#v: a plan gone awry

[appalachiancowboy99]

After Dark

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

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

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

Gif by: @sunwingsunset

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As always, sending my love - M. <3

[brave-and-gentle]

Ice Sculpture date: Reader x Jean Fluff Part 1

Ya'll something came over me this morning and I busted this out for absolutely no reason.

**This has turned into an unexpected mini series. Check out chapter two here.

If you like this, be sure to check out my original character x Jean fic on A03 here

Pairings: reader x Jean

Summary: A year after graduating college in Trost, many of your friends have moved away, but you remained. Your new roommate, Sasha and her friend Connie, introduced you to their friend group. When group plans go awry, you find yourself alone with Jean.

Warnings: none, this all v cute fluff, a self-indulgence

Word count: ~3,400

You were supposed to leave the apartment 10 minutes ago. You always forgot how long it took to layer up with how cold Trost got in the middle of winter. As soon as you lace your winter boots up, you run out the front door and penguin-walk to Jean and Marco's apartment. It was only a few blocks south of where you and Sasha lived, but since it was -20 Fahrenheit, it seemed like an eternity.

It's frigid that the insides of your nose freeze within about five seconds of being outside. Your teeth chatter and eyes burn. This does nothing to help your nerves. You are going to see the ice sculptures made by local artists with a new group of friends you had only met a month ago.

Three months prior, your best friend and roommate, Historia, decided to move to the coast with her girlfriend, Ymir. Your reaction was mixed. You and Historia were two peas in a pod since you met during freshmen year orientation and you did everything together – English classes, the college newspaper, intramural volleyball team, and a few parties. When Historia started dating Ymir junior year, you were a little concerned by Ymir's abrasive personality, but she started to grow on you and she helped Historia become a little more assertive. Ymir had always wanted to move to the coast, so when she finally secured an apartment, it didn't surprise you that Historia sat you down to break the news that she was going with her, leaving you alone in the two-bedroom apartment.

You were happy for the couple. This was Ymir's dream and Historia was excited to explore somewhere new with the love of her life. And yet, there is a tiny bit of maybe not resentment, but you do feel abandoned. This completed the mass exodus of all your friends moving out of Trost. With Historia and Ymir gone, you really don't have anyone.

Thankfully, they refused to road trip to their new home until they helped you find a roommate. It didn't take nearly as much time as you expected, which admittedly disappointed you. After asking around for a few weeks, you found out that Sasha Braus was looking for a place. You knew who she was since you had gone to the same college, but you'd never had a conversation with her. All you knew about Sasha was that she started an archery club at school that apparently was still going strong after graduation. It was an easy decision for Sasha to move in with you. When you met up at the coffee shop down the street, she was incredibly bubbly and kind.

Rooming together was going nearly seamless – although you did have to label all your food in the fridge, lest Sasha get the munchies and eat everything. Soon enough you got to know her friend from school, Connie Springer, who you recognized from the soccer team. He had pretty much taken residence on the couch in the living room, and you didn't even mind. It was nice to have a living space full of laughter – and Connie's snoring.

Sasha and Connie invited you to join their friend group at weekly bar trivia. It was a large group – you'd never hung out with so many people at one time, but with how extroverted Sasha and Connie were, it wasn't a surprise. You could barely keep track of who was who for a while, but after nearly a month of hanging out with them, you think you got it down. Sasha, Connie, Marco and Jean were tight in college. Eren, Mikasa, and Armin had grown up together in Shiganshina and went to a different college in Trost. Eren had met Reiner and Bertholt at the gym. Annie had grown up with Reiner and Bertholt. You weren't exactly sure how they all merged together, but they all hung out together pretty regularly now.

You groan in relief as you approached Jean and Marco's apartment – a beacon of warmth in the frigid, dark night. Your nerves disappear, replaced by yearning for heat. This is the first time you are hanging out with the group without Sasha and the first time outside of bar trivia. It was Jean's idea to go see the ice sculptures. He was an art major in college and knew a couple of the artists. Sasha had a date with this new guy, Nicolo tonight, but urged you to go without her.

You run up to the entryway and ring the apartment buzzer, hoping that it actually works because you realized you don't have Jean or Marco's number. The door clicks, thankfully, and a heatwave washes over you as you open the door and climb the stairs to apartment 313. Or was it 315? You knock on the door only once before it opens to reveal Jean in an old college t-shirt and sweatpants with a hole in the right knee. He isn't wearing shoes. You didn't fully realize how tall this man was until you had to practically crane your neck up to look at him.

“Hey,” Jean says your name. He runs his fingers through his ash-brown hair. “Shit, I'm so sorry, I didn't have your number and couldn't tell you – everyone canceled for tonight. I texted Sasha for your number but she didn't answer.”

Your stomach drops a little. Did you come over here for nothing? You had actually been looking forward to seeing ice sculptures, especially since it was over the college's winter break – it wouldn't be as crowded with students as it usually was. At least that's what you heard, you had never actually gone to see them before. Historia didn't usually last more than 10 minutes in the cold.

“Oh,” you breath, still recovering from the cold. “I guess that means it's going well with Nicolo then.”

“Yeah,” Jean laughs, “If there's any way to Sasha's heart, it's food, and with the way that guy cooks, I think he's in it for life.”

“So where is everyone tonight?” You ask, stalling for a little more time inside. Jean leans against the door frame and counts off.

“Annie invited Armin to go to her father's for the holidays, so I guess they're getting serious. Reiner and Bertholt are sick. Marco got called in to work to cover for someone. Connie won't tell me what he's doing tonight, but I'm pretty sure he's going over to Hitch's for a booty call. And once everyone else canceled, so did Eren and Mikasa.”

“Ah,” you respond, not really knowing what to say now. You don't know Jean well enough to continue the conversation, but you really don't want to go back home. It's only six o'clock, but since it's already pitch black out, you know you won't do anything except rot on the couch all night. For once, you had plans on the weekend and were looking forward to it. You take a step back and point down the hallway. “Welp, I guess I'll - “

“Unless?” Jean interrupts you and rises an eyebrow. His hazel eyes bore into you. Shit, he's really cute. “I mean, you did come over here and you're already bundled up. We could go?” He asks, seemingly unsure of himself.

“Oh, yeah that would be great!” The words tumble out of your mouth before you fully realize you just agreed to a night alone with Jean. “I did make the perilous journey after all.”

“It is cold as fuck and you are very brave.” Jean smiles and rolls his eyes. He takes a step back and motions for you to enter his apartment. “C'mon in, I'll change quick and I can drive us over.”

~

You tense up sitting in the passenger seat of Jean's small, beater car, but as the car warms, so does your conversation. You learn that Jean is an only child and had grown up in Trost. In his art major, he focused on drawing and painting, and was currently teaching art classes at a nonprofit specializing in teaching kids from low-income neighborhoods. He tells you about how his mom drove him crazy, but he still wears the thick, royal blue mittens she had knitted for him. You give him a refresher of how you became roommates with Sasha, how all of your friends from Trost had moved away over the course of the year following graduation.

Once you arrive, you and Jean walk over the to the entrance to pay for tickets, but someone so bundled up you couldn't make out a single feature waves you in.

“For you my man, it's free! Enjoy your date!” You look over to Jean and wait for him to correct the man. Jean's cheeks flush pink, either from the bitter cold or the embarrassing mistake his friend made.

“Ah, sorry about that,” Jean says and bites his lower lip. “That's Floch, he's . . .a bit of an idiot. I know him from the nonprofit, he teaches about once a week. Pretty sure that's all he does besides live off his rich parent's money.”

“Ha, that's okay,” you answer and looked around for any sort of distraction from the awkward interaction. The stars above you shine with a brilliance you'd never seen before. “Wow.” You point up. “I didn't realize how bright the stars could be away from the city.”

“Yeah,” Jean perks up. “It's my favorite part about coming out here.” You both approach the first sculpture, a series of waves imitating the ocean. Dark blue lights underneath light it up. “Brrr, but this cold is not! Actually, I'll be right back.” You don't look behind you to see where Jean wanders off to because you are memorized by the ice wave sculpture.

It reminds you of Historia and Ymir and their new home. The first week she moved, Historia sent you a picture of them at the beach. She said once it warmed up in a few months, they were going to take surfing lessons, no doubt Ymir's idea. An ache grows in your heart, missing your best friend. You are proud of how adventurous she had become since meeting Ymir.

“Hot toddy?” Jean reappears and hands a steaming mug to you.

“Ohhh,” you moan as the mug instantly warms right through your mittens. “This is perfect, thank you.” You hold the drink up to your face, letting it defrost your nose. You breath in the mix of cinnamon and brandy.

“You like this one?” Jean nods at the icy waves.

“Yeah, it reminds of Historia and Ymir since they're living so close to the ocean now. I miss them even though I'm happy for them,” you confess.

“Good for them though, getting out of here.” He take a long sip of his hot toddy. “I've been in Trost my whole life.”

“Have you thought about moving somewhere else?”

“I have, but I don't know if I could ever leave my mom. She's got my step-dad now, but still. Plus, I think I'd really have to make it in the art world to have the money to get out of here. That nonprofit job isn't exactly paying me much.” He gazes at the sculpture, lost in thought.

“Ah, so you're a mama's boy at heart?” You tease and smirk.

“Hey now, nothing wrong with that,” Jean defends himself and tears his eyes away from the sculpture to smile at you.

The two of you continue on, losing yourselves in the towering ice and the glowing pink, blue and green lights mimicking the Northern Lights. You are lost in conversation as well. You discover you are both voracious readers and are discussing a fantasy series you had both recently read when Jean halts.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” He furrows his brows and you follow his accusing eyes to see Eren and Mikasa hand in hand across the field of snow viewing a sculpture in the shape of several large, intricate snow flakes. “They canceled on me and showed up anyway?? Typical Jaeger,” Jean growled.

You bite your lip to keep yourself from laughing. You aren't sure exactly why Eren and Jean are constantly on each other's nerves, but it was one of the first things you noticed when they argued at trivia night over which actor had won an Oscar two years in a row. Turns out, both of their answers were wrong. You had to admit that you found their rivalry a little comical.

“Would you have wanted to go with them anyway?” You press and give a soft laugh. Eren and Mikasa are all over each other all the time, so it's hard to imagine Jean would enjoy three-wheeling with them.

“No,” Jean glowers, “but still, it's about the principle!”

“Alright, let's stay away from them then and have our own fun,” you concede and place your hand on Jean's bicep to guide him away from their direction. You run your mitten-covered hand down the rest of his arm and were about to pull away, but Jean grabs your hand and pulls you closer. Your heart skips a beat.

“You uh, look cold.” He shrugs and looks at the ground. He loosens his hand, as if to let you know that you can let go if you want. Instead, you squeeze his hand and press even closer to his tall frame.

“I am absolutely freezing,” you agree. It's like you had a brain aneurysm, you are never this bold. But you are, in fact, freezing, and Jean is warm. He clears his throat and peers over at you, eyes just barely visible with his knit cap covering his eyebrows.

“So what about you? What are you doing in Trost?”

“Ugh, that's a backstory.”

“I'm all ears.” You launch into it, how you majored in English with great hopes of becoming a best-selling novelist, but the past few months you were stuck in the worst case of writer's block. Unable to find a job remotely close to what you wanted to do, you ended up working at the front desk of a pediatric medical clinic – and barely writing anything.

“You know when you have this great idea, but you realize that in order to make it happen, you actually have to sit down and you know, create?” You gesticulate with your now empty mug in hand, your other hand still engulfed by Jean's.

“Yeah, I know the feeling all too well.” He nods. “I get that way about my sketches and painting sometimes too. It's like the thought of failure has such a choke hold on me that I can't even get started.”

“Exactly! God, the burden we creatives put on ourselves,” you laugh and roll your eyes at your own mild pretentiousness. “I didn't think I'd still be living in Trost this long.”

The two of you finish the ice sculpture route and arrive back where you started. The night was going fast, too fast. You are so long in conversation that you don't see Eren and Mikasa arrive at the exit at the same time.

“Jean?? Is that you?” Shit. You don't mind Eren that much, though he's a little intense for you, and Mikasa is positively the coolest person you know, but fielding the tension between Jean and Eren is the last thing you want to do. Jean drops your hand and with it, a little piece of your heart. Eren and Mikasa approach you.

“Oh, hey,” Eren says your name and a shit-eating grin grows on his face. “Didn't realize you two were out here.”

“Hi,” Mikasa greets you by name with a shy smile.

Jean crosses his arms.

“Yeah, because unlike some people, I did what I said I'd do.” You chuckle at Jean's awkward wording.

“Technically I did too. I said I wasn't going with you, not that I wouldn't go at all,” Eren smirks and his pine-green eyes dance with mischief. Mikasa rolls her eyes and tuggs on his hand.

“C'mon Eren, let's go. Nice to see you two!” Mikasa waves at you and Jean and steers Eren away before a battle could ensue.

“God he gets on my nerves,” Jean says mostly to himself and balls up his hands in fists as the two of you walk to his car. Once inside, you check your phone to see a message from Sasha.

Omg Mikasa just told me you and Jean went to the ice sculptures together?? Just the two of you?? How cute!! I didn't even think about it but you two are PERFECT together. Come home immediately and tell me how it went.

Her message is followed with about a million heart eye emojis.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter and shove your phone in your pocket. Although you thoroughly enjoyed your night with Jean and don't want it to end, you also don't want anyone to get the wrong idea, yourself included. Getting your hopes up had bit you in the ass one too many times.

“Everything good?” Jean asks as he steers out of the parking lot.

“Ah, I don't know. . .” you trail off, unsure how to respond. “I guess Mikasa must have just told Sasha that she ran into us here and she's demanding answers.”

“Which means everyone is going to know in about an hour. Connie's going to be blowing up my phone any minute.” Jean throws his head back in frustration before quickly returning his eyes to the road.

“I can try to correct her, that we're just friends,” you quickly try to do damage control.

“Oh, uh, I didn't mean that. Let her think whatever she wants. Or I mean, uh,” he stutters and blushes. “She's your roommate, I didn't mean to tell you what to tell her.”

“No, that's fine. I'll just ignore her and she can make whatever she wants out of it,” you give a nervous laugh.

The car ride back to the city center is much more quiet and tense. It seems to you that Jean didn't want the night to end either. Despite the tension, you arrive back to your neighborhood much quicker than you expect.

“I can drop you off at your apartment so you don't have to walk in cold again,” Jean offers.

“Sure, thanks.”

He pulls up in front of your apartment building and you unbuckle and pause to look at Jean. Fuck it.

“Do you want to come in? Sasha's probably spending the night with Nicolo.”

“Oh, uh,” Jean pauses and your heart plummets to your stomach.

“It's okay, you don't have to.” You shuffle to open the car door, but Jean stops you.

“I'd love to, actually.”

Keeping with the theme of warm drinks, you make two hot chocolates with peppermint schnapps. Both of your warm outdoor clothing is piled in a heap on the chair by the front door. You and Jean curl up on the couch and move closer and closer to each other as you talk about everything and anything – your favorite movies, your various college activities (you learn Jean was also on the soccer team with Connie and Marco), all the different places you'd like to visit, the frustrations of trying to write or draw.

