire with every inch of it touching him right now. The sound of your beloved outlaw grunting lustfully into your ear erases any and all other outside distractions or thoughts. And as his torso lurches back and forth over you, you feel that oh-so lovely lightning barrling its way towards your climax. 

“Whatever you do, don’t stop now,” you whine. Your arms encircle Arthur even tighter as you await that rapturous feeling that you know is coming. 

As usual, your whole body clamps down around him when your climax hits. Your wanton squeaks and moans are a bewitching melody in Arthur’s mind. The already-tight walls of your cunt restrict around his hefty cock, drawing out a brief whimper from him, pushing him to his own orgasm as he pulls himself out of you and rubs himself against your stomach in search of that friction needed to finish. 

Arthur instinctively clutches you to himself when he climaxes with an almost bone-crushing pressure. You tremble slightly, more from the overstimulation than from the damp night air encompassing you. You curl up into him, clinging desperately to his frame. Your fingertips dig into the valley of his spine, the soft chestnut colored hair that decorates his back sticking to his skin with a thin layer of sweat. The two of you have been together quite a few times by now, but every damn time it is exquisite, just as if it was the first time all over again.

The feeling of Arthur’s chest rapidly rising and falling beneath your arms mesmerizes you as you feel the very life of him coursing through your hands while you lay there wrapped up in each other. You can feel his heartbeat against your cheek as you nestle your face into that coveted space where his massive shoulder and neck meet. The weight of Arthur on top of you is so comforting. Where some may consider Arthur’s sheer bulk smothering, you find it calming. You wonder how he could ever think you are not safe when you’re with him, as that is always where you feel the most secure.

Your hips are always a bit sore after making love to Arthur, not used to opening up so wide to accommodate such a large man, but you snicker as you tell yourself that you’ll just have to do it more often to get used to it. The more you are together, the more comfortable and relaxed you become, giving in to the sweet intoxicating feeling of the other. The societal shame and guilt that often gets attributed to the act of sex have long been discarded. You two are no longer self conscious about being too loud, and are no longer hiding your bodies from each other in fear of rejection. Playful giggles of excitement, needy and eager hands, and exploratory kisses are the norm for you two now. 

Both fully expended and exhausted, Arthur hands you one of his towels to clean your stomach of his pearly spend that scatters across your skin. Once you toss the soiled linen to the side, Arthur shifts his body lower so he can lay his head onto your chest and pulls his blanket up and over the two of you. Your lips lay against the crown of his head as you play with the thick waves of hair while your fingertips drag along his forearm that tightly holds you to him. And within moments, you are both fast asleep again. 

—---------------------------------------------

After breakfast, you finish washing up the last of the dirty dishes, drying your hands on your short apron as you head over to the horses to give them the vegetable scraps. Arthur is already over there, throwing down some grain and fresh water for the lot. He catches your eye as you approach, giving you a smile and nod as you return his gaze with a blushing grin, the memory of last night still fresh in your mind as well as between your thighs. 

Arthur watches you as you toss the greens into the horses’ buckets, laughing lightly as they push each other to get to you. “Alright, piglets, hold on. There’s enough to go around.” You lovingly pat Taimia on the neck, as she is the best behaved out of all of these “spoiled children”. Arthur draws on the cigarette that hangs from his mouth, his eyes hovering over you. He squints slightly as he fidgets with the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger, his thoughts kicking around in his head since last night.

“Hey, so I’ve been doin’ some thinkin’...” he starts nervously, his voice hesitant as he tosses the butt into the grass. 

You look over your shoulder back to Arthur as you try to keep Blue from nipping at your pockets, looking for treats. “Yeah?”

 “When we setup the new camp in a few days, what if you put your things in my tent?” He averts his gaze from yours for a second, unsure of how you will react to his suggestion.

But you simply give him a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”

Arthur takes a tentative breath before he elaborates. “You know, move your things over and, um…stay there.”

It takes a moment to register, but the idea of it causes a huge smile to slowly spread across your face from ear to ear. “Arthur Morgan, are you asking me to share your tent with you?” Your cheeks flush like a brilliant rose and you nibble your bottom lip with excitement.

Arthur reciprocates with a big grin of his own. “I kinda like the idea of waking up next to you every mornin’.” He swaggers over closer to you. “Although you do snore, though.”

“I do not!” you exclaim in playful offense, your hands planting onto your hips.

“Yeah, you do. It’s cute, though,” he snickers. “Like a cat meowing.” He proceeds to imitate a snore/meow sound as he pulls you to him by your waist. 

You slap his arm as you playfully scowl at him. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, but I’m your idiot.” Arthur arches an eyebrow at you as he ducks his head to kiss under your jawline. 

“Yeah, I guess so,” smirking as you roll your eyes. “I'm kind of already invested in you and all.”

“It kinda works out nice that way. You’re mine and I’m yours.”

Your effervescent giggle makes Arthur’s heart melt. “I’ll take that deal.”

Arthur cups his hand around your cheek, his thumb pushing your chin up so he can look into your glittering eyes. “I’ll ride with you through all the bullshit, Y/N, just as long as you don’t bullshit me. Fair?”

Your delicate hands run up his chest and push over his strong shoulders where your fingers lace together behind his neck. “I can only make you two promises, Arthur:  That I will never hurt you in the way that I, myself, have been hurt, and that I will love you in the ways that you, yourself, have never been loved.” 

You stare into those sapphire eyes of his, trying not to get distracted by the full-range of emotions he has dammed up behind them, emotions that you have only just begun to unleash. “I don't want to just be with you, Arthur. I want to live and love with you. I want to experience every single thing, stupid or great, that our time on this Earth is willing to give us together.” 

A deep and relaxing breath is pulled into Arthur’s lungs and released, taking with it any of the anxiety and doubt that he’s been fostering over this new thing, this new beginning that you have gifted him and that he cannot wait to start.

“Just be with me now and we’ll figure out the details later, I suppose,” he hums. He leans down to catch the rose petals of your lips into a delicate kiss. Your eyes float close and you smile into his mouth. The kiss is not too short, nor too long, but just perfect, as it carries all of the affection you both hold within it.

Arthur pulls back from you, and cradles your face in both of his large hands, staring down at your happy, sparkling expression. 

“In my life full of wrongs, Y/N,  you’re the thing that’s right in it. And I don’t want to miss a minute of it.” 

[literatecowboy]

The King With No Name

3. Cat and Maus

Part 4 here Summary: König - the king of Caldera - has been called upon by your father to choose a bride from his daughters in order to establish an alliance to keep peace over the lands they rule. When he arrives, he is enraptured by you, your father’s eldest child - an unconventional woman by all standards. He pursues your hand in marriage, doing his best to make you fall in love with him like he has fallen in love with you - much to your dismay Author's Notes: Inspired by the royalty fics I’ve been seeing around lately Warnings: Arranged marriage, eventual smut, pining, dogged pursuit of reader’s love and affection

Read part 1 here

-----

“Are you alright, maus? There were many people in there,” König said, reaching up to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. The carriage you were in rattled down the street, headed back to the castle. The reception would be held in the gardens and would undoubtedly last through the night.

“You’ve got what you wanted.” were the first words you’d uttered all day, your voice small and broken. 

“Not yet, maus. I want you to love me like I love you,” he said, squeezing your thigh gently. You recoiled and got up to sit on the other side of the carriage. König did not stop you.

—

You emerged into the garden to applause. Doing your best to keep your head down, you shuffled to the long table at the head of the clearing and sat at one of the head chairs, doing your best not to make eye contact with anyone. Your mother sat beside you and squeezed your arm under the table. 

“Smile,” she ordered through gritted teeth. “You need to at least pretend to enjoy yourself.” she hissed as König sat on your other side, greeting your guests with pride in his voice. 

“You cannot make me smile like you have made me marry him,” you whispered, refusing to meet her gaze. She stiffened but said nothing more. 

The reception dragged on like the ceremony had, but at least you weren’t alone. After the food was served and guests had begun to get up and mingle, you excused yourself from the table and found Lydia in the crowd. 

“Is Sadie alright?” you asked quietly, pulling her into a grove of oak trees and away from the crowd. 

“She doesn’t want to be here. She didn’t come to the ceremony either. I’m worried for her.” Lydia admitted, shaking her head. 

“I saw Ferdinand at the ceremony but I haven’t seen him at the reception. I’m afraid this decision of father’s has created several enemies for me to face,” you said with a sigh, wringing your hands nervously. 

