#take your cigarette from its holder burn your initials on my shoulder

[van-der-linde-worms]

Take Your Cigarette From Its Holder, Burn Your Initials On My Shoulder

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/ Mary Gillis Linton

Fic summary: AU in which Mary is wanted for the murder of her husband and that of her father, and Arthur is a bounty hunter going after her.

Rating: Explicit

Genre: Idiots in love, slow burn

~~~~~~

Chapter XIII: Unrequited

Word count: 7980

Last chapter: Chapter XII

“Hey, Arthur!” Mary calls out from the kitchen. “ ‘fore it gets too cold, I was figuring we could head out for a little camping trip. It’s clear out anyway.” Mary pauses for a moment. “You know anything about constellations?”

“Stars? Eh, I know the north star I guess,” he mutters as he stretches his arms. “When do ya wanna go then?”

“What'd you say about today?”

He looks up at her as he picks up his pants from the floor. “Today? Hm, can't blame ya for getting bored, being stuck here all day 'n stuff.”

“So, it's a yes then?” she asks, just loud enough for him to hear her over the sizzling of whatever she is cooking in the pot.

“'course.” He puts on his shirt and makes his way to her. He can hear a faint laughter and his arms encircle her waist, making his heart flutter.

A blissful sigh escapes his mouth as he nuzzles his jaw against her hair. The top of her head is just at the perfect height for his chin to rest on. His arms tighten around her, the soft smell of her hair is almost heavenly to him. 

“What's a good time then?” she asks. Arthur lets out a low croon and looks down at the colourless, chunky mix in the pan. 

“We ain’t in a hurry. What’re you making anyway? Eggs?” 

“It’s oatmeal. I uh, didn’t have coffee so I grabbed the wrong dish. It’ll be fine, just slather some jam on there, it’ll be fine,” she reassures herself. Arthur looks away and shuts his eyes, he could have sworn whatever the eldritch menace in the pot is certainly isn’t oatmeal.

“Looks fine,” Arthur lies. 

“I just had a look in the news and I read some comet’s supposed to pass earth around this month!” Mary gushes. “I’ve heard they’re so pretty.”

“It’d be nice to get out with you again, Mary. We ain’t done anything since…” Arthur trails off. 

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking of. I think near that decrepit old ranch would be nice, there’s lots of open space and the view is just gorgeous.”

“Sure.” Frankly it sounds rather romantic, but he doesn’t dare get his own hopes up. She’d been so kind to him, despite the situation.  If only it could be anything more. 

“So, if we head out around eight, I think we should head out on foot this time. I think it should be safe, no bears or anything.” she twirls around, her skirt hits his shin ever so gently. She stands on her toes and steals a kiss from his lips. She finds one of the jars and quickly pops it open. Arthur nods and moves the pot from the hot stove.

“Ain’t you energetic?” he begins shoveling the odd food onto plates, unsure of whether to add  knives and forks or spoons to go beside them. 

“Well, I’d just like to spend some time with you again. It’s lonely out there, on your own,” she slaps a spoonful of their sweet jelly on the chunks, trying to mask it. She steadily adds more. Arthur grabs his plate before she can add more. 

“Thank you.” Mary stops a spoonful later. The two sit down again. 

A look of slight discontent spreads across her features as she prods at the clumps, mashing the jam in with her spoon. The first rays of sunlight twinkle in her dark eyes, a murky orange glow peeks through her lashes. Her lower lid moves ever so slightly, the soft lines around her eyes cast gentle shadows,, her soft crows feet twitch as she takes a bite of the food. She couldn’t be more perfect, she couldn’t possibly be prettier, she couldn’t be any more wonderful and… god, I love her, I love her more than anything, more than anyone. If only.

“I was thinkin’ I’ll go down to the post again today, see if Hosea’s written back yet.”

“Could you check if Jamie wrote back too? They’re getting graded again right about now, they should be getting them back and I want to see how he did this time.”

“Sure, you need anything from the store?” Arthur asks. The porridge isn’t that bad, just weird looking. There’s too much jam to his liking. 

“I’d just like the letter, thank you. Oh, there should be some mint around there too!” She notes After a period of silence, she speaks up again.. “Y’know, back in the day I used to be pretty good at finding herbs. Whatever the cattle hadn’t stomped was always good, used to be that we’d dry them out to be eaten.” “You mind pickin’ some then?”

 “If we even find any.” 

“It’s high time I get moving then, if we ever wanna get out there on time,” Arthur stands up, picking up their empty plate. Mary brings hers to the sink as well. Arthur quickly kisses her again before he steps out. 

Arthur rides out to the post, taking his time. The autumn air was unusually warm that day. The ride passes by slowly as he enjoys the fading summer sun.

There were a few letters at the post office, this time . He didn’t often get mail, but this time was different. Mary got one from Jamie, Arthur got one from Hosea, another from John and one from Albert Mason, a photographer he ran into a bit ago. As he checks through the letters, Charles enters. 

“Arthur, hey! Haven’t seen you in a while,” he pulls Arthur out of his thoughts. 

“Charles. Yeah, been busy with somethin’. How’ve ya been?”

“Same as before, been trying to find you around.”

“Figure we should catch up some time. You think we could go hunting some time tomorrow, catch up?”

“Sure. But I gotta get moving now, got someone to meet in town.”

“I'll see you at the ol' spot in the mornin' then?”

“Yeah, sure.”

*****

The sun is hardly touching the horizon when Arthur arrives home, yet he can already see the ceramic pot steaming on the stove.

“Ain’t it a bit early for dinner?” 

“Figured since we're heading out we should eat early. I’m not letting you slip on eating, you’re too thin as is.” She rubs his cheek. His heart skips a bit. I love you.

She notices the letters in his hands, he picks out the one from Hosea, eyeing it as if it were a trap. “Who’s that from?”

“Hosea.” Arthur sits down and tears it open. His eyes scan the text, his expression shifting from concern to an amused chuckle. 

“What is it then?” she asks from the stove. 

“John got some girl knocked up in town, I did tell ya about John?”

She thought for a while before shaking her head, “Don't think so. What about him?”

Arthur shakes his head, as if in disapproval, though the mischievous grin on his face remains. “He's been heading to the bathhouse a lot. 'm pretty sure Dutch was still alive the last time he took a bath. Apparently a girl there caught his eye and, well, now little Johnny Marston's gonna be a pa.”

She lifts her eyebrows, surprised, “Oh? Send my congratulations to them then.”

“Nah, don't think John's too happy about it,” he says, folding the paper and shoving it into one of the drawers. “'sea wants me to have a talk with him later. Oh, and here's Jamie's letter”

“Thanks,” she says, carefully tearing the envelope open.

He observes her face as she scans the letter. A small smile creeps up her face. Insignificant as it is, her joy is contagious to him. “How’s the boy doing?”

“Did pretty well in his first test; he joined some club in school too. I’m glad he’s finally making more friends.”

“Good for him,” he shakes the strap of the satchel off his shoulder. “Meanwhile I have my brat of a brother.”

“Oh come on Arthur, he’s just a kid. I guess he just ain't ready to be a dad.”

“Him? A kid? Nah, he may be a manchild but he's a grown man, whether he likes it or not.”

“How old is he even?”

“20 or so. I know, barely older than Jamie, but ain’t no kid. He messes around, he gotta deal with the consequences.”

“I guess,” she shrugs, going back to work at the counter. “Poor girl though. What is he gonna do then?”

“Somethin’ dumb most probably. He is John.” 

“He ain’t gonna leave them is he?”

“He wouldn’t do somethin’ like that. Think ‘Sea’s pushin’ him to marry her now.” “Well I guess that’s good then, she ain’t just gettin’ left in the dust.” she sighs, measuring out some salt. 

“Figure this is the dumbest thing he’s pulled in years. You’re lucky Jamie ain’t like that.”

“That boy's done his fair share of stupid stuff too, believe me.”

“Do I dare ask?” Arthur asks with a chuckle.

“C’mon now Arthur, ain’t like every kid can go running around like John.” Mary scoffs. “Why, it’ll be getting dark soon, we should get movin’ after eating if we wanna catch anything.”

“You got anythin’ else planned?”

“Not really.”

“How do you even pick out them constellations?”

“Well you have to look at em or have someone else point ‘em out. I figure I could make something up too.”

“Y’know, back in the bad old days ‘sea used to teach me about the stars. Thing is he doesn’t know a damn thing about them and there ain’t no thing called an Aphana star or a wolf constellation.”

“Oh, but there is! It’s actually called the Lupus constellation and it should be in view in June!”

“Welp. I think it was back in the winter though, any idea if it’s visible then?”

“Nope.”

“Hosea’s got a way with bullshitting anyway, ain't a surprise. Should’ve asked Dutch, he’d’ve known.”

“What did Dutch know then?”

“Something about astrology, how stars are s’pposed to affect how people are.” 

“Hm? Horoscopes?”

“That, yeah. Think he got over it once he got to Marx.”

“Marx? Karl Marx?”

“You know him?”

“I’ve heard of him.”

“Dutch wouldn’t goddamn shut up about him for a year, least it was better than the Greek phase.”

“Greek phase? This Dutch guy was into a lot of stuff huh.”

“All kinds of it, but none of them ever lasted.” Arthur grumbles as he sets the table, the memory of Dutch bringing a faint smile to his face.  

She carefully fills the bowl with scoops of stew, filled with chunks of meat and carrots, and waits for them to cool down before placing them on the table. She sits down next to him as he sends the spoon into his mouth.

It doesn't taste too bad, the broth is flavourful and well seasoned, but the meat is  tough, probably overcooked. 

“How is it?”

“Tastes like rubber,” he teases, laboring his teeth through the meat.

“That's what Barry said. Unfortunately the poor guy didn’t live to tell the tale.”

He raises his eyebrow at her rather dark joke, “What, you're gonna poison me too?” 

 “Well if I am you would have tasted something, my dear,” she jokes. Arthur chuckles and shakes his head.

“True that. Tastes fine though, you’ve improved.” 

“Thank you, means a lot from someone who’s clearly burnt out his taste buds.”

He quickly empties his bowl, despite his complaints. She is still eating as he drops his bowl in the sink.

“Gonna pack for the night, you mind doin' the dishes?” he says, putting on his hat as he unlocks the door.

*****

She potters around the home, gathering things, excitement painted on her face, the kind of innocent glee he had grown to adore. He grabs the bedrolls from where he had put them. Her’s seems rather worn and dirty, something he’d rather take. She’d get cold far more easily anyway. Mary paces into the room, grabbing something from the closet. 

“C’mon then! It’s really perfect timing, new moon and all!”

“Comin’”, he answers. “Gonna saddle up Boadicea. You grab something warmer, s’a little chilly tonight.”

She raises an eyebrow, “Oh, now you’re nagging me?”

He shakes his head, though not exactly in denial, “Like you ain’t always cold.”

“None of your coats fit me— here, take this,” she shoves a wool blanket into his arms. “Besides, I know you’ll keep me warm.”

“ ‘ppose we don't need this then,” he gestures to the blanket in his hands.

“Guess we don’t. You’re enough for me.” 

His heart skips a beat. He knows all too well that it's only a joke, but to think that he would ever be enough for someone like her… he would never be enough, but, if she really thinks so…

Her voice pulls him out of his stupor, “We better hurry up.”

“Sure,” he mutters, once again leaving the house to load the bundles in his arms onto Boadicea. Making sure that she has brought her compass and matches— even though Arthur has probably got these in his satchel, he's always prepared for everything— she throws a scarf over her shoulder and swiftly ties it around her neck, a simple makeshift cloak to protect her from the cold, before stepping out to join him.

****

The spot she mentioned isn't too far away, and they have got themselves settled in no time. She gathers some errand branches for firewood as he sets up the tent.

Arthur joins her around the fire once he is done. He watches as she gazes into the flames, the light of the fire dancing on her face.

“When did it happen, the thing with John?” Mary asks.

“Last week or so I guess. Why?”

“Well, I just keep thinkin’ about it. Ain’t really fair somethin’ like that could just happen,”

“Really ain’t. Don’t dwell on it too much, ain’t like things would change anyway.”

“I know. Y’know we used to try for kids plenty, Barry and I, and nothing ever came of it. He got sons already ‘n he always blamed me for it.”

Her expression is calm, yet Arthur still feels a needle poking at his heart upon her words. “Oh. Must’ve been a hell of a thing.” 