“Maybe if I wrote something really great I could move somewhere else someday,” you muse. “But until then, Trost it is.”

Jean leans in and lifts his hand to tuck your hair behind your ear. You freeze and gaze into his glowing hazel eyes.

“I'm glad you're here,” he breaths your name. An uncontrollable smile spreads across your face.

“Me too.” Warmth from both flirting with Jean and the schnapps spreads throughout your body. He leans in even closer.

“Can I . . .” he trails off. You don't need words to know what he's asking. You answer by surging forward and pressing your lips to his. You both taste like peppermint and dark chocolate. You pull back and giggle. A bold night indeed.

“So, coffee shop tomorrow?” He asks. You learn that you both frequented the coffee shop down the street but were rarely there at the same time. You nod.

“You bring your sketches, I'll bring my notebook,” you promise to hold each other to creating as much as possible.

“It's a date.” Jean looks at you and grins into his hot chocolate mug.

Turns out you have lots to tell Sasha.

[larcenywrites]

Not So Special Valentine's Day Special

Tony Stark x fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ content | Minors DNI | blowjob, unprotected p in v sex, slightly Dom reader, light bondage (giving), praise, slight angst/comfort if you squint?

Word count: 3,421

A/N: Barely made it for actual v-day, my time *sweats* Twenty minutes to be exact lmao 

Valentine's Day! Not that you needed a specific day to be sweet or sexy for your partner, but it was a nice excuse to be a little extra frisky. That is when your partner actually shows up. Safe to say the feelings you had right now weren't exactly lovey-dovey. It wasn't about the dinner, or the flowers, or the hot sex. Maybe a little, but that wasn't the point. All Tony ever did was work or keep himself occupied in his lab, and this wasn't the first time that plans (holiday or not) had gone awry because he simply couldn't keep track of time or set an alarm. Yes, you reminded him earlier, and yes, you did call down to him an hour before you had to leave. Two hours ago. And there he was, still at his computer with wires connected to god knows what. He was even dressed up!

"Tony!" The upset in your tone startled him. He quickly looked your way, eyes wide and quickly going for the button that shut down the monitors in front of him. "Exactly who I was looking for," he exclaimed, outstretching a hand towards you. But you weren't taking it. "The love of my life," he continued in a less excited tone, nervous smile on his face that knew he was in trouble. 

"You're a little late," you said sternly, arms crossed. 

"I am," he admitted, trailing off and finishing it as a new sentence instead with an added on "sorry."

"You always do this," you sighed, starting to turn away from him as he started to get up. "And I always make it up to you!" 

"Not this time, Stark," you gently pushed him back into his seat, not wanting him to chase after you, but he caught your arms anyway, not letting you walk away. "Hey, don't be that way," he pleaded, pulling you down and on top of him. You accidentally straddled his lap, being greeted with an apologetic smile. You sighed heavily, sitting up and wrapping that silly pink tie that he somehow managed to pull off so well around your hand, tugging him up a bit. 

"But you can be that way," he joked nervously. You glanced over the features of his face, his drifting gaze realizing that you were only clad in a short, lacey robe. (Hey, when you realized he wasn't coming, you weren't going to stay in that stiff dress and heels). 

"Come on, we can still make a night of it," he continued in the absence of your voice, stealthily sliding his hands under your robe and over your thighs. "We probably would've skipped dinner and ended up here anyway." You looked over at the bouquet of roses on the desk that you were probably supposed to receive earlier, already tuning out his babbling with your own thoughts. You reached over to pluck a flower from its bundle, shoving the stem between his already parted lips. He didn't think twice about it while caught off guard, compliantly biting down on whatever you just gave him and silently staring up at you. Now that he was quiet, you could take in how cute he looked.

"That's better," you chimed cheekily, quickly working at the silken tie around his neck, leaving it draped around his shoulders and undoing the first few buttons of his shirt. Nails bit at your thighs when you eagerly went in with teeth, nipping at his neck and leaving wet kisses in the wake of your aftermath. He watched you with an unsure curiosity, confused as to whether or not he had fucked up because... was this a punishment or a reward? Regardless he let you continue, too dazed to think about it when you were biting at his throat and scratching at his chest. You dragged that pink tie from his shoulder, being watched like a hawk when you snatched a hand from your thigh. You got off of him, still holding his wrist and circling around the back of his chair. He didn't even put up a fight when he realized what you were doing, letting you bring his other arm behind his back and obediently letting you tie him up, even though he still looked up at you with eyes that questioned your audacity (or maybe just your next move), cheeks a slight tint of pink, and that nice button-up now partially undone and disheveled. He looked straight out of some suggestive rom-com, but, as with many things, he managed to set quite a sexy scene. And let's be honest, your whole relationship could be a rom-com anyway. 

You slowly undid the belt of your robe, parting it to reveal the cute heart-themed lingerie you'd prepared. You noticed him perk up from his resting position, eyes trailing languidly over your body. But before he could get too long of a look, you dragged that silky red belt from its loops. A whine of disapproval left his throat when you stretched it out in front of him, knowing exactly what its job was now and hitting his head against the back of the chair trying to escape your makeshift blindfold. He didn't win. 

"Maybe if you'd been on time, you'd get to have your gifts," you chided. It was bad enough that he couldn't touch with his hands or his mouth, and now he couldn't even see you. The frustration was obvious in his pout, and in his pants.

You couldn't help but palm over his obvious excitement, earning a jolt of his hips and legs spreading to give you some room to work. You drifted to his belt, quickly working through the button and zipper and awkwardly working his pants down his thighs just enough to get access to the thick length eagerly greeting you. He shuddered at the lingering kiss you placed at the tip, softly peppering a few more down before withdrawing to bite at his thighs. You flicked your tongue over the bead of precum pooling at his slit, gently licking back over it a few times before wrapping your lips around his head. There was a short groan from him as you sucked at his tip, making sure the rest of him was taken care of with the occasional twist of your hand that caught any spilling saliva. You finally took him further, hard cock pushing at the roof of your mouth and filling your tongue with only the taste of him as you had little choice but to lick along his length with each bob of your head. He reached the back of your throat with a jolt of his hips and a deep moan, more than pleased to feel you manage to take more with a hard swallow and tickling moan of your own. 

You could feel him throb in your mouth and twitch in your throat, knowing he was close. So you could only imagine his dismay when you abruptly pulled off of him with a soft pop and a breaking trail of spit. His pitiful groan told you what you already knew. 

"Aw, are you close, pretty boy?" You cooed, standing to trace your lips over his cheek. He swallowed hard. "I asked you a question, baby," you said a little more sternly, only getting a weak yes through barred teeth. To your surprise, you pulled a mostly still intact rose from his teeth, touching it to his neck and dragging it down his chest, watching his abs twitch at its tickling touch. Of course you had to trail lower, brushing the soft petals up his shaft. You were satisfied by the twitch of his dick and the lurch of his hips, discarding the rose onto the floor and taking him in your hand again. You worked at his shaft, occasionally twisting your hand just the way he liked and giving his tip a little extra attention when he started to tense up. It didn't take much longer to get him falling over the edge.

Warm cum pooled over your fingers and dripped down his length, a mouthwatering sight that almost had you regretting not taking him in your mouth like you usually did. You took one of the various rags he had lying around, wiping his release from your hand and gently cleaning him up while you were at it, earning another surprised flinch. Large pupils quickly found yours when you ripped the red ribbon from over his eyes. Eyes that had no clue what was going to happen next, but enjoying the ride anyway. Well, until now. 

"I'll put these in a vase upstairs," you suddenly changed the subject, grabbing the bundle of roses from the desk and making your way to the door. It took a few seconds for Tony to process, still dazed from his high and staring at you, dumbfounded. "Wait, where are you going?"

"Don't look at me," you said innocently, backing your way towards the door, roses in hand. "I thought you had work to do." Your snide remark had his jaw clenching and head dropping. He wasn't talking his way out of this one.

"Honey," he called after you, glancing back up to see your most naked self already walking out the door. "We can talk about this," he yelled again, but the door was already closed and you were already halfway up the stairs. Which means you also didn't get to hear the defeated sigh of swears nor get to witness the struggle of a pantless Tony trying to get his way out of a bind. 

It wasn't even thirty minutes later when he stalked his way into the bedroom, now shirtless and black dress pants buttoned snugly around his hips. In any other situation, you would be jumping his bones right about now. You still might, actually. You had already changed out of your little outfit. Now just in pajamas and curled up on top of the sheets.

"That didn't take long," you commented at his arrival. You weren't sure exactly how he managed to escape your (probably not very well done anyway) bind, but his meek "I liked that tie, you know" told you enough. 

"I'll order you a new one," you snarked back, only a little guilty and rolling over to face the grand row of large windows. You lay there quietly, assuming that the sound of running water was him cleaning up, until you noticed the constant footsteps fading in and out of your room. And the odd clanking of glass. What was he doing now? You assumed you were about to get your answer when there was a dip in the bed behind you, Tony coming over to sit next to you. 

"(Y/N)?" His soft call of your name already nearly broke you. "Will you look at me?" You continued to ignore him, tried to, but another soft Please? and it was over. You finally sighed, rolling onto your back to look at him. He was still shirtless, propped up on his elbow and twisting one of those red flowers in his hand. Always a pleasant sight to see. "Will you be my valentine?" You couldn't help but snicker a little. That dorky grin only grew at your reaction, relieved to see you take the rose from his fingers. 

"You're so lame," you gently teased, looking up from the flower in your hand.

"I know, don't tell anyone." His tone was comically defeated, leaning against his fist and innocently playing with the hem of your shirt. 

"What, did your date with Iron Man not work out?" 

"Not really," he shook his head, pulling a dramatic frown to make you laugh a little. He watched you quietly for a moment. "He's pretty hard to date, huh?" He murmured sadly. You sighed, smile fading and heart hurting from his comment. Those atoning brown eyes never left yours. You couldn't bring yourself to answer him, brushing at the few strands of hair that hung over his forehead instead. You smiled when he kissed your arm and playfully bit your wrist before holding your hand against his cheek. 

"Do you think he could make it up to you?" He asked quietly, quickly continuing when your eyes flicked away. "Just a little?" He rested on your stomach now, garnering your gaze back to him. "If you let him try?" You huffed a laugh at his persistence. Finally answering him with an empty warning. "Depends on what he's about to try."

"Well I'm glad you asked," he purred, climbing over you to clamber off the bed and picking you up without warning. You flung an arm around his neck in surprise, letting him carry you bridal style into the dimly lit bathroom. Now you got to see whatever mess came from all that noise and foot traffic of his. As mad as you still wanted to be, his dedication to salvage the night's botched plans warmed your heart. The tub mounted in tile was filled, its water tinted a pale pink from some bath bomb or another he'd been able to dig up and garnished with floating red rose petals. Two glasses partially filled with a white wine sat on the tile shelving, a rose from that bouquet laying next to them. It was a little thrown together, but if Tony was good at anything, it was finding a way to fix it. The thought and effort put in were enough, but honestly you couldn't have asked for more.

"Romantic," you chimed sweetly. 

"I know," he said proudly, turning to you with a smile and carefully putting you down. You watched him start to unbutton those black dress pants, trying not to ignore your urge to ruin the sweet moment when he removed his briefs and keeping your eyes well above the descending v-line of his hips. You realized you should probably follow his lead when he stepped into the bath, quickly undressing while he settled in. You giggled when he gracefully offered you his hand, accepting his offer and carefully letting him guide you into the warm water. After getting comfortable, you nudged yourself into his neck, uninterested in the thoughtfully prepared champagne that he was already getting into. 

You moved up to place short kisses all over his face, that self-satisfied smile grew on his face at your praising pecks. You nestled back into his chest, able to feel the disappointed sigh that wanted more. You could give him a little more for his efforts. He flinched at the first nip to his chest, breath quickening with every bite and finally letting out a small moan when you reached the sweet spot on his neck. And you only trailed higher and higher. 

You captured him with your kiss, readily letting him in when his tongue tentatively licked at your bottom lip. That champagne flavor invaded your mouth, the hand in your hair pushing you in for a better taste. You pulled a sharp breath from his lungs when you pushed against his obvious erection, smirking against his lips before pulling back. You stroked him in your hand while you positioned yourself, teasing his tip around your clit. Your earlier servicing already had you wet. Combined with the warm water, you easily slipped him into you. He stretched you out little by little as you took more and more with each bounce. Tony laid his head back with a deep moan that went straight to your core, walls clenching around him and begging to take him further. But you kept a slow pace, gripping at the sides of the tub and gently being gently rocked by the same waves you were making. He could only meet you with faint thrusts, just enough to send the tip of his cock gently kissing at your deepest spots, right where you so desperately needed him. 

Fuck, you two really were a perfect fit, and a snug one at that... but you needed more. You arced into him, softly moaning at the change in angle that had him brushing so perfectly against your g-spot. You planted your hands on either side of his head, the tub's edge supporting you through each bounce on his dick. He looked up at you with a faint smile on his parted lips and eyes gleaming with adoration as he glanced you over. He didn't seem to mind the mini waves lapping at his neck, more than happy to be caught up in the momentum. You couldn't help but rest your forehead against his, both in affection and in already being weak from the strain of your wearing position. The position had him panting just a bit harder, making breathy moans against your mouth and trailing a hand up your spine. 

You brought a hand to his cheek, pulling him into your lips. The up-and-down motions threw much proper kissing out the window, instead enjoying the sloppy makeout that had you licking at his champagne-flavored tongue and letting him swallow your lengthening moans with each deep kiss. But the tight band of heat in your stomach couldn't take it anymore, so close to snapping. Tony softly shushed you when you threw your head back with a wail, taking your hand from his face and entwining his fingers with yours against his chest. That loving brown gaze never left you.

"It's okay, you got it," he whispered, out of breath and just as close. "Just a little more." His breathy voice laced with desperation encouraged you further. Your last bit of energy was spent on fucking him just a bit harder, gripping at the tub's edge. The water sloshing onto the tile was drowned out by the deep groans praising your efforts and your own punched-out whines with every harsh jab into the soft flesh of your cervix. It had you faltering, damn near too tight to keep the motion and simply keeping him fully seated inside you while you clenched and came around him. Tony took his cue, moving to gently circle your clit to help you ride it out while helping himself get off with the steady vice-like grip squeezing his cock and the pulsing heat of your walls finally milking him to his own release with hot spills of cum deep inside you.  

You both flinched when you pulled off of him, sitting back and stretching out what you could in the stiff position you were in. You watched the heave of his chest as you both panted, casually reaching over and finally taking a sip of that expensive champagne that had nearly been forgotten about as you observed your work. Love bites littered his neck and chest, still red as if to match the day's theme (and to match the few rose petals that managed to stay in their place). You let yourself fall to his shoulder, satisfied and sore and, luckily for him, rid of any of that earlier venom. You felt arms wrapping around you, your only source of warmth in the cooling water. Lips pressed to your temple with a question that had you giggling. 

"You know I love you, right?" 