“She’ll come around. You had no choice. I’m…sorry. I know this wasn’t what you wanted in the least.” Lydia said, squeezing your shoulders. 

“Lydia, I’m afraid,” you admitted. She sighed and nodded, pain in her eyes. 

“I’m afraid for you, sister. I didn’t want to say anything in front of Sadie because she was so set on marrying him…but he’s a brute. In a kingdom that wars so often with others…I fear for your safety.” she said softly. 

“Maybe it’s good that it isn’t Sadie, then. I’d rather die than let anything happen to you or her,” you said resolutely, shaking your head and glaring back to the reception at where your mother and father stood, laughing with their guests. 

“You are strong. I know you will come back to us.” Lydia murmured. The soft crunch of footsteps sounded from behind you and Lydia looked down, nervous. 

“Wife,” König called softly. “Will you please come back to me? My men would like to meet you.” 

“I’m speaking with my sister,” you said coolly, refusing to look over your shoulder at him. Lydia shrunk away under his gaze. 

“It’s okay, I should go find Henry,” she admitted, slipping past you and giving König a wide birth as she went to rejoin the party. You finally turned to face him and he took you in quietly. 

“I have not yet had a chance to tell you how lovely you look today, maus. You will make a fine queen,” he said, offering you his arm. 

“I would be a fine queen even if I was not beautiful or wed to you,” you said coldly, ignoring him and walking away from the grove. He followed like a lost puppy. 

“And yet you are wed to me,” he said, and you could hear his smile under his hood. His joy made you scowl. 

“I didn’t choose to be.”

“Correct, I chose to be.” You whirled on him in an instant, instinctively going for your hunting knife only to remember that your mother had confiscated it before the ceremony. 

“It’s best you get this through your head now. I don’t love you. I don’t like you. I think you’re fucking creepy. If it were up to me I would have sent you home unwed and missing your balls with the fear of me haunting your nightmares for the rest of your life.” you snarled, shoving him. He didn’t budge and caught your hands, keeping them pressed tightly to his chest as he gazed down at you.

“You are a fire-forged woman,” he breathed, his eyes dilating. You could feel his heart racing under your palm and he wrapped his arms tightly around you, pulling you closer. You felt something hard brush against your belly and blushed, squirming in his grasp. He was warm and smelled oddly nice, but when he caressed your cheek, his hand was rough and calloused. 

“Am I interrupting anything?” a man called out as he approached, and you pushed yourself away from König when his arms slackened. 

“No,” you muttered, heat creeping to your cheeks. 

“Ah, maus, this is the captain of my guard and my most trusted soldier, Sir Wilhelm. You will see much of him in the coming days as we return home to Caldera.” König said. Sir Wilhelm knelt and dipped his head respectfully to you. 

“My lady. It is a pleasure to meet you,” he said. 

“Caldera is not my home. My home is here.” you snapped, folding your arms over your chest and huffing. 

“Thank you, sir, for your kind introduction,” you muttered as you slipped past him and headed back to the wedding feast. 

“You chose a wild one,” Wilhelm said, raising an eyebrow as he watched you disappear into the crowd of dancing and drinking guests. 

“She’s perfect,” König breathed softly, watching you go. 

—

As you predicted, the reception lasted long into the night. While it was underway, your things along with provisions and wedding gifts were packed into wagons and sent ahead back to Caldera. It was planned that you would depart the next morning with König - your family and the gathered lords would see you off following the seal of the alliance. You would not give them that chance. 

At the end of the night, König walked with you back to your room, one hand on your back as he guided you gently. 

“Are you sure you would not rather sleep beside me, maus?” he asked, the worry evident in his voice. 

“I wish to spend one more night in my bedroom,” you said stiffly, opening the door to your chambers and stepping inside. König eagerly tried to follow but you put a hand on his chest. 

“Alone, König,” you said, looking down as he took your hand in his again and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of it. 

“I will see you tomorrow then, maus,” he murmured before departing. Before the door had even fully shut behind you you were ripping free from your wedding dress and tossing it to the floor. The room was sparse - most of your things had already gone. As quickly as you could, you tugged on your pants and a tunic before donning your light armor and tying your hair back. In an instant, your weapons were on you again, and you slid the window open, sliding out into the rain and dropping down onto the roof below. 

You raced as quickly and quietly as you could across the battlements and leaped down into a pile of hay sitting outside of the stable before scrambling out and into where the horses were kept. Your mare let out a confused greeting as you led her from the stable where she had been leaning across the aisle to nuzzle against the nose of König’s horse. 

Throwing her saddle on, you strapped your gear to her and ensured you had everything you’d need to survive in the wilderness for a time. 

“Come on lady, we’re out of here,” you murmured as you mounted up, drawing the hood of your cloak up as you rode out of the gates and into the night. 

This time, König was too busy touching himself to the memory of you in his arms with your name on his lips to see you flee. 

—

Your absence was discovered by Lydia just after dawn. König, who was already awake and waiting for you to come out, had been startled by the news. Your parents were…less so - but they were furious. 

König had agreed to sign the treaty to establish the alliance anyway, and after doing so with considerably less fanfare than had been planned, met with Sir Wilhelm. 

“There are tracks in the mud going west. She left just before the rain let up late last night,” he said as he and Knonig knelt to study the hoofprints that lead off the road. 

“Ja. Just after I left her.” König admitted, rising and looking off into the plains. You were undoubtedly long gone by now, riding deeper into your father’s kingdom. 

“Should have posted guards. I didn’t think she’d try something this drastic.” Wilhelm muttered, climbing back onto his horse. König did the same. 

“No, no, it is alright. She is not a prisoner. She has merely left for our honeymoon without me.” König explained, patting his horse’s neck and shifting in the saddle. “Have the men gather things to set up camp and then follow my tracks. I will catch up with her soon,” he said. With that, König urged his horse on, shooting forwards off the roads and onto the plains in pursuit of you.

—

You stopped to rest that evening after a long day of riding, exhausted from not sleeping and having eaten little throughout the day. A little lake fed by a roaring waterfall would be your campsite, you decided, as you started a fire to cook the rabbit you’d hunted earlier. Your horse grazed nearby as you set up your little tent in the plush grass and unfurled your bedroll so you could enjoy a peaceful sleep later. 

But despite yourself, you couldn’t relax. You still smelled like König. Of course, his scent was a pleasant one, but having it constantly clinging to you almost defeated the purpose of your escape.

After checking to make sure nobody was in the little forest grove you’d set up camp in, you stripped down and washed your clothes in the stream before leaving them on a sun-warmed rock to dry. Enjoying the warm water, you decided to wade in a little before diving forward and swimming out to the waterfall. 

Where the waterfall landed was surprisingly shallow and you stood up under it, laughing as the water dumped over your body and soaked your hair. The sun was setting now and the water looked golden in the light, the trees around you blowing gently. A fox cried out a little ways off and butterflies danced over the surface of the water. Birds chattered in their nests and the grass rippled in the wind. 

König watched from afar as you ran your hands up your body and through your hair, his cheeks red and his cock hard in his pants. He studied you as you jumped back into the deepest part of the water, disappearing for a moment before resurfacing and sucking in a breath. He slipped a hand into his armor and palmed himself a little through his pants before retracting his hand, face burning in shame. 

Your horse came to drink at the edge of the pool and you kissed her on the nose, eventually emerging and laying out on a rock so that the setting sun would dry you. 

König did his best to avert his eyes but could not succeed. He made himself turn away and return to his horse, climbing on to pretend as though he had just stumbled upon you. 

“Maus? Are you here?” he called out after a moment, trying to make extra noise as he rode through the undergrowth and toward your camp. You scrambled to put your dried clothes on and finished tugging your shirt down as he entered the clearing, your face red. 

“You left without me,” he said as he climbed off of his horse, looking around your camp as if he was just seeing it for the first time. “You have made me chase you like I am a cat, little maus.”

“But you have chosen a beautiful spot to camp. Tell me, where are we going?”

-----

taglist: @0mint-chocolate0, @elowynnlane, @littlelovebug98, @saturnknows, @passdaweedgaara, @lexuria

[tinyfishtits]

Ooh, an opportunity for more Micah-fic! Might I request a bit of TLC for our favorite roguish rat? (Maybe he's been roughed up a bit, or is feeling a little under the weather but doesn't want to let anyone know.)

Love your work!

YES OF COURSE you can request my literal favorite genre of Micah fic Zana, you beautiful human you. 

