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the-karma-cafe · 3 months

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arthur morgan x reader ("thursdays")

(also posted on ao3 under same username)

in which the boys are curious where arthur runs off to every thursday night (ITS FOR SEX)

song is Moonshadow by Cat Stevens ! spoiler they be fucking :/ i be making them fuck for real (oh no aaaa no arthur dont have sex with me no aaa that would be terrible i would hate that)

Javier’s eyes track Arthur as he slinks away from the campfire, tuning out Sean’s boisterous storytelling. He knows the gunslinger is readying his horse to leave. He also knows he’ll be gone for a couple of hours, returning around one or two in the morning to slump into his bed after everyone has gone to sleep.

How does Javier know?

Surprisingly, Arthur is a creature of strict routine, and he does this song and dance every Thursday night—without fail.

Javier furrows his brow, unable to quash his curiosity this time. What on Earth could he be going off to do so regularly? He never came back with meat, so he wasn’t hunting. He couldn’t be off robbing, because when he got back, he didn’t drop anything off at the contribution box. Oh, Javier, maybe he was planning to do so later on? Ah, ah, ah! What do we know about Arthur? Ever the routine-man, he donates to the camp box the second he enters camp, no matter what he just got back from. It’s always the first thing he does. Can’t be shoppin’, ‘cause it’s too late for that. Can’t be killin’, ‘cause he comes back clean.

A cuff round his shoulder roused him from his thoughts. “Javier! Didja hear me?” Sean said, drink emboldening his speech (not that the Irishman needed much encouragement).

Javier ignored him, glancing over his shoulder. Sure enough, Arthur was on his horse, trotting away from camp, everyone else none-the-wiser.

“Hullloooo??” Sean needled, pushing his side into Javier’s.

Javier looked over to Lenny and Charles sitting across the campfire from them, and felt a spark of inspiration ignite within him. He leaned forward, beckoning them closer with his hand. They looked confused, but crossed the clearing anyway, kneeling in front of his and Sean’s log.

“What is it?” Lenny prompted, his voice hushed. He could always trust Lenny to be discreet.

“Yeah!” Sean added, much louder. ...He could’ve guessed.

He lowered his voice, smirking conspiratorially. “Where’d Arthur go?”

Sean and Lenny frowned, caught off-guard by the question, but Charles inclined his head in understanding. “I didn’t think anyone else noticed.”

“Noticed what??” Sean whined, leaning in closer to Charles. “Don’t be keepin’ secrets, now!”

Charles rolled his eyes, waving his hand to shush Sean. He nodded his head to Javier. “Arthur’s been leaving every Thursday night.”

Sean scrunched his nose. “So what? Art’ur leaves all the time!” Lenny nodded along.

Javier shook his head. “But Thursdays are different. He leaves around 10PM, comes back around 1AM. Why the same amount of time?”

Sean was quiet for a moment (if one could believe it), before jumping up from the log, his beer bottle sloshing in his hand. “Let’s go find out!!” he whispered loudly, grinning from ear to ear.

Javier couldn’t help but mirror his expression. He was hoping he wasn’t the only one this curious about it. He felt a thrum of excitement run through him. He pushed up from the log, Lenny readying to follow him.

“Guys,” Charles interrupted, stopping their walk to the horses. “Arthur’s entitled to his privacy. We should let him have this—whatever it is.”

He should’ve expected this from ever-noble Charles. Sean began to argue, but Javier cut him off, knowing he wouldn’t win against Charles. “It’s probably nothing.” he retorted, trying not to feel guilty under the other man’s pointed stare. He turned away, making for the horses anyway. “I’m going. You don’t have to.”

“Wouldn’t miss this fer the world!” Sean laughed, immediately tagging along. Javier fought the triumphant grin pulling at his lips. He heard Lenny awkwardly shuffle behind them, some whispered apology to Charles.

He mounted his horse, waiting impatiently for Sean to struggle onto his own. His eyes searched the growth around the camp, hoping to find an indication of where Arthur ran off to. He could track, but Charles was the expert. It would make things much easier to have him with them…

The man in question’s voice came behind him. “I’m only tagging along to make sure you don’t ruin whatever Arthur has going on.” He turned to see Charles mounting Taima, disapproval marring his proud features.

Javier grinned in spite of it. “Excellent! Vámonos!” he cheered, leading the search brigade with Charles by his side, the other man’s trained eye focused on the ground. Lenny followed behind them with Sean drunkenly pulling up the rear. Charles looked as though he wanted to stop him from coming, but seemed to decide against it, knowing the stubborn man wouldn’t listen to a word he said.

Charles followed Arthur’s trail down the left path from camp, past the trees, past the tracks, until they arrived in Valentine. Javier felt giddy.

Charles stopped them in front of the saloon, hopping off his horse to hitch her, the rest of them quickly following suit.

“The saloon?” Sean whispered, creeping up the steps to peer through the building’s windows. Lenny followed behind him, and the two poked their noses over the ledge of the window, trying to sneak a glance within. Charles walked over to join them, and would have looked less suspicious if not for the two idiots in front of him crouched like children.

Javier approached the window opposite them, casually leaning to the side of it to look in. Not that his subtlety helped him, as again, he was across from three grown men cartoonishly trying to peek inside as well.

He spied a couple of men that looked like Arthur before finally seeing actual Arthur at the bar. He wasn’t hunched over it, like some of the other patrons were, and instead was looking around at the other people in the saloon, as if searching for someone. What could that be about? He wondered.

Before he could think on it further, Sean strolled into the saloon, Lenny in tow. Charles shared a knowing glance with him before following them in.

Sean beelined for Arthur, and soon they all surrounded him, clapping him on the back.

“You’d go to the saloon without inviting yer favorite drinking buddy?” Sean accused, roughly pushing at the man’s shoulder.

“My favorite drinking buddy, huh?” Arthur echoed, his voice not reflecting what Javier knew to be embarrassment on his face. Arthur slumped over the bar, tugging the front of his hat further over his face.

Sean gasped. “Drinkin’ with me’s a treat! Ye should be so lucky!”

Javier nudged him from his other side. “We were wondering where you headed off to all the time. Had we known it was just the saloon we would not have bothered!” he laughed, waving the bartender over. He would buy him a drink to apologize.

“You too, Charles?” Arthur asked, sounding betrayed.

Charles sighed, apologizing. “I was trying to get them to leave you alone, Arthur.” Javier couldn’t help but think the man didn’t put up too much of a fight.

“Well,” Arthur cleared his throat. “‘F that’s all, you can all head on back to camp, I’ll be back soon.”

Sean scoffed. “Why d’you want to be rid of us so-”

A guitar strum floated over from the back of the saloon, and he trailed off. Arthur buried his head in his arms, the tips of his ears red. Javier cocked a brow, looking over.

“Miss me, y’all?” a pretty woman at the back of the room called out, guitar in hand. A couple of cheers and whoops came from the crowd, the saloon filled with noise.

The boys grinned knowingly.

“Not. A goddamn. Word.” Arthur groaned, his voice muffled by his arms.

Sean barked a laugh, clapping the man on the back. “Ohoho, ye rascal, we shoulda known ye’d try ta keep this beauty ta yerself!” He wolf-whistled towards the performer.

Javier grinned toothily, leaning in to tease Arthur. “You could have told us you were only leaving to see about a girl, Arthur.”

Arthur pushed up from his slump, nursing his whiskey miserably. “Like you would’ve let me hear the end of it.” He grumbled. Javier pushed his extra drink over to the man, giggling like a teenager. Arthur the Stoic, red-faced and shy about a singer. He never thought he’d see the day!

The woman, having finished her introductions while they teased Arthur, began to sing. Javier watched Arthur turn himself slightly to watch her.

Yes, I'm bein' followed by a moonshadow

Moonshadow, moonshadow

Leapin' and hoppin' on a moonshadow

Moonshadow, moonshadow

Arthur couldn’t help the dreamy smile that twisted his mouth, watching her. She looked so content, fully in her element up there on Valentine’s tiny lifted stage. The piano man to her right had abandoned his duties to drink at the nearest table.

And if I ever lose my hands

Lose my plow, lose my land

Oh, if I ever lose my hands

Oh iiiii-iiiif, I won't have to work no more

Her southern accent colored the lyrics, guiding the notes up and down as she pleased. The patrons knew this song, and sang along with her every now and then, but none followed the exact way she sang it, allowing him to easily follow her voice amidst the noise.

And if I ever lose my eyes

If my colors all run dry

Yes, if I ever lose my eyes

Oh iiiii-iiiif, I won't have to cry no more

Sean stumbled into the fray, caught in some dance with a couple of other patrons, breaking his trance. Arthur dragged a hand over his face, hoping he didn’t look as foolish as he felt.

Yes, I’m bein' followed by a moonshadow

Moonshadow, moonshadow

Leapin' and hoppin' on a moonshadow

Moonshadow, moonshadow

Most nights, he would allow himself to indulge in the fantasy. Convince himself she was singin’ for him, that when they locked eyes across the saloon, she had the same look in hers as he did.

And if I ever lose my legs

I won't moan, and I won't beg

Oh, if I ever lose my legs

Oh iiiii-iiiif, I won't have to walk no more

He downed his drink and reached for Javier’s—anything to give him an excuse for the way he was lookin’ at her. Having them with him just dragged him back to reality: he was just another face in the crowd to her, and even if he did catch her eye, she would just think him old and sour-faced, and leave it at that.

And if I ever lose my mouth

All my teeth, north and south

Yes, if I ever lose my mouth

Oh iiiii-iiiif, I won't have to talk no more

He took another deep drink, feeling that familiar haze begin to set in on the edge of his vision.

Did it take long to find me?

I asked the faithful light

Oh, did it take long to find me?

And are you gonna stay the night?

This would be the last time he let himself come here on a Thursday night. He was just torturin’ himself, thinkin’ of things that would never be. Head in the clouds, like Micah would say. Christ, he was glad they didn’t think to bring him along.

I'm bein' followed by a moonshadow

Moonshadow, moonshadow

Leapin' and hoppin' on a moonshadow

Moonshadow, moonshadow

The drink crept into his heart. If this was his last night here, with her, he might as well fool himself one last time, the drink said. What’s the harm? One last time can’t hurt. It wheedled, and he knew he’d be miserable come morning.

Moonshadow, moonshadow

He leaned to his right, seeking Javier’s weight to nudge him for another drink (least he could do for ruinin’ his fun), but felt only air. He frowned, glancing around for the others. Sean had dragged Lenny into his drunken dance, Javier was speaking with some well-endowed woman in the corner (who seemed very pleased to have his attention), and Charles… his frown deepened, squinting at the blurry crowd. He couldn’t see Charles. Knowing the women of Valentine, he was likely cornered somewhere, politely refusing their services (although for a man like Charles, perhaps it was free).

Arthur grunted, turning back to his empty glass. Figures that his friends would quickly find company at a place he frequented, and he was left miserable and alone. He plucked his hat off his head, raking his other hand through his hair. He was sure he looked a mess—no wonder he was by himself.

“Hey, cowboy.” a voice came from his right, startling him from his wallowing. He turned, and felt his heart jump to see his singer leaning against the bar next to him.

Her eyes were bright, her face flushed. She seemed out of breath from her performance, but pleased, satisfied with how she had done.

He gaped like a fish. Say somethin’, goddammit!

She smiled, shifting her eyes to his glass. She pointed at it lazily. “Be a doll and get me what you’re havin’?”