"I think about it every day, silly," you retorted, placing a kiss to his cheek. "I love you too."

"Even when I fuck up?"

"Especially when you fuck up." You ran a wet hand through his already damp hair. There was a moment of silence after his amused huff. A shared look and a sweet smile. However, it didn't take long for any of the night's ongoing friskiness to interrupt. 

"Could you-" he cut himself off, rethinking whether or not to ask his question but going for it anyway. "Could you put that cute set from earlier on?" You smiled at his meekness, wanting his treat that you'd so cruelly taunted him with earlier but unsure whether he was allowed to ask. He smiled into your quick kiss, head flopping to the side when you backed away and affectionately scratched at the back of his neck.

"I hope it's my turn now," you teased, seeing him perk up at the spark in your eye and a promise to be on the receiving end this time. You carefully stepped out of the tub, traversing the slick tiles and grabbing a towel to wrap around you. Tony watched you in silence, still thumbing at his glass as you picked yours up and still unmoving even when you started your exit into the bedroom. But his daze was broken when you called out to him.

"You know I hate when you keep me waiting." 

[clericofmystra]

Okay, more first night at camp chatting: after Astarion, Shadowheart wanted to talk, too!

Her camp gear is kind of hilarious, incidentally. Netting, a V nearly down to her waist, uncomfortable metal symbols ... but I can see Shar worshippers going for that kind of thing, lol.

(Not that Larissa knows who Shadowheart worships!)

Anyway, Shadowheart's conversation was a bit aimless, especially coming right after the wtf of Astarion's. She half-ironically called Larissa "the leader of the pack" and was wondering what Larissa is thinking, given that the search for Halsin makes their way forwards pretty clear. Yeah, it ... kind of does tbh.

I was amused that Lae'zel is going on about searching for the crèche on the following day and everyone else (except Gale, the only person who wasn't feeling chatty) is going "druid druid druid."

I think Larissa likes Shadowheart fairly well in addition to being curious about basically everything, so she asked about Shadowheart's future plans. Turns out Shadowheart is meeting someone in Baldur's Gate, though she clearly didn't want to talk more about it. A smoother character would let it pass, but it's Larissa, so she asked.

Shadowheart: "Let a girl have some secrets." I'm kind of curious if she herself knows who she's meeting. I've played a bit of a Shadowheart game, so I know she doesn't remember some things, but haven't played enough to be sure.

Larissa accepted that and asked how Shadowheart was feeling. (I keep avoiding the "You know, this could be our last night together..." option with her, lol. I'm going to romance Shadowheart in a different game, but not with Larissa, and it's literally their first night in the same camp.) Shadowheart, like the rest of us, feels fine and found it suspicious, then asked what Larissa would do if Shadowheart started to turn.

I actually had to think about that one, but I think Larissa is actually capable of grim resolve beneath her friendliness and awkwardness. She's going to do what she feels is right pretty much all the time (I'm sure this could never go awry :D) and will freely admit that she'd do it! So she actually told Shadowheart that she'd unhesitatingly kill her if she started to turn.

Shadowheart:

[Wise ... though I hope you'd miss me after I'm gone. I think I would, if the positions were reversed.]

Aww <3

The dialogue pretty consistently gives the impression that we've been travelling for awhile—not a long while, but certainly more than a day. Maybe a game mechanic to just be lalala about.

Then she's like "you're right" and told Larissa she was doing well.

Larissa: :)

This weirdly directionless conversation closed out with Shadowheart wanted to stay up to enjoy the night, which sounds much less suspect coming from her than Astarion. Though you never know with her!

Next up: she's going to try talking to Gale anyway, exclamation point or no exclamation point.

[maytheoddshq]

Alecta Beckwourth. District One. Score: NINE.

PROLOGUE: INTRODUCTIONS

  “Alecta Beckwourth. District One.”

  I. LAYING PLANS

  War was a grave matter. Severe. Not something to engage in without adequate consideration. One must critically appraise their odds of victory. One must contemplate alternative routes and measures. One must not deviate from these calculations, lest they fail by way of their own negligence. Alecta’s plans were long laid, gone awry only with Cyril’s presence, but she would not lose. She would not die.

  II. WAGING WAR

  Success required winning decisive engagements quickly. Alecta’s greatest challenge, of course. She was not keen on keeping herself in reserve, nor on holding her tongue. What glory was there in limiting competition and conflict? In playing coy and cordial? So she’d challenged the best: coaxed Montgomery onto the mat, acquired the confidence of Rio, earned the attention of Cress. And she’d made clear her superiority over the other tributes – Courtney, and Prairie, and Ripley. What was a game without competition? Perhaps she could have been more palatable, and that was a double-edged sword, wasn’t it? A pleasant woman was rarely a feared one. What recourse would that leave her? To play the innocent? To permit herself to be underestimated? To be the only woman among a Career Pack of men, and to be pitied by them? The thought disgusted her. Repulsed, Alecta stepped to the simulator, picking up the first weapon from the rack within. A sword. She flourishes it, catching her reflection in its polished blade. Gorgeous. Deadly.

  III. ATTACK BY STRATAGEM

  The source of strength was not in size, but in unity. An alliance of five was not necessarily the largest one to occur within any given arena, but there had not been a Career Pack with such potential – such power and talent – in years. And if it was cohesion that would win the fight, then there was no denying the synchronicity between her and Cyril – and perhaps that also present with Cordelia. Allies, spies…their true identities would be revealed soon. Alecta turned the dial on the simulator. Easy. Standard. Hard. Expert. If there had been something above that, she would have chosen it, but she’d worry about inventing that after achieving victorhood.

  IV. TACTICAL DISPOSITIONS

  Maintain footholds. Defend existing positions. Do not give the enemy opportunities. When you see one, strike. Alecta positioned herself so that there was no space for an attack from behind. Instead of raging ahead at the first sight of a foe, which would have led her into a vulnerable state at the center of the simulation chamber, she toed the line, stalking defensively to draw them forward. And good thing, for as it became clear she would not fall for a lure, more holograms appeared from the seams, unfurling from their hiding places. Two. Then three. Then six. Alecta rolled her neck, stretching, releasing the tension on her cervical spine. Patience. Let them come. The first ran, broaching battle, striking the first match. Where Alecta had refused to give up her stronghold, this first hologram now crossed, and she welcomed them to her web, carefully spun. The blade cut through its core like butter, slicing smoothly through code. It ran another step or two before its torso slid from its hips, collapsing into nothing onto the floor.

  V. USE OF ENERGY

  And then, Alecta turned. Her back to the holograms, she surveyed the weapons rack again, placing the sword firmly back into its holder, which was just below eye level. There, in the blade, where she saw herself moments earlier, she was now watching the hoard of holograms taking aim, inching closer. Creativity in timing – the wiser cousin of patience. Alecta feigned distraction, leveraging the reflection to duck as cybertronic throwing stars hurdled toward her back. They ricocheted off the rack, and she reached for a spear, turning fluidly, releasing it, watching it pierce the hologram now that it had disposed of its ammo. It sputtered and vanished. She didn’t bother to watch, as it had rudely interrupted her original task. Alecta lifted an ax from the wall. A little unrefined for her tastes, but sturdy. More than enough to get the job done.

  VI. WEAK POINTS AND STRONG POINTS

  A later translation of the original Chinese text would change this chapter to Illusion and Reality. Alecta rejected this interpretation. Perhaps it would work for others from One, like Cress, who played games with smoke and mirrors. She was sharper than that, dabbling only in the concrete, remaining fluid through it. The core tenants supported her claim: that despite shifting landscapes of battle, one must move through them or suffer. Accommodate without falling prey. Like now: the four remaining holograms approached, but a fifth had appeared in the rafters, crouched high above. It pounced the same time the others lunged, and Alecta had to forfeit her foothold or face the consequence of rigidity. She inhaled, shifting onto the balls of her feet. Light. Lithe. She dodged the drop of the hologram from above, harnessing the force of inertia, the physics of her moving form and the weapon altering its weight, rotating to swing into its side. Then out, back into another’s head, and then forward once more, into an arm. She pulled it out, swung hard down, into neck, leaving the blade as its new holder – the hologram’s body – slumped to the floor.

  VII. MANEUVERING AN ARMY

  Direct conflict was a risk, though. Most avoid it, finding the consequences outweigh the potential odds of success. But when it is forced upon you, the only choice is to respond (as even retreat – or worse, surrender, were choices too). Alecta went to reach for the next weapon. A trident. But a hologram had taken advantage of the chaos and wormed between her and the weapons rack. She frowned, huffing in annoyance. Hand to hand was supposed to be her finale. But Alecta could adapt. Hadn’t she already? Things change. Like Cyril being here. These things didn’t diminish her talent – they didn’t make her any less good. So Alecta acquiesced, caught between two holograms, watching them close in from either side.

  VIII. VARIATIONS OF TACTICS

  As they lunged for her, she leapt up, pushing up until she could dig her heels into their silhouetted necks. She slid down onto one, on its shoulders, a thigh on either side of its neck and head, grasping its jaw and head as she settled. A quick crack – a snap to the side, just far enough past to break its neck – and the collapse of its form brought her down onto the other. They fell onto the floor, Alecta’s hands coiling around its neck, feeling the electricity reverberate from her palms and up into her core. It had no lungs, no need to breathe, and still, she choked it until it fell limp. The firmness of the hologram dissipated with its death, dissolving almost immediately into nothing, leaving her knelt on the floor. 

  IX. THE ARMY ON THE MARCH

  The three that remained moved like water, free-flowing and smooth. Alecta stood, taking the bow and three arrows from the rack. When she turned to take aim, the holograms were gone. She nocked the arrow, drawing it back on the string, stepping carefully along the perimeter. On the march, an army can face any number of encounters when in enemy territory. One must anticipate and predict intention. Where would your enemy wait? Why hide in the first place? Alecta considered this. Why would they be programmed to have drawn back on her now, and in such unison? She paused, recognizing the trap at hand. The desire to lure her to the center, wherein they could obtain a tactical advantage. The simulator had its holograms working together, cohesive in their attack. 

  X. CLASSIFICATION OF TERRAIN

  So Alecta leveraged the terrain to stay a step ahead. She tucked the arrow back in its holster, slung over her shoulder, before she began to scale up to the beams to the platforms above. But she didn’t stop there. Higher, higher, Alecta inched her way up to the rafters. From there, it was crystalline: the three holograms, glowing from behind beams, hidden, waiting for her to appear beneath. She smirked, re-nocking, drawing an arrow back before releasing, letting it cause deadly harm.

  XI. THE NINE SITUATIONS

  The arrow hit its first target, though not fatally. It did, however, alter the other two to her position. She drew back and up, using shadows to conceal her as they scattered. In this situation, one must respond systematically. Look for the wounded, the confused, the stragglers on the outskirts. Pick off their weak. Then find their stronghold. Alecta drew back another arrow, finishing the job, gifting the injured hologram with a final blow to the eye, freeing her energy to hunt the others down. Time to take the remainder of the terrain. Time to force defeat or claim their surrender. 

  XII. ATTACK BY FIRE

  Alecta slid back down from the rafters to the platforms and onto the mat. Tossing the bow and remaining arrow aside, she took the throwing knives from the rack. Her weapons of choice. Two holograms left. Except when she turned to finish them with one knife each, there were more than two forms. More than ten, even. She sucked in air. The simulator offered no way to leverage the elements or environment, sterile as it was. In the arena, she’d herd them, wrangle them with fire or lure them into deadly currents. Trap them with a mutt or crush them with snow. Here, she had only physical force. 

  “What is this even simulating? All of the outer district tributes unionizing in the arena?”

  XIII. USE OF SPIES

  The next few minutes were a blur of code and steel. The clock was ticking down dangerously low, and Alecta hadn’t factored in for a last-minute surprise. But battles weren’t all won with surefire seizure at the finish line. There were only two throwing knives, but with the hoard closing in, she was able to use them each twice: two plunged into stomach and chest before being thrown farther, landing square between eyes. The detour was going to serve her, one way or another. There were more weapons she wouldn’t have gotten to otherwise, after all. And that was what she wanted, wasn’t it? To show off? To prove that she could use anything? That she could kill with just her own claws if it came to it? A trident, thrown. A mace, brought down brutally, turning a chest concave. Alecta worked her way through the rack, letting the refuse remain where the bodies had disappeared, or disposing of them herself back onto the floor. Eventually, with seconds left, Alecta had her way: her feral finale. She had the last hologram on its back, its face in her hands, forcefully lifting it up from the mat and smashing it back down repetitively. Over and over, until the code of it collapsed and caved, crushed like skull, and at last, as it sputtered and vanished, Alecta was alone. 

  EPILOGUE

  Unscathed, Alecta stepped out of the simulator, drawing her form up proudly before dipping down in a grandiose bow. “Thank you for your consideration.” It was formal. Traditional. She lingered a moment longer, jaw held high. And then she turned, chest puffed as she exited the room. One battle won. One more victory in the art of war. Gorgeous. Deadly. 

[pilvimarja]

🔥= smutty ‼️= read the warnings 😭 = emotional ❣️= fluffy and sweet ✅️ = completed

Toxic Pony by yellow_crayon, explicit, dubcon, false identity, bottom Mav 🔥‼️✅️

The kid staring at him across the bar is young, Hawaiian shirt and blue board shorts, aviators pinned to a thin white undershirt, the V of his crooked collar showing a light smattering of freckles over sun-kissed clavicles. Probably some navy admiral's rebellious kid looking for a good time. Maverick's gone through his fair share of them way back when. This one is at least a decade too young for Maverick's current tastes. That ridiculous old-school mustache he's got going on does nothing to hide the signs of youth in the rest of his body — smooth supple skin and the effortless muscle that Maverick has to work hard to keep at his age.

Sic sine vita vivere, sic sine morte mori by Finistra, explicit, somnophilia, dubcon, bottom Mav‼️🔥✅️

Sexsomnia is a form of sleepwalking where the affected person tries to have sex while asleep. Someone experiencing sexsomnia is completely unconscious and may be dreaming about something completely different while it happens.

When Things Go Awry series by Fopperies, explicit, omegaverse, dubcon, manipulation, mpreg, bottom Bradley ‼️🔥✅️

Bradley can't spend another heat alone with Maverick down the hall. He comes up with a plan.

Bad Decisions series by Exorin, explicit, dubcon, manipulation, somnophilia, bottom Mav ‼️🔥✅️

“Hey Mav, I know it’s late but I was wondering–” he starts, talking at a whisper as he rounds the corner to the living room where Maverick should, in theory, be setting up the pull out couch into a bed for the night - instead he finds the older man already passed out, his leather jacket on the floor, shirt pushed up enough to give a small peak at his toned stomach and pants half-undone; Bradley’s mouth goes dry at the sight and he takes a half step forward.

“Mav?” Bradley tries, wincing at the crack in his voice.

OR: Bradley can't keep his hands off, Mav fails at dealing with the consequences.