I got a little carried away with this one, I hope you like it !! I loved writing it 🥹❣️

TW: Graphic depictions of blood/gore/wound mending

I pushed the stew around my bowl as Mary Beth went on about the new book she was reading, though I heard none of it. Micah had been gone from camp for four days and nobody could even tell me why he’d left in the first place. Some bullshit lead on a job he thought he could tackle on his own no doubt, the cocky bastard. Nobody even noticed he was gone until I brought it up. 

“That explains why it's been so damn pleasant around here lately.” Arthur had said when I asked him about it. I knew what they all thought of him, hell my opinion wasn’t much different… Maybe I'd deluded myself into thinking we’d become friends over the past few months, that him talking to me was anything more than just tolerating my company. 

I’d be lying though, if I said I didn’t care. We’d come to spend most nights together since his return from Strawberry, tipsy and tired by the fire. I looked forward to it. Micah often talked about his father, of his adolescence spent robbing and killing out west. He was an entertaining storyteller to say the least, emphasizing every word with big, grandiose hand movements and even getting up to act certain things out. 

Occasionally I’d talk about my life before the gang as well. Though my stories weren’t nearly as colorful, he always listened. Indulging me with questions about my family, the hobbies I once had that there was no longer time or resources for. He’d folded over with laughter when I told him I used to love needlepoint. Saying, “By the looks of your mending, sweetheart, I’d wager that was time wasted!”

The last time I saw him we had barely talked at all. I’d been uncharacteristically exhausted after spending the day helping Pearson when Sadie refused to. And ended up drifting off against the log he sat upon, cleaning his gun. Though I’d woken sometime later to him having moved to the ground beside me, my head on his shoulder as he carved aimlessly at a scrap of wood. When I woke again in the morning, he was gone. 

“Isn’t that just so romantic?” Mary Beth crooned, her attention on me. 

“Sorry, what?” I asked, pushing my stew away. My stomach was too knotted up to eat, I knew I was probably being stupid and irrational, if Micah were here to see how I was acting he would say as much. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. 

Mary Beth looked me over more closely, “Are you alright? You look…”

“Fine. I- I’m fine, Mary Beth. I’m gonna go on a walk, don’t wait up okay?” I said, rising from the table.

“Oh, Okay!” She called out to me as I walked toward the path out of camp. It was probably a stupid idea. No, it definitely was. Walking around at sunset, alone, without a single weapon on me… I just needed to move, to feel like I was doing something other than waiting. A pathetic part of me hoped I would find him out here somehow, just stumble upon him trotting back toward camp completely fine.

I walked along the cliff edge toward Caliban’s Seat, making it halfway before dusk was upon me. Reluctantly, I turned back for camp, not at all looking forward to the restless night that awaited me there. That was when I spotted him.

“Baylock?” I called out to the black horse who was galloping up the hillside, his saddle empty. My stomach dropped at the sight. Even in the darkness, I knew it was him. He whinnied and reared up on his back legs as I neared. “Shh boy, you’re okay.” I hushed, holding a hand out to the wild eyed horse. He huffed and snorted at my hand, but let me approach. Giving him some comforting pats I looked around for any sign of him being robbed, a struggle, blood, anything to give a reason as to why he was alone. But there was nothing. He had just… run off. 

“Where’s Micah?” I whispered to the horse. He had to be close, surely. With Baylock calmed, at least enough to mount, I jumped on the saddle and led him back down the hill where he’d come. 

The full moon rising in the sky aided in my search, illuminating the surrounding forest enough that I wasn’t completely blind. Though Baylock did most of the navigating for me. He brought me through the section of forest that had been badly burned in an old brush fire, the ground still black, no life having braved the area just yet. I’d noticed it on our journey in from Colter. He was taking me to the base of Caliban’s Seat.

“Micah?” I called out to the darkness. Baylock whinnied in response, stomping his feet as we came to the tree line. He refused to go any further. “Micah?” I called again, and this time I got a faint groan in response. Jumping from the saddle I ran toward the sound some fifty yards ahead in the clearing. 

“ FUCK!” I yelled, jumping back and falling on my ass, the bright yellow eyes of a cougar staring back at me through the tall grass. It took a moment to catch my breath and realize the beast was dead. Though its eyes still shone ominously in the darkness. 

“What the hell are you doing out here?” Micah moaned. I jumped again, not having noticed him so close. He sat on the ground beside me, his back against a tree. He seemed… fine. 

“What… Happened?” I finally managed to say. 

“It got me. I got it.” He said simply, gesturing to the cougar with a lazy wave of the revolver still clutched in his hand.

Getting up from the dirt I crawled the few feet over to where he sat, my hands hovering over him hesitantly as I tried to pinpoint where exactly it had got him. Sensing the silent question he turned his back to me with a pained groan. I gasped. 

His shirt was hanging on by threads. Three deep claw marks had torn through it from the shoulder all the way down to the hem of his pants. Blood oozed from the slashes, tar black in the darkness. 

“ Shit.” I whispered, “You need a doctor. We need to get you back to camp!” 

“No” He groaned. 

“But… Micah you can't see it, its-” 

“ No.” He said firmly, leaning back against the tree with a wince. “I’ve got supplies in the saddlebags, enough to make camp here and patch up.”

I just stared at him, speechless at his nonchalance toward the whole thing. Fully expecting me to just go along with his plan, he started unbuttoning his shirt. 

“What are you doing?” I asked. 

“ You are going to stitch me up, sweetheart.” 

“No…” Sickness twisted in my stomach at the prospect, “ No! Micah… I- I can’t.” 

The bastard didn’t listen. He just kept working to undo his shirt as I sat there completely frozen at his side. Leaning heavily on the tree for stability, he rose to his feet and whistled for Baylock. The horse came obediently to him, nuzzling his nose into Micah’s neck with a huff. 

“Hey boy…” Micah whispered to him, stretching with a groan to pull a peach from the saddle bag, “Sorry about that…” Lovingly stroking the horse's nose, Micah sighed, resting his forehead against the animal. I’d never seen Baylock calmer in my life. 

Rifling through the saddlebags I found some half drunken tonics, a bottle of whiskey and a crude wound dressing kit with - much to my horror - a needle and thread. I knew it had to be done… If not sewn up by me tonight, the cuts would almost certainly fester into something much worse by morning. My many failed attempts at cross stitching and cloth mending flashed behind my eyes, the nausea growing as I pictured my messy, uneven stitches threading through skin.   

I took a swig of the whiskey before handing it over to Micah, who raised a brow at me. “You’re gonna need it…” I said, my voice shakily betraying the anxiety coursing through me. He chugged a good quarter of the bottle before chucking it aside. 

“And this.” I held out a tonic for him, hoping if all else failed, it might keep infection at bay at the very least. He chugged that too, his eyelids heavy when he met my gaze again. “Just sit down, I’ll start a fire… Are you hungry?” I about gagged just saying the word. The thought of eating churning my stomach even more. 

I don't know if it was my own reaction or if he too was an anxious wreck at the prospect of me stitching him up, but he mercifully declined the offer of food. I made quick work of a fire, setting our camp up a ways away from the wild cat corpse that was already starting to attract flies. 

Micah sat beside the fire, his shirt now fully discarded. The image of him lit by the warm, flickering firelight sent a strange sense of calm through me, as if this was just any other night. A sparkling sheen of sweat already coated his torso. He glanced sidelong at me and I averted my gaze... hoping my lingering stare could be attributed to his wound and not his half naked form. Blush burning at my cheeks I asked, "How did it happen?" 

"Wrong place..." He grunted, running a hand through his hair. "Wrong time." 

Whiskey in hand, I kneeled at his back. "I didn't think cougars even came this far east..." I said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder I guided him to turn so his back was to the fire, he did so with another pained groan that made my heart ache. It was about to get so much worse, I was about to make it so much worse. 

"They don't." He grumbled, snatching the whiskey from my hand for one last sip before returning it to my grasp. 

“This is gonna hurt…” I warned. He and I both took a deep breath and when he exhaled I poured the alcohol over his wound. His breathing halted as he held back a cry of pain, only deep growling groans escaping him as his breath came back in stuttering bursts before calming once more. 

“Sorry…” I whispered, finally exhaling my own breath. 

“Don’t start that…” He said, a bit breathless. Reaching a hand back to me he squeezed my knee in a small but comforting gesture. “I don't need you apologizing every time you stick me with a needle neither, doll.”

Grabbing the whiskey bottle, he took another generous chug. “Okay… Do it.” He sighed. 