He nodded dumbly, gesturing wordlessly at the bartender. Seconds later, a replica of his drink sat in front of her. She thanked him and brought the glass to her lips. He knew he looked ridiculous, eyes trained on the way her lips parted, the amber liquid gliding into her mouth, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

She set the glass back down, giving him a teasing smile. “You mute?”

He shook his head—then inwardly smacked himself for yet another wordless response. “No.” Christ, you can do better than that.

She giggled, and he thought he might die. “What a scintillating conversationalist you are, Mister…” she trailed off, tilting her head.

“Morgan.” he provided. His mind caught up to the conversation fast enough to ask for her name in turn (he deserved a pat on the back for being so quick-witted). She gave it, and he almost sighed aloud. She had a name she introduced herself with to the crowds, but he suspected it was a stage name, and he had been correct. Her real name was a privilege to finally learn.

He repeated it back to her, experimentally rolling it on his tongue. She grinned. “Sounds nice when you say it, Mr. Morgan.”

“Arthur,” he corrected. “‘S just Arthur. For you.” He coughed, turning to order another drink, just to have something, anything , to distract him from the weight of her gaze on him. “I mean, if you want. Morgan’s fine too.”

“Arthur,” she purred. He felt faint. “I like that more.” His next drink arrived and he immediately buried his face in it, unable to meet her eyes. Christ, he was like a teenager. He inwardly scolded himself.

She carried on, oblivious to his inner turmoil. “I see you here a lot, Arthur.�� she gestured over her shoulder to the crowd. “First time I seen you bring friends, though.”

So she had seen him in the crowd all those times? He squashed the thought before it ruined him. He laughed, shaking his head. “Bastards invited themselves.” He chanced a glance at her, her attention on the crowd instead of him. He eyed her drink, already half-empty in her hand, before looking up, up, to the curve of her chest, the proud slope of her neck, the strands of hair falling loose from her updo, her lips, her nose, her eyes… he forced himself to look at the crowd instead. “Don’t you have some adorin’ fans to go talk to?”

She turned her head to look at him, but he kept his eyes focused ahead. “I thought I was already doin’ that.” she sidled closer to him, nudging her shoulder against his arm. Warmth radiated off of her. “Unless you’re not one of my adoring fans.”

Arthur felt heat creep up his neck and he shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” she echoed, amusement coloring her voice. “I don’t think you’ve missed a single one of my performances, Arthur Morgan.” he felt a shiver run up his spine. “If anyone’s a fan, it’s you.”

He pulled the lip of his hat down over his eyes. “Maybe.” Guilty as charged.

She laughed, and rounded to his front. She flicked up the front of his hat, and his eyes met hers. He stilled, entranced. There seemed to be a glow about her, some hazy halo enveloping her body. How much had he had?

“You won’t admit it?” What had they been talking about again? He tried not to focus on their difference in height, how easy it would be to scoop her up, his hands so large on her hips…

“Well?” He flexed his hands, trying to reign himself in. Her face was expectant: eyebrows raised, pretty lips pursed.

He shook his head. Couldn’t this woman see he couldn’t think straight?

Apparently that counted as an answer and she scoffed, playfully rolling her eyes. “You embarrassed?”

Yes. Why did she think he was, again? He sighed. “I’m sorry, miss,” he tried her name again, wanting to say it over and over. “I believe I am too drunk for this conversation.”

She grinned in understanding. “Why don’t we talk someplace quieter, make things easier on your poor head, hm?”

Someplace quieter? His mind echoed, while his body nodded dumbly, stumbling behind her. She took his hand in her own, leading him up the stairs. His eyes were trained intently on their hands, her hand small, warm, in his, her fingertips roughened from guitar strings.

What was she doin’, touchin’ a man like him? He couldn’t bring himself to pull away, as much as he knew he should. It felt nice, to indulge. The hazy shroud around his vision encroached further inwards, tunneling his view.

“Here,” she said, so softly he almost didn’t hear. She pushed open a door, leading him inside and shutting it behind them. It was suddenly much quieter. He breathed a sigh of relief, some tension leaving his set shoulders.

“Nicer up here, isn’t it?” she prompted, releasing his hand. He ached at the loss. He dragged his gaze up to watch her dance over to the… bed. He gulped, valiantly fighting off the thoughts that sprang up at the sight of her.

“Mhm.” He didn’t know what to do with himself. He stood awkwardly where she had left him, staring dumbly at her. What the hell was she thinkin’, bringin’ a man like him up here, alone with her? She could get herself hurt, or worse. He frowned. She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off. “I shouldn’ be up here with you.” He shook his head, forcing himself to look at the ground. “Ain’t right. You shouldn’ trust me.” his words slurred, but he hoped she was taking him seriously despite it.

“Why not?”

He groaned. God, her voice. He buried his head in his hands. “I ain’t. A nice man, miss,” he spoke her name again, and god, hoped she couldn’t hear how he loved to say it.

He felt her hand on his arm. When had she gotten up? She was so warm. He lowered his hands, chancing a look into her eyes, hoping he was strong enough to resist their pull.

Christ, of course he couldn’t. She looked up at him through her lashes, stepping closer, their bodies almost touching. He breathed in, unable to bring himself to look away this time. She smelled like the alcohol everything smelled like in the saloon, but a sweet undertone ran beneath it. He was reminded of the saccharine scent of canned peaches.

Her hand smoothed down his arm to his hand, lacing their fingers together. Her other reached up, up, and palmed his cheek, her touch gentle like she was approaching some wild horse. He leaned into it before he could stop himself, his stubble scratching against her skin.

“How ‘bout,” she started, her voice soft and quiet, “I decide that for myself?”

His eyelids felt heavy, and he felt himself forgetting what she was even responding to. His free hand began to move of its own accord, bumping into her thigh, smoothing up to her hip. He looked down. Just like he had imagined…

She moved, and his gaze shifted to her face, slowly nearing his. His breath hitched. This was some sweet dream. He would awaken in his tent, frustrated and wanting, would take himself in his hand and relieve himself to the sight of her like this in his mind’s eye. He would wait until next Thursday and slink back to the bar, eager for more. Her lips touched his and he sighed into her mouth, whiskey on his breath. He would stay asleep forever, if he could, lips pushing against hers, nipping at her soft skin, tonguing past it.

She parted from him, gently, as if to not scare him off. He breathed heavily, eyes lidded, vision tunneled onto her mouth. She started to speak, but he cut her off, pushing hungrily into her, cupping his hand around the back of her neck. He had waited so long, so long. He would take it, even if it wasn’t real.

She gasped into his mouth and he almost moaned at the sensation. God, what a privilege to finally have her all to himself. To have her in front of him, touching him, kissing him, instead of with her crowd, Arthur by himself at the other end.

Her knees buckled, falling back onto the bed. He huffed, breaking from her. He thrust his hands beneath her thighs, hearing her squeak in surprise. “Easy, girl.” he muttered under his breath, picking her up and tossing her into the pillows at the head of the bed, following soon after.

He climbed onto the bed above her, and stilled, looking down at her. Her hair had spilled out of its updo, hair piece having been discarded… at some point, perhaps before they had even entered the room? His memory felt hazy. She looked up at him through her lashes, her lips parted, chest heaving. His eyes softened. “Yer beautiful, miss,” he whispered her name.

Her cheeks flushed prettily. “Thank you, Arthur.” she breathed. She tilted her head up slightly, her eyes slipping down to his lips.

He reached out, taking a piece of her hair between his fingers, twisting it around. It was soft. Of course it was. It was devastating how perfect she was. “I liked your song, earlier.” he mumbled, focused on her hair.

“I… I’m glad.” she whispered, her hand winding up his arm, to his neck, to his head, to take off his hat. She placed it down somewhere, and her hand soon wound its way into his hair, her short nails scraping at the back of his head. His eyes slipped closed, humming at the sensation. “I was hoping you would be here, tonight.”

He blinked open his eyes just enough to see her face. “What?” he asked, his voice gruff.

She averted her gaze, blush deepening. “Been lookin’ forward to seein’ you at my performances.”

He scoffed. Now he knew this was a dream. “Uh huh.” He leaned in, burying his nose in her neck. “You don’t gotta lie t’me.” He turned, placing open-mouthed kisses along any skin he could find. Her breath hitched in his ear.

“I-I’m not.” she insisted. He hummed, laving across a section of skin before taking it between his teeth, sucking slightly. She held her breath for a second, forcing out her next words. “I been… been dreadin’ the day you stop showin’ up,” she breathed out, “and I’d have missed my chance.”

He parted from her, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. They were lidded, but earnest. He felt his heart flutter in his chest. “I counted at least ten other men better-lookin’ and closer in age t’you. Yer tellin’ me not one o’ them caught yer eye?”

“‘S that really so hard to believe?” she palmed his cheek again, stroking it with her thumb.

“Yes.” he laughed dryly, but leaned into her hand all the same.

She brought up her other hand, cupping his face. “Look how sweet you are, baby.” she cooed, bringing his face closer to nuzzle her nose against his. “What a cutie-pie!” she teased.

His eyes softened, tracing the features of her face. He wished he could pause time, sketch her in his journal. He’d just have to memorize how she looked, and try his best to replicate it later. Once he woke up, of course. From this dream.

She connected their lips and he groaned, not expecting the sudden contact again. Her hands moved from his face to wrap around his neck and scratch at his shoulders. It felt like she was sucking him in, how truly he could not pull away.

He rubbed his hand up her thigh, pushing up her long skirt. Her skin was smooth under his rough hand, moving up to grab at the soft flesh of her ass, squeezing and pulling her up towards him. She arched slightly, and he grabbed his other hand behind her waist to pull her closer, closer still.

Her breasts brushed against his chest, her nipples stiffening through the thin fabric. He nudged her head to the side with his nose, moving to kiss down her neck. She sighed in his ear, her hands busying themselves with his arms and shoulders. Drink made him sloppy in his movements, his tongue wetting her neck and chest as he made his way down to her breasts. He didn’t bother to tug the fabric down, instead mouthing over her nipple through the fabric, flattening and swirling his tongue into the mound.

She whimpered, her hand moving up to tug at the hair on the back of his head, her other moving down to tug her shirt down under her tits. He parted from her while she did so, unable to help the smirk twisting his mouth at her desperation.

“You like that, doll?” he muttered, taking in the sight of her bare breasts, her shirt bunched up underneath them.

She stuttered out a response, arching up towards his mouth. Seeing her like this sent a surge of confidence through him. She was his. No one else downstairs got to see her like this. Just him. Only him. He brushed his lips against her nipple, watching her try to push into his mouth.

He smiled against her, and she whined, tugging his hair. “Don’t tease me, Arthur.” she breathed. Fuck. He took it into his mouth, his hand encircling the other, twisting and toying with it. He would give her anything she wanted if it meant she would say his name like that again.

He dragged his mouth down, not missing the soft moan she gave at the loss, cool air ghosting over her wet nipple. He kissed down her stomach, moving his hands down underneath her thighs, pushing them up, up.

He bunched her skirt around her, and pulled back. His eyebrows jumped up his forehead in surprise. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. He looked up at her.

Her face was reddened with embarrassment, her hands covering her cheeks.

“Care to explain this?” he teased, running his hands down her thighs, closer, closer.

She bit her lip. “I…” she looked away.

He tilted his head, indicating he was waiting.

“I… did say I was hopin’ to see you tonight, didn’t I?” she laughed breathily.

His chest rumbled in approval, looking down at her exposed cunt, already wet without him touching it. “All this…” he drawled, glancing up at her, “for me?”

She nodded, hiding slightly behind her hands.