“I guess.” The air between them once again falls to silence, the only sound being the crackling of the fire and the occasional crinkling of the grass as the wind makes its way through their swaying stems. “Heh, well, lucky thing I s’ppose. Never felt more trapped than back then with him in that place.”

Arthur inches his hand ever closer to hers, placing it in her open palm. Perhaps it’s an attempt to comfort her when he lacks the words to do it in any other way. Her skin feels wonderfully soft on his fingertips, the calluses under a delicate silken layer. The warmth emanates from her palm, her fingers are rather cool to the touch. Each wrinkle in her palm imprints itself in his mind, the contour of the muscle operating her thumb, the tiny little scars from a million little accidents over years, burns, cuts, abrasions. 

He opens his mouth to say something, but once again nothing comes out.

She pulls him close, placing a kiss on his cheek. He can feel his cheeks reddening, and he knows for a fact that it isn't the heat from the fire. I love you. 

She pulls herself onto his lap again, her lips meet his. The soft tingling doesn’t last for long. Mary’s fingers slip into his hair as she lays him down. Arthur feels a pang of sadness as her hands trails down his torso to his crotch. It’s childish, really, hoping that she’d somehow miraculously return his feelings. It‘s just sex to her, he reminds himself, nothing else, nothing more.

Yet he leans into her, pulls her closer until skin meets skin, flesh is inside flesh, thoughts melt into lust.

Just as the fire within them is quenched by the wetness between their legs, the flames before them simmer to red coals. He bites his lip as she lazily rolls down beside him. They both take a moment to catch their breath, and she points up to a bright star as he throws a blanket over them. She sits up to grab her compass, before once again lying down with him.

“That there’s the north star, and try to connect these seven dots, see that ladle? That’s Ursa Minor, the little bear,” she says, trying to map out the constellations before them with her fingers. Arthur feels a smile spread across his face as she connects the stars. “Under it, there’s a bigger ladle– Ursa Major, his mother. Oh, and right next to them!” Mary whispers, leaning on Arthus’s shoulder to align their view, so that she can point out the stars for him more easily. “See that long trail of stars? That’s Draco.”

“Let me guess, it’s a dragon?”

“Good guess, mister. Oh, and look to  the south west, near the moon, see that really bright one near the horizon? That’s Venus.”

“Oh, I remember Dutch pointing that one out to me, and the red one, Mars, is it?”

“Think so, I can’t really see it though, if we’re lucky we might catch it around sunrise. You see the hexagon above it? That’s Ophiuchus, the snake bearer.”

“And the line across it s’the snake?”

“Yeah, oh, and right at the top is Cygnus, the swan.”

“It does look like a bird. And what about that one next to it, the bright one?

“I’m not too sure– think that one is lyra. A lyre, y’know?” “A liar? Now that I’m familiar with.” “No, the instrument! You pluck the string like a guitar– well, probably more like a harp. It belongs to this poet Orpheus.”

“S’that feller on the sky too?”

“No, don’t think he is– if anything he’s going underground.”

“What’d ya mean?” “You see, this Orpheus guy who sings so wonderfully, the god of music himself gave him his lyre…”

As he listens to her story, Arthur pulls out his journal to mark down the stars, connecting the lines and writing down the name of each constellation beside it. It’s a bit dark, but the light from the campfire is sufficient. 

“...and his song is so beautiful, it moves the king of the dead to tears. So, he agrees to let him and his wife go, on one condition: Eurydice must walk behind Orpheus, and he should not turn around on their way back, until they reach the mortal realm, and if he does, he’s going back to the mortal world alone.”

“That sounds too easy.”

“Things are always easier said than done.”

“He turns around?” “Yeah.”

“That’s dumb.”

“I s’ppose… but, I think I would’ve done the same.”

“Nah, that’s ridiculous, I’d never turn around if I was him.” “It’s a long way up, it’s dark and it’s cold, he can’t hear her footsteps and he can’t see her shadow, her being a ghost. We can’t blame him for doubtin’ if she’s really behind him.”

“He could have called her name if he’s in doubt.”

“Maybe he did and she called back, but he couldn’t hear her.”

“Even if so, he can, y’know, wait until they’re up above before turning around?”

“Well, yes, but doubt got the better of him.”

“Doubt, huh, ain’t no use doubting,” he grumbles as he flips to a new page of his journal. She chuckles, “Now that’s bold of you to say. Surely you won’t say that you’ve never doubted anything before?”

“Well, no, but I’m not letting it hold me back.”

“Can’t really say the same for me. And looking back, I don’t regret a single bit of it.”

“To each their own, I guess.”

“I guess. Oh! Look to the east, that’s Jupiter.”

“Which one?”

“The big one under the cluster of stars, you see it?”

“Oh, yeah,” Arthur replies, as he marks it down on the pages. “It’s right in the middle of Taurus, the bull.”

“Bull? Can’t see it.”

“See that cluster of stars? That’s Pleiades. That’s its body, And there’s the horn– here, I’ll mark it down for you,” she says, quickly outlining the shape of the bull in his journal.

“And what a coincidence– do you know Taurus is the bull that the god Jupiter turned into?”

More stars are mapped out and more stories are told,with the rising and falling of celestial bodies being the only sign of the passage of time, and despite it being well into the midnight hours, Arthur does not feel sleepy at all. To him, the night only seems to be passing too quickly. 

He steals another glance at her under the starlight. He can see her better now, despite the fading light from the embers, now that his vision has adjusted to the darkness. She looks just as beautiful as she does in the day under the daylight, her features looking all the more softer in the dim lighting. Suddenly he wishes– as silly as it is– that he can lie with her like this always, forever, until their bodies turn to bones, until the last star in the universe dies out.

“You see that board guy over there? Near Gemini?” her voice once again grasps her attention.

“What guy?” he asks, staring at the direction she is pointing towards. “You see those three bright stars? They mark his belt.” She grabs his hand and uses his finger to point out those stars for him. “And over there, that’s his bow. That’s Orion, he’s a hunter.”

“Think I see him now,” Arthur mutters, outlining the feller with his pencil.

“He kinda looks like ya, y’know, big and broad and all.” He lets out a small chuckle, “If you say so, ‘cept I don’t sparkle.”

“Right. Oh, and underneath! Sirius, the brightest star in the night sky other than Venus. It’s not fully out yet, but you can see half of Canis Major.”

“Let me guess, it’s a dog? The hunter guy’s dog?”

“Exactly, and you can see the rabbit running away from them…”

He can tell the sun is going to rise soon by the time the two finally settle down in their bedrolls, as the sky gradually changes from dark blue to pale purple. He pulls her over to the nicer bedroll before she has a chance to protest.

“I've got my own bed,” she says, though she slips under the sheets with him regardless.

“It's old 'n dirty, 'sides, we fit pretty well here don't we?”

“Hm, it's cozy enough,” she mutters mindlessly,  resting her head right above his heart. She can hear his heart speeding up the second she lays her hand on the other side of his chest, but pays it little mind.

A small smile blooms across his face as she yawns, she's kind of adorable like this, soft, docile, her usual defensiveness vanished into the night.

“You're so warm…” she mumbles, right before falling asleep, “I can hold you forever like this.”

Please do, it is the last thought he has before he, too, falls into slumber.

****

Arthur heads out shortly after they went home, only to return with another man an hour later. The two are engaged in a discussion as she steps back in, putting down the basket of clean  clothes in the corner. Seeing another person in the house is a strange feeling, her heart frantically jumps around her chest. They both look up, she feels she should just run off. Surely he’d recognize her, he’d know, everyone did, he’d instantly know and now she’s trapped in a house-

“Mary, was expectin’ you. Charles Smith, Mary Linton.” She reaches to shake his hand, the two make brief eye contact and engage in the courtesy.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Smith.” she greets, the man nods in response. She steps around the room and looks at them both. The two connected rooms offer little privacy and stepping out would be rather rude. 

“C’mon, sit with us,” Arthur invites her over. She sits by him and notices the cups of coffee on the table. There was a chip on one of the cups, a large one. The silence is broken by him yet again. “This is the feller I was tellin’ you about, we ain’t met in a while.”

Charles and Mary look at each other in silence and then glance back at Arthur. “And this is Mary, figure you read about her in the papers a bit ago.” Shut up, Arthur, just shut up. Please.

“Think I did. Arthur didn’t tell me about this situation.”

“Well, i-it’s not really a thing that should get out, in case someone hears, you see.” Mary excuses. Charles shoots a look at Arthur, silently shaming him for every single choice that led up to this. He had caught on the moment she stepped in. The two pillows on the bed, the little stitched on details and his neatened up appearance. A thing Charles hadn’t before noticed was the degree of his idiocy, apparently. 

Arthur notices her stilted mannerisms and places his hand on her hand under the table. 

“Why then?”

“ ‘s hard to explain,” Arthur squeezes her hand. She gently squeezes back.

“Ain’t really. We share a bed.”

“Oh.”  

Arthur chats with the man for a while, before the two get up to leave. Charles raises an eyebrow at him as he pulls a jacket on, questioning the whole situation. He eyes the strange lady observing them. 

“You wanna come with us?” Arthur asks, it snaps her out of her trance. 

“Well, I won’t be of much help or company. ‘Sides, I have things to do, you go on ahead darlin’,” Mary stands up as they step out. 

Darlin’.

Arthur pauseos at the door, turning back to look at her, their eyes meet as she steps forth. The door clolpsllles, the9ootttotototo to to tttttt  the 9brief moment ends as the door clicks shut. Arthur lets out a breath he only now realizes he had held in for the time. Something was missing, he thinks, but shakes the thought away.

Should have goddamn kissed her.

He gathers his thoughts for a moment and steps back to meet the younger man. 

“What’s going on with you, Arthur?” Charles asks. 

“Nothin’, nothin’,” Arthur denies, turning away. Charles furrows his brow. 

“At this rate I’d have guessed you married her.” His tone is only half joking.

“Huh.” he feels a flush creep up his face at the thought. It’s a silly, soft  thought but… that damned woman seemed to some strange aura about her. She wouldn’t ever, never in a million years even consider it would she, not with me. Fool.

“As a matter of fact ‘m hurt ya didn’t tell me.”

“Ain’t like that, Charles. She ‘n I ain’t involved like that, she’s got her own things goin’ on and she’ll probably leave me any day now.”

“Is that so?” Charles casts him a strange look as they walk into the woods, “I’ve never seen you act like that with anybody.”

Arthur sighs, he can’t help but be ashamed of these…stupid feelings, but it would probably do him good to let it out. It’s just Charles, ain’t like he will judge him for it.

“Well I do like her a bit, she’s been living with me for a while and she…she’s been real nice to me, y’know.”

“…I can tell,” Charles mutters, recalling in terror the way the two looked at each other. “Thought you were tracking her down just a while ago, and now you’re living with her?”

“Long story short, she saved my life, I owed her one, and she needed a place to hide so, we ended up sharing a roof.”

“And you said you like her?”

“Yeah?”

“Arthur,” Charles stops in his tracks, turning to look at him. “She killed her husband.”

“Yeah, that. That feller was a bastard, a child rapist. Can you blame her for that?”

Charles sighs, he can see the reason behind that woman’s action, if what she claimed was true, that is, but he sure can’t see any logic behind Arthur’s thought process. “Still. Of course she’d put him in a bad light in her story.”

“Even if she did lie to me it ain’t like I haven’t murdered anyone before. C’mon, let’s get going,” he urges.

“Fair enough. She does seem sweet on you, gotta say.”

“You really think so?” Arthur asks, his tone almost hopeful.

“That she’s sweet on you? Yeah. I’m guessing she’s why your den finally looks like a house now?”

“Yeah, yeah, she’s been a great housemate.”

Charles wants to point out that housemate seems like an odd choice of word given the way they interact, but he does not comment.“ ‘m glad to hear that, but still, be careful.”

“C’mon, if she’s going to kill me she would’ve done it weeks ago. Enough about me, how have ya been?”

“Same old. There's this beekeeper who moved near me a few weeks ago and his little army has been bothering me ever since. Nothing interesting beside that, really. How’re you two getting on?”