Opening the little tin of needle and thread… I hesitated. The needle was so small. Stitching up the wounds would take an hour, probably more. Dousing my hands with alcohol I reached out to touch the edge of one of the slashes, testing the sensitivity. He inhaled sharply at the gentle touch. Seemingly sensing his pain, Baylock huffed and lowered himself to the ground beside us, his large black head resting on Micahs lap. 

“Micah…” I whispered. I didn’t know if I could stomach the pain I would be putting him through. He didn’t say anything, but squeezed my knee once more. Gently moving his long hair over his shoulder and out of the way, I brought the needle to the largest slash and with a deep breath, inserted it into the skin. 

He didn’t flinch or cry out in pain, only tightening his grip on my knee as I drove the needle through the fatty skin visible in the crevice of the wound. In, through, in and out again. Were the only thoughts in my head as I concentrated, tying each suture closed with several knots before moving on to the next. 

Once I got into the rhythm of it my anxiety eased, the nausea in my stomach subsiding along with it. The gore of his back becoming just another piece of ripped fabric that needed mending. It helped that Micah stayed impressively still during the whole process, only occasionally wincing when my needle drifted too deep into the wound.

When I finished the first of three slashes I turned to look him over. His face had gone pale and his eyes clamped shut. He never did release his grip on my leg. 

“Two more cuts to go…” I said, mostly to myself but Micah’s head perked up, a small groan escaping his lips. I had no idea how much time had passed from when I’d started stitching, but the moon was high overhead by the time I finished. It must have been at least two in the morning. 

Knotting off the last stitch I sat back, looking over my work. It wasn’t pretty by any means, the slashes red and jagged. But it was done. 

“Well, you’ll have an impressive scar at least.” I said, pouring the last of the whiskey over my work for good measure. He didn’t even flinch this time, his back probably so numb with pain already from the hours of tedious work it barely registered anymore. 

“Micah?” I whispered, his hand tightened on my knee in response but he made no sound. Leaning into his shoulder, I pressed a gentle kiss to the unmarred skin there. A low moan escaped him. 

“What was that for?” He mumbled.

“A kiss to make it better…” I whispered against his skin, peppering two more kisses up his shoulder, one for each wound. “Mmm…” He hummed, his hand slowly snaking up my thigh. The contact shot electricity into my core, the pit of my stomach churning with a kind of anxious anticipation. I took his wandering hand in mine and kissed that too. 

“Are you hungry?” I asked in an attempt to change the subject. Leaning in to meet his gaze, his pupils were blown wide, his eyes almost completely black as he looked at me. A smile spread over his lips. 

“That a trick question?” He slurred, wrapping an arm around my waist. He practically fell into me, his hot, whiskey tinged breath on my neck as he pulled me in closer.

“You're drunk.” I said matter-of-factly, but made no effort to push him away. I didn’t want him drunkenly falling back on his fresh stitches, but mostly I just… didn’t want him to let go.  

“Mmhmm...” He hummed, “And hungry.” his lips just barely grazed my skin as he spoke. 

His flirty retort was an empty threat. Slowly, his body relaxed into mine, going heavier and heavier until he was completely slack in my arms. With a sigh, I sat back, carefully resting against Baylock who had stayed loyally by Micah’s side through the entire ordeal. 

Micah’s face nuzzled sleepily into the crook of my neck, his arms wrapped around my waist as snuggled into me like I was his own personal pillow. He was completely splayed out on top of me, effectively pinning me in place between him and the horse. Unable and unwilling to move, I just held him against me, a hand softly stroking at his hair while the other traced lazily at the unwounded skin of his bare back. 

He let out a long, content sigh and mumbled something into my neck. 

“What?” I whispered. He turned his head away from my skin just enough to speak more clearly. 

“I’m glad it was you.” He said, his strong hands pressing into my back as he spoke, as if he was making sure I was real, that I was there with him. “That you were the one… that you found me.” His voice trailed off sleepily.

Something about his admission brought a wetness to my eyes that threatened to break through my resolve. I hadn’t truly allowed myself to absorb the scene I’d stumbled upon tonight. How much worse it could have been… Holding him closer I breathed, “ Me too…” my voice barely even a whisper. 

Exhaustion soon came to consume us both. With a final soft kiss to his temple, all three of us drifted off to sleep under the stars. 

If you liked this, check out my other Micah works!

★ My Masterlist ★

[extremelyblackandwhite]

pairing: dad!bucky barnes x au pair!reader

warnings: age gap (reader is 10 years younger than bucky), smut (18+, dni if under 18)

author’s note: i got given a vinyl of go your own way/silver springs last week by my mum that she bought when she was younger, so i've been playing it time and time again and it bled onto this chapter.

masterlist

i know i could've loved you but you would not let me.

Bucky knew Y/N was upset. That's all he knew. He knew she'd come from her date and ever since she'd been quiet as a mouse and that was something considering Y/N gave her opinion anytime the opportunity presented itself. He'd even change the order her mugs in, to see if she would say something, instead she just grabbed a mug and went upstairs to her room whenever he was home to watch Sadie. If he was looking after Sadie, then Y/N would not be found for long stretches of time, instead looked into her bedroom with note and after note typing aggressively - a routine which made Bucky thankful he'd never pursued a PhD or anything other than a bachelors. He'd started to leave little snacks around her room whenever she went out, a pack of Oreos stashed in her nightstand, dehydrated mango slices from the brand she liked on top of her computer, little pots of coconut yoghurt. He knew she was always in that bedroom and he also knew she wouldn't come out no matter if it was breakfast, lunch or dinner.

He was sure there was only one person to blame - Christopher. Sure, Y/N and Bucky fought about it before she went on her date, they always did, but it never resulted in her becoming a hermit, locked in her room. As such, Chris was now enemy number one and Bucky was sure if HR discovered, he would get in trouble. He wasn't making the kid's life too hard, he was just making him work nights and overtimes and weekends. He'd also sent Chris on a coffee run. Yet Y/N continued in her little cocoon of sadness and tonight was no difference. Bucky had ordered Italian in and ended up the evening watching Beauty and the Beast with Sadie. The redhead had fallen asleep at the midpoint and as Bucky was ready to call it a night, he heard the soft steps of Y/N's coming down the stairs, holding a stack of plates and mugs. She was in her little white vintage chenille robe embroidered with blue and pink flowers, her hair up with a way too big claw clip and white fuzzy socks. If Bucky wasn't worried about her, he'd be wondering about what was under her robe.

      - You want some Italian? - Bucky got up to follow her from the kitchen. - I got some of that weird spinach pasta you like. Extra mozzarella balls just as you like.

      - No. - she placed the plates in the sink, starting to wash them with the cranberry dish soap that she always bought the moment the first autumn leaf fell.

      - You didn't come up of your little cocoon today. You know, the cleaning maid is wondering if I'm cutting your pay since you're keeping one bedroom and one bathroom hostage.

      - I can move to the guest bedroom. - she moved to grab a plate but the slippery porcelain slipped, crashing into a thousand bits to the ground. She sighed, her lip quivering and almost as if by seconds, she started crying.

Y/N went down to her knees, grabbing at the pieces of porcelain and shards, as if pushing them together would bring it back.

      - Y/N, shit, darling ... - he went back to his knees to put his hands on her arms to pull her up. - It's ok, don't pick them up, you'll get hurt.

      - I'm sorry. - she sniffled, her hands attempting to go and rub her eyes but Bucky stopped them in case she had little shards of porcelain stuck to her palms. - I'll clean it up, I promise.

      - It's fine. - Bucky kicked the big shards away. - What's wrong, Y/N? Is it Chris? Did he hurt you?

      - I'm gonna fail my viva. - she sniffled once more. - And I'm gonna have to go back to Ohio and I'm not made to live in Ohio.

      - Why would you go back to Ohio?

      - My parents bought a farm there after retiring. I am not Ohio farm material, Bucky. I'm afraid of horses.

      - Why would you even fail your viva? You're a smart woman, you're at a good university, you are okay. - Bucky wrapped his arms around her. - Probably not for long if you keep not eating. Go seat and I'll get you your disgusting pasta.

      - It is not disgusting. - Y/N rolled her eyes before making her way to the table. - Buck? Can I become your secretary if I fail my viva?

      - No. Your skirts aren't as short as I'd like. - he joked, bringing her pasta in a plate and pushing it towards her. - You're too fucking smart to be my secretary, if you were in my company you'd be CEO or something.