“Too kind to me, sweetheart,” he lowered himself, breathing her in. He kissed her thigh, feeling her twitch. “You shouldn’t have…” his breath ghosted between her legs, and she shuddered, anticipation building. He placed a few more open-mouthed kisses inside her thighs, feeling her arch into him, growing desperate. He took pity.

Gripping her soft thighs in his hands, he licked one long stripe up her slit, gathering her wetness onto his tongue. She gasped, tightening her legs. He forced them open, holding them up. “Be good, princess, or I won’t be good to you.” he admonished, kissing her thigh.

She shuddered. “Shit, yes, sorry yes, please, I’ll be good, please,” she breathed, trying to wiggle closer to his mouth.

“Good girl,” he praised, flattening his tongue against her clit, lapping at it softly. She cursed, her hands fisting the bedding. He laved up her slit, once, twice, three times, before closing his lips around her bud, lightly sucking it in and swirling his tongue around it.

“Fuck, Arthur,” she gasped, and he groaned against her, working his tongue inside of her, circling the entrance before pushing in, lapping up at her walls. He smoothed his hand up her thigh, reaching her clit with the rough pad of his thumb. He pressed gentle circles into it, his tongue spreading into her. She hissed, bucking into his ministrations.

He pulled away, sliding his thumb down from her clit to her entrance, gently working his way inside.

“Arthur…” she whined.

“Yeah?” He teased, mimicking her tone, pushing his thick thumb further inside of her.

She moaned, pushing herself onto him. “Arthur, please, I need more,” she breathed, meeting his gaze. “I need you .”

He felt himself throb against his already-strained pants. He cursed under his breath, moving to unbuckle his pants. In his tunnel vision, he didn’t see her move from her position on the bed.

Her hand came to rest over where his struggled with the buckle. “Let me, baby.” she cooed, moving his hands away. He blinked, letting her move him, watching her smaller hands undo his belt, working his pants down, taking him… oh. She took him out, palming his length. Shit, it looked bigger in her hand. Or maybe he hadn’t been this worked up in awhile. She ghosted her hand up and down, barely fluttering her thumb over the tip. His breath hitched, trying not to buck up into her hand, and failing, miserably.

She grinned, looking up at him through her lashes. He reached out, stroking her cheek with his hand. “Hey, girl.” he breathed shakily, her hand jerking up suddenly.

She giggled. “Hey, yourself, handsome.”

He flushed, suddenly embarrassed to be on the other end. He looked away, only for a moment, before feeling a warm wetness engulf him. He gasped, whipping back to look down at her, half of his length having disappeared into her mouth. “Shit, darlin’,” he cursed, his accent dragging at the words. He bucked up into her lips, smoothing his thumb across her cheek.

She hummed, the sound sending vibrations into him. “God, sweetheart, you’re bein’ so fuckin’ good to me right now,” he hissed, his hand reaching underneath to cup her jaw, squeezing it and guiding himself further in.

She opened her mouth wider to take him. “Christ, you’re perfect,” he groaned, feeling her tongue slide up, her hand taking what her mouth couldn’t.

She pulled off of him, kissing his tip, pumping her hand over the slick she had left. His breath shuddered. She smiled up at him. “You want more?”

“God, yes.” he pushed her back onto the bed, muscling her onto her stomach, ass in the air. She squeaked in surprise, and he palmed her ass, squeezing it open to get a better look. God, she was practically dripping for him. He bit his lip, groaning. He rubbed himself up her slit, gathering the wetness there, rubbing it onto himself. “All this for me, darlin’?” he whispered, squeezing her hip.

She wiggled herself back, trying to take him in. “Fuck, Arthur, it is, please, just fuck me already,” she whined, his tip sliding just past where she wanted him.

“If the lady insists,” he teased, aligning himself with her, before softly, gently, pushing into her.

She turned her face into the mattress, moaning, grabbing at the covers. “ Jesus, Arthur.” she groaned, her words muffled.

He pressed in further. Halfway. “Can’t hear you, doll.” It was taking everything in him to go so slowly.

She turned her head to the side, pushing back to take more of him in. He hissed, his hands twitching on her ass, squeezing her.

He let out a breath, finally fully seated. He didn’t want to hurt her, he couldn’t. He gyrated against her, desperate for some kind of friction. A whine built in his throat. “Can-”

Before he could ask, she forcefully pushed back into him, and he cursed, abandoning all hesitation and fucking into her. She cried out his name, arching against him. She was so tight and hot around him, her ass bouncing back against him with every thrust. It was all he could do to keep himself standing, his vision focused solely on where their bodies met.

“Ar-thur,” she gasped, her breath shuddering, “God, God, you’re so big Arthur, Jesus Christ,” she moaned, her words starting to devolve into sounds with no meaning.

He kept himself rooted deep within her, barely pulling out before slamming back in again, and again, and again. Her hands grasped for purchase anywhere, everywhere, on the bed, moaning noises that almost sounded like his name, pushing back into him with every thrust.

Shit. Shit. He screwed his eyes shut. He wasn’t sure he could last much longer.

“Miss,” he breathed her name. “I, shit, I-” he grabbed her thighs, his fingers bruising in their pressure, forcing her back into him.

She whined at the pressure, growing limper.

“Fuck! Fuck,” he yanked himself from her, grabbing at himself and finishing on her back.

She had collapsed into the bed, giving a small satisfied moan. He breathed heavily, immediately grabbing a towel from the closet and cleaning her off. “S-Sorry, Miss.” he caught his breath, “Should’ve grabbed the towel before doin’ that on you.” He discarded the towel, placing a small kiss on her back, then immediately wondering if that was too much.

“What?” she said, muffled a bit by the covers. She turned, pushing herself up to sit and look at him. She frowned, reaching out and cupping his cheek. “You’ve got nothin’ to apologize for, cowboy.” Her frown twisted to a smile, “I oughta be thankin’ you for such a nice time.” she teased, pinching his cheek.

He suddenly grew bashful, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’ know about all that, but I definitely am thankin’ you.” Her face was flushed, her eyes bright, her lips slightly swollen… he had so many things to remember for his journal. “Best dream I’ve had in awhile,” he mumbled, moving to get under the covers.

She joined him. “Dream?” she laughed, “You still drunk enough to think you’re dreamin’?”

He shrugged, opening his arms. She shifted into them, laying her head on his chest. “Could be stone cold sober and still think this was a dream.” He pecked her head. “I’ll miss you in the mornin’, girl.”

She snorted, but snuggled into him anyway.

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

Arthur groaned, the light only hitting his closed eyes, but giving him a headache all the same. His back didn’t hold the ache it usually did, though, laying on this terrible cot. It was the small victories, he guessed.

He thought back to his dream last night, and sighed wistfully. What he would give to have that right now, his cock painfully hard this morning. He forced himself to sit up, rubbing at his eyes.

A hand reached across his stomach, ghosting against his length. He jumped, looking over to his side. “Well, good morning to you, too.” she yawned, lightly playing with him, a teasing look in her eye.

He blinked. He squinted.

He rubbed his eyes again.

“Holy shit.”

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

Bonus

The woman placed the guitar against the wall, happily engaged in conversation with some of the patrons closest to her stage. “Excuse me,” Charles butted in, stealing her attention from them.

She turned to him, confused, but polite. “Yes, sir?”

He smiled kindly. “I’m sorry, Miss, but could you do me a favor?”

“Depends on the favor, don’t it?” she laughed.

He nodded in understanding, and pointed to Arthur, hunched over the bar. “Do you see that miserable man over there?” She looked, and stiffened in recognition. “He has been coming to this saloon every Thursday night, just for you.” he turned to her.

A blush painted her cheeks. “You’re kiddin’.” she laced her fingers together nervously. “He’s never said anything to me.”

Charles shook his head. “My friend—he is shy with women.” he leaned in conspiratorially, “Especially women he likes.” The woman’s blush deepened, her gaze darting over to Arthur. He straightened up. “All I ask is that you talk to him. I’m afraid my friends and I have ruined his Thursday, and I’m sure that would cheer him up.”

She looked up at him, her eyes dancing. He could tell why Arthur was so taken with her. “He sounds sweet,” she spoke softly. “I would love to.”

He thanked her, watching her make true on her word and walk over to Arthur. Charles noted his reddened ears and fumbling fingers and smiled. Hopefully, this would make up for it.

#arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 #charles smith #red dead redemption 2 #javier escuella #lenny summers #sean macguire #smut #fanfiction #fanfic

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illubean · 2 months

Note

hi lovelyyy, wb headcanons of kurapika being jealous? maybe reader has some childhood guy friends who he got jealous of? ty!

Kurapika Jealousy Headcanons

Characters: Kurapika Kurta Type: Headcanons, Gn!reader

random name generator has chosen Leo as the friend's name

Warnings: none

Kurapika normally wasn't the jealous type

he trusted that you were faithful, and you never bothered him about the women he worked with so who is he to tell you who to be friends with?

but this time... something in particular ticked him off

the two of you were walking around the city together, spending some much needed quality time together when some guy bumps into you

once you and the stranger recognized each other you got so excited and Kurapika concluded the two of you were old friends

this alone didn't bother him, however the way your friend pushed him aside and wrapped an arm around your shoulder did

you decided to invite this mystery man to go get lunch with you and Kurapika, completely forgetting about the blonde momentarily which made his eye twitch

he cleared his throat, catching your attention

"Oh, how rude of me! This is Lenny one of my childhood friends, and Leo this is Kurapika. He's-" "Her boyfriend."

he gave Leo a firm handshake and a hardened look that he didn't seem to pick up on

you guys all headed to a nice cozy restaurant and before he even had a chance to sit down Leo was already next to you

he begrudgingly sat down across from the two of you while you babbled on about things that happened in your childhood and whatnot

poor Kurapika was feeling left out :((

when the food came out he no longer had an appetite and just poked around his salad

what really got to him was watching the two of you feed each other

like seriously wtf is going on

what is he, chopped liver?

his eyes flickered that violent red as he got up and left the table

"I need a moment outside"

Leo was clueless, but you noticing the change in your boyfriend's behavior excused yourself from the table to go after him

you found him leaning against the side of the building with a hand pinching the bridge of his nose

"Baby, what's the matter?" "Oh I don't know, maybe the fact that some random man is stealing my s/o's attention from me"

you stood confused for a moment before you felt his arms wrap around you and his face rested in the crook of your neck

"I can't stand seeing you give someone else so much attention."

now everything finally clicked for you

your poor baby was jealous

you let out a giggle at this before returning his embraced

"Hun, there's nothing to be jealous over. You know you're the only one with a key to my heart. Besides, Leo is aromantic." "...oh."

well now Kurapika just felt silly for jumping to conclusions

you guys then return to the table and he apologizes to your friend for being so rude

all he needed was a lil reassurance <3

#hxh 2011 #hxh x reader #hunter x hunter #hxh #kurapika hxh #kurapika #hxh kurapika #kurapika hunter x hunter #hxh fanfic #hunter x hunter headcanons #hunter x hunter kurapika #kurapika headcanons #kurapika x reader #kurapika kurta

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ccghastly · 9 months

Text

Arthur and Sleep

A series of Headcanons.

When he's in camp he is out, nothing short of gunfire and screaming can wake him

The hustle and bustle of camp actually helps him sleep, he's a very light sleeper when camping alone or out on the range. I lied, If there's a sudden silence in camp that will also wake him up

If Miss Grimshaw saw him ride in she wakes him at around 10am, if he rode in during the night and she didn't see him, she leaves him to sleep. She also shoos away and scolds everyone else that tries

Dutch! You leave that boy alone and let him get some sleep. If you need something done why don't you go bother Uncle, the useless layabout!