The Captain's Lieutenant by writelikeitsgoingoutofstyle, explicit, Dom/sub, bottom Bradley ‼️🔥✅️

It was wrong, of course, to refer to him as a Lieutenant. But what the navy didn't know, couldn't hurt them. Besides, it didn't matter how far Rooster climbed in the ranks, Maverick would always be his superior officer. At least, between the two of them.

[sercphs-a]

@etherose​ asked:

She can only imagine the pain that he, the last of her comrades from her era left, is enduring in the present moment. The burden that he bears, and the weight of the guilt he now shoulders twice over. The two of them are the last of a bygone time, the last to remember everyone. Elysia, Aponia, Eden, Vill-V, Kalpas, Su, Sakura, Kosma, Mobius, Griseo, Pardofelis...and, as much as she disliked her, Dr. MEI.

But now, they were not only the last of the Previous Era, but Earth as a whole as well. And now they are the only ones each other have in this new world slowly being infested by Honkai. She already was seeing signs of Kevin slowly crumbling underneath everything.

Dr. MEI may have known him far better than anyone else, but Hua was the only person alive right now who understood his pain. Who understood everything he'd gone through and all the things he bore on his shoulders. Hua herself was struggling just like him, bearing her own guilt and pain as well. But, she supposed, thanks to a certain cheery white-haired girl...she learned how to deal with it better.

And perhaps that girl is gone now- but the influence she had on Hua had not vanished with her. Rather, it lived on. And it would, forever. Because Hua would not forget her, nor anyone on Earth. She will always remember them until her death.

She wished there was something she could do for Kevin. As the two now hid together, laid low in order to observe how this world would cope, she knew he was trying his best to keep it together, but as their worst fears made themselves known to be truth, she saw through the cracks that...he wasn't doing the best.

"Kevin," She began, initially hesitating, thinking perhaps she should stop, before ultimately continuing. "Are you...doing alright? If you don't have to answer, but...we're together here, dealing with this together. You can rely on me sometimes if you feel like you're going to break down." She asked, hoping perhaps...he'd share his burdens with her. They were in this together, after all.

(For Kevin, from Hua. This got long by accident, woops! KJNGFBNGFBBG)

                The feeling that he had lost everything could not be shaken.

        The Fire MOTHs had pursued countless measures to try and bring the Honkai down, to best the end of the world that was entirely certain. It had been the goal of the thirteen to best Finality, to be stronger than the insurmountable end that had been foreseen.

        However, they had also foreseen a chance to fail, a chance that they simply did not possess the means to best Finality. Plan after plan, project after project, countless preparations taken to ensure that there was the greatest chance of survival for Humanity, the greatest chance to ensure some kind of victory over the Honkai. 

        Project STIGMA was the worst, the ultimate culmination of the Ends that justify the Means, a final and last-ditch plan to ensure some capacity of victory against the Honkai. A project he oversaw, that he was ready to put into action, before...

        Finality came. Something was awry, Finality awoke early, an unforeseen and unpredictable change, one that had never been imagined. The cause was unknown, but the consequences were immediate. Severe.

        The world had ended before it even knew what threat it was facing, the Successor’s previous victories over the Honkai giving them an undeserved confidence against the threat that came. Annihilation was swift, great defenders and entire population centers wiped out in instants. 

        Fifty thousand years ago, he had managed to stun her for a few hours when she first arrived, using an immense and overwhelming strike from Shamash, power untold only mildly inconvenienced by his greatest attack. In the modern age, even he was woefully unprepared to strike against Finality. This time there was no failsafe, no protection, nothing - only the true and Final end.

        It was only though another unforeseen circumstance that he still lived, that the only other living member of the Flame Chasers from the previous era was still here with him. This world they stayed in was unusual, something he couldn’t have foreseen - a world without Honkai. 

        A world they brought great threat to simply by being here. 

                A world that faced a great apocalypse because of them.

        Hua’s words do not prompt any visible response from him, as he sits quietly. Their seclusion had served to keep them from having such an immediate impact on the world, but the effects of their mere presence could not be hidden from the world.

        Honkai was bleeding in, and they couldn’t remain hidden for much longer.

“...Hua.”

        He is leaning forward, his hands clasped together, arms resting on his legs. The great weapon he used to stall Finality, that he had carried since the 8th, was nowhere to be seen - placed into the hands to the one that brought them to this world and gave them another chance.

“It does not matter if I am doing alright. What matters is what we choose to do next. We have wrought upon this world something you as well as I know it cannot handle.”

        He does not move, but the stiffness in his voice is evident enough.

“We cannot remain idle any longer.”

[zealsoughtsequesterustanxiedemon]

This has been talked to death about, but like I feel like there really wasn't any strong hate for her pre-rebellion. Rebellion upset a lot of fans. And since it basically is "The Homura Movie" it would stand that she'd take a decent amount of the hate thrown around. And most of the hate I see get thrown at Rebellion from people who previously liked it are because it taints the original tv series for them. And that's what's v goofy to me.

Like the tv series is about these girls making sacrifices to help others, and then reaping the consequences when their help either goes awry or the sacrifice becomes too great. The story is reiterating over and over the tragic beauty and downfall of self-sacrifice, the wrongness of it. And Madoka's final wish just continues that trend. A tragic sacrifice of giving up her existence to save an unending amount of people. To take the suffering and despair of all witches upon herself. The difference between her and everyone else is that she's making the ultimate sacrifice to help and endless amount of people. She's changing the system at it's core. Her sacrifice and saving everyone is different because it's "worth It".

And I think there is a decent amount of beauty in the TV ending. It sends a strong message that cruel systems have a way of undoing themselves. Kyubey's plan to fight entropy through the wishes and suffering of little girls eventually undid itself. And to Madoka specifically, her wish protects the concept of magical girls and the benevolence of self-sacrifice. Magical girls wishes will no longer be twisted into doing harm. It's neat for the girl who loves magical girls the most to be able to change their cursed nature into her ideal (or something close to it).

But the thing is though that the suffering of magical girls isn't really gone. Madoka has just transferred all of the doom and despair of becoming a witch onto herself. Even if it glorified it, what she did was still the same as the others: sacrifice herself to help others and to suffer greatly for it. Isn't the message then just that self-sacrifice works if you do it as hard as possible? That the best world we can think of is one where we have one person absorb everyone's suffering and despair?

I don't think the TV series ending is fully saying this, but it seems like that's how some people are internalizing it. Like the world is still fucked up; Homura refers to it with "this irredeemable world may be nothing but a cycle of sadness and hatred". Homura isn't fully satisfied with this world even if she is trying her hardest to protect it. What did those people think of the after credits scene? I guess to them these ending things are just layering on Madoka's sacrifice to bolster it.

Then Rebellion comes and it kind of taints the benevolence of this ending. It shows truly how miserable Homura is and how Madoka's sacrifice is to blame. How could a girl accept being saved by someone when it comes at the cost of great despair to her savior. Especially because Madoka was the girl Homura wanted to save the most. It's what Homura's entire wish was for after all, to save Madoka. And with Madoka's wish, that greatest desire is not only impossible but now she's suffering more than ever. So what can we expect, but for Homura to try to stop her. How can the goddess who represents the benevolence of self-sacrifice reject the girl who wants to save her? Homura learned it from her. I think this image showcases it p well.

And I think that's the true core of it. Madoka represents the benevolence of self-sacrifice, in-spite of it's tragedy, and Homura represents the wrongness of it, the unacceptable despair that comes with any self-sacrifice. She taints the purity of Madoka, both the character and the show. She denies calling the end of the TV series a happy ending and the people hate her for it. And Homura is there with them. She puts on the evil dress and wings. Madoka is still a goddess to her and she knows the conflicting and problematic nature of her act of defiance.

And I love this for the series and Homura. Homura felt like the only loose end not wrapped up by the TV series and the movie feels like it followed up on it amazingly. Like how Kyubey's system brought it's own destruction, Madoka's did too. And the same will happen to Homura, and she knows it. She knows this cannot last. I love how Homura represents the faults of self-sacrifice and although she didn't solve the issues with it (she's no better than Madoka), she won't let the opportunity to save her go away. With her v flawed system now in place, hopefully the way her rule is undermined will be more acceptable.

So I definitely accept criticisms of Homura. She definitely denies Madoka and others' agency in her takeover. She's ugly in a lot of ways that make me love her. She's an obsessive tryhard who isolates herself. Her repeated trauma has grinded down her and given her so many issues she needs help with. But there are things I won't accept. I won't accept people saying her love for Madoka isn't "real love". I won't accept people that say the other girls mean nothing to Homura. Like why are they in her dream world, both at the start and at the end of rebellion? Why does she want them to be alive and happy? Sure her biggest focus is on Madoka, but someone had the gall to tell me that those two things were incidental. It's ridiculous; it's like Homura ruined this thing they loved and they start flanderizing all of her flaws alongside Homura herself.

And, really, I just kind of feel like if someone liked the series and Homura at the end of the tv show, but disliked them by the end of the movie, they're just goofy.

People who hate Homura are so goofy

[elenamiria]

A Sweet Poison

Pairing: Plo Koon x Reader

A mission goes awry when your data proves to be outdated. Specifically in the flora department. (Again this is just smut, no plot and yes it’s cliche but honestly idc) Word Count: 3K (I’m so sorry, this was meant to be like 1k but I can’t control myself) Warnings: Sex pollen and thus dub-con, daddy kink, overstimulation, p in v sex, degradation (only once), begging, cockwarming 

Tagggies: @hxldmxdxwn @fishswimbetterunderwater  Let me know if you wanna be tagged in future fics 🥰 Dedicating this one to Kenna (hxldmxdxwn) for many reasons, number one she hit 2k!!! number two plo koon is her husband and number three her plo koon thots were a big inspiration as well as her plo fics! (Masterlist here) Also if you say anything bad about Plo, I will fight you :)  That’s all! Enjoy this entirely gratuitous smut

Plo was sitting on the ground, whole body tense - his back against a large tree, legs spread. His eyes were focused on your every move as you frantically paced back and forth. Barely audible whines left your mouth and you were shaking your hands as if to try to shake off the fever that was rapidly consuming your body. 

The two of you had gone for reconnaissance for your mission. After flying over it had been discovered that there was a ledge with a clear view of a separatist hide out, far enough away that you wouldn’t be spotted and it was just a trek through a jungle away. You had done your research on the planet and informed your master that it should be safe to do so, the flora and fauna in this area had been cleared by settlers in a village not far from the your campsite. Unfortunately, in your haste to ensure the plan would go smoothly you had failed to check when the reports were filed, which was over a year ago. So now here the two of you were clearly having some sort of reaction to something, leading to your anxious pacing, as you racked your brains trying to figure out what it could be. It hadn’t taken Plo long to figure out what was happening, in his padawan days a Jedi had encountered a form of sex pollen and the story spread like wildfire as a cautionary tale and all the telltale symptoms were making an appearance.  

Most prominent was his cock straining against his pants, a direct result of the whines you thought he couldn’t hear. He was feeling the same burning heat you were and he had sat down with the intention to meditate to try to get his urges under control but with your constant pacing all he could focus on were his thoughts of fucking you until you couldn’t walk. He also was thankful that though you were his padawan, you had only just joined him. You had come to him after losing your master and though the two of you knew very little of each other you had bonded, both through the force and outside of it, quickly. It was through your bond that he could sense your increasing want, but he also sensed your rising anxiousness and pain. 

Unable to watch you in such a desperate state he called your name out softly. You froze and turned to him eyes wide, you felt yourself grow wet at his voice. You were biting your lower lip in a way that made his cock twitch and he spread his legs slightly before beckoning you towards him. You obeyed immediately, sinking down to sit in front of him and he could sense your desperation to be touched. Gently he reached out to you pulling you to him, turning you around he situated you so you were sitting in between his spread legs and his chest to your back. Wrapping his arms around your waist he pulled you firmly against him hoping that the contact would ease both of your pain.You couldn’t help but let out a sweet breathy moan at the contact, your head falling back onto Plo’s shoulder. For a moment you both sat there, it was working the burning sensation dulled enough for you to regain your senses a bit. You managed to squeak out “Plo, w-what’s happening??” His grip around you tightened causing another whine to escape and unconsciously you arched your back, wiggling to try to get closer. Plo pressed his head to the side of yours as his hands started a soothing stroking along your sides, with a quick reassurance of “Shhh, I’ve got you don’t worry” Your breathing started to even at his touch and you couldn’t help but question the whole situation again. “We need help, can’t we just call the boys to come get us?? O-or if we don’t come back they’ll come looking for us, right?”

Plo froze at your question, how was he supposed to explain to you that he had commed Wolffe when he realized what was happening and made up an excuse saying that you wouldn’t be back until much later or maybe not until tomorrow. He had no qualms telling you that but he knew you would ask why and he would have to tell you what was really happening but what he didn’t want to explain that the thought of you going back and his men seeing you desperate to be fucked and possibly you even begging them to fuck you made him jealous in a very un-Jedi like manner. As he was debating you started pressing closer to him again a small whine of his name falling from your mouth, followed by you repeating your last question, and he knew he had to tell you even if you would become aware of his feelings for you. “They won’t come because I told them not to, that we may not be back tonight” Your eyes snapped to his face and a confused look crossed yours. A pathetic little ‘why’ left your throat and he shifted uncomfortably. His hands resting on your waist squeezed slightly as he simply responded, “because we’re under the influence of sex pollen.”

There was a long moment where neither of you moved or said anything. Your brain had stopped processing at his words and you had pulled forward attempting to gather your thoughts. Unfortunately, all this managed to do was allow the heat to creep back into your body, slowly at first but once it hit you it flooded your senses. You pressed your thighs together as slick started to leak out of you unprompted, your hands itched to touch yourself and your breathing started to pick up again. Noticing this Plo eases you back into his body hoping it would help you, however this backfires as your ass pressed firmly into his cock. The Kel Dor groaned as you started to roll your hips against him, his hands flying to your hips to stop you with a bruising grip. He let out a warning growl but all that did was excite you more, your whole body was on fire at this point and you needed contact - so your hands rose to your chest, teasing your nipples over your dress. You felt Plo’s hard length twitch against your ass and you moaned his name loudly. He let go of your waist with one hand to capture both of your wrists in his large hand, muttering something about ‘inappropriate relations’. Whining you desperately tried to pull your hands away but he held firm. You tried to grind against him but he put a firm end to that by harshly wrapping his free arm around your waist and pulling you tight against him.Unable to get the friction you needed you started thrashing in his hold, crying out ‘please’ over and over. His grip on you only tightened and there was another growl right by your ear before he pleaded with you to stop moving and a reminder that you weren’t in your right state of mind. Sweat gathered on your brow and tears filled your eyes as desperation overcame you and you cried out “Plo I want you so badly!! I want to fuck me!” A moan, low and gravelly, came from Plo and he bucked into you before pushing his instincts down. “You’re only saying this because o-” “No! No, I’ve wanted you like this since I saw you Master!” You cut him off and his grip on you weakened at this confession. Seeing your opportunity you launched forward to free yourself and landed on your hands and knees in front of him.  