      - I worked my entire life for this. - she toyed around with her food, looking up with eyes still wet. - You know? I didn't come from legacy families or families who could actually afford to send me to college, I worked my ass off because I thought if I did I'd get somewhere. I'd be someone, I wouldn't have to count my pennies, I would be respected. Instead, everyone thinks I'm a joke on track to become your unfuckable housewife.

      - Now c'mon, if you do become my housewife, I would fuck you at least once a night. - he joked trying to lighten the mood but Y/N merely deadpanned at him. - Twice actually. You have a nice ass.

      - Not helping.

      - Because you're being ridiculous. You wanna know the reason I hired you? You had zero experience but you were smart and you were fiery and independent and I wanted my daughter to be like that.

      - You're just saying that because you're tired of bathing, Sadie.

      - I'm saying that because you're a great student and you're a smart woman. Besides, if they fail you, we'll just have to bribe the university. We'll donate a building for you.

      - You're not funny. - she swallowed in a giggle before taking the first forkful of pasta.

      - No, really, we'll get you a building. - he moved to seat next to her. - Maybe an astronomy one.

      - How swell.

      - I mean, maybe an astronomy building will be too much. Maybe a farming one.

      - God, I'm never telling you anything ever again. - she took another forkful of food. Bucky was glad he'd distracted her enough where she was eating, genuinely eating. - How's Sadie?

      - Sadie is doing well. She's supposed to go back to kindie next week but I was taking of taking her to the office for a bit. You know? I don't trust the roudy kids.

      - It's a private kindergarten. The senator's grandchild goes there, Bucky. I doubt they have their own fight club.

      - Have you ever seen a bunch of 2 year olds? They're terrifying and Sadie is a sensitive baby.

      - So you'll take her to a corporate office?

      - It's gonna be her company one day. Start them young. - he joked once more. - You want some ice cream? I tried to look for one that would be suitable for 2 year olds but then I came home and goggle it and they said I should blend frozen bananas instead.

Truth was, he'd bought a bunch of flavours thinking one would be Y/N's favourite and would entice her to eat something. That had ended up with him holding over 10 flavours of ice cream in his freezer. He came back with a selection of flavours he thought he wanted in a nice little dish. Y/N always liked nice little dishes.

      - Maybe I just don't belong, you know? - Y/N sighed. - In academic research. Most people come from well off families or are really smart, I'm just ...

      - You're just you. - Bucky said, leaning his chin on his hand to stare at her.

      - Yeah. I'm just me. Plain, old, me. Daughter of working class parents, me. Mediocre grade at masters, me. - she sighed once more, looking at the melting ice cream. - I can't even keep a relationship from falling apart.

      - Chris broke up with you?

      - I am not dating Chris so he can't technically break up with me. Besides, it wasn't like it would actually work.

      - I'm sorry.

      - No, you're not. - she looked at him, cocking her head to the side. - You'll probably be dancing in the grave of my situationship.

      - I don't dance, Y/N. I'm a respectable man. - he once again tried to make light of the situation. - What happened?

      - Guess I'm not suitable or good enough or don't do enough. One of the three. Whatever. - she chuckled dryly. - It was nice to have someone like me even if the me they liked was someone I'm not.

      - You act as if other people don't like you.

      - It's not that they don't like me but they also don't like me. You know what I mean? They put up with me, they are alright with me, they are cordial but they don't like me. They don't tolerate me.

      - I like you. - those words flew out of his lips like it was the most natural thing for him to say. As if he were stating an irrefutable fact like the sky looks blue or the Earth is round. - I like you. Just the way you are.

Y/N's lips parted as she waited for something to compliment the sentence. I like you just the way you are but less difficult, I like you just the way you are but prettier, I like you just the way you are but less argumentative, I like you just the way you are but as a friend. Yet those words never came and she found herself instead staring at the man in front of her, staring into those blue eyes like some sailor drawn to the sea.

      - Daddy? - Bucky recognised his daughter's voice. Bad timing, bad, bad timing.

      - Hey bug. - Y/N got up from her chair and walked up to the 2 year old, kneeling down to her level. - Are you alright?

      - Nightmare.

      - Aw that's awful, bug. I'll go and tuck you in and stay there while you fall asleep. Sounds good?

(...)

      - I'm telling you, Steve. I fucked up.

      - When you said we needed to have an urgent meeting, I didn't think this would be it.

Bucky had called Steve in London, the meeting screen showing Steve in his office. Yet, instead of one of their regular meetings to check with the state of the London office, it was Bucky talking to Steve. He'd fucked up, he'd fucked up badly and he'd only realise he'd fucked up once he woke up this morning and Y/N had left, leaving a note merely saying she had gone down to Ohio to be with her parents for a bit.

      - You just said you liked her, so what? At least you didn't tell her you loved her. It could have been interpreted differently.

      - You don't understand, Steve. I told her I liked her just the way she is.

      - Alright, Mark Darcy, pipe down. Have you considered that maybe, just maybe, Y/N wants to go see her parents because she hasn't seen them in ages? Maybe because she's upset and wants to be with her mum and dad?

      - I'm telling you, she's gonna quit.

      - She's not gonna quit, Barnes. She likes Sadie too much, besides, isn't she with Chris Davis anyway? - Steve leaned against his chair, staring at Bucky through his screen. - Just relax.

(...)

A week had gone by and Y/N woke up with the sun shinning on her face. Being here was different than being in New York, it was quieter, calmer and all the sounds she could hear were the wind and the animals allowed close enough to the main house. This wasn't her childhood home, her parents had bought it yet it was comfortable. The furniture was the same and the feeling of her home was still available, it made her calm. Things were ... too much right now and she needed to be away from the hustle and bustle of the city.

She moved herself to the kitchen, pouring herself a cup of tea and seating on the wooden chair with her feet on top of the seat. Her mother walked into the kitchen a few moments later, kissing the top of her head before sitting down next to her daughter.

      - Do you want me to make you some eggs, shortcake?

      - I'm okay, mum. - she smiled at her mother. - Where's dad?

      - I sent him out to get some groceries. I wanted to talk to you alone.

      - That's never good.

      - Shortcake, I love having you here. You're my only daughter and I love it when you come to visit but it feels like you're running away.

      - I'm not running away, mum. I just came to visit.

      - When you're 3 days away from defending your thesis? In the middle of the night? I've known you for 27 years, shortcake. You're not visiting, you're running.

      - I'm failing. - she sighed, with a scared laugh. - I've looked through my papers time and time again and in 3 days I'll make a fool of myself.

      - Y/N, c'mon. - her mother put her hand on her shoulder. - You said that about your undergraduate and your masters. You've never actually came to me and told me something is going well academically.

      - This is different. I've invested almost four years of my life into this and I'm just so tired. The thought of failing is just ... terrifying.

      - You've always doubted yourself, always put so much weight onto your own shoulders. You don't need to be the best, Y/N. You don't need to impress us or make us proud, we've been proud and impressed by you since the moment you were born. Running away here is not gonna solve how you feel and you, Y/N, have never been a quitter. - her mother caressed her face, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. - You gave it your best, that's all you can do.

      - There's more. - since she was airing out things, maybe she should talk about this. It wasn't like she could talk to her friends, she didn't have many and she couldn't talk to her colleagues about it either. - There's this guy.

      - Christopher?

      - Not Christopher. Another guy ... He told me he liked me and it just ... it freaked me out.

      - Do you like him?

      - I ... I don't actually know. I, I never really allowed myself to think of him like that. He's different.

      - How different?

      - I never considered ending up with someone like him, you know? He's not what I'd envision ever but he feels, he feels like the only person who seems me. He seems me not postdoctoral student Y/N, not who I may be if I succeed or if I fail. Just me.

      - Then what is the problem?

      - I think he also doesn't consider himself ending up with someone like me. I think .... I think I could love him but he would never let me because I'm not the ending that he pictured. I'm just not the one.

taglist: @talesofadragon @themermaidscales82 @winters1917 @vladsgirlxx @stinkerbelle007 @maybefoxysouls @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @chipilerendi @kandis-mom @belennasif @abitofblues @buckybarnessimpp

[tsartistry]

back with my tkc rotations. thoughts on tanakane? (if i already asked you this and just don't remember, ignore me lol) (also ps i made a post on transmasc!zia and it's full of my transmasc experiences, if u wanna check that out)

I think we've definitely talked about it on Discord before but that's okay because every hours is Tanakane Hours!!