John is very jealous of how Arthur can sleep in full daylight like it's nothing. John only gets good rest if it's completely dark, hence why he bothers to completely batten down his tent every night

Arthur is a sleepy cuddle monster, if anyone gets within arms reach he will cling on and drag them down for cuddles. Which would be all well and good if he wasn't also a living furnace

He gets so warm during the night. It feels like the moon crests and he just starts sweating. Hates sleeping in an enclosed tent if it's not raining, thus why he refuses to use the sidewalls of his tent in camp. He needs any bit of a breeze that he can get. Great for the colder months however. Everyone wants to share a tent with Arthur in the colder months.

Jack gets first priority cause he's a child and he's teensy, but it is a vicious race for who else gets to share. Hosea is usually also a shoo in because he has Papa privilege, but Javier has a suspicious habit of being in the tent just chatting away when the time for bedding down comes and for Arthur to kindly extend an invitation to just stay the night. So, of course Javier obliges him.

Javier is Mexican down to his bones, he does not like the cold.

Arthur can and will nap absolutely everywhere in the camp, but it happens most often if he's sitting with someone. If there's a gap in conversation there's a 50/50 chance of him dozing off. And these odds rise in proportion to the length of the silence. Charles finds it very cute, he's very honored that Arthur trusts him that much. Hosea takes direct advantage of it by inviting Arthur for a chat then deliberately timing things so he falls asleep. Sean and Lenny have made a sport of timing it and the whole camp gets in on betting on how long it'll take this time, the current record is One minute and twenty-seven seconds.

Kind Anons have requested versions about the others so here's those links if that interests you↓

John and Sleep

Charles and Sleep

Javier and Sleep

#Arthur Morgan #John Marston #ccghastly #rdr2 #red dead redemption two #red dead redemption 2 #hosea mathews #susan grimshaw #sean macguire #lenny summers #charles smith #javier escuella #rdr2 headcanon #headcanon

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sapphic-pikachu · 1 year

Text

Playing Dress Up

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2

Words: 1.6K

Summary: Arthur waits as you get ready for a plan that require you both to dress up for a party.

Warnings: I haven’t written fanfiction for like 5 years, Arthur is an insecure man who needs a hug, mainly Arthur’s pov, sfw

A/N: I might do a part two of this involving them actually being at the gala? fake dating trope is my weakness sorry x lemme know if anyone wants it

Arthur’s heart feels warm in his chest as he glimpses the shadows of your silhouette through the canvas of his tent.

Inside, he can hear your bashful laughter amongst the rest of the girls. When they heard about the preparation needed for this latest plan of Dutch’s, they immediately staked claim to both you, and Arthur’s tent, pulling the tent flaps closed behind you all.

“The lady and her helping hands need privacy, of course!” Karen had yelled in some horrible imitation of the upper class, before cackling with laughter.

Arthur leaned against a wooden bench surrounded by the rest of the gang, who similarly to the women, were giddy about the prospect of money if their latest plan went accordingly. Arthur roughly tugged against the stiff white collar of his button down. He jolted his hand firmly downwards when Mrs Grimshaw, who had been guiding him sternly all evening on how to keep his suit clean, shot a warning glare his way.

“You won’t be saying that when he drags us both into it and has us waking snakes,” he had grumbled back. It was you who had rolled your eyes then, responding to him with a playful shove with your hand. Arthur thought his heart had stopped beating then, and the feeling of your fingertips on his upper bicep burnt into his skin for the rest of the day.

Arthur had been right to roll his eyes - here he was, dressed to the high nines with Hosea, Dutch, Bill and Trelawney in similar looking high class suits. His hair was slicked back, his beard freshly trimmed and the black blazer clung to his arms tightly - a mistake often made when Trelawney was given free reign over the gang’s fashionable attire, and had to outsource it from any means necessary.

On the outskirts of the town that they were currently holed up just outside of, a large, very rich, group of people were to meet up in the form of a party. Trelawney had heard of it, and thought it would be a brilliant idea for the gang to rob all the assumably drunk partygoers blind. Arthur didn’t deny that it was a good plan; he just desperately wished it didn’t involve wearing such a form fitting, expensive piece of clothing. And even more so, he desperately wished it didn’t involve having to be sociable with the entire high society on a medium sized town.

He had thought it would just be them at first. Of course, they would have Javier, Lenny and Sadie right outside in a carriage, fully armed and rearing to go, just in case things were to go south. But then Trelawney came back bursting into camp that morning with a small leather chest, filled with a dress, jewellery and hair clips just for you.

Arthur had laughed joyfully, ignoring the glare you gave him across camp. You had assumed you would help out with Sadie and the rest, assisting with your guns blazing only if necessary. But Dutch had developed bigger plans for you: you were to pose with the rest of the men, as a high society lady looking to develop new roots and relationships in a new area. Much like Arthur, the thought of wearing such clothing and having to make conversation with such people appalled you - while you appreciated the beauty of femininity, it was much more easier for you to stick on men’s trousers and boots when you were gunning down people or riding your trusted horse away from the law.

And so everyone waited for you to be done. Every once in a while, Mary-Beth or Karen would skirt out of the tent, grabbing something from their own or stealing something from one of the men, before scurrying back in. When Dutch had tried to peek his head into the tent to ask the girls how long they were going to be, Karen practically hissed at him.

He could barely make out the girls chatter from within the tent. He had noticed your distinct lack of talking for the past few hours while you were trapped in the tent - sometimes, he would hear the murmur of your voice before a sharp response from Karen.

“Don’t you dare speak! You’ll smudge all my work!”

At some points, he would hear you yelp or telling the girls off for bringing a cosmetic too close to your eye or pulling corset strings too tight. Himself and the rest of the gang would chuckle quietly at the roughness of the women, namely Karen.

A rustle came from the opening of the tent. He stood straight as Tilly peeked her head out.

“Are you all ready to see our work?” Tilly asked, a toothy smile showing as she talked.

“Finally!” Dutch exclaimed getting to his feet from his place around the campfire. The other men involved followed suit. Uncle drunkly cheered in the background, sparking a laugh from some of the other members.

“Allow us to introduce you all to the lovely Miss Lady Callahan!” Tilly presented, coming out from the tent and holding the tent flap to the side to allow you to come out.

Arthur really, really thought his heart stopped beating then.

There you were: A long, golden dress hugged your figure to your waist, where it bunched up to flare out the material. The bodice of the dress cut down into a rounded neckline above your chest, where a pearl necklace with gold adornments draped your neck. The girls had your hair pinned up, with sections curling down to surround your face, which they had peppered subtly with cosmetics. Your eyes seemed darkened around eyelids, your lips and cheeks stained to a permanent blush.

As always, you looked beautiful. But in the light of the sun lowering on the camp and the adjustments the girl had made, Arthur was forced to think of a different life you could have had. A life he could never give you. A life you could never have when he was in yours.

Whistles surrounded throughout camp. You laughed, rolling your eyes at the gang’s overwhelming response to your appearance. Guided by the jeers of one of the camp members, you twirled on the spot, your dress flaring out around you.

“Ain’t ye gonna complement yer wife, Mr Callahan?” Sean jested from beside him, “Because if ye don’t I will!”

The strangeness of Tilly’s previous words suddenly hit him. His identity for the night, was rich business man Arthur Callahan, who had just moved to the area and was looking to make some like-minded business relations. Why was your name also Callahan?

He turned suspiciously towards the space occupied by Dutch and Hosea.

“Wife?” He asked. Dutch and Hosea raised them eyebrows, as if they had never done anything wrong in their life ever.

“We can’t be having an unwed lady attend the gala by herself! No, how preposterous, my boy. You and this lovely lady will be posing as a newly wed couple,” Trelawney butted in passing him a wedding band that Arthur noticed was already around your finger, “And with looks like that, you’ll have every man at the party jealous!”

Trelawney sent a wink in your direction as he finished, and despite your laugh at his compliments, you looked down at your feet and swallowed heavily.

Arthur felt terrible. How could he not? Here you were, the picture of perfection and you were being forced to pretend to be a man like his’s bride. You probably felt disgusted with the knowledge that you’d have to hold on to a man like him all night. His chest ached at the thought.

“Ain’t she looking real pretty, Arthur?” Tilly giggled, Mary-Beth beside her elbowing her side and covering her mouth to hide her fellow snickering.

You hadn’t been in the gang all that long. But for the time that you had, it because painfully obvious to everyone else that Arthur was very badly in love with you and was too much of a fool to ever do anything about.

You looked up at Tilly’s comment, staring into Arthur’s eyes. Arthur froze, then after a moment it was like his heart started beating again.

“You look beautiful sweetheart.”

You smiled back at him, but anything else was interrupted by the loud clap emitting from Dutch’s hands.

“Folks! It’s time to get moving. Everyone who’s coming, come on. Micah, Mrs Grimshaw, you’re in charge till our return. It’s time we make some money” With that, Dutch grinned manically, and left in the direction of their transport. Everyone else moved to get where they needed to be. Everyone except you and Arthur.

You closed the distance between you and Arthur, looking up at him from where you stood.

You held your arm out for his.

“Well, my darling husband, shall we get going?” You said, your voice slighting higher pitched and a daring smirk across your face.

Arthur interlocked his arm with yours, looking down into your eyes and smiling.

“Yes, my beautiful wife, I believe we shall.” Arthur ignored the fluttering in his chest as he felt the side of your body brush against his, and you began to walk towards the others together.

#arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #red dead redemption imagine #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #red dead redemption x reader #red dead redemption 2 imagine #red dead redemption 2 x reader #rdr2 #rdr #rdr2 imagine #rdr2 x reader #rdr imagine #rdr x reader #arthur morgan rdr2 #rdr2 fandom #rdr2 arthur

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eclecticqueennerd · 9 months

Text

Confessions

Part 3

*language, mentions of r*pe, kidnapping, mild gaslighting, brief mentions of smeggs, angst*

Butcher POV

You lot didn’t deserve how he’s been treating you lately, pushing you to the brink of exhaustion and then pushing some more. His need for revenge for Lenny caused Kimiko to almost die. No, that was her fault. She shouldn’t have jumped in front of Soldier Boy. Sure, Frenchie could have been killed but still, Kimiko will get better, she always does. At least y/n wasn’t hurt.

Oh y/n. He could list all the reasons as to why he fell hard and fast for you but there’s not enough hours in the day. Where he barked orders to the crew, you were there to keep their spirits up. When he fell victim to his thoughts of self-loathing, you were there to talk him off the ledge. You showed the boys loyalty when you finally got your revenge on the supe that killed your husband after finding out how high the Vought shit ladder went. You were support, humility, loyalty, kindness, knowledge, and compassion. Everything that Butcher wasn’t.

But then you had to go and become the very thing he despised. A fucking supe. In the back of his mind, he knew y/n was forced into becoming enhanced and that he shouldn’t have stormed out, especially after finding out how Homelander violated you. But even in the best of times, Butcher can’t control his anger. Despite how many times you’d tell him he’s not, he’s exactly who his father says he is.

*flashback*

When you were kidnapped by Homelander, Butcher went into beast mode. Anyone who had the smallest bit of information on where you were located was met with brutality that even made the boys nervous to be around him. When Grace told him that you were found and safe with her, he damn near dropped everything to drive as fast as he could to meet you. He had to see that you were alright. He needed to hold you and by doing so, would calm the waves of fury, sadness, and relief that was pulsing through his veins. He had to tell you that he loved you.