Before he had time to react you had spread your legs allowing yourself to lower your upper body so you could reach back to hike up your dress around your hips. Your face pressed into the forest floor but you didn’t care, not when you had eagerly shoved your panties to the side and were now rubbing tight circles around your clit, the pleasure crashed into you wiping the world around you away. A plethora of moans, whines and pleas were steadily streaming out of your mouth and you heard soft moans from behind you reminding you that you weren’t alone. Sinking two fingers into your dripping pussy you called out to your master, “Plo please, please come fuck me Master!” You heard a noise in protest but before he could speak you slurred out, dizzy with pleasure, “I want this, I want you! Look into my mind, I’ve been longing for you!!” 

Desperately you called forth all the images of you pleasuring yourself while moaning your master’s name determined to show him that it wasn’t just from the pollen. Plo’s own moans grew louder and you hoped he was touching himself as you felt him gently probing your mind. You fingers were pumping in and out slick starting to drip down your thighs as your pleas grew desperate. As the fire inside you built you couldn’t help the words thoughtlessly flowing from your mouth, an endless stream of his name and master, but Plo remained firm where he sat (though he was frantically stroking himself, having desperately opened his pants).  It was only when you slipped up that the Kel Dor finally lost control.A wild desperate cry of “Daddy please!!” escaped your mouth as you added a third finger to your pussy.  Your hand was pulled away shortly after and you felt something hard pressing at your entrance as hands gripped your hips harshly.  Another cry of ‘daddy’ flew past your lips as your hips arched higher, desperate for friction. A deep chuckle met your ears as Plo stroked your sides softly, before cooing “Are you going to be a good girl for Daddy, little one? Will you let your master take care of you?” You nodded frantically while whining out yes and rewarding you he pulled your hips back as he pushed forward slamming his cock into you to the hilt, easily sliding in with how soaked you were. A groan left his body as you enveloped him and loud cry, verging on scream, flew past your lips as you clenched hard around him in orgasm. You had been on edge and his cock stretched you in a way that your fingers couldn’t, filling you deliciously and forcing your orgasm. While you were cumming Plo set a fast pace hips bouncing off your ass, strained moans echoing around you. You were vaguely aware that more cries of ‘master’ and ‘daddy’ were trickling past your lips but it was so hard to focus with the harsh pace Plo had set keeping you on a pleasure high.  A deep hum came from Plo’s chest as he murmured “My padawan is such a little slut, isn’t she?  Cumming for me when I’ve barely touched her”

“Yes! Yes daddy I was so desperate for your cock, you feel so much better than I imagined!” Your core clenched hard at his words as you cried out your response, already fluttering on the precipice of another orgasm. Plo purred and one of his hands moved to bury in your hair, tugging your upper body up off the ground so his other hand could slide under your dress to grope at your tits, “Oh my little padawan, you take my cock so well.”  

His fingers took their time grazing and gently pinching your nipples, talons lightly brushing over them teasingly, before he continued, “Would you like to come again?” His hips slowed until he was seated deep inside you stretching, teasing. Frantically you nodded tears filling your eyes. A pleased purr echoed through Plo’s body, and his words had you clenching around his cock again, “Beg, my sweet girl” You gasped and turned your head as best you could so he could see just how much of a mess you were, voice wavering and tears trailing down your face as you began to beg. Simple cries of ‘please, Plo’ flew from your mouth but his head only tilted and a small sob tore its way out of your throat. You desperately tried to thrust your hips but all that got you was Plo pulling out and one hand moved to press feather light onto your clit, the just teasing touches caused your walls to desperately flutter around nothing and you cries and please got louder until you were babbling, “Please, please Master! Fuck me, I need your cock, you make me feel so good! No one else could ever fuck me like you daddy!!”

With that he plunged back into you setting a rapid, hard pace, finally placing pressure on your clit, his other hand supporting your upper body as your orgasm washed over you. Your whole body went rigid as pleasure made you incoherent, fingers digging into the forest floor. Plo fucked you through your orgasm whispering out soft praises of how good you felt, that you were such a good girl for him and moved his hand up to softly wiping away your tears while stroking your face. After you came down your energy left you and you went limp in Plo’s grasp, when his hips paused you whined slightly and uttered out for him to keep going - knowing how desperately he needed release, and the heat in you starting to rise again despite how hard you had just cum twice. 

Pulling out he gently picked you up as he slid back into his original position of sitting propped against a tree. He moved your limbs, as you had become fairly useless in your blissed out state, so you were straddling him and lowered you gently back onto his aching cock. You practically sobbed at the feeling of his thick ridged length sliding back into place, he held you there for a minute not moving while you grasped at his shoulders whimpering. Your walls were twitching around him and though you were exhausted after two intense orgasms you felt your lower body heating again, the familiar coil starting to build. Plo seemed content to keep you there sitting on his cock and he buried his face best he could into your neck, hands running softly up and down your back. When you started to weakly rock your hips back and forth on him a raspy chuckle met your ear sending a shiver down your spine. He pulled you close to his chest before cooing at you, “It’s alright little one, let me take care of us both”

You weakly nodded at him and his hands moved down to your waist, gripping tightly he started to buck his hips up into you. You moaned burying your face into his shoulder as he easily lifted you and brought you back down onto his cock in time with his thrusts. Plo was close, you could tell as he was become more vocal and his grip on your waist grew tighter; his pace was also speeding up and you snuck a hand down to rub at your clit. Gently your hand trailed up to cup the back of his head and you hazily lifted your head to press your forehead to his. You were aware he was praising you, calling you his good girl, but you couldn’t focus on anything other than how fast you were bouncing on his cock and they way his breathing hitched when he slammed back into you. You keened as you pinched your clit lightly and your third orgasm hit you - you couldn’t tell if this one was weaker or if your brain was just so muddled you couldn’t comprehend what was happening. Either way the fluttering of your walls around him caused Plo’s own release to shoot deep inside you, a loud groan leaving his body as he filled you with his cum. You closed your eyes, foreheads still lightly pressed together as a weak cry of ‘Master’ left your lips. His hands trailed up your back to cup your head and you pressed the softest of kisses to his antiox mask, your eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion took over your body. 

Plo started to move you off of him but a pitiful cry left your lips and you murmured out “please, let’s just stay like this for a bit” nodding in response Plo guided your head to his shoulder then gently moved your legs to a slightly more comfortable position. You fell into sleep rather quickly, something he was glad for - it meant the effect of the pollen was wearing off. He could still feel the heat in his body but with you perched on his cock and pressed into him it was enough to hold any urges back. His hands held you close, one absently stroking your back and the other stroking your hair, as he leaned his head back against the tree to join you in sleep. Bonus: you had just finished a debrief on the info you gathered from the recon (at least the pollen hadn’t started taking effect until after you got what you needed). Commander Wolffe had turned around to study a map when Plo gently touched your elbow. He had taken care of you when you both woke up and made sure you were able to sneak into your room and clean up before the briefing. Even though you had both slept for hours it was clear you were still exhausted. A kind voice met your ears as Plo suggested you go rest before the attack his hand gently rubbing your arm. You tiredly yawned and nodded, absently replying “Yes daddy”. His hand tightened on your arm and you froze once you realized your mistake, eyes shifting to look at Wolffe - he had shifted his weight slightly but had shown no other sign of hearing you (though if you had been able to see the front of his face you wouldn’t be able to miss the heat coloring his tanned complexion and shocked expression). Plo purred softly and gave your arm a squeeze, you just knew if he had a face like yours there would be a smug smirk on it, and he bent down to whisper, “Oh kitten, such a good girl but let’s save that talk for later, hmmm?”

[life-rewritten]

Manner Of D*eath Analysis: The role of Tan, Friend or Foe?

Manner of Death has been a whirlwind of emotions, and intrigues and angst in just the first three episodes. I don't know who we can trust, but the story and the clues are slowly starting to come together to give us the big picture, and that is about Jane's suspicious d*ath. From Episode 1, we have been intrigued and scared to fall for Tan; he's mysterious, attractive, some times shady, and also at times flirty and swoon-worthy. It's been a confusing time because I don't want to give my heart away to a murderer or someone who is involved with the murder of women, and I'm sure that's also what Bun is feeling, yeah Tan is gorgeous, and we all want to jump on him including Bun who can't seem to keep his wants at bay, but we must remember that so far Tan is shady? So here's an analysis focused on Tan is he friend who we should we protect and love with all our heart, or is he a foe who we shouldn't yet trust and believe in. Let's find out.

For me, Tan is a big suspect with all the clues pointing to him in episode 1-3. You could argue about the many facets of his personality shown to us so far; that indicates that there are layers to him and that's exciting because it means that he's going to be a three-dimensional character to break down and learn about. Right now I don't trust any smile, or moments with him and Bun because I'm pretty sure that secretly he has not yet even romantically thought about Bun in the way we think he has. Reason one because I don't even think he's ever thought about love or even had an experience with it; funny because he's the person who's the assumed boyfriend of our  victim Jane. However, I don't think Tan even feels emotions or is allowed to feel emotions pertaining to romance and love.

He's wearing a mask, and the mask he wears aligns to what role he's meant to play for different people;

Is he the boyfriend who is mourning and desperate to find out who did that to his girlfriend?

Is he the shareholder and teacher at the school who is obsessed with biochemistry and making students learn?

Is he the protective partner who will fight anyone from trying to steal his lover as he did for Jane when he beat up Pued?

Is he a friend to Bun who is actually determined to work with him to prove he's not the suspect and also help with the case for Jane?

Or is he actually the real monster behind the mask, is he the actual suspect of his said girlfriend; was he involved in her m*rder because he wanted her not to reveal the truth she discovered?

Is he Dam the gang/mafia second hand who has a gang of children as his followers, who's absolutely violent and scary when it comes to protecting what's theirs?

Is he righteous and just was as determined as Jane to prevent corruption from happening but then, something went awry?

These are the questions we have to ask about Tan from what we know so far from this show from episode 1-3. The way he controls all his masks and which ones he should show is scary. I feel like we haven't even gotten to see who he really is, Bun hasn't met the real him yet, right now everything that comes out of his mouth comes with a motive. The question is what that motive is? Let's analyse even further:

THE ROLES OF TAN

Tan as Jane's Boyfriend

The first sign that Tan isn't maybe who he says he is; is from watching his interaction with Bun when we're introduced to him, he's not shocked/upset at Bun for kissing him instead he's intrigued, he teases, he flirts, he hints and takes up his personal space. It's odd for someone who's meant to be devoted to their partner. Upon seeing Bun again, he smirks and enjoys his discomfort and likes the fact he makes him feel anxious. It's even more interesting when he, later on, becomes protective of Jane being dragged by Pued. Pued says it's because he's been her ex before,  it was just one of those types of scuffles, but the way Tan beats up Pued and the way he violently reacted was not just some random act of jealousy. Like all Pued did was drag Jane to speak to her, it's not okay for him to pull her the way he did like some object forcefully, but it was also weird how he just brushed of Tan beating him up as a jealousy thing.

Tan's reactions later as well to Jane's loss is weird, he immediately is unfeeling, no emotions of stress or depression at the news of his girlfriend, it's like he anticipated it and he found it bothersome to be questioned about it. First, take a look at his reaction when being interviewed in ep 1, he's tired and looks annoyed but not shaken up at the fact that someone he possibly loves committed suicide, he's colder and frustrated, and a little bit defeated. He proceeds the next day to go teach, and act like everything is normal, and he shows discomfort at people prodding into Jane's death, especially the students. Maybe he's just really cold and emotionless to when someone he loves and cherishes dies because he's used to it, but his reaction is more like someone who expected it to happen and is frustrated by people trying to make it more serious, and that's not how a boyfriend should act.

Next, he also proceeds to warn Bun to stop looking into the case, and Bun notices his distant aura. But also it's like he's moved on, he's more focused on Bun when he sees him, on teasing and flirting but he also gets irritated when Bun tries to blame him for the murder. As a boyfriend he does not seem like someone who really cared about Jane's well being he says the reason why he wants to work with Bun is to really find out who the suspect is, but truthfully it's odd when you think about how he says it, he should have said that with more of vengeful or angry way because the person took someone who he apparently is very protective of.

Tan, as Jane's boyfriend, also brings this question of his role when focusing on foreshadowing in the show. For example, the little mermaid is mentioned as a cautionary tale of a girl who died for love. Now, this could be predicting Jane's reasons for her death, and why she got entangled with the suspect of these girls or it could be a foreshadowing of the relationship brewing with Tan and Bun. (Tan falling in love in Bun and being forced to at the end choose one of them to live or d*ie the same with what happened with the original little mermaid). But we can talk about this later on.

If Jane supposedly became a victim for love then the first person to question is Tan, what connections does he have that connects to her death, why would she die for him, why would he be hiding why she d*ied, and what is his plans now that people seem determined to find out why she died. This is if Tan and Jane are in 'love', but we've found out that she was more affected by Pued, she went into massive depression before meeting Tan because of Pued, so Pued could be the reason for why she did for love. But then Tan is still in the know then for why she died, because he knows Pued has something to do with it.

This brings this question of is Jane and Tan really dating? Were they as happy in a relationship as they say they were, or is this role one of Tan's masks? My guess? Yes, it's one of his acts, he's clearly playing a protective role with her, he either was keeping an eye on her or she and he teamed together to protect her from whoever it is that is trying to murder her. So this means he is involved in this somehow because either he was part of the reason for why it happened (when he kept an eye on her for the suspect) or he was part of the reason because they both had their plans ruined when she was gone. So he knows more about why she could have been a victim.

It's interesting because her final words to him in episode 1 contradicts this fact, in fact, she tells him she'll let him know more as he worries about her state. So again this suggests he didn't know fully what she was involved in unless he pretended he didn't know and she also didn't know his actual role. See it isn't straightforward, Tan's mask as Jane's boyfriend is the role where he's not even trying the most to make it seem real, he acts more like she was a step/ job to do and then he moved on.  The worrying thing is we need to know what he was to Jane, so we also need to understand if that's his same plans for Bun. Is he doing precisely the same thing; is he wearing another mask with Bun to keep an eye on him just like he did with Jane assumingly or is he wearing another mask with Bun to protect him from Jane's suspect. It could be either, right now I'm leaning towards the latter because it's unveiled he knows the person who's sending Bun threats and he's involved in that.  Which brings me to his next role:

The teacher

Tan is interesting. We've introduced to him apart from the whole Bun kiss thing; we're introduced to him as a shareholder of the school (so he's wealthy) and a teacher for biochemistry. The students he teaches; we see are involved in this murder case, one is Nam a girl who is slowly being inducted into this mess, and the other was Nat who is already a victim of the suspect at episode 1

.

Pause, he's also teaching Sorowit who from his story we see he was beaten up by That who is part of a gang that is quite v*olent and protective over their own. Sorowit explains that That works under Dam, this violent Mafia second hand to Por (Pued's father). So Tan is very acquainted with everyone connected to this mafia and murder case. Which makes him even more suspicious because first, he's dating one of the victims, he's a teacher of a to be victim, and he's also a teacher of the other victim. It's interesting.