“A beekeeper? Never would’ve guessed voluntarily keep ‘em.”

“Mm, yeah, all sorts of folk out there. What’s she been doing in this time?”

“They live out near the fields? Saw a bunch of flowers there, seems like a nice place for ‘em.”

“Heard there was someone new in town sellin’ knitted things ‘n embroidery”

“Yup. Does he get stung by ‘em often?” “Is it her?”

“Yup, so, how’re you two gettin’ on, other than that?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Hm? Means what I said it meant.” Arthur shrugs. 

“Hosea told me you were harbourin’ an outlaw, said it like it had passed. When’s she gonna be gone?” Charles dodges the subject.

“Hope not soon. Charles, I… I think I love her.”

A look of disapproval spreads across the other man's face. “I’m not gona do anythin’ about it, it’d… it’d be dumb.”

“C’mon, Arthur, I can see that, but I don't wanna see you get hurt. Might just be best to let her go.”

Arthur sighs heavily. 

“I know, I know. S’gonna hurt anyway. Enough about her, you said you saw a stag ‘round here earlier?”

*******

“Oh, you guys are back,” Mary says, emptying a can of beans into the steaming pot.

“Yeah,” says Arthur, swinging off his satchel to hang it behind the door. “Watcha makin’?” He asks, looking over her shoulders. 

“Just put together what I could find, we’re running low,” she says, stirring the mixture of beans, mushrooms, and potatoes. “And nice to see you again Mr. Smith,” she greets as the other man lays down several bundles wrapped in paper on the table.

“Charles’ fine,” he replies. Mary only hums in response.

“Yer staying for dinner?” Arthur asks. Mary secretly hopes he would refuse, not because she dislikes Arthur’s friend. In fact, she finds him a pretty nice feller, but it is just so awkward and unnatural, especially with Arthur being so at ease and Charles being clearly as uneasy as her.

Charles merely shrugs, “Sure.”

“What have you guys got?” she asks, sprinkling some salt over the pot.

“Just some rabbits. What’d ya say if we roast ‘em?”

“I’m fine with it.” Arthur nods as he grabs a knife to skin the rabbits. 

“Need any help?” Charles offers.

“No, it’s fine, you’re the guest,” Arthur says.

“A guest? You’re talking like I’m a stranger,” Charles jokes as he sets himself down at the table, slightly more relaxed now.

“You come here often, Mr Smith?” Mary asks, trying to break the awkwardness.

“I used to.”

“Oh?” Mary puts the lid over the pot, before walking over to pour a glass of water for Arthur, then another for Charles. He silently thanks her with a nod.

“Well, then you came.” Suppose Arthur doesn’t want anyone interrupting you two. Charles thinks, though he knows better than to say it out loud.

Mary freezes, trying to think of the implication behind his statement. There is not a single bit of repulsion in his tone, yet his words make her feel like an intruder. She wonders if that’s what she is to his friends and family, someone uninvited, a hindrance to Arthur’s life. They won’t be wrong, she thinks, she has been nothing but a dependent with little contribution.

“I won’t be disturbing him for long,” she explains. “He’s been a great host, but I’d hate to bother him for any longer. I’ll be out of here as soon as I can, right Arthur?”

A sharp metal cling tears through the room before her words fall. Mary turns around and finds that Arthur has dropped the knife.

“…Arthur? Are you alright?”

He shakes his head out of his trance. “Yeah, am fine, my hand just slipped.”

She picks up the knife for him before returning to the stove. Charles watches as Arthur ties a string onto the rabbits.

A silent sigh escapes him. His face falls, the happiness sucked away by those words. 

“You alright?”

“ ‘m fine,” he shakily picks the knife up. “These’ll be good.” he smiles, a weakness hidden behind those words. 

Charles smiles back, pitying the other man.

Fine. Fine! Completely fine. Just like she’s with leaving. FINE.

“Hey, well. I hope you two had fun out there, the weathers been fine all week!” she continues. FINE, FINE, EVERYTHING’S JUST GODDAMN FINE.

“Could have used you out there too,” Charles tries to break the tension. He notices his friend's hand tighten around the knife. He places a hand on his shoulder and notices the tension in his muscles.

He snakes his hand onto Arthurs and gently places the knife on the table. 

“What?” Arthur asks, confused.

“Nothin'. You're done with this, right? I'll take it to wash.”

“Oh, yeah, alright.” Arthur says. Charles drops it at the sink while Arthur kneels down before the fireplace, hanging the rabbits over the pile of logs.

Charles sits back down at the table. He notices how Arthur is still kneeling on the floor, despite having finished his work. He doesn't comment.

Arthur finally breaks out of his haze as Mary turns around, leaving the steaming pot behind. “Yer done?”

“Not yet, gotta let it simmer for a while,” she mutters, grabbing the unfinished needlework on the table. Charles immediately recognises it as Arthur's neckerchief. Huh.

Arthur brushes the ashes off his hands on his pants. “S'gonna take these at least an hour to cook too.”

“I hope you boys are not too hungry then,” says Mary, as she sits down at the edge of the bed, disappearing from their view.

“I can wait,” Charles says. Arthur casts the bedroom door another glance before sitting himself down at the table, opposite to the other man. 

“So, what have you been up to, other than getting all enamored and stuff?” Charles asks with a whisper. Arthur really has been a stranger lately. He can sense something has changed in him during the past few months. Though Charles can't really tell what it is, he knows Mrs Linton and Arthur's…feelings for her, have to be the reason for it.

“Eh, nothing much, just the old stuff.”

“Y'know, your house really looks a lot nicer now.”

“Yeah, like I said she's a great housekeeper.”

“You look a lot better than before too, you know that right?”

“Do I?” Arthur gives him a funny look. “How?”

“Hard to say, but at least you don't like you're gonna die in a week anymore.”

“That's a real nice compliment coming from ya,” Arthur chuckles. 

“I mean it, you look way happier than before.”

He shrugs, “S'ppose the extra company does me good.”

“...company, huh?”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“So, you said you've got a new neighbor?”

“Yeah, a Jason Brown or something like that. I forgot his name and it'd be too strange to ask at this point.”

“Why? Just say you haven't got his last name or something.”

“Guess I should try that.”

“You said he keeps bees?”

“Yeah, he's given me a jar of honey a while ago. He's a pretty nice feller. His herd, not quite.”

“What'd they do?”

“They were supposed to be heading to the apple farm nearby— he mentioned something about them being pollinators and him having got a fund from the owner— but they kept heading to my house to bug me.”

“You ever got stung?”

“A couple times. Didn't even do anything to them.”

“Huh, what about that Jason feller?”

“Not as far as I know. I've seen him work from a distance before. They seemed to let him do whatever he wanted to their hive. He was wearing this net thing over his head though.” Their conversation is interrupted by Mary shuffling through, she grabs her needles. Arthur’s expression falls again, his gaze follows her out, an odd type of sadness masked behind his eyes. 

**** 

The two men step out, Charles pats Taima’s neck in greeting, the mare nickers as he grabs her reins. 

“Hope you’ll be comin’ back some time soon.” Arthur steps closer to the horse.

“Sure. You sure you’ll be alright, Arthur?” Charles asks, swinging his leg over the horse. 

Arthur laughs. “ ‘course I’ll be. Just a crush is all, no reason to worry.”

“You sure?”

“Who do ya think I am? She’ll be out ‘before you’re back, it’ll… pass.” he hesitates on the word. 

Charles nudges the appaloosa to a trot and leaves, glancing back at the other man, left standing in the dust. Arthur turns his gaze to the window and catches a peek at her, sitting there, working hard on another one of her projects. She tilts her head and her eye twitches. 

She’ll be gone soon, she’ll be gone and there isn’t a damn thing I can do.

Arthur steps back inside and she springs up from the spot, tying off two treads and snipping them as she steps over. She pulls him down and ties a black scrap of fabric around his neck. It wasn’t what she was working on before, he notices. 

“Did your friend leave?” she asks. Arthur nods as she adjusts it around his neck. “ ‘m glad to see you ain’t a real hermit just a, hm, a hermit of opportunity.”

“Can’t be a real one with ya here.” he forces a chuckle. “ ‘sides, ain’t fun like that, I don’t mind the company.”

“He'll be coming over again soon?”

“Dunno, maybe, why, do you want him to?”

“Not really.”

He gives out an airy laugh, “Oh, he'll definitely be hurt if he hears that.”

“No, not what I meant. He's a nice feller, but it's just a little bit strange with someone else here y'know?”

“What'd ya mean?”

“Guess I'm just used to being alone with you.”

A warm feeling blooms across his chest. Could she really enjoy being here with him?

Arthur swallows, calm down, she just said she was used to it. It doesn't mean anything.

“Huh, thought you'd be getting sick of my face by now.”

“Probably would have if you weren't so handsome.” 

Suddenly he doesn't know where he should be looking at, and his hands feel awkward hanging besides his hips, but he doesn't know where to put them. He looks away, hoping she isn't able to see his flushed cheeks under the dim light.

“Flatterer,” he mumbles. She smiles and stands on her tiptoes to give his cheek. He has never told her, but it's his favorite way to be kissed; quick, chaste, but sweeter and more intimate than any other kiss. He can almost close his eyes and pretend it's a gesture of something more than mere habitual affection.

He realizes he's still standing at the door while she has already sat down at the edge of the bed, folding her outer clothes. He slowly makes his way towards the room to join her.

“He's not gonna visit for a while. We'll be getting plenty of alone time,” he says, playing with her hair, which she has just let down. Her curls fall onto her shoulders adorning the outline of her face. He twirls a strand around his index finger, feeling its smooth silkiness.

“Good, more fun with just you and I here, isn't it?” 

“How so?” he asks with a knowing smile. The eager hands prying his collar open and the wild kiss that follows it are the only answers his need.

[uranium]

this is still the craziest song ever....and she was born in 1959

[softly-and-suddenly]

Tom Lehrer’s Masochism Tango would do numbers on Tumblr

[latenightsundayblues]

Bash in my brain

And make me scream with pain

Then kick me once again

And say we'll never part

I know too well

I'm underneath your spell

So, darling, if you smell

Something burning, it's my heart

'Scuse me!

Take your cigarette from its holder

And burn your initials in my shoulder

Fracture my spine

And swear that you're mine

As we dance to the Masochism Tango

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Take your cigarette from its holder

And burn your initials in my shoulder

Fracture my spine

And swear that you're mine

As we dance to the Maso-chism Tango

The Masochism Tango

I find it so interesting when people choose to personify Soldier's shovel and explore his toxic dependant relationship with said humanized object.

Inspired by Fall behind -Lady Shockbox on fanfiction.net

[screechwhisper]

Take your cigarette from its holder,

And burn your initials into my shoulder.

[apocalypse-alpaca]

there is no one on this earth (tumblr) that can't tell me that The Masochism Tango ISN'T Poolverines theme song. I mean-

"Take your cigarette from its holder And burn your initials in my shoulder"

Like. HELLO??? I will re-download Flipaclip and re-learn how to animate to spit out an animatic. This is a threat

[thesimonthedevious]

take your cigarette from its holder and burn your initials in my shoulder

[unqualified-therapist]

day fifteen misclicktober | party

Take your cigarette from its holder

And burn your initials in my shoulder

Fracture my spine

And swear that you're mine

As we dance to the Masochism Tango

anyways i didn’t do day fourteen yet. i was the confused anon. and i wanted to draw slimeriana in masquerade outfits so here! i did this during a four hour rehearsal and then proceeded to fuck up my main scene

[sweetdreamscity]

take your cigarette from its holder / and burn your initials in my shoulder

[lyrebirdgore]

Bash in my brain

And make me scream with pain

Then kick me once again

And say we'll never part

I know too well

I'm underneath your spell

So, darling, if you smell

Something burning, it's my heart

'Scuse me!

Take your cigarette from its holder

And burn your initials in my shoulder

Fracture my spine

And swear that you're mine

As we dance to the Maso-chism Tango

[van-der-linde-worms]

Take Your Cigarette From Its Holder, Burn Your Initials On My Shoulder

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/ Mary Gillis Linton

Fic summary: AU in which Mary is wanted for the murder of her husband and that of her father, and Arthur is a bounty hunter going after her.

Rating: Explicit

Genre: Idiots in love, slow burn