Grace refused to tell him your exact location, per your request. You should have just spit in his face, it would have the same effect. When the two of you were reunited, all the ill feelings dissipated as he finally got to embrace you. She’s fine, she’s here, my y/n.

“Where ya been dove, what took you so long?”

“Sorry, I wanted to stay longer to train.”

“You let some other cunt train ya? I coulda done it.”

The calm went as quickly as it came once new information came to light on how to take Vought down. Butcher never got the chance to confess his feelings.

While on missions together, Butcher wanted to but never breached the topic of what happened while you were kidnapped. He wanted you to trust him and tell him in your own time, as he did with you about Lenny. He was attentive to whatever needs you had; you did not want for nothing. As time progressed, he noticed subtle differences. You were quick to catch things falling off the kitchen table, you were finally able to open that jar of pickles you always asked Butcher to open, he purposely tightened it each time to make sure you’d come to him for help. One night you cut yourself with a paring knife while mincing garlic and the next morning,

“Hey, how’s the finger?”

“What about it?”

“Ya cut it last night making dinner.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yeah, you did, I patched you up.”

“I think you dreamed that, Billy. See?” Butcher looks at your finger, “My finger is fine.”

“Huh, guess I did dream it.”

“Looks like we’ve been hanging out too much, you’re starting to dream about me dicing my fingers off.” Y/n was also increasingly jumpy around him even though he was as gentle as possible around her.

In hindsight, this should have been a red flag, but he's always been blinded when it comes to you. Now, piecing it all together it makes sense after you told him you were a supe.

“Hello, Earth to Butcher.” Maeve snapped her fingers. He came back to the task at hand, the Temp- V. Frenchie and Kimiko were at the hospital, MM quit the mission and went back to his apartment and tasked Hughie and y/n with finding Soldier Boy after he blew up a small building in New York.

“Did you even hear a word I said, Butcher?” Maeve asked. He shrugged,

“No.” Maeve scoffed.

“You should apologize to her.”

“To who?”

“Y/n.”

“You’ve got no business talking to me about y/n. How bout you just give me the Temp-V and fuck off?”

“Come one I know the two of you are fighting right now. She’s your friend and if you just tell her-“

“Who the fuck is telling you all this, eh?”

“Starlight.”

“Well, that cunt doesn’t know everything. I’ve got nothing to apologize for. I’ve done nothing wrong.” That’s fucking lie. Maeve threw the packet of vials on the couch.

“Fine, don’t take my advice. What do I know?” Just before Maeve left, Butcher stood up and offered her a drink of vodka.

“I’m 4 months sober you asshole.”

“Oh... Starlight never told me.”

“Like you said that bitch doesn’t know everything.” Maeve looks at the bottle and back to Butcher, she grabs the class and plops herself onto the couch. As the evening sky turned black, Butcher and Maeve busied themselves fucking on MM’s desk in the corner of the hideout.

“You know what Butcher? You’re a real piece of shit.”

Yeah, yeah, he was.

#mothers milk #the boys #the boys amazon #kimiko the boys #soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #frenchie #karl urban #billy butcher #billy butcher x reader #queen maeve #reader insert #female reader #angst #Spotify

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slicedmayonnaise · 6 months

Text

Dutch was NOT always bad.

a lot of people overlook the fact of how much pressure dutch was under 24/7. for ~20 years, he had the burden of taking care of those around him and it only got worse as time went on and more and more people joined the gang. whenever something happened, good or bad, everyone looked to him to place blame because he was the one in charge.

i believe the first cracks started after colm killed annabelle. she was his responsibility; therefore, her death was his fault.

he was able to continue on normally until blackwater.

he lost davey, jenny, mac, and sean in blackwater. two dead and two mia and that blame is put on him. it is his fault that those four people are lost. it is his fault that his family is dead and hurting. then, when he gets sean back, he finds out mac is dead.

then arthur gets kidnapped by colm on a set up to discuss peace between the two gangs. arthur is shot and tortured. he's barely conscious when he makes it back to camp. dutch's fault. if only he'd realized. if only he'd taken arthur's absence more seriously. the pain in his voice when arthur tells him colm set them up.

then he loses sean again in rhodes. again, it is his fault sean dies. he is the leader. he is responsible.

then jack is kidnapped.

then kieran is captured and killed, whom dutch still feels responsible for despite the circumstances of how kieran came about. he clearly expresses sympathy for kieran's death.

then, of course, he loses hosea, lenny, and john during the saint denis bank robbery.

hosea's death itself is what finally breaks dutch. during the entire sequence in the bank, dutch does not move or fire his gun. he has to get arthur to blow open the wall because he is in shock. he can't even bring himself to move when he sees john get taken by the pinkertons.

everything went so wrong so quickly over the past few months and everything was dutch's fault.

the deaths of the two people he loved more than anything- annabelle and hosea- were his fault.

even when it's just dutch, bill, micah, arthur, and javier in guarma, dutch can't help javier when he gets shot and taken by the guarma officers.

at this point, he's lost his patience with himself and the world. he can't stand to see another of his boys die because of him. so he goes to immoral lengths to ensure he saves javier (killing that old lady in the cave).

nothing and no one else matters to him but his gang anymore. he has to keep them safe. so when micah gets in his ear about a rat and throws john under the bus to save his own skin, dutch can't help but go along with it in his fragile state because circumstantially, it does make sense. john was the only one who was taken alive at the bank, and his wife somehow managed to get away when hosea was grabbed by the pinkertons.

i don't believe dutch really would have let john hang in sisika. i do believe he had a plan to go for him eventually, but after john's return, he only got more and more antsy. he lost his mind more and more and trusted john and arthur less and less because of all the shit micah was feeding him. arthur did go behind dutch's back, after all.

"i gave you all i had" is the statement that makes dutch realize how much of a damn fool he's been. arthur- his son- laying at his feet and dying, once again, because of HIM. it's his fault that the gang fell apart. it's his fault that arthur is dying. it's his fault that john- his other son- is suffering. he was the one that betrayed the gang, and he recognizes it. he abandons micah on the mountain and breaks down crying over his own failure.

annabelle, davey, jenny, mac, sean, jack, kieran, john, hosea, lenny, molly, susan, arthur. all his fault. everything was his fault.

i doubt dutch stayed with bill and javier after beaver hallow. i believe he left out of shame. shame of what he'd become. shame of what he'd done.

i don't know why or how he ended up working with micah again by 1907, but my best guess has to do with that fact that he has completely lost his mind at this point.

well, not completely, as he does shoot micah for bad-mouthing arthur, and he does let john live.

john. his son. his last son. john misses dutch. dutch misses john. but john is too hurt. and dutch is too ashamed. dutch leaves, and he leaves john with the fortune he and micah had stashed away.

shame. guilt. all his fault.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption #red dead redemption community #rdr #red dead redemption two #red dead #rdr1 #rdr 1 #rdr 2 #red dead 2 #john marston #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #arthur morgan

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theresawritesstuff · 7 months

Note

MidgeLenny: “Less apologizing. More kissing.”

(this one got steamy)

New Year's Eve 1960

She slipped quietly up to the open bar, her sights set more on the familiar figure standing there than they were on procuring herself a cocktail.

"Fancy seeing you here."

She smirked to herself at the surprise on his face as Lenny turned around, her sneak attack successful.

Still, she kept her tone casual. "Would have thought you'd be ringing in the new year on a beach somewhere instead of back in another blizzard."

Lenny chuckled, waving the bartender over for her. "Beaches are overrated."

She arched a curious brow at him, waiting to see if he felt like giving her any further explanation.

He smiled sheepishly, continuing, "Gordon invited all the guests of the show that were on this past year. My manager thought it would be a good idea. Try to play nice and all that."

"I see," she replied, accepting her martini from the bartender.

He leaned an elbow on the bar, coming in a little closer. "The real question is what brings you here? Because I am quite certain I would have remembered seeing you next to that desk."

She took a swig from her glass. "I work here."

"No kidding."

"Yep. Gordon's resident lady writer as of about a month ago."

His brow quirked, considering his reply.

"Congratulations."

"Thank you."

"So we should look forward to seeing you take your rightful place in the guest chair in the coming new year," he surmised.

Midge let out a humorless chuckle. "That was the idea the way Susie pitched it. Unfortunately, it would seem my comedy was not the set Gordon was interested in when he hired me."

Lenny hummed a monosyllabic reply into his drink.

A brief note conveying so much. Disapproval of her boss being a slime ball, understanding why he was, and how much it must suck for her to deal with day to day…

Honestly she was used to having to make men take her seriously for more than her looks. She'd been doing it her whole life.

She just hadn't realized how much worse it would feel, how much lonelier she would feel facing it after having someone see her, value her, adore her for all that she was like Lenny had…

"Speak of the devil…" Lenny murmured, noting Gordon approaching from across the room.

"Ah fuck." Midge downed the rest of her martini, bracing herself.

His brow lifted almost imperceptibly at the sudden shift in her posture.

She glanced up at him tentatively. "Know any good excuses a gal can use to get out of dancing with her boss?"

He exhaled thoughtfully, glancing over her shoulder to gauge Gordon's arrival.

"I might know one," he replied. "But you'll have to trust me."

"I always have."

He looked into her eyes then, struck by how immediate and decisive her answer had come.

He didn't have the chance to comment.

"Lenny! Good to see you again," her boss greeted warmly, an empty champagne glass in his hand.

"Gordon." Lenny nodded curtly into his whiskey.

"I see you've met our latest addition to the writers room," Gordon commented.

Lenny smirked, setting his glass aside. "Well I generally try to seek out the funniest person in the room at these shindigs for the sake of my sanity."

His arm wrapped around her, hand settling on her hip in a gesture that skirted the line between friendly and just a little bit possessive.

She was more than happy to let him, already feeling that much safer.

"Lenny's an old friend," she explained vaguely, drifting comfortably closer to further illustrate the point.

God he smelled good…

Gordon blinked. "I didn't realize you two were acquainted."

Lenny fought back what she knew to be a very bad smile. "You could say that."

"Uh-huh…" Gordon set his glass on the bar, obviously having a hard time reconciling this fact. "How exactly did you two meet?"

"Hebrew school," Midge replied brightly, placing a hand along Lenny's back.

Lenny almost broke but covered his laughter by clearing his throat.

Just then the band picked back up, playing the strains of a familiar tune.

"'Scuse us," Lenny smirked, taking the excuse to lead her away out onto the makeshift dance floor.

"There. Consider your dance card full," he drawled.

Midge shook her head, smiling as her hand found its familiar hold at the back of his neck.

"That was your plan. 'I asked her first'?" she laughed.

"I did ask you first," he reminded her. "Back in Miami."

"Ah yes, when I had a hair out of place. You didn't ask, by the way. Just told me that we were going to after a lot of staring."

"The question was implied," he chuckled at her ribbing. "Either way, it worked."

"Yes it did."

All too well she was afraid to admit.

"How am I doing now? I haven't lost a step, have I?"

His tone was playful but she could tell what he was really asking.

Were they okay now? Or has things at Carnegie ruined his chances with her?

"Oh I think you'll pass," she assured him. "Only way to find out is to keep dancing, though."

"That worried Gordon would try to cut in?" he chuckled, holding her a little tighter.

"Not really. I just…"

A blush crept into her cheeks as she considered the feeling of her hand in his.

"It's nice dancing with you again," she admitted.

"I concur."

He brought her arm up gently, holding it steady just as he had before.

He swayed her quietly for a while before commenting, "You know, we never did find out when they scheduled the ritual sacrifices, did we."

She let out a laugh, resting her head against his collarbone as she recovered. "No I suppose we didn't."