The reason I bring up the teacher role though is because I think it's another mask/role he's forced to play. I believe there is a lot of corruption going on in this show, with whatever Gang/Mafia organisation Tan or Pued is involved in. They are powerful enough to control the justice system, it seems like they've placed a lot of their people in places of power to hide and assimilate, Tan could also be a teacher, for this reason, being a shareholder of the school puts him in a very favourable position. Also if this Mafia is grooming kids, it makes it easier for him to control his little gang of That and others as Dam, that is if he is Dam. It's a way for him to stay undercover as whatever role he plays in the Mafia.

The kids are essential; it's That who's sending the scary threats to Bun (probably under Tan's orders) it's Nam who is the next victim showing signs of the previous murders. The kids are who are being inducted into this Mafia, and I think Jane wanted to come clean about it finally and that's why she died. She tried to hold a sense of responsibility because she discovered what was going on, and she felt guilty knowing what happened to Nat. Instead, the suspect stopped her to shut her up.

Is Tan the psychopathic, and heartless suspect trying to prevent his cover from being blown? Maybe but then that makes his other future roles as our love interest in this show, will be very angsty and sketchy. It also means we're headed for a terribly sad ending if he is. However, I don't think he is. I still stay with my opinion that this gang is like a family affair; the watch they wear is probably a sign of blood and unity, and it hints at wolfpack Alpha vibes.  We see that That is very protective of who he calls his friends, the reason why he gangs up on Sorowit is to stop him because he hurt one of his friends who lied to him that Nam was his girlfriend. That showed regret, but you could tell that with his gang loyalty is important, they don't ask questions they protect each other and get rid of what bothers their peers.

I think Tan is also part of the organisation with rules like this; he's been groomed by either family or Pued's dad to be someone unfeeling, and a protector of his group. Clearly, someone hurt Jane, and he's being forced to keep it a secret, so the group is not unveiled, so the organisation is not broken because unity comes first. I don't think he's ever had his own aspirations or goals; he's just followed the organisation rules and has a job that is probably not his own dreams/wants, a girlfriend that he was set up with to either protect or keep an eye on. Thus he has a protective role for the organisation. Like a bodyguard/ henchman he fights for them, (just like he showed he could, with Jane) and it's just like what Sorowit said about Dam if you cross him or his gang he will beat you up. I think Tan is Dam and he's a teacher as a way to keep a role undercover and also to keep an eye on the kids who work beside him.

So now we look at his other roles that he's starting to play? What other secrets is he not showing?  

The FACADES OF TAN

Pued's rival

I don't know if I've said this before, but I don't think Tan and Pued hate each other. In fact, it's even more proved to me that they are in this together, Pued goes missing in episode 3 and Tan is the last person to be with him because it's a hoax, Pued wasn't  taken, he was faking it to scare Bun and others who are trying to pry. Tan and Pued are determined to hide the truth about Jane.

This brings me to similarities Tan and Pued have with each other;

Pued and Tan both have a connection with Jane, Pued and Tan are working for the system; Pued is a prosecutor for the justice system, (this again brings up proof that his father's power or control is placing people in places of power and control).  Tan is a massive shareholder of the education system and a known teacher there. Pued and Tan both wore that watch, Bun remembers it faintly by staring at it, but the person he saw with that golden watch is also Tan if you look carefully at the flashback.

They are in the same Mafia; it's why they both look at each other suspiciously, not angrily when they walk past each other when he goes to convince Bun to drop the case. They both are working together right now to prevent Jane's truth being found. The question is, why? If they are working together, why would we see Tan beat Pued for Jane? My answer; it's a cover, it's not real, it's a show, don't know why they are doing it, but it's clearly to make people not think Tan and Pued know each other. But if Tan is Dam like I believe and Por is Pued's father, then Tan and Pued are closer than we think. Tan may even work for Pued as a bodyguard as well. Or the fight could suggest that he and Jane loved each other so much and he was planning on running away from the Mafia with her, and they didn't like that, so they stopped her, made him feel defeated and forced him to cover up the truth. I mean that also could be why, but Jane's last words weren't like that, she knew more than Tan did or she assumed she knew more than Tan did; they weren't working together on anything to do with romance and love.

If they were working together, then Tan was hired to protect her by her, and she didn't know he worked for Pued's dad. These are just speculations, but if Tan is Dam, Pued and Tan are closer than we think, and they are working together to hide Jane's truth Whatever Jane did, it was to mess up the organisation, and both Tan and Pued don't want it to be ruined, or Tan is being forced to protect the organisation's secrets. I think he's protecting the suspect so I assume the person is part of the organisation and it could be Pued, but I still think he's a red herring.

Bun's lover/friend

This is the one that keeps me on my toes. Tan does not have any feelings yet whatsoever for Bun, maybe the kiss they had, made him excited and attracted, but he definitely isn't going to Bun with those ideas. He's with Bun, making him stay with him at his, to keep an eye on him. It's either to protect him as I said from the suspect or it's to keep an eye on him and prevent him from finding out who it is. Right now from my analysis so far, I don't even think he's ever had to care for someone in that way (apart from priorities he has to protect).

I think he's playing another role with Bun, and we haven't seen him fall yet. There are moments where he smiles that I do believe is genuine, Bun makes him intrigued and smile, and want to tease him and for someone who I think hasn't ever had to think about what he wants or his emotions, I think that's a sign that he likes Bun without knowing it. I don't think he cares about Bun's welfare yet; I think he's still more focused on the job because he's the one who's sending That to scare Bun away, if he's Dam then he doesn't want Bun to interfere with his organisation. Bun is like Jane, a dangerous target, a whistleblower; someone who either needs to be stopped or eliminated. Now I don't think Tan wants to eliminate  Bun because I don't think he's evil or anything, just forced by his environment. So yes that cactus probably is bugged, his reasons for wanting Bun to stay at his house is the same, he wants to stop Bun from uncovering the truth, but it could change later to wanting to protect Bun.

I think this is why the little mermaid could be foreshadowing for them with Ariel and The prince in the original story; the mermaid has to choose either her life or the prince's life, she chooses his for love, and then ends and grow a soul. Tan is, in my opinion, is going to be forced to get rid of Bun but the more he falls for him, which hasn't happened yet, the more he'll struggle with that. I'm excited for when we get there. Tan is going to notice that Bun brings warmth to him, he's already cooking for him, and showing him he's attracted despite being cautious, I think he's going to start becoming more afraid of Bun finding the truth. The question is, will Bun find out who he is before he changes his agenda with him. Or will Tan soon realise he wants to protect Bun from the organisation with the disguise of keeping an eye on him? We'll find out. Either way, it's going be an angsty, dramatic and passionate love story. And I can't wait.

THE REAL TAN

Obligations vs Wants

As my analysis has shown I think Tan has many masks so far, this doesn't make him  the suspect but he's more in a situation where he's forced to be part of the reason why Jane was hurt. For me, I think he's never really had a chance to be good/righteous. Actually, I won't be surprised if he was inducted into the Mafia when he was a child like That. Cause it seems like that's what they do. Either that or his family is involved as well in the Mafia.

He could have been forced to protect the people he sees as family, as he's meant to as Dam, to be the protector role. He's probably always had to protect someone in the group despite being wrong like That does for his friends. I want to keep watching out for this, but I do think That and Sorowit are going to be mirroring Tan and Bun's relationship, Sorowit is innocent and naïve and That is working under the organisation with Tan as Dam. He also seems protective of people he sees as his own, and he appears hurtful and even under orders. It's the same way I view Tan.

They're like puppets for this organisation, and so even if Tan didn't kill Jane, he was either forced to hide her truth because it's a norm for him to do so without feeling with everyone. She was just a problem to the organisation, and his love for her didn't matter, or he never even saw her as someone important to him, and he was just playing a role. Now that role is over, he doesn't need to act like he cares about her, and he needs to move to the next part which is to do the same thing all over again with Bun. It makes it a more delicious plotline when he falls for Bun, and he has to try now and protect something he wants for himself. Bun is going to be a surprise, instead of following orders, and rules, he's going to find himself falling on love and wanting to stay with him.

Masks vs Smiles

Which brings us to this question. Have we even seen the real Tan? Have we seen Tan when he's not under the organisation or doing his roles? I think we've seen small snippets of him, moments like when he accepts the kiss from Bun surprisingly showing he liked it, or moments where he smiles when Bun says something about Jane, he notices Bun is a good person, but Tan can't be trusted right now. He's always probably had to wear a mask, slowly we'll see his real self uncovered soon, his genuine smiles, and who he actually wants to be. But for now, I think he's still playing a role with Bun. We'll soon start to see his mask uncover because we see him interact with That at the end of episode 3. We'll finally maybe see what's been going on with him.

Attraction vs Confusion This makes it even scarier for Bun for now, because Tan's intentions aren't pure. Bun is very attracted to Tan, and he finds him self forgetting that he shouldn't trust him, so he's going to be very blindsided by the truth, I wonder if he'll soon find out Tan is Dam, if he'll find out Tan is secretly sending threats for him to stop, but it's worrying though romantic when he asks Tan to sleep on the bed with him, he agrees to stay over at his house, he decides to work with Tan to find Jane's murderer. But he'll be fine like I said, Tan is not a crazy psychopathic , he's not the suspect he's the protector or connected to the person, but the more time shifts he'll switch and change his roles, he'll become protective of Bun no matter what. Let's hope we still get a happy ending after all this angst.

Let me know what your theories are with Tan. Do you think he's a friend or a foe? I just want to say Max is so brilliant as this character; he's so good at showing nuances and moments when Tan's mask shifts, it's been fun and exhilarating to see him play this role. And as for the plot if my theory is right, then Tan and Bun are going to be very angsty, passionate and Romeo and Juliet esque. We've had many stories where someone from the wrong group falls for someone who could be their downfall (little mermaid for example), where you have to betray someone, where you have to lie and hide who you are as you fall for someone. This is a really great plot and a love story to see unfold. It'll be crazy, dramatic but it'll be so fun and so romantic at the same time. Perhaps it'll even make us cry.

Either way, I'm enjoying manner of death, it's nice to piece together slowly the mystery, for now, there is definitely corruption of the justice system, so the police is not meant to be trusted, students are being pulled into this mess, and there are secrets about dr*ugs and s*x and money that still needs to be uncovered. Why are these girls willingly being d*rugged for the money? Was Jane involved in this was she also in dire need of money? Or was she connected to someone with who she found out what was going on overall? Is Tan a right person or a wrong person is he being forced to be harmful, or is he a red herring, and we're all falling for someone who is the villain?  Let me know what you think. Thank you.

[sondepoch]

XVI: Neutral Route (Rika)

Where Futures Begin

Life used to be simple for you. Peaceful. But the Savior had other plans for you, and in moments, she ruined what you thought was your one shot at happiness. Blinded by anger, you escaped the Mint Eye, but that triggered a series of events that would bring you further into the world of brothers Saeran and Saeyoung. And further into the twisted world of your love for them.

Neutral Route: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | ✔

Saeyoung’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | ✔

Saeran’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | ✔

MASTERLIST

She should have brought disciples.

Or council members.

Hell, even believers would have been useful.

Rika picked up a glass vase and threw it at the wall, watching it shatter like the plans she had so carefully laid out.

Her plan made sense. She had worked so hard, giving Saeran high and higher dosages of the Elixir until the boy couldn't tell right from left, clinging onto Rika's words as the ultimate truth. She sat in front of him for eight hours straight, conditioning his mind until the white-haired boy truly believed that he loved MC. That he resented (Y/N).

So why did he still resist?

Rika smiled proudly, watching Saeran inject the concentrated Elixir into (Y/N), just as she knew he was going to.

"Saeran, wouldn't you like to spend some time with MC now?" Rika whispered into his ear, pulling him back as (Y/N)'s body began shaking uncontrollably, the girl too overwhelmed by pain to even scream.

Rika cocked her head and gestured for MC to stand up. She ignored the brute called Vanderwood as he shouted insults at her and Saeyoung, instead opting to talk to the redhead. "You can take him, Sae-"

Saeyoung interrupted her, though. "I don't go by that name anymore." Rika raised an eyebrow. "Call me Luciel." He said.

Rika almost rolled her eyes, but she figured she had wasted enough time.

She got what she needed. Rika turned to V, her eyes cold and unmoving as she stared at her ex-lover. "Good luck bringing Saeran back," She said, not wasting a moment of pleasantries with a man she never wanted to be pleasant with again. "I highly doubt he'll come willingly."

She turned around, ignoring V's desperate response as she pulled (Y/N) up to her feet. The snowy-haired girl was barely able to stand for a moment before collapsing to the ground in pain, trembling and whimpering.

Rika sighed, about to pull another syringe out of her pocket to temporarily halt the pain whilst she brought (Y/N) back the Mint Eye, but Saeran was faster. "Stop!" He shouted, utterly ignoring MC.

Rika frowned.

That was not a part of the plan.

"Go with MC, Saeran, that is a direct order." Rika knew her voice had authority. She thought that Saeran would listen to her if not out of loyalty, then out of fear; but the boy proved her wrong.

In that instant, his eyes had clarity, as if he had pushed the Elixir out of his system through sheer will, and his judgment was no longer clouded by its effects.

"No!" He shouted, scooping (Y/N) up into his arms. "This...this must be even worse than her secondary commitment! The pain must be horrible! I have to take care of her!"

Rika clenched her jaw. If she ever had the opportunity again, she would not hold back against Saeran. She had been merciful with the elixirs, in the future, she would drown him in the liquid until he forgot about (Y/N) altogether.

"Are you disobeying me, Saeran?" Rika asked.

The question was simple.

The answer was simple.

Saeran, however, was conflicted.

Rika's eyes widened, shocked that the boy even had to think to answer. "You stupid fool!" She screeched, raising a hand to strike Saeran, only to be blocked by Saeyoung.

Up until that moment, the redhead had stayed out of his brother's line of sight. No doubt, he had planned some kind of special speech, hoping that his brother would be as happy as he was at the prospect of them no longer being separated.

But it seemed that Saeyoung was willing to toss that aside to ensure that his baby brother wasn't hurt any further.

What a mistake.

The expression that came across Saeran's face when he saw the face of the person he had spent so long resenting was sheer anger.

Rika clenched and unclenched her hands. If only Saeyoung had stayed out of sight, Saeran would have been controllable. Manageable.

But the redhead was impatient.

"Get away from me, you traitor!" Saeran shouted, still holding (Y/N)'s delicate body, before sprinting away from his brother. All those hours he spent in the Mint Eye's private gym paid off, Saeran scarcely slowed by the weight of the girl he was carrying.

In that moment of madness, Luciel had shouted for everyone to get in the car, V, Saeyoung, MC, and Vanderwood all reacting within in instance to drive after the vague direction Saeran had run off to.

Leaving Rika.

"No Saeran, no (Y/N)," Rika murmured, frustrated. "I don't even have MC anymore."

Rika picked up another vase and threw it, the anger she felt nowhere near dissipated.

She scowled, remembering (Y/N). My plan was perfect. If only Saeyoung hadn't let Saeran see him...if only Saeran could forget about (Y/N) and just love MC!

Rika shuddered, realizing that she was panting heavily.