~~~~~~

Chapter XII: Indulging In A Pretty Dream

Word count: 7980

Last chapter: Chapter XI

Mary's arm suddenly goes weak and the pan drops onto the floor. The cast iron hits the hard wood with a thud. She sighs and hastily picks it up, putting it over the stove and turning up the heat. The scene feels oddly familiar, she thinks, as she melts a spoonful of lard over the pan.

Her legs are shaking as her shivering hands struggle to bring the pot of water to the stove. She can hear Jamie crying upstairs, she will have to check on him soon.

“A whole damn day at work, and I still have to starve for another hour. What a daughter I have here.” She does not need to turn around to know that it is her father grumbling.

She resists the urge to scream as she skins the potatoes. “Sorry, Daddy. Jamie caught a fever today and I had to take him to—”

“You're talkin' back at me now?” Her father drags the chair across the floor, producing a violent squeak.

She shuts her eyes, “No, sorry Daddy.”

A few minutes of silence passes by. “So, you took the boy to the doctor?” he asks, tone slow and sweet, the edge deadly.

“Yeah,” she replies, stirring the pot.

“Aight,” he takes a large gulp from his flask. “How much was it?”

“3 dollars and 50 cents,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible.

“What?” he yells from the living room. “I can't hear you from here Mary.”

She swallows. “3 dollars and 50 cents, Daddy.” 

“Didn’t hear you there, say it again,” he says, walking into the kitchen.

“3 dollars and—” she stops upon seeing the look of displeasure on her father's face.

“3 dollars? What kind of physician charges 3 dollars for a cough syrup?”

“—and 50 cents, Daddy.”

Silence fills the room temporarily. She sees his nostrils flare and shuts her eyes, preparing for the upcoming outburst.

“3 dollars and 50 cents? This gotta be a joke,” he strikes the counter with the palm of his hand, making her jump. “You are not lying to me, are you, kid?”

She shakes her head, tears already pooling in her eyes. Don't cry, goddammit, don't cry.

“Jesus, you and your brother really don't know how to do anything 'sides wasting my money,” he exclaims. The broth in the pot boils and quickly overflows. She grabs a cloth to clean the liquid on the edge of the pot.

“Can't even cook like a proper woman,” Daddy grits through his teeth. “I'd have to laugh if anyone's willing to marry you. Should have just sold you to a whorehouse, at least you'd be of some use there.”

She ignores him, tears streaming down her face. “Answer me, should I? Bet Andy Gellard up the road would appreciate it, know he’s been staring at you.” he barks. He roughly grabs the shoulder of her blouse, forcing her to look him in the eyes. He reeks of alcohol far more than he should for having just started.

All she can do is shake her head as he forces her to look him in the eye. She tries to pull away, but he ignores her protest. “Think that Collin boy would like it too. What's his name, Philip? I've seen ya whore yourself out for that boy. You'd like it too if it was him, won't you? What'd your ma say if she knew she birthed a slut?” 

She lets out a sob at the mention of her mother, and she quickly shuts her mouth, preventing herself from making another sound, knowing that it will only exacerbate his anger.

“No, I’m sorry, I’ll-I’ll start earlier next time, I’m sorry.”

Something pungent and smoky fills Arthur's nostrils. The irritating smell alarms him. He shoots his eyes open and sits up. Mary has already gotten out of bed. He finds her standing before the stove, still as a statue, staring at the sizzling pan.

“Mary?” he asks. She seems to ignore him. The smoke floats out and he shoves the pot away before it can catch fire. “What the hell are you doing? It’s ruined now, goddamn it.” he growls, tipping some water in it. He grabs her shoulder and turns her around, noticing her stiffening. She’s teary again, it melts what anger he felt toward her. “Sit down, it’s fine, just burnt is all. It’s nothin’ serious, calm down.” He gently leads her to sit down. He checks on the pot. “What’s wrong?”

“I-it’s nothing, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry.” 

“Jesus, so you burnt something, I burn somethin’ all the time, there ain’t nothin’ to worry about. I know you’re stressed, it’s fine.” he tries to console her. “What’s going on, really?”

“Nothing, nothing, it’s nothing. Please stop asking, I don't want to talk about it.” she squeaks out.

“Oh.” he responds. He understands, it must’ve been something bad. She just doesn’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. She falls silent and picks up another pot and quickly puts some water to boil, shying away from Arthur. 

She sits at the far end of the table, the farthest chair from him as he scrubs the pan, swearing under his breath. She takes a breath and forces herself to look normal, wiping her eyes again. Can’t even cook like a proper woman, it’s only a matter of time until he tires of this, all of it. Her lack of willingness, her crying, everything, he would have her out in a few days or so. It’s just inevitable, she’s useless to him like this. Honestly, how is she not useless? There’s really nothing in her that isn’t in any other woman around? There’s someone younger out there. Someone prettier, someone more fun to be around, someone who isn’t loose and fallen, someone worth something. Why would he pick someone like her? 

Why does she even care anyway? It's not like she has any right to tell him who to sleep with. She has no claim over him, and surely she should be glad for his happiness, after he has been so kind to her in the past few months. But why does the thought of him with another woman hurt so badly? Why must she feel so unbearably jealous?