"Something to keep us awake at night," he mused.

As if they needed any more of that.

She looked up to study his face.

He looked good. Healthy. A little more color to his face than when she'd seen him last. But there was a look behind his eyes she knew all too well.

"How are you really doing, Lenny?"

He smirked, shrugging in her arms. "Oh you know…Trying to balance work and being a parent, constantly hearing my mother criticize my choices in both."

"I know the feeling…" she murmured.

"It's good though. Or it will be, I think. Eventually. Except..."

He let out a sigh, suddenly looking self conscious.

"Sometimes I still find myself missing the snow. I've grown sort of fond of it."

She smiled softly, looking out at the eddies swirling past the windows.

"Me too."

One dance led into another.

They talked about their kids, about work, about life, and sometimes not at all if only just to enjoy not having anything funny to say, until the hours on the clock dwindled away.

She'd missed him. God had she missed him.

Judging by the way his hands never left her, she had a feeling he'd missed her too.

A few more songs and another trip to the bar had her cuddled against his shoulder along the outskirts of the party, melting into his embrace, feeling content and safe and just this side of impulsive as the clock counted down.

She looked up into his eyes, fingertips trailing lazy patterns along the nape of his neck, itching to feel the soft curls just above it.

His gaze drifted to her lips and suddenly she barely registered the din of the crowded room just beyond them.

"Five…Four…three…two…one!"

Her lips found his like it was the most natural thing in the world, as if midnight was theirs alone to share.

She felt his hand tangle in her hair and it was all she could do not to come undone.

He broke away breathlessly, his forehead resting against hers.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"I'm not," she replied, pulling him back in hungrily.

He moaned against her lips, gripping her closer until his willpower won out and he pulled away again, just enough to speak, shaking his head. "I meant for before. How we left things. I should have called. I should have–"

“Lenny. Less apologizing. More kissing," she insisted.

He nodded, shutting up in favor of letting her nibble on his lower lip, pressing her against the wall.

A chorus of auld langs ide reminded them belatedly that they were not in fact entirely alone.

"I don't suppose you know somewhere a little more private we could go…" he ventured.

Midge bit back a smirk, slipping her hand into his as she led him out the door and out into the hall.

His lips were on hers in an instant, following blindly as they retreated, eventually finding their way into an unlocked office.

They tumbled down onto the soft leather couch, hands roaming in search of skin.

"Missed you," she whispered between kisses as she straddled his lap. "Missed this."

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as his hand teased its way up her thigh. "Sweetheart, you have no idea."

She was just about to get to work on his belt buckle when the door to the office clicked open.

Mike blinked at them from the doorway, wobbling slightly on his feet.

"Midge?"

She didn't think to move. It was all she could do not to break into a fit of giggles.

Gordon had sprung for the good champagne.

"Yeah?"

"What're you doing in George's office?" the booker asked.

Lenny cleared his throat.

"Me, I believe was the intent," he quipped, still pinned beneath her, looking rather disheveled and happy for her efforts.

Mike craned his neck slightly, squinting into the dimly lit room. "Oh, hey Lenny."

"Thanks for the invite."

"What are you doing in George's office, Mike?" Midge wondered, hoping it would be enough to distract him away from having a word with human resources when he sobered up.

"I was gonna throw up in his desk," he admitted without remorse.

Midge let out a laugh. "Okay then."

She got to her feet, righting the hem of her dress before helping Lenny to his feet.

"You want us to stick around to hold your hair back? Get you some water or anything like that?" she asked.

Mike had become somewhat of a begrudging friend since she was hired. Sort of a grumpy adopted older brother figure.

He was a good guy.

She figured it was the least she could do to offer.

The fact that it made it less likely that he'd rat her and Lenny out was beside the point.

"Nah," Mike waved her off. "You kids have fun…Just not here."

Lenny gave the other man a lazy salute, taking Midge by the hand.

"So… Where to now?" he asked once they were out in the hall.

Midge smiled, adjusting the lapel of his jacket. "That depends. Are you going to run away again if I bring you back to the upper west side?"

He shook his head, grinning as he tucked a loose strand of hair back in place behind her ear.

"Not a chance."

#Midgelenny #midge x lenny #tmmm fic #Woke up early this morning and finally broke out of my writing funk

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rosemary-morgan · 9 months

Text

Javier Escuella X F.Reader - It's never to late to repent (Part 2)

(Pictures found on pinterest/google. That one with Javier is mine. Collage made by me 🌺)

Many thanks to @fangirl-ramblings 🖤 she has been beta reading for me 🌹

The second chapter is online 🥰 thanks to all who read and like my story 🐝🌺 I hope you will enjoy the second chapter too!

@rose-of-black-blood @livingdeadgirly

If anyone of you want to be tagged to not miss the newest chapter, please let me know 🙏

👉Read Part 1 /Part 3 / Part 4

Warning: a little angsty, broken hearts and their effects, hints of depression!

Summary: Javier is trying to escape his past, while you still have the hope of seeing him again one day. But the loneliness and pain of a broken heart keeps pulling you back to reality. This never-ending pain just doesn't seem to go away, and you try to suppress it as much as you can…

Javier Escuella X F.Reader - It's never to late to repent (Part 2)

Javier sighed softly while sitting by the fire and sharpening the blade of his knife. The pleasant tranquility of nature surrounded him. The soft croaking of the crickets was like a chorus in unison.

Many things were going through Javier's mind, he thought about the turn his life had taken since Dutch's downfall, the downfall of his family. After Javier lost all his trust in Dutch, he lost himself. He had traveled a lot, trying to cope with the pain and the loss of his family, but he had fallen into one shit situation into another. But at some point Javier had realized that real life was different. He had realized that it had been time to come to rest, to earn his money with decent work. It was not a life of luxury that Javier lived. He lived in a small hut, a bit away from the city center. This was the best he could get in the area, yet it was possible for him to sleep in a bed, something that had been impossible for him for decades. His job was making furniture, engraving it. He had a talent for that kind of thing and his boss liked what he saw. In the last few months, Javier had made great progress. There was a customer in Saint Denis who wanted to see his skills and so Javier was asked to visit that customer. Well… then you came into the picture. Suddenly you were there, in Saint Denis. Javier had avoided this cursed city for years, for he had not come to terms with the bank robbery that had gone wrong in 1899. It had been the beginning of the end.

Javier would never be able to forget how young Lenny had been lying in his own blood. Shot by Pinkertons. Or Hosea who had been a father figure to all of them. A man who had taught him so many things. Guarma was also a dark chapter in his life. He had been tortured there and that had left its mark on his psyche.

Seeing you was the happiest moment for him in years. Knowing that you were alive was an incredible relief for Javier. Yet you seem so far away from him. How could he ever come face to face with you? After he had sent you to hell because, unlike him, you had realized the truth. God, he wanted you so much. Javier suffered like a dog without you. All these years he had been as miserable as you. Living apart from you was a torture for him!

Javier put his knife aside to pull out a piece of jewelry from his vest pocket. It was a necklace, with a medallion. He opened it and looked at your photograph. After all these years, he still had it with him. It was the only thing he had left of you. How many sleepless nights had he had? He couldn't even count them. Nights in which he had looked at your beautiful picture and guilt had eaten him up.

"Y/N… Mi rosa…"

He clasped the medallion with his hand, closing his eyes as he did so, trying to suppress the pain in his heart, but he had never been able to do that before either.

“Mi amor… nunca he dejado de amarte” (I’ve never stopped loving you)

Maybe you were married? Had children? Javier didn't know. Did he even want to know? See you with another man by your side? Probably not!

But this uncertainty would kill him! Making him extremely restless with these thoughts! He sighed in annoyance, started to wriggle his leg, his whole body moving as he did so. He hated the thought of seeing you with another man! At some point it became so unbearable for him that he got on his horse and went for a night ride. He needed a clear head now, he needed to sort out his thoughts…

♦♦♦♦

You looked at yourself in the mirror, really liking how the new dress looked on you. It's been a long time since you last treated yourself. You were actually only working to earn your salary, and had often forgotten to do something good for you. Therefore, it came in handy that the train connection had broken down and had forced you to stay in Saint Denis yesterday. With a smile you pulled the fabric over your shoulders, looking at your skin and how the dress flatters your figure. It was a dark green dress, or emerald green as the seller had called it. Actually, you had no idea what occasion you would wear this dress to, but you had liked it so much that you wanted it. Of course, you could have sewn one for yourself, but you still had orders waiting and you couldn't just let them wait.

"I could wear it… wear it tonight?"

You looked thoughtfully in the mirror as you adjusted your dress. You knew about a performance at the theater. It would be the perfect opportunity to wear this dress. So why not? What was wrong with a young woman going to the theater alone? You had done everything alone for the last five years, so you were used to it, along with the stares from the people, since it was rather unusual for a young woman to sit down alone in a restaurant, or to go into a theater. You still had to admit that it often hurt to see couples. Couples walking through the park holding hands. People looking at each other in love while sitting in a restaurant and letting their food get cold because they didn't care about what was going on around them. You had once felt that feeling too. That feeling of love and happiness. Oh, how you wanted to experience that again…

Your gaze wandered to the ground as your thoughts searched for Javier. You couldn't help it, but sometimes this man just crept into your mind. There was nothing you could do about those memories, even though it hurt so much that very moment. Loneliness has become a bitter companion in your life. And the more you thought about it, the more you fell into sadness. Now, in those moments when you were not among people, those were the most difficult moments for you because you had the feeling that no one would see your tears. You sighed heavily as the first tears shimmered in your eyes. Until a few seconds ago, you had been happy about your dress, until Javier had come back to your mind. You had asked yourself the absurd question of whether he would like you in this dress. But it didn't matter at all, because there would be no answer.

Why had Javier hurt you so much ? You couldn't forget his words until today. And yet you had forgiven him. But you didn't know if he was still alive. There was not even an address where you could send him a letter. There were hundreds of letters in your home. Letters that you had written, but never sent. Some you had burned in the fire, others you had torn up. And that's what you did in the beginning to banish Javier. But it was of no use…

You shook your head, undid the bows on your dress to loosen the corset and finally pulled it off your body. What was that all about? Why this torture? You decide to go back home right away. Work was calling and that had always been the best distraction for you. When you had taken off your dress, you put back on the one you had come here in. Your mood had dropped rapidly and that you were sad could be seen clearly in your face, but you didn't care. A bit gruffly, you packed the new dress into the box, which you had received with the purchase, in order to be able to transport the dress safely home. Within a few minutes you were out of the hotel and headed straight for the train station. You hoped very much that you would be able to travel home.

With a quiet sigh, you headed to the cashier's desk to buy a ticket. While waiting, you let your eyes wander around the area. And suddenly, there it was again. The scent of spicy lavender. Just like the day before. Instantly you were reminded of Javier, because he had smelled the same! But you shook your head, about to banish that man from your mind again, when something caught your attention. When you looked out onto the platform, there was a young man… a cigarette in his hand. His raven black hair tied back in a pigtail. A red scarf he wore over a blue jacket. You frowned and stopped in place, watching the man and wondering if you had now completely lost your mind. You thought you saw Javier, but you couldn't swear to it, as he had his back to you. The supposed stranger threw his cigarette to the ground, blew out the smoke, and in the next moment looked slowly in your direction.