For those of you who haven't read The Kane Chronicles, Sadie Kane and Drew Tanaka (from Heroes of Olympus) go to the same school and there is that mean-girl dynamic between them. I see Sadie as being very "ugh i hate her she thinks shes so cool with her lustrous hair and milky skin and beautiful eyes and flawless appearance!!! this emotion is definitely hatred!!" Bi in Denial.

I like to imagine that something attacks the school one day and both Sadie and Drew are trapped together and mutually like "ugh now i have to protect this bitch."

Anyway, I'd have to go back and re-read, but iirc Drew's charmspeak didn't come up much in her brief appearances and I found that pretty surprising. Surely Sadie must have noticed how persuasive Drew can be. A lot of Sadie's frustration with her could easily come from how often authority figures seem to capitulate to Drew's demands, no matter how absurd.

Anyway I imagine Aphrodite looking down on the sexual tension between her daughter and this Egyptian, eagerly munching popcorn.

[your-mommy-ems]

Hiii im Emma the amount of fandoms I'm in is concerning. The amount of books i'm writing at once is also concerning. Point is you should just be concerned, enjoy your stay at my blog - here is a piece of cake 🍰

-> Im Emma/Ems or whatever nickname u want to give me I love giving people nicknames and petnames. Basic info -> She/her, minor, capricorn, intj, australian, ferrari girl, i will defend my babies warnette and evajacks until i die, a believer in sarcasm, i post about my writing sometimes, sometimes - cause im too lazy to write, im an ambivert and a joey lynch and damon torrance defender

Books -> [series] The inheritance games, acotar, shatter me, the folk of the air, pjo [im new to the fandom] the prison healer, caraval, ouabh, dance of theives, divine rivals, boys of tommen, the lunar chronicles, the red queen, the naturals, six of crows, devils night, boys of tommen [standalone] Better than the movies, the do over, betting on you (basically anything by lynn painter), the cheat sheet, powerless, the summer of broken rules and A LOT more. 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 Music -> taylor swift, gracie abrams, [recently getting into] maisie peters, tate mcrea, sadie jean, a little of lana del rey, chase atlantic, artic monkeys, guns and roses, conan gray. my music is all over the place lmao. 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 Movies/tv shows -> friends, b99, babysitters club, alexa and katie, fuller house, now you see me 1&2, oceans 11,12&13, knives out 1&2, mamma mia, adam project, red notice, enola holmes, and pretty much most chick flicks 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 Other -> rain <3, christmas, baking/cooking, art -> I paint, sketch, and draw, whenever I feel like it. I mostly draw though. 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 Moodboards -> I love making moodboards here is the masterlist 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝Writing -> i have a few side blogs but my public writing blog is @the-ballad-of-us and i also have a secret one see if you can find it ;)

Misc -> my dream life is to runaway to paris or new york and open up a bookstore/cafe/flower shop. (and to be the rich hot aunt the everyone loves), I want to travel when I'm older! [places] -> London, Paris, Italy, Greece, Turkey, Sweden, Germany, New York, Bahamas, Japan, Korea, and a bunch more!, I spend an unhealthy amount of time on Pinterest and Tumblr, 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 -> If we're moots, we're best friends, no takes backs. -> I over use lmao, lol, <3, :), and 😭 too much. im trying not to come on too strong and be rude lol (right there see? perfect example) -> My Wattpad -> My Pinterest -> I love talking to new people, and asks and dms (only for minors unless i agree to it :)) are always open <3 -> i most likely won't follow you back if you don't have an intro post, but if you want to get to know me just send me an ask :) 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Special people ->@skeelly - kris, @percabeths-blue-cookies - har, @a-beautiful-fool - lou lou, @moonlightt444 - mare bear, @nqds - nadsies, @mqstermindswift - nicky, @lost-in-reveriie - addy, @art-of-fools - mr o'hare, @reminiscentreader - jas, @myster3y - my wifey kiara, @sophiesonlinediary - soph, @deprivedofbraincellsandsleep - zia, @runwiththerain - ives, @doyoujustnotwantto - mihane, @that-multi-fandom-hijabi - nova my world manipulation partner, @hijabi-desi-bookworm - esme, @gergthecat - scout, @baboland - aria, @missedyour21st - fay, @daydream-of-a-wallflower - kat + all my other moots that i didn't tag but rlly wanted too [if you want to be added or removed just let me know!! <333

𓆝 this is a safe space for everyone!! ↳ Dni - if you're a racist, homophobe, sexist, pedos, ect..

love ya all <3

Emma

[fatedbutblinking]

jason grace x egyptian daughter of isis story idea

when jason dies, his fate angers him more than it should. he died a hero's death, and can now live in peace forever, but he still feels like he never got a choice in the matter - like he never got the chance to live normally, fully, in a way extrinsic from the gods.

iris, egyptian goddess of magic and all sorts, resurrects him on one condition. that he help bring peace and strength to the egyptian spirits still occupying the pyramids - the ones who can't move on. he finds it an odd task, but he agrees.

suddenly, he is dropped in the desert. he walks and walks for hours, trying to find food or water or any sense of civilisation. he starts to think it's a game that the egyptian gods are playing on him - making a roman demigod die all over again just to laugh at him.

he gets knocked out cold. he wakes up in what looks like a tomb. standing around him are several of these egyptian spirits that iris was talking about, all laughing at him, throwing drink at him, making fun of how supple and pale his skin is - marks of roman privilege, they say. it is the first time that people have made him out to be inferior as a warrior.

then she walks in. she's different from the other spirits. the spirit labourers stop gallivanting around him and go silent as she enters. she is hauntingly beautiful: long, silky dark chocolate hair, almond-shaped black eyes, intricate gold jewels woven through her hair and her clothes. she's like cleopatra incarnate. except stunningly scary.

'what are you doing here, roman?' 'change of scenery.' 'funny.' 'thank you.' 'i don't like funny.' jason isn't sure whether he's allowed to say why he's there, especially if it's a matter of life or death for him. so he chooses the safe option: not to say anything. 'i left my camp.' 'and wandering around the desert was the second best option?' 'seemed it.' 'you have no loyalty.' 'i only have loyalty. just not to romans or greeks. not to the people who kill me everyday. i could to you, though.' 'how do you know i won't kill you either?' 'i don't. but if you do, i'll be one of them.' he nods his head to the spirits. 'not a bad fate.' 'you seriously want to join?' 'i do.' she thinks it over for a long while, watching him with intensity. he matches her. in the roman world, everybody thought he was the intense one. 'okay,' she says. the corner of jason's lip turns up slightly. one of the spirits pipes up: 'okay? okay? he's roman.' 'precisely. it's what cleopatra would have done.'

spirits and her all have dinner together. he's stuck with the labourer spirits because he has to build himself up the ranks. one of them reveals to him that she's the daughter of iris and a mortal. he says that's impossible. there's no such thing as demigods in the egyptian world - only partnerships, hosts, like sadie kane. they tell him that she's the only one. and that she's here to lead them in preserving the pyramids and the legacy of the egyptian gods. the whole of the egyptian world rests on her shoulders.

they steal jewels back from thieves lurking around the pyramids. they re-mummify and look after previous pharaohs. jason slowly but surely starts to gain the trust of the spirits around him. but with her? nothing. she gives him every dirty job, every job that doesn't require him to use any of his godly abilities. she does it on purpose, he thinks - to make him an example. to make him earn it, without using his jupiter name.

they have these little moments. he falls for her fast. he thinks he was always a little bit in love with her, but it comes crashing down onto him one night as she talks about her duty to her people, her culture. she starts to remind him so much of himself in that way. he can't but want the best for her - want her to embrace her human side and leave this place, where her duty to her culture surpasses her duty to herself. so he tells her:

'you're forgetting that you're human.' 'that's not worth remembering.' 'why not?' 'it's not useful to my duty to be human.' 'it's not a matter of duty. that's just what you are. isis is your mother, yes. but your father - do you not think about who he is?' she laughs shortly. 'my father. heritage like that is trivial. i forget how soft you romans are.' 'but your mother's heritage isn't trivial? it's so significant that it dictates everything you do for the rest of your life? that is something you're okay with.' 'yes.' 'every friend you've ever known is dead. a spirit. that is something you're okay with.' 'you are way out of line, jason grace.' 'you should want more.' 'no, i shouldn't. i wouldn't expect you to understand. you left your camp to come here. i put my duty above any selfish desires. this is it for me.' 'it wasn't for me. i found you.' 'you found me,' she scoffs. 'maybe i am selfish. but if i can afford to be selfish then so can you.' 'what does that mean?' 'come with me.' 'what?' 'to camp. to meet demigods like you. to meet real people - people like us - ' 'you are beyond out of line. hear my words, jason grace, because i won't repeat myself. this is my home. this is my family. duty is family. i would never leave it behind - especially not alongside some flippant blond jupiter boy. you wave the wind around, but you know nothing of real, honest work. and to speak of leaving? after we have accepted you, helped you? there is so much more that you have to learn here. it is not the other way around. and if you don't want to learn, then i will kill you. i will kill you so many times that you cannot return. the spirits that you don't believe are real people - i can make you smaller, emptier, more lifeless than them. but i don't have to. the way you act proves that you already are.'

then jason reveals it to her. that he died and came back because her mother resurrected him. that her mother made him promise to help the spirits move on. he asks her why isis would want him to make the spirits move on if her daughter was supposed to be here alone. he says that it is time for her to move on too. she smacks him and walks away.

at this point, jason hasn't made it explicity clear to her that he's in love with her. but the things he does show it - to an extreme degree. even when she's extremely annoyed with him and avoiding him. he watches her every move with such gentleness, to the point where the spirits are making jokes about it to her. usually she complains about the state of cleanliness of the statues of isis and other egyptian gods, but jason polishes them everyday without fail, even if she isn't going to pass that corridor or that room.

the spirits make comments about this to her, but she shrugs them off. it becomes harder and harder for her to ignore him. to watch him make the spirits laugh. to watch him fly to the top of two opposing pyramids and plant flags, encouraging the spirits to play some greek game of 'capture the flag.' at dinner, he speaks of his war stories, the times he spoke back to the roman and greek gods, the times he obeyed them. he speaks of those he loves and those he lost. he speaks of the bestfriend that he died before getting the chance to see again. they watch him intently. and all he does is watch her.

it would be impossible to ignore the way everyone is falling in love with him.

that's what makes it so difficult for her to agree with him - that it's best for them to all move on. everything seems so perfect the way it is. and to say goodbye to them, to pull jason away from them with her selfish thoughts of leaving, to avoid her duty to her home - the thoughts make her heart sink to her stomach.

he makes her heart sink to her stomach.

'you're distracting everyone. i caught a thief while everyone was playing that awful game.' 'a thief? or a tourist looking around?' 'same thing.' 'what are you protecting, y'n?' she stands there, her brow furrowing slightly at his words. his eyes, those familiar storm-grey eyes, seem to pierce through her, and for the briefest of moments, she feels as though she might be stripped bare of all her carefully constructed walls. 'artefacts,' she says shortly. 'artefacts,' he repeats slowly. she grits her teeth, already turning to storm off. 'you are insufferable, jason grace.' he pulls her back. 'i'm not the insufferable one. you're the one making everyone perform duties that don't have to be performed. they have people who preserve these pyramids, y'n. let down the mist and let them.' she turns back around viciously. 'you think this is performative. you think what we do here doesn't mean anything. but it is you that's done this - made it nothing. you came here and turned it all upside down. you make them question their duty. you let them - ' 'have fun?' 'you let them forget.' 'nobody will forget. they can remember, and move on.' 'you - you - it's always you with this moving on stuff. nobody wants to move on. i don't want to move on. i'm content. i'm happy.' 'sure seems like it.' 'the only time i'm not happy is when i'm around you. when your annoying lightningy roman little face is in front of me, trying to tell me what to do, acting all better than me. if you want to move on so badly, then go. leave. i won't even bother trying to kill you if you do - i don't want your body resting anywhere near my ancestors.' 'not without you.' 'why?' she shouts, exasperated. jason pulls her back by the elbow, forcing her to face him. 'because i care about you.'

he kisses her. she groans and pulls away, anger in her eyes. he lets go of her elbow and clenches his jaw, staring at her lips. he won't make another move. her lip quivers. she smashes her lips against his. all of her emotions are let out, and she gives in. she gives into him, into the idea of moving on, into the new dawn. tears fall down her cheeks as she kisses him. gently, he pulls back. he watches as she breaks down - years and years of walls falling to the ground. he pulls her into his chest, stroking her hair.

it's the start of a long road for them, but they're doing it.

jason's eyes soften at the sky. it never rains in the desert, but it does now.

he was going to see his best friend again. his family. and he was going to bring his favourite addition.

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Home

Summary: Dean comes home.

Warnings: None. Major fluff. Angst if you squint.

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Y/N (Robbie and Sadie - OFCs)

Word Count: 937

A/N: The lovely @deanswaywardgirl requested a fluffy fic using the moment from the gif above. I loved the idea of giving our boy a happy home, so this came into my mind. It took me way too long to come up with this simple fluffy drabble, my dear. But I hope you enjoy!

The beautiful dividers below and at the bottom were created by @talesmaniac89

Dean stepped quietly into the dark house, closing the back door as softly as possible. He slid the deadbolt home and then set down the big green duffel bag that was slung over his shoulder. He breathed deeply, drawing in the scents of lemon cleaner, crayons, and roast chicken that permeated the kitchen. 

He was home.

The only light in the room came from the soft bulb shining above the sink, spilling out of the window and falling across the grass in the backyard. Y/N left it on any time he was gone on a hunt. She told him to use it like a lighthouse, to follow its signal back to the safe harbor of their home. 

It always worked because he thought of that light every time he was away. He’d never told Y/N this because he didn’t want to scare her, but there had been a few times, when the monster had him nearly beaten, that the memory of that light had truly saved him. The thought of it shining for him, and of the people on the other side of it, waiting for him to come home, gave him the strength to push himself one more step and win the battle.

He flipped the switch, turning off the lighthouse now that he was safely docked, and stepped quietly through the kitchen. He bounded soundlessly up the stairs, shedding his jacket and thick flannel on the way, and tossing them over the banister. 

Once upstairs, he reached Robbie’s room first and opened the door; he was glad he’d fixed the squeak in the hinge before he left last time. It swung open quietly and he looked across the room to where his son slept, his thin back rising and falling in a quiet rhythm.

Dean passed his gaze over the room, his hunter’s eyes seeking anything out of place or suspicious. When he was satisfied that all was well in the room with the baseball wallpaper, he closed the door over again and continued down the hall to Sadie’s room, walking inside to peer into her crib and watch her tiny chest rise and fall. 

He was home in time for her first birthday in two days, and he was determined that no matter what catastrophes the world tried to dish up for them, he would be there at the party, wearing a stupid clown party hat, and overdosing on cake and ice cream. 

As he looked at her, he couldn’t resist smoothing one of his too rough fingers across her satin-soft, chubby cheek. She stirred slightly and grabbed hold of his finger, gripping it tightly in her sleep. Dean happily stood like that for nearly ten minutes, marveling over her, and refusing to take his hand away from where she clutched it.

Finally she let go and rolled over and Dean smoothed back her baby curls from her forehead and left the room before he was tempted to wake her up just so he could see her four-tooth smile.

He wandered across the hall to his and Y/N’s bedroom and walked as quietly as possible through the door, avoiding the floorboard that always squeaked. All he could see of Y/N was one shapely leg sticking out of the thick duvet that covered their bed. Otherwise the massive King size bed swallowed her up.

She always said the bed felt far too big and empty when he was gone, and he believed her. Every bed without her in it felt hard, cold, and empty. He shucked off his boots and pants, and tugged his t-shirt over his head, leaving him in just his dark blue boxer briefs. He tried as hard as possible not to shift the bed as he got in, but he knew it would be in vain.

Y/N also slept very lightly when he wasn’t beside her.

“Dean?” She mumbled, mostly still asleep, as he stretched out beside her. 

“Yeah, sweetheart, it’s just me.”

“Mmmmm…” Y/N moaned softly as she cuddled close to him, and curled her arm around his waist, laying her head on his chest and pressing a kiss there. “You’re home.” She said on a sigh. 

“I’m home.” He confirmed as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and held her tight against him. 

She looked up at him with a sleepy face and a crooked smile. “I missed you.”

Dean nodded. “Me too, baby, me too.” He bent his head so he could kiss her lips gently. “Go back to sleep.”

She shook her head. “How was the hunt?”

Dean shrugged softly beneath her. “Went okay. Didn’t lose anyone else, and we got the shifter. So we can’t ask for more than that.” He squeezed her again. “But man, I’m glad I'm home.”