He washes the pan clean and puts it aside, grabbing two mugs from the cabinet to fill them with coffee. She dries the pan and puts it over the heat again, and a new plate of breakfast is ready in a matter of minutes.

She silently lays the single plate down at the table before him. Grabbing the other cup of coffee, she sits down at the end of the table.

She takes a large gulp of coffee, though the liquid is still too hot. He gives her a questioning look. “You ain't eating anything?”

“Not hungry.” she mumbles and takes another gulp. He grimaces. It’s burning hot, he can tell by just a touch. 

“You ain’t been hungry for days, Mary.”

“So what? You eat, ain’t like I’m doing anything worthwhile here.” she mutters.

“Mary please, I can’t watch you do this to yourself.”

“Look, I’m just not hungry.” she rests her chin on her hand again. She feels weak, he’s right on that, her stomach aches. Eating feels disgusting, like she’s taking advantage of him, as if it’s theft. She takes another sip of coffee. It’s been the longest time they’ve gone without, he’s clearly getting sick of it. She hopes not to owe him for it.

“Just eat. Please.” he places the plate in front of her and leaves the fork there. She stares down, right above the plate. She shakes her head. He picks a piece and places it on her lips. She reluctantly eats it. He places the fork in her hand and watches her eat. He stands up and quickly places a kiss on her forehead. 

She looks up and gives him a puzzled look. He looks away, apologetic. “Sorry.”

Mary shakes her head. She puts down the fork. “I'm done. You wanna finish this?” he glances down skeptically. 

“Two more bites,” he asks. She huffs and takes them, leaving the plate to him. “Take it.” He sits down. She had barely eaten, but it was something. She grabs the cup and moves out to drink on the porch.

The forest opens up in front of her, broad and wide. What little leaves there are have started to yellow, the lace of early morning frost embellishes the yellowing greens and what flowers hadn’t yet wilted in the face of the impending autumn. The cold wind tears through her clothes to the skin and bone, only eased by the heat of the mug in her hands. There’s nothing out in the world for her other than the hot cup of coffee and Jamie out east somewhere. Nothing more, nothing less. That feller’d be ushering her out the door by next week anyway. 

At least it had been fun, up until the past few days. Immoral, disgusting, lewd, but fun. A pleasure she had not received from any man before. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with it, yet the shame crushes her.

He rinses off the plate and places it up to dry. She’s still on the porch, he notices. She’d be fine soon, he knows that. But she looks cold. He grabs a blanket and the pot of coffee, as he steps outside. She notes his presence but doesn’t seem to acknowledge it, He drapes the blanket over her shoulders and tops off her cup. She raises her eyebrows and tilts her head. “What are ya doing?” “You looked cold,” he replies.

“Oh. Okay. Thank you,” she mutters. She keeps her head lowered, staring into her cup. 

He swallows. A sudden nervousness overcomes him as he puts the pot back on the table and returns to sit down next to her. It is hard to read her face, but he can still see the hurt masked underneath her calm expression. He hates seeing her like that, so close, yet so distant, impossible to reach. He wants nothing more than to touch her, to pull her close and give her a fraction of his warmth, but she seems so fragile still, like a porcelain plate that he dares not touch. He is afraid of startling her with the slightest of movement, like how one would hesitate before reaching out for a shy kitten.

He can hear the quiet slurp as she sips on the coffee, and his attention once again returns to her face. Somehow, she looks even more beautiful under the morning light, the soft sunshine casting a golden hue on her skin. He can feel his heartbeat speeding up, pounding at his chest like a fist.

I love you.

“Mary, I—” he quickly seals his lips before he can blurt out the words. She raises her gaze and gives him a bewildered look. She wouldn’t, not now, not in a million years, never.

“Hmm?” She swallows the coffee.

He shakes his head. It would be a silly thing to say. There is no way she would feel the same. Hell, he doubts if she would even want anything to do with him if she wasn't caught up in this mess. At best, telling her his feelings would make her uncomfortable.

“I… I was just wonderin',” he pauses, trying to think of something to say, something reasonable. “I was just thinking if you would wanna get some warmer clothes. I could buy ya some.”

“Oh.” Is he preparing to ask her to leave? She knows it will happen any day, but not so soon. She can't blame him, though. At least he is being sweet enough to care about her being cold.

Her silence is making him all jittery. “So what'd ya say?”

She shakes her head, “Thanks, but I can't burden ya like that.”

“Oh, a'ight then. I can lend ya something though, if you don't mind,” he says, putting his hand over hers. She flinches at the sudden yet light touch and quickly withdraws. “Sorry,” he whispers, and shifts away from her, not wanting to make her uneasy.

Her lips slightly part before she pinches them together again, as usual when she is deep in thought, he has noticed it earlier. “Oh Arthur, it's very sweet of you, but it's not… it's not right if I take your clothes with me when I'm leaving.”

Panic washes over him. Is she planning to leave? He knows she would, there's no way to avoid it, but he didn't expect that day to come so soon. But what reason does he have to ask her to stay?

“I—I can't let you leave, not yet. I—your poster hasn't got taken off yet, there're probably still people going after you. Can't let anything happen,” he says, trying to put on a calm facade. Please, please stay, don't leave so soon.

Oh, so he isn't thinking about making her leave after all. That is certainly a relief. “Oh, I wasn't…well now that you have said it, I guess it's best that I stay for the month.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, relieved. “So, you wanna borrow somethin'? Think a couple of my sweaters might fit ya.” 

She nods, “Thanks.” He gives a quiet hum in response. He lights up a cigarette as she finishes the rest of her coffee, the smoke mixing with the steam from the cup before dissolving into the air above them. The nicotine calms him down, though not entirely. His heart still jumps in his chest. A drop of coffee rolls down her chin and she quickly wipes it off with her sleeve, while he tosses the glowing cigarette butt aside and stomps on it. 

He watches as Mary finishes the last bit of her drink, looking away when she casts him a quick glance. He will never get tired of looking at her. Her dark hair is a few shades lighter in the sun, a gorgeous shade of brown that suits her just perfectly. Her brows frame her deep brown eyes almost perfectly. He can't help but be amazed by how long her eyelashes are, he can even see their tiny shadows just under her eyes. He should draw her again some time later. God knows if he can keep looking at her like that for anything longer than another month. But who is he kidding, really? A beauty like that can’t be captured with a pencil so easily. 

She swallows the last drop of coffee and sets down the mug, letting the blanket slip off her shoulders. She folds it up upon her lap and looks up to find him staring at her with his mouth half open, a trail of drool dripping down the corner of his mouth, all the way to his chin. She raises an eyebrow, “Arthur?”

He doesn't seem to be able to hear her. She reaches out and lifts his jaw shut. That movement finally brings him back to reality, and his eyes quickly refocus. 

“Arthur, you're drooling,” she giggles, pointing at her chin. He quickly cleans his jaw with the corner of his neckerchief. You desperate fool, he scolds himself. At least it made her laugh, though her smile faded within seconds. Her face returns to its calm state and her gaze drifts back to the forest. 

“I’ll… I’ll go get one for you.” he stands up, she follows him into the house. It’s easy to find the one, it’s shrunken and dark green, it’d fit her okay. The elbows have been worn thin, but it was okay enough. It looks far too big when looking down at her on the ground. He hands it to her. “Here.”

“Thank you.” she looks it over and pulls it on. She had noticed his other sweater was in much worse shape. He could use another one, especially with how cold it’s getting. His sweater’s warm, but still way too big on her. 

“It’s a little big on ya.”

“I can see that, it’s fine though, gives some room.” she waves her arms up. 

“So, um, you planning anything today?” he asks. She shrugs. 

“Think I’m gonna knit something. I don’t feel like doing much else, I’m sorry. How about you then, Arthur?”

“Think I'll head to the post, got a letter for 'sea. You got anything you wanna send Jamie?”

She shakes her head. “ He hasn’t written me back just yet. Oh, by the way, you mind helping me do something else?” she asks, walking into the bedroom.

“Sure, what is it?” He sits down at the table again. She comes out with a key and opens the drawer, taking out his moneybox, which is technically theirs now. She opens the heavy metal case and takes out a small velvet box. 

“You mind helping me sell these?” she asks, handing Arthur the box. He opens it and finds a pair of pearl earrings. They must be quite expensive, he thinks, pearls this size aren't common around here.

“You sure? Why?” “I know we ain’t doing well financially and, well they ain’t something we need.”

“Oh I can’t be takin’ money from a lady. ‘n we’re fine, trust me.”

“Arthur, please, it’d make me feel better.”

“C’mon, I can’t do that, these must be worth a lot.”

“Please, do as you’re told for once in your life Morgan, take ‘em.” she shoves the box into his hands.

Arthur sighs. “If you insist, but I’ll pay ya back when I get the money, I swear.”

“That ain’t a loan, you’ve done a lot for me anyway.”

“ ‘m still gonna give it back.”

“No you ain’t. ‘sides, it’s in both of our best interest you get the mortgage paid off.”

“You can’t stop me from payin’ ya back, I can’t be takin’ money from ya Mary.”

“Get over yourself, Arthur, just do it for me.”

“Fine then, if you insist.” he flips it open and shut and shoves it in his pocket.

“Thank you. And remember to grab the socks on your way out.” she reminds him, as she sits down. He grabs the bag and walks out. Saddling Bo, his thoughts wander. It-it doesn’t feel right to take her money! He notices her staring at him through the window, he can swear he saw a small smile tugging at the corner of her lip before she turned away. Maybe it wasn’t wrong, she had insisted after all and- god, he’d do anything to see her smile again. He must be insane. At least with Dutch, he asked for it, he would tell Arthur exactly what he wanted and he’d run off and do it. She wouldn’t even have to ask, he’d do anything for her. It wouldn’t hurt to have more money this month, he’s running a few dollars short again. Nothing really different from before her.

Oh, he should probably go cut down Ryder too. He’s been up there for days. Maybe on his way back, if he happens to remember. He isn’t even sure if he feels like it. The feller has family and they’d like him back though. Mrs. Ryder hadn’t really been looking for him. Apparently she heard about the incident in Strawberry from somebody and she wasn’t happy to hear about it. 

Yeah, he should go give that bastard another visit, if he bothers to. Hard if. 

****

“Aight, think I'll head to bed now,” he announces, getting up from his chair. He glances at Mary and sees her hand weaving through a tangle of gray and blue yarn. “Don't stay up too late workin' yourself.”