As if in a trance, you looked at him, not even hearing what the train conductor said to you, as he handed you the ticket. Javier really was standing in front of you. Only a few meters away, but he hadn't noticed you yet. But he felt all the more that he was being watched. This feeling grew stronger until Javier looked directly in your direction and when he saw you, his heart almost stopped. He stared at you, his throat went dry. How many times had he wished to see you again? How often had he imagined scenarios in which you would find each other again? Saying everything that had remained unspoken? And now that time had come. But for what he had done to you, he could not be ashamed enough. Not just what he had done to you. But John and Arthur as well. You'd probably send him to hell anyway.

"Miss? Miss, the train leaves in five minutes! Miss?"

But you didn't listen at all to the friendly man behind the counter and he gave up, served the other passengers. You were busy processing in your mind what just happened.

Only a few moments passed, but time seemed to stop. And that magic, that moment, dissolved when Javier shamefully averted his gaze from you and walked in the other direction.

"No…"

You wouldn't let him go! Not this time. It hurt you immensely to see him running from you after all these years. Did he have any idea how miserable you'd been without him? You immediately ran after Javier, calling his name.

"Javier!"

Instantly he stopped, looked down at the ground, and swallowed nervously. His Adam's apple trembled, he tried to suppress his tears that were just rising inside him. His heart was pounding up to his throat! His stomach contracted painfully. He heard your footsteps, but he still had his back turned to you. He perceived your scent and for a moment he closed his eyes to recall what you once were. A couple that had loved each other dearly. A young couple who believed that nothing could tear them apart. How wrong he had been. The most painful thing was that he had allowed you to be torn apart.

You stopped at his side, looked at his back, wondered if he still loathed you, because he didn't even look at you. But at least he had stopped.

"Javier?"

Carefully you put your hand on his shoulder, making him turn towards you, but still his eyes were not on you. You could make out a guilty look on his face, which gave you a glimmer of hope that he might feel something positive for you.

"What's wrong with you, Javier? Can't you look me in the eye?"

And after you said this, his gaze slowly moved up to your pretty face. Yet he remained silent, for his words stuck firmly in his throat. You looked at him closely. He had not aged in the last five years. You were still young, just in your early thirties, and yet it seems as if decades had passed.

"Do you think you broke my heart?"

It needed to be said. You've been carrying this with you all these years now. Javier had hurt you deeply, but you had forgiven him. You were ready to make peace, and now that he was standing in front of you, all you wanted to do was lie in his arms. But at the moment it felt like you two were complete strangers.

"Yes, Javier… You did. You hurt me a lot when you stood by Dutch and Micah…"

"It's better if I go, Y/N. I'm sorry…"

Javier had only wanted the best for his family at the time, but had been taken advantage of like a puppet. Dutch had blinded him and that he had listened to it, well, he just had to live with the consequences now.

But you didn't even think about letting him go! What was that about? He was just going to leave? Just like that?! Didn't he have anything else to say? Immediately you grabbed his arm, whereupon Javier also stopped. It didn't look like you had to make an effort to keep him with you. A good sign. At least, that's what you hoped.

"It won't help you if you run away, Javier. You won't undo anything by doing that!"

Besides, you had just found him again.

Javier saw your tears and at that moment his eyes softened. It hurt so much to see you. He had no words to say! It seemed easier for him to leave and go on living his life as he was used to.

"Y/N, I've made a terrible mistake…"

That was what you were hoping to hear. Not because you wanted to claim your right, but because you had hoped he had made his peace with you.

"There is no hope for me. No forgiveness, Y/N."

"Oh, Javier… don't say that. We all made mistakes…"

His skin tingled pleasantly as you placed your delicate hand against his cheek. Lovingly, you stroked your thumb over his skin as you sought the look in his eyes. The scent of spicy lavender rose to your nose, mixed with tobacco and you had to smile, because you associate this scent with many, beautiful memories; but also bittersweet moments…

"Please… Javier, look at me…"

And he looked at you, his eyes reflecting the restlessness and guilt in his soul.

"I don't know where your paths have led you, Javier. But I can see that you have regretted the decision you made back then."

Javier sighed softly, unable to answer anything, but his eyes held your gaze and by God he was glad you didn't loathe him.

"I live in Strawberry, Javier. When…when you're ready for it one day, come and see me. I'll be waiting for you there."

His eyes immediately moved to your hand to see if you were wearing a wedding ring. His relief was great, because he couldn't see anything.

You tell him exactly where you live and to what address he should send letters to contact you. Hoping that he would do so.

When the signal sounded for the train's departure, you were jolted out of your trance.

"This is my train, Javier. I have to go now…"

"Okay…"

That was all he said in response. He held back a lot, because he would have loved to pull you tightly into his arms, not to let you go again. But he didn't. And part of you hoped he wouldn't let you go. Still, maybe that was too much to ask of you.

"Will you walk me to the train, Javi?"

Javi… that's what you had always called him, and this was the first time in years that you saw him smile. It was a small, dainty smile, but it was there. Javier led you to the platform, his hand was on your lower back and your body was tingling like crazy. This little touch, this little gesture, excited you deeply. It was still the man you desired, the man you loved.

"You should… get in. It's about to leave…"

"I know, Javi…"

But you would have preferred to stay with him. Your hope now was that he would seek you out…

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #fanfiction #javier escuella #javier escuella x female reader #y/n reader #javier escuella x y/n reader #romance #angst #break up #my fanfiction #heartbreak #tears #hints of depression!#saint denis #rdr fandom

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wonderlandleighleigh · 1 year

Text

1, 2, 3

Abe told him he’d get nominated for a Tony with that play, and he was fucking right.

“Who are you taking as your date?” Midge asks playfully.

“Your father,” Lenny teases back as he sits on Susie’s office couch with another turnover. “He’ll look ravishing in an evening gown.”

Midge laughs - really laughs and puts her hands over her face. “Stop that.”

“Never,” Lenny smirks.

He’s been feeling more like himself since starting this journey with this place. Feeling like he’s doing something that maybe feeds his brain and his soul a little; something that doesn’t remind him quite so much of all the terrible things that have happened.

It’s nice.

More than nice.

“Just take Midge and be fucking done with it,” Susie complains. “You know you want to.”

He turns just a little red and looks up at her. “I would like that very much,” he tells her honestly. “But I understand if you’re nervous about being seen with me.”

She looks at him like he crazy. “Lenny.”

“I know what people think of me,” he states factually. “I don’t want it to hurt your career.”

“Lenny, you’re a Tony-nominated play write. Shut up and take the famous funny woman as your date,” Susie orders.

Midge laughs a little. “What she said.”

He shrugs and grins sheepishly. “If you insist.”

****

The three of them share a limo, and Susie knows she can trust them not to be complete idiots, but Lenny’s been flipping shit about the Tony’s for a week now, and she’s worried the guy might hyperventilate on the red carpet.

“He’s okay, right?” Susie mutters to Midge as they step out of the limo.

“He is,” Midge promises with a grin. “Papa offered to let him wear his cape, and it made him laugh -- the stupid laugh, so it was real.”

Susie relaxes a little. “Good. That’s good.” she turns to Lenny and brushes at his tux jacket. “Tits up, Lenny.”

“They’re too small to lift,” he reminds her.

Midge snickers a little and takes his arm. “We’re gonna get you through this. I promise.”

“Good, because I feel as though I may vomit,” he informs them.

“If you puke on this dress, I will kill you and steal your Tony,” she promises him.

“I don’t have a Tony, and I’m not likely to by the end of the night,” Lenny reminds her.

“Shut the fuck up, Lenny,” Susie orders as she heads down the carpet to talk to some reporters.

*****

They, of course, ask him about his date.

“Midge is a dear friend, and she graciously offered to accompany me so I would actually show up,” Lenny jokes, making the reporter he’s talking to laugh. “But she’s the best, isn’t she? So funny. So talented.”

“Is he talking about me instead of about the incredible play he wrote?” Midge asks as she steps up.

He just gives her a sheepish grin and gets back on the topic of his work, but Midge is kind enough to take his hand while he does.

*****

His hands shake as the director of the play settles the Tony Award in his hands and nudges him to the microphone to speak for the whole production.

He thanks the entire cast and crew and the producers, and his daughter and Susie and Midge, too.

“I’m very grateful to be here, and to have been adopted by the theater community. Thank you very much,” he says hurriedly as he steps back, letting the director have his own words.

In the audience, Midge is beaming up at him, and Susie is looking fucking pleased.

He smiles back and shakes the award at them in disbelief.

*****

“It’s very shiny,” Midge smiles as they get into the cab to go home. Susie had decided to head for an after party, but Lenny is tired, and for whatever reason, Midge chose to slip into the limo with him.

“Thank you, Midge,” he says softly. “It means a lot that you broke out your umbrella for me tonight.”

“I had fun,” she smiles at him. “And I’m so proud of you. I know things haven’t been easy.”

“Things are okay now,” Lenny assures her. “More than okay, really. I don’t know what comes next, but right now, things are good.”

“Good,” she says firmly. “You deserve good, Lenny.”

He grins gently and pats her hand. “I appreciate that. All of it. Susie. You. Really.”

She turns to him, scooting closer. “Lenny.”

He lifts an eyebrow at her. “Don’t you look at me that way, Mrs. Maisel. I don’t have enough money in my bank account for you to want to marry me.”

Midge laughs softly and shoves at his face. “Asshole.”

He shrugs. “It never would have worked,” he says softly. “You and me. I’m a wreck, Midge. Look what’s happened to me since that night together. You don’t need this.”

She sighs softly, gazing at him. “Maybe that’s true. But it would have been sensational.”

Lenny smiles at her sadly and leans in, kissing her cheek. “You’re too good for me, Miriam.”

“Can we pretend that’s not true for one night?” she requests quietly. “Let’s go get a late fancy dinner and pretend like we got married last month and drink champagne and feed each other caviar or something?”

He chuckles softly and gazes at her. “One night of Mr. Weissman and Mrs. Bruce,” he ponders. “I don’t hate that idea, I have to admit.”

Midge smiles and leans in, kissing him lightly. “Okay, Mr. Weissman. I’m taking you to the Russian Tea room to celebrate.”

Lenny gives a low whistle, trying to recover from feeling lightheaded from the kiss. “That is fancy.”

“Only the best for my temporary hubby,” she promises playfully before leaning forward to tell the driver where to take them.

He watches her and smiles to himeslf.

#fic #au #tmmm #Midge x Lenny

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chemistryread · 2 years

Text

disclaimers/tags: female oc. written as a reader insert but reader has a lot of backstory. slowburn. angst. cheating. implied domestic violence. minors dni.

a/n: idk i’m just kinda writing this story as i feel like lol have fun

right cowboy, wrong time

rhett abbott

part 1

summary: you’re not home and your boyfriend’s a dick. thankfully, not all cowboys are bad.

part 3

Danielle tells you Rhett came by the diner multiple times, only stopping once she finally felt sorry for him and told him you two traded shifts permanently.

Workings nights is shit. People are in worse moods, tired from a long day. There are more drunk teenagers and wandering creeps.

It was calculated.

He called Lenny and asked for the change. By the end of your work hours you were tired and unsettled, with your guard up. All you wanted was to go home, shower and read a book.

Whoever tried to butter you up would back off the second they saw your busted lip and sunken eyes.

Not only that, but the Abbott family were early risers. They woulnd't stop by the diner after 7 p.m., most importantly Rhett, who was already drinking by then.

Sure, he would have to be up late to pick you up, but it was worth the abundant feeling of power.

There wasn't much you could do. He made your life a little worse, so you had to sweeten him to 'gain his trust' back.

Sometimes he'll let you go to the rodeo. You'll snuggle up to him. Smile in between your kisses. Let him pick you up after he wins a bet and keep his hand in the back pocket of your jeans. You have new, appropriate boots. Pancakes are not your favorite breakfast anymore, keeping the blueberrys only.