She calmed herself, remembering that her behavior was not fit for a Savior of the Mint Eye. She must be ladylike, polite, rational. She should deal with her anger in better ways.

To hell with that! Rika thought, throwing another vase.

She began throwing everything she could, letting loose all the emotions she had pent up from the very first day she met (Y/N). Why? Rika asked herself.

It wasn't fair.

(Y/N) was so similar to Rika. Too similar. In truth, Rika saw herself in (Y/N). They'd both grown up in hellhole environments, been tossed aside by the world itself, so why...Why does (Y/N) get to have someone who loves her no matter what, when V only tries to change me? Why does (Y/N) get to have what I don't?

The blond felt tears pour down her cheeks.

No matter what Rika did to ruin their relationship, Saeran always loved (Y/N).

Why wouldn't V be like that?

She let out a wail of agony. Rika knew how (Y/N) resented her, how Saeran hated the Elixirs and how nearly everyone in the Mint Eye thought her a bad person for forcing them to deal with pain. But if they knew the pain I felt every day, Rika thought, They'd know that their physical pain is a blessing when compared to my mental suffering.

Rika slowed, her breathing ragged as she calmed down. She realized that she had sunk to the floor, crying pathetically less like a Savior and more like someone who still needed saving.

She stared at her reflection in the white tiles. Her hair was a mess, her eyes were no longer shining, and the expression on her face was utterly bohemian. She looked up, staring at the hundreds of pieces of glass and china that surrounded her on the floor. What do I need to do for you to love me, V? For you to love me how Saeran and Saeyoung seem to love (Y/N)? She wondered. Why can't you see that I'm spreading happiness at the Mint Eye?

She bit her lip, hating that V had left.

Rika only had two passions in life. V was one of them. Spreading happiness was the other. V had promised, when they were still children, that he would never hinder her mission to spread happiness, that he would be by her side the whole time. The Mint Eye is the best way to spread happiness. Why can't V see that?

When V left, saying that she had to choose between him and the Mint Eye, she chose the Mint Eye. She chose to spread happiness.

But even she couldn't do it alone.

She recruited people slowly, but steadily. It started with Saeran. And then it built upward, until she'd finally found the heir she'd been looking for: the (h/c) girl herself, (Y/N). If only things had gone as planned, everything would be perfect! 

Rika cursed inwardly, hating how everything had gone awry. (Y/N) was supposed to feel my pain, go through with Saeran what I went through with V! (Y/N) was never supposed to be happy! She was supposed to become strong, the same way I became strong - to become the next Savior of the Mint Eye!

Biting her lip, the blond-haired woman tried to ignore the quiet voice in her mind that reminded her that (Y/N) had never seemed truly happy with here. That even as a Savior, (Y/N) still might not attain the happiness Rika was so focused on spreading.

But for the sake of the Mint Eye...Rika trailed off, now considering the thought. Considering (Y/N). 

Did Rika need (Y/N) as much as she thought—or was that just what she had forced herself into believing for lack of better alternatives?

She closed her eyes.

And slowly, the notion in her head seemed to make more and more sense.

(Y/N) was a bad idea. She came with a hundred strings attached and was a complex person, an imperfect candidate for what Rika needed her for. Yes, Rika thought, reopening her eyes. I don't need (Y/N). I don't need Saeran. I can start fresh. I can pick new people, better people.

She smiled.

I can afford to lose them, she thought triumphantly, remembering the incredible pool of resources available to the Mint Eye.

It was a conclusion that satisfied every part of Rika. The sincere side of her that still wanted everyone to be happy knew that (Y/N) would be safe with Saeran or Saeyoung. And the deranged part inside of her was satisfied as well, recalling the affectionate eyes (Y/N) gazed at Saeran with, as well as how she had longingly stared at Saeyoung.

(Y/N)...does she even realize that she's in love with them both? Rika chuckled. She will make herself miserable. Not in the same way I've been through pain, but because she's going to have to decide.

The blonde smiled to herself, picking her body off the floor.

"I'll let you go, my sweet (Y/N)," Rika said, as if the girl were listening, hearing the words. "But in exchange, you have to choose."

"Who will you love?" Rika whispered.

"Saeran or Saeyoung?"

MASTERLIST

Neutral Route: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | ✔

Saeyoung’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | ✔

Saeran’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | ✔

Word count: 1.9k

Notes: And with that we conclude the neutral route! If you made it this far, congratulations and thank you so much for sticking with this story (btw sorry for updating a day late lol - i actually had this prewritten but i fell asleep before i remembered to post it) and I appreciate all the support I've received from you guys thus far. But the story isn't over yet! It's time for the readers to pick which route this fanfic will take for (Y/N)'s love interest! Saeran? Or Saeyoung? 

Both boys will have ~6 chapters or more, and both endings will be written! I am currently publishing on 4 platforms: Tumblr, fanfiction.net, Wattpad, and Ao3. Based on the total number of comments and dms I get specifying either Saeran or Saeyoung, that will decide which route I write first. Note that if, for example, over half of you guys want me to write Saeyoung's ending first, then I'll write his full ending (no switching back and forth from Saeyoung's route to Saeran's route) out before switching to Saeran- so pick wisely because that's the boy you'll be seeing the most of for the next few weeks! 

Please leave a comment or drop me a dm saying which route you'd like to see me write - my goal is to have the next chapter up by Monday but if there are zero comments, then I'll wait til the next update (Thursday). If there's still nothing by that point, I'll flip a coin and leave it up to chance! So get your vote in and I'll see you later <3 Thank you for all your support!

Comment & Like

Next Update: 2/24/20

I do not own the rights to Mystic Messenger or any of the characters within it.

[dojae-huh]

1. So nct dream might comeback as ot7, or rather they will have the same concept as nct u and will have songs with 7 members but will also have songs just for 2 or 5 members. Im kind of excited for this concept it means that renjun and chenle arent leaving for wayv. This also means wayv might be pulled from china market. Exo m made a bigger dent in chinese market but they were also pulled when SM realised that china market is too big for them to compete in.So it seems we really will get NCT 2020

2. This also means that taeten will be pushed as a duo in thailand alot more. They both have really big individual and ship fandom in Thailand.

-------------------

Poor Mark, how many songs and choreos should he keep in his seagull brows head?..

So the name of NCT Dream is left after the original members. Makes sense with the original plans gone awry. It will also clear the new trainees from the hate. 

You see, a company must try unless it succeeds. SM failed many times with US, it continues to pursue the market. WayV is still a young group, it’s too early to write them down as a failure. This scheme of managing through a Chinese subsidiary Label V is a new thing, mistakes will be made, but without them there is no learning. Also I don’t think that the success of WayV is the ultimate goal. SM wants to sell its “culture technology”. There will be purely Chinese groups that are made following SM’s scheme.

[sergaybobrovsky]

christmas meme for bothhh

under the cut because it got lengthy + modern verse for both !

VASILY & ALARIC

Who spends hours putting up lights only to get tangled in them and storm off?Vas and he’s so mad at himself sdfjnaklf

Who accidentally eats a whole box of christmas chocolates in one sitting?Alaric because maybe he’s had a bad day or bc he’s simply unable to resist chocolate (mood). Also Vas isn’t that into sweets.

Who insists on watching the cheesey hallmark christmas movies?Alaric does and Vas complains, but he begrudgingly watches and even secretly enjoys them.

Who insists on playing nothing but michael buble in the few days running up to christmas?I dont think either of them do that. Like, there’s def some christmas music playing around the house, but theyre not obsessive about it.

Who gets their presents wrapped at the mall so the other cant go snooping?Vas.

Who insists on making snow angels?Alaric because it’s such a silly and lighthearted activity that his parents probably forbade when he was younger. Plus Alaric’s more fond of snow & cold.

Who put christmas outfits on all the pets?I don’t think Valaric does this, but when they have kids & they grow up, Scarlett definitely insists on this.

Do they go to family’s or have a quiet day in?They alternate between quiet days in and heading over to the Samos family’s place. Alaric’s parents, for obvious reasons, is not an option.

Who insists on wearing matching ugly christmas jumpers?Alaric. Vas once again complains but wears the jumper anyway.

Who waits up until midnight to give the other their present?My instinct is to say Alaric. Not 100% sure why lmao.

Who insists on hand-made presents only one year?Alaric might insist, but given Vas’ present-giving style, it’s just not happening.

Who puts mistletoe on every door frame?Vas. He’s an insatiable slut + he’s taller lol.

Who gets too drunk at the work christmas party and has to be picked up at 9:15pm?Neither because they’ve moved past that stage when they’re in London. Besides, I don’t thnk either of them get too drunk when they move there because of bad memories.

Who gets angry and almost tells kids that santa isnt real?NEITHER BECAUSE THEY ARE NOT CRUEL ASSHOLES.

NOEL & MARC

Who spends hours putting up lights only to get tangled in them and storm off?Marc. I feel like Noel offered to help him at some point, but Marc refused because he was determined to handle it alone. That obviously didn’t work out so well.

Who accidentally eats a whole box of christmas chocolates in one sitting?Noel? I feel like Marc has more of a sweet tooth than Noel, so Noel not realizing he’s eaten a box of chocolates is more likely to happen. 

Who insists on watching the cheesey hallmark christmas movies? Neither? They might end up watching that kind of movies, but neither insists. 

Who insists on playing nothing but michael buble in the few days running up to christmas? Again, just like Valaric, I don’t think these boys are v likely to insist on it either. Christmas music randomly playing throughout the house is definitely a thing, but neither insist on it.

Who gets their presents wrapped at the mall so the other cant go snooping? Noel. He loves Marc with all his heart, but he doesn’t trust that he can go without snooping around.

Who insists on making snow angels?Noel because although he’s a California kid born and raised, he’s still more of a snow person than Marc. He’s the master of convincing Marc to join him, though (with kisses, I presume).

Who put christmas outfits on all the pets? My instinct is to say neither, but I also rly love the idea of Marc doing that.

Do they go to family’s or have a quiet day in? A quiet day in for obvious reasons.

Who insists on wearing matching ugly christmas jumpers? Noel gently persuades Marc to wear ugly Christmas jumpers with him.

Who waits up until midnight to give the other their present? Noel. He’s gotten so many things for Marc and he can’t wait to give the first one to him.

Who insists on hand-made presents only one year? I don’t think either because they don’t like forcing the other to give a certain kind of presents only. Those fools love whatever the other one gives them.

Who puts mistletoe on every door frame? Marc has the will and desire to do that, but Noel ends up being the one who actually puts mistletoes there because he’s taller.

Who gets too drunk at the work christmas party and has to be picked up at 9:15pm? Marc simply because Noel doesn’t drink.

Who gets angry and almost tells kids that santa isnt real? asjdnlkjfsfksd imagine Marc getting frustrated with one of their furry kids and revealing the harsh truth to them :’) :’)

[tommyplum]

@v-means-a-lot-of-things​ asked:  Western AU please? *_* with the following as possible inspiration:

tied my lead and pulled my chain: a deadwood au ..gonna break my rusty cage and run

“Give us your best gin fix, then, go on.” The man in black set his elbow on the long sanded bar counter of the Gem Saloon, tilting up his head rather than his broad-brimmed hat in order to fix Al Swearengen with a rolling blue stare. Al Swearengen, however, was not the sort of man to be stared down under the timbers of his own fucking establishment, and he set down two shots of gin, bang-bang, on the wood bar in front of the two strangers to the town of Deadwood. The hooplehead in black picked his up followed immediately by the shitbird in the poncho and down the drinks went, bang-bang, and just for the fucking symmetry of the movement Al filled the shot glasses back up again for gratis. Or maybe not gratis just yet:

“The whores haven’t arisen themselves from their peaceful slumbers to be offering you their wiles and perfumes,” Al intoned, his dark gaze shrewd as he took them in. The Hat said, “Not me, mate. Your prospective customer’s sat right there in front of you,” with a dip of his chin towards the one with the flat snow-sky stare. “Although I can find my own ways to entertain myself, I reckon, give us another -- wait, hang about --” 

The Hat threw back his gin and The Stare’s gin as well before continuing, “--another top up there, would you? Ahhhhh, that’s downright hospitable, who says that the Wild fucking West ain’t got no manners to speak of.”

“Always found it a goddamn shufflefuck of politeness around here myself,” Al said congenially with a smile beneath his oiled moustache, and The Hat linked and flexed his fingers, tipping his head in the direction of the brand new piano, prompting a magnanimous wave of the arm from the proprietor of the Gem. “As you will,” Al told him, and watched the man amble over and flick out the tails of his long mud-spackled black coat as if he was a pencil-dick concert pianist about to regale the toffs in Hanover Square before he took a seat.

The Stare gave a cough like he expected to be served marmalade and the Crown fucking Jewels and Al turned his attention to him. “We hail from the same neighbourhood,” Al said, pouring again, “as in proximity being a fucking feat of imagination and relative thinking when you’re on the other side of the ocean from the sheltering shadow cast by the Union Jack. Which is to say I notice your pal over there is from London, because it’s been too long a god damn time I’ve spent having my ears assailed by all manner of fucking back-mountain coal-water sister-buggering accent that lumps its way in here and it does a heart good to hear the civilized tones of home.” Al lifted an eyebrow; The Stare sampled his gin. “And where would you arrive from correspondingly?”

“Birmingham.” The Stare licked his lips, over and over the deep pink cracks that ran through them. “I used to be a schoolteacher there, once upon a time.” His hands, knotted through the knuckles, shifted against the glass and he swirled his fingers along the sides and up to circumnavigate the rim in a move that made Al automatically pat his ass pocket to make sure his goddamn wallet was still there.

“But you’re not a schoolteacher now,” Al said, and The Stare sucked his lips together and said, with acid calm, “No. Now I’m something else.” A jangling music hall ditty started up from the piano, an aural version of what The Stare had done with his fingers, and Al pointed a finger over at The Hat holding musically forth as the whores started straggling out to see who was playing.

“And your friend the one-man revue?”

The Stare turned in his seat to look at his companion diddling the piano keys with aplomb, saying with complete seriousness, “Hm? Now that you mention it, I never got around to asking him what he did before this. Which could be on account of how in the eight months we’ve been travelling together, aside from a ninety-day grace period at the beginning for propriety’s sake, I’ve mostly been preoccupied with sucking his cock.”

Al blinked and The Stare made good on his unofficial name, turning back around. “Well,” Al said as he hoisted the bottle of gin, “bless you for the uncommon fucking clarity of mind to actually admit to being a cocksucker, unlike the godforsaken rest of us.” He took a swig, gaze shifting to the door of The Gem as drunken-assed Buckstone Billy came reeling in, his shuffle-step to the tune of whatever caterwauling noise The Hat was tickling out of the piano.

“Now, I ain’t sayin’ that nobody in here -- nobody like the fuckin’ Limey owner -- is a piss-pot crook,” Buckstone Billy hollered, pausing for a moment in the entrance and then stumbling forward some more, “but I just come from my gold claim where I been staked to learn that my partner and me been cheated out of our holdings, cheated -- I ain’t sayin’ by who, remember -- out of land and goods and all our future wealth!” 