She nods. She continues to work on her new project as Arthur settles down in bed. She has got Arthur's measurements from his shirts earlier that day. She is hoping to make Arthur a sweater for the winter, it would make a good parting gift, she thinks, or a Christmas gift, if she will be staying through the winter. She is hoping that it will be a Christmas gift though; the weather has been crazy this year, it'll be much better to have a roof above her head to shield her from the cold rain. She doesn't know whether Arthur would be tolerating her for so long though. She shakes her head in an attempt to repel the thoughts. It's no use thinking about it, she has no say in this matter anyway.

A yawn escapes her mouth. Guess she should go to bed right about now. Leaving the yarn on the table, she makes her way to the bedroom. She decides to undress for the night; sleeping with her outer clothes on hasn't been real comfortable, and Arthur seems to be already asleep. Lazily, she unbuttons her blouse and quickly discards the rest of her clothing, folding them up to be laid on the nightstand.

She swiftly slips under the covers. To her surprise, Arthur's arms quickly reach out and pull her into an embrace. Oh, so he is still awake. Alright, she won't mind some cuddling before bed. It feels nice being held by him, his strong arms firm around her waist and shoulders, his warm chest pressed right against hers. But then he leans in to kiss her on the lips, and it isn't simply a quick peck. She lets out a shaky breath. She isn't quite prepared to do it again, not yet, at least. Yet, refusing him feels wrong. He has already done so much for her, it won't be right for her to deny him this. 

It won't take too long, hopefully, she can deal with this. Having made up her mind, her hands trail up to his collar.

Unexpected by her, he pulls away as soon as she undoes his first button.

“What are you doing?” he asks. He seems to be rather shocked by her response.

“Huh?” She pauses, he's not trying to…well? “Oh, I just thought you wanted to…” she trails off. 

He just stares at her for a few moments before replying, “Just wanna kiss ya, that's it.”

“Oh, oh. Alright then.”

“You can say no if you don't want me to do something, y'know? You're stiff as a rock just then,” he points out.

“Hm, okay,” she says awkwardly. “Goodnight then.”

He lays a quick kiss on her forehead, “Goodnight.”

Mary lies back down on her bed and closes her eyes. The night is silent and calm, with their breath being the only sound in the room. Yet neither of them seems to be able to fall asleep. She tosses and turns around the bed, trying to get into a more comfortable position.

He opens his eyes, and sees her staring at the ceiling. 

“Still thinking about it?” he asks, turning to lie on his side, looking at her.

She remains silent, but gives a small nod in response. He sighs.

“You really don't have to mind what Ryder said, I told ya, he's an idiot.”

“I can't help it, y'know that,” she mumbles. “And it's not just what he said.”

“What is it then?”

“I can't care less about what that feller thinks, I just… it reminded me of what my Daddy used to say.”

“What'd he say?” he regrets it as soon as he blurts out the words. “Sorry, ain't right for me to ask.”

“S'okay. All kinds of mean things, don't think I'll have to explain much to ya.”

He hums in response. He knows how cruel one's own father can be all too well, but it is hard to imagine that anyone can have the heart to be cruel to her. Their childhoods are real similar, in a way: a mother who died too soon, a father who didn't die soon enough. At least he met Dutch and Hosea; it wasn't an easy life, but it was definitely better than what she went through. He can't imagine how hard it must have been for her to raise an infant as a teenager. Then she married that asshole of a husband, then the murders, then the running. She didn't deserve such a cruel fate, no, she deserves to be loved, to be cherished and to be happy.

Arthur wants nothing more than to be the man who'd make her happy for the rest of her life.

“Mary?”

“Yeah?”

“If we weren't… you weren't… well.” A thousand words flood his mind, but they all stop right behind his lips. “If I weren't, me, but the handsomest, best guy in this world, I would… I think I would just ask you to marry me right now.”

He stops, anticipating a reply. Panic quickly consumes his entire body as the silence fills his ears. Arthur knows he ain't a smart man, but that has to be the stupidest shit he has ever said in his life. It wasn't exactly a confession, but he is almost certain that she will find it ridiculous. 

“Oh, oh, thank you Arthur, didn't… wasn't expecting to hear something so sweet from ya.” 

He exhales in relief. It wasn't the rejection that he was expecting, thank god. “Well, I'm just sayin' the truth.”

“You flatterer,” she laughs, lightly elbowing him in the abdomen. “Goodnight.”

“'night,” he says, once again closing his eyes.

****

“Yer a good girl,” he pats the side of Boadicea's neck soothingly. The clothesline had snapped at some point and Mary's dark blue skirt had caught on a branch, spooking the horse. He dismounts and calmly removes the saddle and brindle, eyeing the clothes on the ground. The knot had always been shitty, it was inevitable, really. He grabs the end of the rope and ties it up again. They’re still all wet. She must’ve washed them just a while ago. He throws them back on the line.

Finding the last sock on the ground, he reaches for it. A whine breaks the silence. His hand freezes. 

“Arthur… Arthur, fuck,” he hears her again, panting. The covers shift and the bedframe groans under her. He hears the same sounds he heard back at the cabin through the open window. It’s been far too long since he’s heard her moan like that. His other hand trails down to his thigh. 

Arthur glances inside, but turns his head before he can see a thing. It wouldn’t be right. She whines his name again. He exhales and hastily walks off, trying to force his mind back to-to, uh, whatever the hell he was doing.

He bites his tongue and furrows his brow as he walks back. What the hell had she done to him? He’s hard already, it took next to nothing. 

It’d be so easy to go in. She’d already be ready for him there, wet and excited. He could take her so easily. He wonders if he could make her beg again.

He shouldn’t be thinking of that, like that. She isn’t quite right yet, who knows how much it might set her back again. There has to be a reason why she is only pleasuring herself when he is gone. He settles down to wait, lighting a cigarette in an attempt to distract himself from his own arousal. 

The sounds quiet and he hears her get up. Arthur stands up and moves to open the door. He grabs the meat and steps inside. She seems to spook a bit.

“H-hey, I wasn’t expecting you back this soon!” she greets, her voice still quivering. He notices the flush on her face and her frazzled state, she quickly moves to rinse her hands. Her voice seems to be a tad higher and breathier than usual. He can almost taste her in the air.

“Oh, er, yeah, I caught a good sized rabbit,” he replies, averting his eyes. The bed is unmade, again. 

“That’s nice, no more squirrel for us, right?” she laughs. 

“You’ll never forget about that one, will ya?” 

“If we’re gonna be pretendin’ to be married, what kind of wife would that make me if I didn’t remind you of stuff?” “Shut up,” he chuckles. “Mind helping me out with this then?” “Sure.” 

He must’ve heard her, she notices his state, his awkwardness and general demeanor. It’s nothing he hasn’t heard before, but she can only hope he didn’t spot his shirt on the bed. She quickly tosses it into the laundry pile.

Arthur pulls back the wax paper and sprinkles salt and spices on the meat. She kneels to light the stove. 

“How are ya doin’ then?”

“Fine, I guess,” she responds. “Better than a few days ago at the very least.”

“Really? ‘m just concerned is all.” “Hm, well, guess I still ain’t really myself yet.” she shrugs and closes the hatch. “Can’t really shake the feeling.” “Ain’t really something to be ashamed of. We all got needs.” 

“I- I know, but, it’s not normal, women ain’t supposed to want it like that.”

“That ain’t true, I’ve been with plenty of girls like ya, all of ‘em wanted it. It’s natural, I guess.” She falls silent for a moment. 

“It’s different, being with men, no matter what ya do you’ll feel bad about it, you’re always disappointing someone,” she says, pulling out a cutting board from the cabinet.

“Who then?”

“Hm, well, I don't know. Think it started when I was a girl. You know my father, he wasn’t always too kind to me or anybody else for that matter. He was always protective, when he came home at least, didn’t like me talking to any men. He-he well, he called me every word in the book. Didn’t much care if there were ladies visiting-” she bites her tongue. 

“And then there was my husband. I think he only married me to keep his affairs covered up. He was a good man, for the most part and I understand why he did that, but it, it still hurt, I can assure you that. He used to call me all sorts of things if I tried to initiate.”

He scrunches his nose upon hearing the last sentence. “Your own husband? Jesus, I'm so sorry.”

She shrugs. For a moment, the only sound in the room is the sound of her chopping carrots. He breaks the silence, “Well, I say ol' Barry was an idiot. Your pa, too. Ya really don't need to mind the bullshit they said.”

“It's not just them. I-I don't know, honestly. It's just what I grew up hearing.”

He watches her bring the pot to a boil before adding in the vegetables. “Me, I never found

anything wrong with women seeking pleasure, but I guess some people think differently. But people can be wrong, y'know.”

“I suppose,” she says, adding a sprinkle of salt to the water. He continues as he cuts the meat apart, “Just because everyone tells ya it's wrong doesn't mean it is— but if yer still uncomfortable with the whole deal we can stop. ”

She sighs, he isn’t quite sure what to make of the response. 

They quickly get dinner done together, sitting down to eat soon enough. She seems a bit lighter, less saddened for sure.

She steps off to rinse the dishes as he finishes. He’s so… understanding, it’s insanity. She picks up her spoon and cleans it off, catching him in the reflection. He’s done with it, she notices and quickly grabs his dishes before he can. 

He’s right though. It’s not like anyone would ever know. He’d be a moron to tell anyone he fucked the mariticidal murderer, ain’t like it’s bragworthy anyway. 

“You need any help with those?” “No, thanks. You just sit down.” Arthur sits to light the fireplace. The house was growing cold anyway. Mary places the utensils up to dry. Her eyes drift to him again, bending over to light the kinding. His thighs part, she turns to stare at him. What’s the point of refraining now, she’d be gone at some point. It’d be foolish, wouldn’t it? She wonders. He certainly doesn’t seem to mind it. 

Her father's words be damned, he's long dead anyway. This Arthur Morgan is way too pretty for her to keep her hands off him.

She watches him sit down on the old armchair, as she places the last one up to dry.

Suddenly her hands are on his shoulders, her lips on his neck and she loops around, sitting on his lap. She pulls him close and hungrily kisses him, as she adjusts herself to straddle him. Arthur pulls away from her. 

“Mary… what the hell are you doing?” 

“I really missed this, Arthur, please.”

“You sure, you really don’t have to-” “Shut up, ‘n let me.” she whispers in his ear. 

“Yes ma’am.” he replies. She chuckles and pulls him closer by his bandana. His hands move to her hips, he pulls her closer. The swell of her hips feel natural in his hands, like they belong there. 