Y/N nodded. “Me too.” She agreed, as she snuggled herself deeper into his side, and laid her head back down on his chest. Very quickly Dean heard her breathing even out into deep breaths and knew she was asleep again. 

As he felt his eyelids get heavy, he breathed in the peace that always came when he walked back through his door and felt the presence of his family envelope him. The calm that flowed through him as he watched them, knowing they were safe, knowing they were healthy and whole, was a sublime kind of gift, one he never wanted to take for granted.

As the tap dripped softly in their bathroom, his mind floated into oblivion, and he brought his contentment with him into a night of sweet dreams, and peaceful quiet.

NEW TAGS 2:

1 - Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays. @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @impalaslytherin @maggiegirl17 @akshi8278 @candy-coated-misery0731 @deanswaywardgirl @slytherinlyn314 @globetrotter28 @jensensgirl @perpetualabsurdity @tristanrosspada-ackles @djs8891 @muhahaha303 @kayyay1219 @emily-winchester @recoveringpastaaddict @maximumkillshot @mimaria420 @sacriceria @envyaurora95 @lacilou @jc-winchester @spnwoman @mimi-luvzyu @jackles010378

2 - Dean Winchester Fics Only. @carryonwaywardgirl

3 - Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.) @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @alexxavicry @nancymcl @spalady26

4 - Everything (includes fan vid/DOOL edits as well) @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @maliburenee @supernatural4life2022 @spn730015 @kickingitwithkirk @waywardbaby @foxyjwls007 @deanwanddamons @deandreamernp @deanwithscissors @myloversgone @snowlovespie @leigh70 @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @charred-angelwings @hopefuldreamers-world @jensensgotyoudean @thoughts-and-funnies @magssteenkamp @princessmisery666 @eevvvaa @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @bernasaurus @jensenslady79 @courtn92 @avanatural @ellie-andthemachine @this-is-me19 @roseblue373 @katbratsupernaturalwhore @fanfic-n-tabulous @k-slla

[rainbow--panic]

RDR2 NSFW headcannons

After long await I am back with some content for your eye holes

A friend of mine got me into RDR2 so i decided to warm myself back up with quick prompts for yall

Feel free to hit up my inbox with requests for rdr2!

Please don't dm me requests as I forget about them since i never check dms here

Minors DNI

+18 content below!

Characters: Arthur, Charles, Sadie, and Sean

Arthur Morgan

  +Strikes me as the type of guy who doesn't like touching you intimately in cap

  +I mean have you seen his tent? no privacy and out in the open (so he could obviously watch what's happening in the camp)

  +Seems like he may be into a bit of bondage, likes to tie you up all nice like and give you something to hollar about

  + Such a gentlemen tho,the ropes he ties you up with are never uncomfortably tight, unlike you ofc

  + This man is touched starved, so whenever you aren't tied up he loves when you touch him

  + He loves when you put your arms around his neck as he's pounding into you

  + Strikes me as a missionary man

  + Praise kink? I think so

  + Love praising you and worshiping your body

  + becomes flustered when you do it back tho

  + Loves hearing you moan

  + He's not much of a tease, he is here to serve you

  + Not experimental unless you want to try something

  + will do anything for you

  + wants to see you happy

  + He's definitely a soft dom

  + He loves it when your bratty 

  + like to remind you whos in charge from time to time

Charles Smith

  + Compete sweetheart

  + first time was passionate and you could feel all the love he had for you

  + Private man so yall probably did the nasty in a beautiful location in the woods

  + either on a large blanket or with the privacy of a tent

  + Made sure all your needs were met before his own

  + has a think for biting/marking

  + loves marking your thighs

  + While he's down there marking you, he'd be working his magic as well

  + let's just say he is a master of tongue jutsu

  + has you moaning like a madman all night

  + since he's a mountain of a man so I imagine he's trying to be so gentle with you

  + some nights though you don't want the gentle soul

  + You want the rough outlaw 

  + on the nights when your most needy you need a good fuck, a rough fuck

  + No matter what you need he is here for you, all hands on deck

  + When he's not eating you out he enjoys some doggy style

  + loves towering over you, makes him feel like he is in complete control

  + will put an arm around your waist when he's getting really into it

  + loves kissing your shoulders and back

Sadie Adler

  + You think you're in control? Think again!

  + Total freak in the sheets if you catch my drift

  + Loves to have control in the bedroom and rarely, if ever, gives it up

  + likes when you dress up all cute like

  + wearing a short dress or shorts or form fitting shirt? 

  + she'll teach you to strut around without giving her a show first

  + strikes me as the kind of woman to be into a bit of roleplay

  + you being the damsel in distress and her being the outlaw who just so happened to be by to hear your call for help

  + she is a tease, especially when your bratty

  + enjoys being on top at all times

  + hickeys are common to find on your neck and chest

  + loves feeling your body up and down and loves when you do it too

  + she loves when you message her breasts

  + after a hard days work, being out and riding with the men it's a nice thing to come back to

  + she's not evil, just makes you work at times

  + oh you're needy? now? well she has some things she needs to do but if you make it worth her while she'll stay

  + been bratty and teasing a lot lately? well she just remembered she has to travel out for a few days

  + from scale of mommy to mommy, she is a 10/10 

Sean Macquire

  + The smug fucker

  + he's a switch and you cannot change my mind

  + prefers when your on top giving out the orders

  + part of him wants to know exactly what you want while the other part just doesn't want to do all the thinking

  + he dosen't care if the whole cap hears you and him all night long

  + the thought of getting caught thrills him, to your dismay

  + he is the type of man to enjoy quickies

  + he has no one kink, he loves trying them all

  + very experimental

  + likes to fuck you in diffrent locations as well

  + in camp? yes

  + in the woods? check

  + in a freezing cold river while you clothes get washed down stream? absoulteley

  + his favorite part of any intimate moment is being able to hold you

  + he loves having you close to him

  + when he's on guard duty he tries to convince you to come with him

  + anyways your no longer allowed to as hosea had caught the two of you and you are too much of a distraction for him

[anika-ann]

Trick or treat! 👻

Well hello, hello, my dear, come on in 😏

...I have a trick for you🤭

It's a trick because I'm not sure this will ever see the light on the day, but since some of you lovely readers (cough cough) of Back and Forth 'pestered' me a bit about Spectre deserving a dog... I might be toying with an idea of her and Steve volunteering at a shelter...

It goes wonderfully. Because Spectre didn't have a terrible childhood with any trauma. Right?

Series: Back and Forth Warnings: panic attack, soft and beautiful Steve (he's a warning) Word count: 350

Broad palms framed your face and filled your vision, Steve’s worried features all you could see.

Five things you can see, you reminded yourself, and it would have been difficult to find something to look at with only him in your vision, but it was so much and so enough: the gorgeous blue of his eyes with a speckle of green, his ridiculously long eyelashes, the faintest shadow of stubble already growing, the little mole on his right cheek that had always made you want to kiss it, feeling it might make him smile, the plush lips, seemingly as soft and firm as the words they spoke.

“Look at me. You are most definitely not pathetic. And you don’t have to talk about whatever it is, but let me help you. Somehow. We need to slow your breathing.”

Your head was spinning, the world closing in, too large but too tight around your ribcage, shallow short breaths in hopes to drink in air.

Four things you can hear, echoed in your head: the velvety quality of his voice, the gentlest command and explanation at once, soothing warmth seeping into his words as it does from his skin, palms still holding you, a faint sound of barking, hot breath on your cheek as the darkness you chose to hide in enveloped you, a hot wet touch of the dog’s tongue on your cheek, her icy nose nudging your temple and the world was so so enormous around you and you were too tiny and so lost int it and she was warm and soft and safe-

Tears prickled in your eyes, rolling down your burning cheeks as you closed them shut. “Sadie.”

Thumbs gently rubbed over your cheekbones, brushing away your tears.

“Breathe with me, sweetheart. In… hold… out… hold on," he whispered, urgency laced with comforting authority leading you out from the bad place, towards the light. "Doing so good. Now in… hold it for a bit with me… and out, yeah, that’s it. Now, who’s Sadie?”

His voice was so painfully soft you couldn’t see to stop more tears from spilling over.

-.-.-

*RUNS A FAST AS SHE CAN BEFORE THEY START THROWING EGGS AN TOILET PAPER AFTER HER*

I hope you enjoyed your trick a little bit at least 💖 Thank you so much for sending this ask and for supporting me 💕

Also: Happy Halloween 💕