The Stare didn’t turn back around, and The Hat didn’t stop playing, but Al noticed the former schoolteacher go still in a way that boded no fucking good for anybody. “Take it down a step or two, Billy,” Al called to the man. “Have a drink and we’ll get it straightened out. You must have misunderstood Dan’s message about your claim.”

“I didn’t misunderstand getting swindled!” Buckstone Billy shouted, “And I aim to collect!”

Al couldn’t say what happened first, couldn’t say for sure, but he did know for certain that he’d never seen anybody other than the tight-assed Sheriff draw so fucking fast on a man. The Stare’s gimlet eyes didn’t change as he twisted himself on his stool and drew smooth as silk, two guns, and bang-bang like two gin shots Buckstone Billy was racked out on the floor of the Gem with his fingers twitching around his own un-fired revolver. Al also couldn’t say for sure that he’d realized that what he’d taken for a cane with an elaborate head in The Hat’s possession was in fact a rifle with an elaborate grip, not until the piano music stopped and only one bang, this time, but a shrouded figure just outside the doorway of the Gem blew over backwards into the mud and horseshit of the goddamn thoroughfare.

The whores had scattered, self-preservation being their strongest and most prevailing instinct, and apparently concert time was over because The Hat strolled over to Billy and kicked one of his feet to test out his viability before joining his friend at the bar, satisfied in his deadness. “Quick as ever, Tommy,” The Hat said, and Tommy gave a tilt of the chin and murmured, “With you in my corner, Alfie.”

“And every corner,” Alfie said with his lips parting as though it was some private joke between them, and then elbowed the bar again, musing to the antlers hung above the liquor shelf, “--seems to me, though, right, if you really think about it, that those two fellows, they didn’t choose much of a reasonable path towards resolution, if indeed that, Tommy, the return of their gold claim and redistribution between them of that which they seem to think had gone awry, was their main purpose and goal.” Alfie’s smile stretched wider as he looked at Al Swearengen, his eyes a slate grey reflection of Tommy’s, cold and holding fast. 

Tommy, for his part, put one of his guns down slowly on the bar and slicked his finger into the bottom of his gin glass, sucking the trace amount of alcohol off it and then rubbing his forefinger and thumb together contemplatively. “Why would you say such a thing as that, Alfie? Would you care to elaborate?”

“Since you’ve twisted my arm,” Alfie said, and leaned in to Tommy as if Al wasn’t there and could hear every word. “Seems to me that two men just come from their gold claim -- and granted I have not laid eyes upon the state of the one whom I sent swimming into the afterlife -- would have instead taken this issue to the bank to investigate their accounts, or to the Sheriff who could intercede on their behalf. But instead, illogically, bafflingly, they decided to come here to the saloon to confront a man who by all rights and recognition, yeah, would be very much prepared to defend himself in his own place of enterprise.” Alfie’s brow lowered, then lifted, as he added, “...never mind the fact that this one you laid out ain’t wearing boots, mate, and his shoes and trouser legs are clean as the proverbial fucking whistle.”

“And just come from his gold claim,” Tommy said, lighting a cigarette and blowing out a long doleful plume of smoke. “Imagine that.” He reached for the bottle that Al had put down on the bar, pouring himself another drink as Alfie raised his hand to forestall a refill on his own. “You’ve outlined quite a conundrum there, Alfie. But maybe that’s how things work in Deadwood.” Tommy didn’t drink his gin yet, fingers toying with the glass as he looked at Al, unwavering. “Maybe there was a plan in place that got hoisted and hanged by an unexpected element. And maybe the best thing to do is to make judicious but rapid adjustment for the potential brought forth by that element.”

Al looked from one to the other, spreading his hands flat on the bar above where his own shotgun was hidden, resting, having not been pressed into service for the piece of drama it had been slated for against Billy and his dead partner Absalom, the both of them with money from Al Swearengen himself lining their now horizontal pockets. 

“Gentlemen,” Al said, his brain making judicious and rapid adjustment, “if you wouldn’t mind accompanying me up that fucking staircase yonder to the privacy provided by my office, I think I might have a few fucking wiles and perfumes of my own to offer.”

“To which you will find a pair of cocksuckers like us appallingly receptive,” Alfie said, and Tommy threw back his drink as Alfie’s grin glinted like gunmetal.

[anghraine]

If things hadn't gone awry in Moria with the Balrog etc, and Boromir and Aragorn had continued on with their original plan to leave the Fellowship near Gondor to make their way to Minas Tirith, what do you think would have happened to them?

Oh, that’s interesting. 

For me, it’s pretty heavily influenced by Aragorn’s canon insistence on arriving in Gondor as only chieftain of the Northern Dúnedain and not a royal claimant (yet) in order to avoid divisiveness in the middle of the war. Even once Denethor is dead and Faramir has recognized him as king, he avoids calling himself the king until people like Imrahil start doing it. 

It’s not because he’s at all conflicted about claiming the throne, imo, but because he’s intelligent, and very good at biding his time until the right moment and then acting decisively. I think that would hold true—he’d arrive in Gondor as a Dúnadan lord and warrior seeking to help fight Sauron in whatever way Denethor sees fit. 

Denethor: Thorongil. :|

I feel like book!Boromir would be deeply ambivalent about the situation (hell, even Faramir would be, given that his initial response was a decidedly unenthusiastic “maybe”). I tend to think Boromir would be fine-ish with Aragorn as far as the brother-in-arms aspect went, but always have certain reservations, influenced by Denethor’s and Faramir’s perceptions. Regardless, Aragorn would have the sense to bide his time until the end of the war.

Then—

Assuming that the Rohan situation had worked itself out somehow (*waves hand*), I do think that Aragorn would press his claim, if semi-privately. I imagine that all four of them would be very popular at that point, so the situation wouldn’t have easy pressure points. I can’t really see Denethor giving way unless he had absolutely no other choice, and probably not even then. And it would take a hell of a lot for Boromir or Faramir to support Aragorn against Denethor. Maybe some variant on the mystical healing could convince one/both, but it’s still hard to see either turning on their father. 

For me, it’s hard to see this working out beyond, at most, some Henry V solution where it’s understood that Aragorn will take the throne after Denethor’s death (still hard for me to see Denethor accepting, but…). Until then, I suppose he’d be either a leading captain in the scaled-down but ongoing wars, or possibly involved in rebuilding Arthedain/Arnor with support from Gondor.

…and, okay, this is all skipping over the actual plot of LOTR, but if I was going to seriously consider it, two things immediately come to mind: a) per above, how the Rohan plot would actually work out without Aragorn there, and b) Faramir’s suggestion that Boromir would have been sent to Ithilien to lead the Rangers there if he hadn’t died. That would mean that Frodo would actually be reunited with Boromir in Ithilien, and maybe Boromir’s attempt to claim the Ring would happen there?

With a host of men at his call, as it were? It’s hard to see that going well. Frodo could escape with the help (“help”) of the Ring, but Sam and Gollum? But maybe Boromir has his repentance after Frodo vanishes, frees Sam and Gollum to find/follow Frodo with provisions etc, returns to Minas Tirith a haunted man, and head out to battle on the Pelennor Fields with guilt and the Black Breath hanging over him. He’s the one to sicken and nearly die. Perhaps he does tragically die before Aragorn can save him, but I think it’d be more interesting in terms of the overall dynamics if Aragorn uses his kingly powers to save Boromir before his family’s eyes. 

It’s still hard to see an easy resolution, though—it takes us back to where we were before.

At the same time, this could actually be a pretty upbeat scenario? I mean, Aragorn saves Boromir and Faramir is still around = Denethor doesn’t go mad = Gandalf is able to fight on the battlefield instead of getting distracted with Denethor’s drama, which he implies would have saved Théoden = Théoden lives = YAY, EVERYONE I CARE ABOUT LIVES.

And if Éowyn rode to Minas Tirith, it would be wholly about protecting Théoden+defiance and not Aragorn, whom she probably wouldn’t even have met, so the first time she sees him is when he heals her. It’s possible that would also be fruitful ground for her infatuation to form, but it’s also possible that it’s such a brief and strange experience that her infatuation never has the chance to form. In that case she and Faramir probably have a super fluffy courtship while all this is happening. Though maybe it’d be more difficult, given that an (apparent) alliance between the House of Eorl and House of Húrin against the background of all this could be a messy thing. There are a lot of ways that could go. 

(However it happens, Boromir and Éowyn are totally bros.)

Sorry, this is rambling and messy and prioritizes my own, um, particular interests—but there you go!

[fancybois]

So a few weeks ago Sophie ( @buzzfeedworthit​) and I came up with this AU based off of the In Control With Kelsey Worth It episodes and she complied it. It’s not a fleshed out fic at all but the idea is there and it would be a dope long length fic 

Vampire!andrew’s outfit from the sims

He’s a vampire gang boss (?) who runs an underground gambling ring/casino behind a restaurant

Casino is v fabulous and opulent

Steven is a rookie detective who is trying to take down the upper crusts

Upper crusts are an organization involved in bribery/financial corruption in local politics posing as a food club

Steven asks around and is referred to andrew

Steven goes to the underground casino trying not to reek of cop to meet andrew

He is v intimidated but andrew is such a character who loves cats and immediately takes to steven “yeah i do crime but what r u gonna do abt it if u need my help” dynamic

Steven begrudgingly moves forward w getting andrew’s help and andrew makes him part of the crew so he can go undercover

TENSION everyone else can feel too

Andrew’s underlings just roll their eyes every time andrew tries to flirt w steven but steven just thinks that is how andrew is

He gets flustered anyway

Underlings @ andrew: ur getting awful close to him, boss… whats ur game here

Andrew wants to drinks stevens blood too but in a sexy way

Eventually they infiltrate upper crusts

Steven starts a thing w sophia to get close to the mom (leader) for info

Andrew is salty

Steven confronts andrew about why he is so pissy and tension keeps mission from really making any progress bc of petty things andrew does bc he is jealous

Steven: andrew, this is my case i gotta do this tf

Andrew sabotages every interaction w sophia

Jealous? Logical next step? Kill the competition (andrew considers)

Conveniently, andrew finds out sophias treachery and that she has found out abt steven and andrew’s true intentions w upper crusts and esp her mother

S and A find out theyve been compromised and andrew offers to “take care of her”

Steven is like wtf no?!

Steven: ANDREW NO

Andrew: ANDREW YES

Andrew: trust me

But steven is adamant that andrew cant kill her so he turns her which forces her to switch allegiance to s and a and join A’s coven

So steven sees vampire!andrew in action and THATS how he finds out A is a vampire and  is like i didnt sign up for this shit

Andrew is like im pretty sure u approached me sweetie

Turning someone into a vampire looks to be a sensual thing w sharing blood

With loyalty from sophia they get the info they need on her mom but it also makes steven jealous that she is now in andrew’s coven (involves doing vampire rituals together and just more time spent together doing vampire shit)

Prompts steven to reevaluate his feelings and deal w shock of finding out andrews… condition (and realises that andrew spending time w sophia bothers him but not because he is into sophia….hmmm)

Im jealous of my ex fake gf???

Eventually comes to terms w it but is convinced andrew is not into him bc he has read all their interactions as andrew being flirty w everyone is just his personality

Also how could be possibly be w a vampire--one who already has a lady vampire conveniently in his coven

Steven decides he needs distance

Ignores andrew

Angst ensues

Decides he has enough info and it is time to get the boss of upper crusts and take her down

Problem is andrew is his only ally but steven is not thinking clearly and goes after her by himself

Gets into dangerous situation

PLOT TWIST: dangerous situation is that clara has control over bernard and she commands Bernard to possess steven

Compels steven (bernard as steven) to do bad shit

Then he is made out to be bad guy after getting caught doing crime

Gets arrested and cops think he has been feeding info to baddies or is even a baddie boss himself (of upper crusts which effectively stops cops being interested in them bc they think they caught the boss)

Ryan and shane are cops and they have to arrest steven even tho theyre friends and it is sad “how could u steven”

Andrew knows something is wrong, this isnt steven and he confronts clara willing to do anything to get bernard out of steven

He confronts clara in mysterious and tense and elegant meeting at jazz bar

Andrew: cut the shit clara what did u do

Clara sippin that martini “shame about your lover but bernard is so enjoying himself”

Andrew is like wtf so hes possessed???

Clara: u have something of mine

Andrew: ur daughter isnt a possession?? (andrew and sophia have bonded and are homies by this time)

Becomes apparent clara doesnt give a shit abt her daughter and just thinks it would be beneficial to have a vampire for upper crusts’ dynamic

Andrew goes to sophia and tells her what happened

Sophia knows he loves steven so she agrees saying it will be ok and a good chance to re-infiltrate

Bernard leaves steven and then she waits til the right moment and BLEEDS HER MOM DRY

Clara: go get ur man, andrew

Steven is locked up and andrew seeks out ryan and shane and tells them everything

But hes a criminal and as a consequence of approaching the PD he gets taken in

Steven is disoriented when bernard leaves his body (violent exit, body wracking, vomiting) and he is suddenly like What am i doing here what is happening??

Andrew has explained but nobody believes possession (cops r like yeah wow that was quite the stomach flu steven had)

So andrew is like: fine… and bc he needs to redeem steven he owns up to everything and says he was controlling steven

So steven gets let out as andrew is booked

They tell steven he was being “controlled” but the term means different things to the police and to steven (bc he knows he was at least blacked out)

Leaving steven heartbroken that he was manipulated (the tale andrew told to save steven)

Steven goes to confront andrew

Why, if any of their tension was real

Andrew responds by speaking in code that yes it was real and that he lied to get steve out so that he can finish the mission (and bc he loves steven)

Steven is confused but goes to sophia who tells him what the code means and helps plan to break andrew out

Steven is ready to do illegal shit and break laws to get andrew out bc love

Steven could confess to his undercover work and tell everyone that andrew was helping

What andrew was booked for no longer valid bc govt sanctioned task to help them bring down actual culprits

Andrew knows that steven doing illegal shit would change steven and he doesnt want steven to do that and convinces him otherwise and do do (above) rather than jailbreak and run away together

Suddenly Steven and andrew told theyre good to go and steven is like how? (he was in middle of planning how to explain but doesnt have means to prove it bc it was super under cover and involves supernatural)

Suddenly rie (police boss) comes out as the one who assigned steven the task and backs him up (thus why they were let free)

Upper crusts taken down w info provided by sophia- paper trail bc clara is gone leaving everyone in gang in disarray

Someone had tried to step up and strongman it by ordering a hit on another group to strengthen their position but it goes awry bc they suck at crime and leadership

BUT dun dun hit is on andrew and steven

Could one of them die???

Upper crusts set up a hit and then sophia tells S and A bc she had stayed on and so they set up a trap

BUT audience doesn’t know that sophia has told them and helped them so threat of ch death hangs

Lets hit go thru and then it is explained that they knew and baddie is like WTF man

Sophia had to let it go until last minute in order to catch rest of crusts and involve PD

Case ends and epilogue is S and A in hawaii (classic) one brings the other a drink and they kiss before being like u ready?? And steven is like u bet babe (bc they’re actually there for a mission as crime fighting duo)

THE END <3