“Put your hands back.” she demands. His hands return. She leans in and kisses him again, pulling the fabric from his neck. She wraps it around his eyes, effectively blindfolding him. 

“C’mon, Mary, lemme see you.” Arthur whines. Mary laughs again and cups his cheek, before pinching it. 

“I don’t think so.” she strips off his shirt. His pants and boots follow suit. Mary straddles him again and slowly peels off his union suit. She somewhat loosely ties it around his wrists. “My, ain’t you a pretty boy?” She steps back to admire her work, ruffling his hair. She kisses him again and nips his lip, making him gasp. Her lips gently trail down his jaw. Each nip draws a groan from him. “You heard me, didn’t you?”

“Heard what?” he asks, just in case.

“Me, taking care of myself. I know I heard you, right outside, by the window.”

“I did. You ain’t quiet.” he remarks. She chuckles and bites him again.

“Wasn’t trying to be. Why didn’t you join me then?” she asks, her hand teasingly rubs his thigh, painfully close to his member. 

“Didn’t feel right, I didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable.” Arthur drawls. That’s… awfully polite of him. Huh. 

“Wouldn’t mind you crawling into bed next time. You’re my favorite toy y’know.” she trails down his chest and shoves apart his thighs, kneeling between them. Her hand finds his balls, she trails down to his muscular thighs. Arthur whines, as she drags her tongue up to his crotch. His cock twitches.

“You just gotta goddamn tease me woman.” he growls. She laughs again and moves up, placing her lips on his stomach, tantalizingly gently. Mary glances up at his face, it’s contorted in some desperate grimace. Her light touch leaves his skin tingling. 

“Like you ain’t enjoying this.” she scoffs. “Are ya, pretty boy?”

“Please just touch me Mary,” Arthur begs. 

“Fine then, since you asked so nicely.” She kisses up his shaft, her tongue sweeps up the pearly bead of precome, lazily stimulating him. He sighs, she dips down and takes him in her mouth. He’s a tad salty, she licks him again, before once again sucking him in. Arthur groans. Mary pushes herself down and hears his grunts intensify. She pulls away, finding him too hard to resist in the moment. It’s been so long.

She hastily discards her clothing, stripping down to her chemise, before remounting his lap. He whimpers, feeling her slickness at his tip.

“P-please just fuck me Mary,” his voice breaks at the last word. “I've—ugh—I've been such a good boy, please.” 

“Have ya?” she teases, quite pleased by his desperation. She can see the redness on his cheeks, even under the dim light from the fireplace. 

“Yes, yes ma'am,” he pants.

“Call me that again,” she instructs. Despite not being able to see her smirk, he can sense the smugness in her tone, and somehow, it seems to make him even harder.

“Ma'am, please,” he begs again.

She gives him a gentle kiss on the lips, “Now that's a good boy.” 

He lets out a sharp moan as she finally sinks down on him. She takes her time, allowing herself to accommodate his girth again. Impatient, he squirms underneath her, only to be stopped by her hand pressing down on his shoulders.

“Did I say you can move?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” her hand moves to his throat, she pushes him against the chair. 

“You’ve been so good for me so far, you should know better sweetheart.” she slowly rises with a hiss. Her hand tightens around his throat. His already lust-clouded head feels even dizzier as she cuts off his air supply. She sinks down on him and leans against his chest, he lets out another groan. She finds her pace and bites his neck, leaving a new bruise for him to find in the morning. Her movements speed up as she starts to groan. “How’d ya get so pretty? God, you fill me up so perfectly,” she whispers into his neck. She loosens her grip and allows him a full breath, before continuing to squeeze. “You like that?”

“Yes ma’am,” he grunts. “Please don’t stop-” his pants crack into a moan. She stops and his breathing slows. 

“You came, didn't you?” She asks, slow and dangerous, shifting up to let him fall out. His seed drips out of her in a steady stream, there’s far more than usually.

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” he breathes out. She dips her fingers inside of herself and pulls out his cum, inspecting the fluids on her fingers. She glances up at his flushed face and stuffs her fingers in his mouth. 

“Lick ‘em clean, boy, and don’t think we're done here. I still got plans for you,” she growls. His tongue shyly flickers between her fingers, lapping up his own semen. She pushes her hand in his hair and pulls him closer to shove the digits deeper. Mary pulls her fingers out of him and checks them over, finding them clean. She lets out a resounding hmph and shoves him down to sit on the floor. He gasps as she adjusts his head to lay on the seat, his back pressed against the body of the chair. She swings a leg over the armrest and lowers herself closer to his face.

The air feels more humid, her arousal is hanging heavy in the air. A drop falls onto his lips. She lowers herself and leans against the headrest. She glances down and pulls away from his nostrils. His tongue dips inside her, he hungrily laps at her, her taste speeding him on. She’s looser this time, having been gaped open just moments ago. He moans, beckoning her to push herself down. She chuckles and places more weight on him. He explores her cunt and sucks in her clitoris. She whines and pulls up.

“Easy!” she hisses, tugging at his hair. Arthur corrects himself and swirls his tongue around it. She lets out a shuddering moan and lowers herself again. Her sweet tanginess mixes with his saltiness, it leaks onto his face. He penetrates her again, drawing out his cum again. “You’re being such a good boy for me again, Arthur,” she murmurs, her grip on his hair easing into strokes. He feels himself hardening again, the pressure in his cock mounting again. She grinds down on him and whines. Arthur moans and struggles, attempting to free his hands to pull her down. “Come on, you know better, boy, don’t even try,” she croons, stroking his hair. He relaxes under her and lets out a pitiful whine. Her pants intensify and he suckles on his harder. A string of profanities escape her mouth, she allows herself to squeeze his head between her thighs. He feels her relax and she moves away. She catches her breath as she guides him to return to the seat. “Good job,” she ruffles his hair again. She looks him over and takes his cock in her hand again.

“Still ain’t done, are ya?” he asks. Mary chuckles and places a kiss on his cheek. 

“Nope. And I’ll tell you when you’re allowed to cum, sweetheart. Don’t make that mistake again.”

“Yes ma’am, I’m sorry ma’am.”

“That’s my sweet boy,” she croons again, straddling him. Mary leans to kiss him. “Wasn’t that easy? You can do better, can’t you?”

“I can, I’ll be better, ma’am,” she slips him back into her and sinks down on his cock. Arthur lets out a moan as she gasps. Almost involuntarily, he thrusts into her, once again protruding through her slick entrance. She chuckles breathlessly, amused by his desperation. 

“Good,” she pants as she moves herself up and down his shaft. He wants nothing more than to see her, to watch her mouth open in pleasure as she engulfs the entirety of him in her wetness, yet he can hardly see anything through the cloth that she has blindfolded him with. But his lack of vision only intensifies his pleasure as she rides him, making every single strand of his muscles weak and puddy.

“Oh Arthur, my Arthur,” she whispers into his ear. “You're being awfully good tonight.”

He lets out a grunt as a jolt of heat once again blooms from his groin upon being claimed as hers. It spreads all the way to his spine, making him shudder. She gently bites his earlobe and he has to bite down on his lip, hard, in order to stop himself from coming. She lets out a soft sigh and lets her pace speed up. 

“You cummin' yet?” he asks, his voice hoarse and breathy.

She gives him a rewarding peck on the lips, “Close. You're doing a good job darling.”

He thrusts into her in response. She doesn't stop him this time, only chuckles and dips down to nibble on the skin of his throat. He lets out another groan. “Careful there, sweetheart.”

“Hah, please, Mary,” he whines, thrusting into her again. He bites himself again and pauses for a moment.

“J-just a bit longer, Arthur,” she mumbles, burying her face into his neck. She pauses, her whine muffled by his skin. “Do it, you deserve it now A-Arthur.”

“Ya sure?” he asks, voice quivering as he holds back.

“Yeah, y-yeah,” she whimpers, holding his shoulders for anchorage. “G-give it to me darlin'.”

He doesn't need to be told twice. Another squeeze of her thighs and his orgasm is already washing over him, rendering him motionless. Every inch of his muscle tenses up as his cock twitches, filling her with his seed. Determined, he gives her a few more thrusts as he comes, finally pushing her over the edge. 

She lets out a loud, harsh moan as she climaxes, her grip around his shoulders tightening. They stay joined for a few moments after their orgasms, catching their breath and regaining their strength. He silently enjoys the feeling of her smooth skin against his. The sensation of her warm softness only seems more intense with his vision deprived. Oh, how he loves this perfect body of hers, though it isn't the only thing that he so dearly loves. Should he tell her that? He desperately wishes to, but it doesn't sound like the right choice to make, god knows how she will react to this. 

She gives him a rewarding kiss on the forehead as she lets him slide out of her, interrupting his thoughts. He lets his head fall back and emits a heavy sigh as she removes herself from his lap. The surrounding air suddenly feels a lot colder, despite the cackling flames in the fireplace.

She pulls her chemise on and unties him. Arthur pulls the blindfold off and stretches out his arms again. 

“ ‘m thinkin’ I’ll go to bed, you wanna come along with me?” he asks, redressing in his union suit.

“You go ahead,” she places a kiss on his forehead. “I gotta do some knitting anyway.”

“C’mon, you can do it in the mornin’ can’t you?” Arthur takes her hand.

“Don’t take that tone with me mister, I’ll be in soon. Sleep well.”

“Goddamn it, fine.” he playfully rolls his eyes in an attempt to hide his disappointment at not getting to cuddle with her. She giggles and ruffles his hair.

“Good boy.” she ushers him off. Mary pulls the little basket out from under the chair, taking the knitting needles in her hands. He sits at the edge of the bed and pulls out his journal. A collection of rough and delicate lines comprise her portrait, his pencil dragging along the rough paper, another one of her. His pencil rests on her jawline and he smears away an errand line with his thumb. He works down her shoulder, forming her braid. It must’ve been the tenth one this week. 

I love her, yet I’m a fool for it. I’m sure she likes me well enough, or at least I’m foolish enough to think so. Mary, she’s one of the best women I’ve known, she seems to lodge herself more and more into my life by the day, though it’ll only make it hurt more when she’s gone.

If only we could have something more. She’d despise me if she truly knew me, though it’s a pretty dream. Brings something Dutch said to mind, don’t remember quite how he worded it. Something about loving someone for what they can do. I don’t think it’s like that. Or maybe it is. I hope not.

I don’t think it’d change if she didn’t fuck me, I suppose I wouldn’t mind if she did nothing at all anyway. A ♡ M

Mary sets down the large tube she’s been working on and glances back at him. He had already gone to bed, she can tell by the light. She carefully stows it back in the basket and leans back, looking back at him under the covers. He stirs. Mary leans on her hand, watching him in the room. It’s a damn shame it’d never be… well, anything. Arthur’s a good man, despite everything. He deserves better than any of this, this little shack, this sad lifestyle. He should be married by now, not playing house with a lunatic rat he picked out of a different hovel. Hell, she should still be married and not doing whatever this is. Mary sighs wearily and leans back on the chair. Such messy lives we lead. 

What’s the point of abstaining when it’ll end anyway? They’d go their separate lives. It’d only be a wild fantasy in a while, the months spent at Arthur Morgan's house, indulging in a man who seemed to enjoy every moment as much as she did. Someone as experimental, as curious, as depraved, someone like no one else.

If he’d only ask for her hand she’d gladly give it , even if it was only to keep him between her legs for years to come. He’s far more endearing than most men that came knocking to court her anyway, someone she’d rather have had for a husband than Mr. Linton. Doesn’t hurt that he’s pretty either. 

She stands up and blows out the light, leaving the hot coals and starts to illuminate the house. She strips down and very carefully lays by him, trying not to wake him. As she lifts the blanket and slips herself under it, he pulls her in. 

“You were just waiting, weren’t you?” she lets out a soft hum, resting her chin on his head. He rests his head by her chest.

“Maybe. Couldn’t really sleep without you,” Arthur mumbles. He hears her heartbeat spike for a second, a hopeful sign to his weary mind.

“You better get some sleep, Arthur, ain’t good to stay up too late. Sleep tight.” each soft word reverberates through his core.

“G’night…”

[cumgun-7]

"Take your cigarette from its holder

And burn your initials in my shoulder

Fracture my spine

And swear that you're mine

As we dance to the Maso-chism Tango"

[amusingmusie]

Everytime you say Alastor likes it when Nel is nasty or horribly mean, I think of "The Masochism Tango" by Tom Lehrer. The only difference is that he would be actively antagonizing her to get a rise but loves it when she starts threatening bodily harm.

There are so many good lines in that song, but my favorite is always

"Take your cigarette from its holder

And burn your initials in my shoulder"

Just thinking Alastor cracking all the unhinged jokes while cheesing with a huge grin sends me. What the fuck is wrong with him lmao

That song has been recommended to me several times! It's so Alastor-core to say "Oh, just torture me!" while Nel stares at him in absolute revulsion. He'll do anything to get a rise out of her.

"What the fuck is wrong with him lmao" WONDERFUL QUESTION!!!

[quandaryqueen]

Lip Gloss

Music Meister X Hero Reader

Poor H/N cannot stop losing their composure around the dashing scoundrel that is Music Meister.

Suggestive themes

💜 Heroes of Gotham, more often than not would they be inspired in this path of Cape swooshing crusade by the Batman in all his brooding glory. Hears of the praises given by those he saved, respect from fellow heroes, and of course, commands the fear of assailants. As a new night crawling hero, you opted to debut like the dark knight.

"Relinquish your control over the staffs. Now."

Your very first criminal was the Music Meister, harmless fellow until he opens his mouth.

Having him bent on a table, holding his wrists oh his back and to further assert yourself, you press his face against the table. The dominance had confidence through your veins, but you didn't allow that to get in your head... But it was just so empowering to pin assailants and demand them to stop, then they'd cower and beg you--

"Ooh, give it to me harder~"

... Not like that—

Needless to say, he turned the table on you as soon as you backed away from him, having been caught off-guard by his comment. Flushed in the face, you had yourself backed against the wall from the shock.

"Excuse me, what the fuck?" You exclaimed.

"You heard me."

💜 You got the job done, but at what cost? The remains of your crime fighting days, that's what. You would be blushing like a fool and staring into space whenever you're defending Gotham against him.

Dennis: Oh hey H/N~! 😘💋

You: 😟

Dennis: This next song is about you ahem...... EVERY TIME I CLOSE MY EYES, I WAKE UP FEELING SO HORNY

💜 No, omg in every opportunity he has, he will render himself breedable for you. This whore is arching his back when he was caught, wrists cuffed behind his back and instructed to lay in the ground on his stomach. If he's feeling extra extra, he'll wave his ass shamelessly.

"Oh hello, H/N... Seeing something you like?" Peeking through his visors, he'd see you attempting to keep yourself composed. He likes them incoherent, wide-eyed and covering their heated face with their hands.

💜 Whenever he's informed that you're assigned to take him down, he is changing into his stripper clothes and chose more hot and heavy songs to perform. If accessed, he'll increase the mood by setting the lighting to red and will definitely summon a pole if the mood calls for it.

"Take your cigarette from its holder! And burn your initials on my shoulder! Fracture my spine and say that you're mine... As we dance to the masochism tango~!"

He throws a wink at your direction, something questionable enough to send your fellow vigilante to glance at you, where they find you with your palms covering your face.

At this point, he's just moaning lyrics on the microphone.

💜 Admittedly, you aren't the only hero whom he does this to. He is a playful son of a bitch who either likes seeing someone flustered in response to his teases or someone who reciprocates it.

You fall on the flustered category and if you're easily jealous, he seems to have powerful chemistry against those who teases him back, to the point they'd get too close to making out in the middle of the battle.

💜 Were you soft towards him?

"Hey! Careful with him! He's already cooperating!" You yell after police staff when they attempt to shove Music Meister in the police car.

Yes, you are.

In his gratitude, he merely winks at you as the police car carts him back to Arkham.

💜 So... What should happen if you and a more playful hero collaborated to take down the Music Meister?

"I don't want anybody else, when I think about you. I touch myself. Oh, I don't want anybody else. Oh no, oh no, oh no~"

Whilst you simmer in embarrassment, covering your face, your other fellow hero just raised their brow at him with a smirk.

"Why don't you come down here and touch me instead?" They shouted at him, before grappling over the ledge to reach him.

Watching the hero, a pit of emotion burrows itself in your guts. Before they can get near him, mind-controlled goons took grab of them. Music Meister takes his microphone from its stand before taking the hero's chin between his thumb and finger.

"Hey! Music man!" The shouting from below made him glance down and be greeted with your figure ascending with your fist aiming for his face.

With you knocking him out, resets the spell he casted upon innocent people and revert them back to normal... Record time. The hero from their hold ran towards your and held their hand out for a high five.

"Good job, H/N!"

💜 Do I have to say that he's utterly shameless?

"Yoo hoo~ H/N! Did you miss me~?" He waves over after pirouetting to present himself in your peripheral.

"No, not really." You sighed. Apparently, he broke out of Arkham for you.

"Oh you're such a precious little thing! Too stoic to admit you're so much of a softie. I thought that was more of Batman's thing." He sings, twirling before stopping before you and lightly flicking your nose. "Well I missed you~"

Riddled with exhaustion, you couldn't help but to slide your back against the wall and fall on your bottom. He doesn't seem to be planning to chaos mayhem in Gotham in general, but solely towards you. Running a hand through your hair, you felt the heat pushing under your skin.

... Is it wrong for you to fall for him? For all you know it's just his nature to flirt like this to anybody, not to mention, he might just be entertained seeing you this flustered or maybe he's using it to distract you.

"What do you feel towards me exactly?"

"Lust." He waits for your face to flush in that sweet, sweet shade of embarrassment... It didn't. You remain dazed with melancholy. "Hmm... I take it you're serious right now?"

You would remain unresponsive until you answer his question... Very well then.

"Well, I do enjoy teasing you. It's all for the fun of it."

Called it. You nodded to yourself. Sighing, you pull your knees close to your chest and buried your face behind it.

"Why ask?" He pries, sitting across you with his legs crossed.

"Nothing."

"Oh? It seemed something. Come on, tell me." Leaning forward, he places a hand on your knee and lightly shakes you. "It's only fair since you asked me something, come now."

Peeking through the gaps of your makeshift prison, you can make out the urging curiosity he has on his face.

"Just... Sing and mind control me already. That's what you're here for, right? Maybe you can twirl me around and off the rooftop."

He laughs to lighten the mood. "Where is this coming from?" And they say he's the dramatic one.

"I have feelings for you."

Before you can even think out it, words spill from your lips so haphazardly. You feared to look up in fear of finding something horrible, even if you don't know what is it you fear when you're already experienced his rejection before this. Regret bubbles at the back of your throat in a form of choking on your own breath.

His eyes widened behind his visors. You? Have feelings for him? Well that's a what he heard, though he wasn't sure how to process it.

"Well that's the end of it..." Fuck, why did you tell him?

"You do?"

"You heard nothing, this conversation is over." Before you can retrieve your grappling device, he takes hold of your hand.

You barely looked over your shoulder and so he doesn't see your face flushed, he ultimately assumed you were scowling. But it wasn't enough for him to let go. He expected you to lowly demand to be unhanded, but nothing came of it. You stood, tense and unmoving. He so utilises it to pull you to face him forward and take hold of both your hands. Darius looks within your averted eyes with such an intensity, you remain looking aside.

Admittedly, he meant it when he said it's all for the fun of it, it's always has been for everyone he had encountered-- just goes to show how irresistible he can be to anyone. You're not the first he's heard those words from; almost everyone had fallen for his charms and most of those times, he never felt the same. But he always made sure they never walk away with that much dread of rejection. He's a rogue after all, not a monster.

But with you...

"If you'd like, we can try."

He would love to see what will happen-- dating you. The hero, the saviour, the one who carts his ass back in Belle Reeve most of the time. How could that affect your vigilantism? But most of all, how would the hero act without the mask? Would you still love him if he doesn't wear the mask? Would he come to love the person under the mask as much as he perceives your alter ego?

"What do you say?"

...

"We can try."

Darius grins. The tip of his finger traced on your neck by the throat and settles under your chin, softly lifting it. Your throat bobbed upon swallowing thickly, as you gather the courage to reciprocate his eye contact. You find yourself leaning closer, when suddenly--

"You're paying." He says, tapping your nose and giggling, before twirling away.

[hostofundead]

Your eyes cast a spell that bewitches The last time I needed twenty stitches To sew up the gash That you made with your lash As we danced to the Masochism Tango Bash in my brain And make me scream with pain Then kick me once again And say we'll never part I know too well I'm underneath your spell So, darling, if you smell Something burning, it's my heart 'Scuse me! Take your cigarette from its holder And burn your initials in my shoulder Fracture my spine And swear that you're mine As we dance to the Maso-chism Tango