You always leave before Rhett's turn.

Usually, you'll ask to go to the bathroom, claiming to have a full bladder despite not drinking at all. Call it whatever it is, but you like to go in the last stall that doesn't work, close your eyes and ask for the universe to protect him. And if he wins something by the end of the night, that would be nice too.

You were planning on hearing the gossip from the patrons who came in for late night coffee with rum as soon as the winner was announced.

Instead, you get to see the check in person.

Rhett walks in a sweaty mess, muddy boots painting the floor. For a moment, you truly consider hiding under the counter, in between the bags of flour and sugar.

Thankfully, Danielle was in need of extra cash and was covering some nights with you. She tells you to take a break and escape to the back.

Some other time you have to ask her when exactly she picked up that you and him meant trouble.

Sitting on the steps, elbows on your knees and hands over your eyes, you laugh when his voice cuts through the peaceful sound of crickets.

"I'm not here for a milkshake, you know."

The delicious twang of his accent makes you want to scratch at your own skin, then you'll have a perfect excuse for its redden tinge.

"Congratulations."

The metal in his boots clinks with every slow step forward, blue eyes defiantly stuck on you.

"How d'you know I won?"

He stops right in front of you, hands behind his back, toothpick in between sharp white teeth. Who knew you could ever like being leered at by a man nearly shoving his crotch in your face.

"You're enunciating your words."

Rhett cackles, throwing his head back, greasy strands of blonde hair sticking to his neck where a stubble grows. Fuck.

"You mean I'm finally oozing with confidence?"

Tongue playing with the toothpick.

"Or cockiness. Same thing." Shutting his eyes, he nods before taking a seat next to you, forcing you to scoot on the step, not bothering to contain the natural spread of his legs. "I knew you had it in you."

"The cockiness or the ability to win?"

You want to say both. You want to say you care more for the attitude, the talking back, the flirting. But your noses are so close, and his eyes are pretty…

So you simply shrug and smile, turning your head 180 degrees.

Deep breath in.

"I missed you."

Mumbling again.

"You know where to find me."

"You changed shifts."

"Collaborative decision."

Please understand. We can't.

"Leave him." Now, you throw your head back to laugh. "What? Why not? I'm not saying run away with me, I'm just saying you should do better."

"Oh, thank you for enlightening me." Frustration grows inside of your chest. You shouldn't even be talking to him. If any nosy patrons put together him walking in and your absence, it wouldn't be too hard for your boyfriend to hear about it and blow things out of proportion. "Do you honestly think it's that simple? Answer me."

He chokes under your fiery look.

"No, no, of course not." He squeezes the pair of gloves on his hands, before angrily slapping them against his thighs. Your thoughts shouldn't be going to where they are right now. "I just mean- It can't be worse than this? Away from home, your dream, your friends. Letting him dictate when you work, where you go and who you talk to. I don't know much, but I know you can't be happy like this."

A wrinkle forms between his brows and you desperately want to smooth it out.

He's had a couple of beers, that much is obvious, and you hope it's the right amount for him to absorb what you're going to tell him but also slightly forget tomorrow.

"I don't have anyone, okay? No one to support me. His dad helped me get into my dream school, pay for a comfortable life until I could hold my own. Eventually, I landed a scholarship for the final year. He didn't like the thought that I wouldn't depend on his family anymore, so he made me take a very long break, saying I need to focus on 'us' again. Consequently, I lost the scholarship. I still have a year left."

He's thinking, and you shiver with the night breeze. Terrified of what his mind is brewing, you clarify.

"It wasn't always this bad. Or at least I never saw it that way. We were high school sweethearts, for fuck's sake. We met when he moved to Boston on his senior year, his dad obviously holding high expectations for his college education. He was polite, and promising. And he liked me for who I was, not what I looked like. Little did I know he was grooming me into a fucking perfect housewife. Forget I said that- What I mean is that I didn't intend on leeching off of his dad or his money. I thought he loved me. And for someone who's never been loved before, that's a big reason to do things. Anything."

"What are you gonna do?"

He sounds so sober, and he looked so happy before you started talking. You keep nailing it, idiot.

"I was gonna though it out. Be here, on this break, for as long as he wanted me and hope he doesn't decide to break it off." You shrug and he winces, waiting for you to say the plans have changed. "But…I just can't. I'm tired. Luckily, a nice man helped me find a decent job and, along with some other money I have saved, I'm inching closer to what I need to finish school and pay for myself."

You're graced with a genuine, albeit shy, smile after your last sentence.

This time you don't hesitate before lifting a finger and pushing the stray slick hair behind his ear. His breath hitches, loud enough for you to hear and your heart to annoyingly skip a beat.

Reaching into his pockets, thin lips turn into a frown as he pulls out the winner's prize. A check.

"It's not much, but if it helps you get away from that fucking prick's grip it counts for something."

You jump up at the absurdity of his suggestion.

"Rhett, no!"

"I don't mind."

"Well I do! You earned that, you won it, it's yours. If anybody deserves it, it's you-"

"You didn't even see me ride, maybe my competition was shit-"

"I can't, Rhett, no. I'm doing just fine working here, I've got this. Don't."

"If you don't take it, I'll just show up here and leave it as a tip, maybe ten bucks a day. But I think there's a blonde nut who's not gonna appreciate that."

He's looking up, devilish smirk and devious eyes mocking your distressed state.

Standing, he puts the piece of paper back inside his pocket, and you sigh in relief. But soon he breaks into a squeaky laugh, and you're squinting at him. What is up with him tonight?

"What are you laughing at?"

Your arms unfold and your jaw slacks a bit when he tells you.

"You've never said my name before. I like it. Especially when you're mad."

He leaves, and you refuse to watch, still dumbfounded at everything that happened in the span of twenty five minutes. Which is a lot longer than you should’ve left Dani alone, so you force your brain to get back to life and run up the steps, back inside to help her with the drunker than usual crowd.

When your boyfriend picks you up, you pretend to nap all the way home, eyes shut so you can relive every electric instance between you and Rhett that night.

You blame exhaustion when asked why you took so long in the shower, turning off the lights so your boyfriend doesn't see your blushing cheeks when you remember the feeling of your fingers arching inside of you. It's a great night of sleep.

On Monday, an envelope full of cash waits for you at Lenny's office. His face says 'I don't even want to know'.

There's a note inside.

'Forgot your tip'.

—————————

Two weeks later, it's the 4th of July and the entire community is buzzing with small America glee.

Belonging wasn't a hugely familiar feeling for you, so you enjoyed watching everyone get excited to celebrate the holiday together. You considered calling your friends from school to check in on them, but figured they'd be too busy in their expensive vacation homes.

Lenny was not immune to the cosmic energy surrounding the town, giving you guys the weekend off. There would be a bunch of vendors all over, hardly anyone would seek out the diner for once, so he wasn't even bothering opening up.

You volunteered to take both shifts, but he called you silly and 'ordered' you to have some fun.

Wasting time around the mansion with the distant family of your boyfriend was awkward. His dad was the sweetest one to you, but from afar. His mom ignored anyone who wasn't her sons, and the boys were insufferable so you stayed clear of their way.

You were currently hanging by the pool, glad the boys were busy with work on the field and your mother-in-law dozed off after her third Long Island.

The sun is not too bright, there's a breeze and the calming sound of the pool cleaner going off. A book is open on your lap.

Rhett Abbott is the only thing your brain seems to want to focus on. For every paragraph you read, a slightly varied speck of blue from his eyes flashes through your mind.

You're scared of it, truthfully.

Of developing deeper feelings for another family boy, bull rider, youngest brother. They tend to not be good with…emotions. You're bad enough on your own.

It's worse, too, because you actually simpathyze with his family. Thinking about the uninhibited Amelia immediately comforts you. This is not good at all.

It wasn't the point. The future is not here, but in Boston, where you'll finish school and hopefully stay away from men completely.

Your phone buzzes on your stomach. You pick it up to texts from Danielle. She wants to know if you'll be at the fair this afternoon. Her kid wants to go on all of the inflatables with her school mates and she might need assistance.

Of course, you tell her.

The boys are more excited for the rodeo. There are no prizes or score keeping this time, just a celebratory show.

It's an excuse to get away from them, who told you they are not kids anymore and prefer to say home drinking until it's time for the real event.

Sure, it crosses your mind. He's an Abbott. He'll be there, undoubtedly.

All day, you run up and down with your coworker and friend, letting the other moms follow the kids on the Carroussel and the Ferris Wheel while you two quickly sneak away to drink sangrias.

You haven't laughed this hard in a long time. It's completely different from what you do with your friends from home, and part of you is endeared by it. A part you didn't know existed.

Shiree, Dani's kid, is one of the funniest little kids you've ever had the pleasure of helping babysit. Her mom says it's not from her (absent) father, so she's a natural, which makes you love her even more.

Later, the three of you are sitting at a picnic table, taking a break to eat terribly greasy and tasty food - your boyfriend would be repulsed by you right now and you consider eating more - when someone calls out your name.

It's Amelia. Her blue eyes are the size of golf balls, on the verge of tears, and her voice is so shaky it tears your heart in half.

Instinctively, your arms spread open and she walks right into them, small hands closing around the back of your neck. You smooth her blonde hair comfortingly, asking what's the matter.

"I can't find my dad."

Danielle sighs across the table, gathering your things quickly and lifting Shiree - who shyly waves to Amy - on her arms.

"We'll help you look, alright?"

You stick together, Amelia's painted nails digging into the palm of your hand, peeking over the crowd as you walk through the large field.

After a few minutes, you spot Cecilia, the matriarch, standing up next to a picnic table, talking animatedly to another family.

On your tip-toes, you point her out to the little girl chewing the inside of her cheek, relief obvious in your voice.

Dani and Shiree follow behind as you take Amy in the direction of her grandmother. On the way, you notice the rest of the Abbotts sitting on the table.

Amelia has to tug you forward to unstuck your feet from the ground.

Rhett's eyes are already drinking you in.

Approaching the table, you have an uncomfortable smile on your face, nodding at the men and choosing to explain yourself to the older woman.

"What is this? We sent you to get corn ten minutes ago and you come back with a group and no food?"

"Oh." She's not mad, clearly joking, but you're still confused. "She said she was lost."

The corn stand was right next to your table. Shiree was eating some. There was no way Amelia could have missed it. Why didn't she tell you to help her find it, instead of her father?

You're looking down at the child, who quickly recovers from her panicked state and shrugs before letting go of your hand. Danielle is holding her laughter next to you.

An older man, who you assume to be Royal, the boys' father, speaks up in a resounding voice. "Why didn't you call us? I gave you my phone for this sort of thing."

The blonde girl shrugs again, standing on her knees on the bench. "Forgot I had it."

Perry exchanges a look with his daughter, shaking his head, and you ignore Dani elbowing you in the ribs.

"Dad, can Shiree stay?"

"You mean, can uncle Rhett's friend stay, don't you?"

"Well, we can't tell her to go away, they came together."

Cecilia chuckles and pushes you towards the table. "You're clearly welcome, dear."

You're not so sure. Rhett's arms are crossed and he's not looking at you.

Conveniently, your phone rings.

"Hey." You're not sure you want your boyfriend to save you out of this one. It's been a good day. Immediately, he asks who's around and why you're not addressing him properly. "Sorry, baby, the signal is kinda bad."

Shiree has already jumped out of her mother's arms and found her place next to Amelia, both discussing which game to play on her grandfather's phone. Dani's making small talk with Perry, pulling two chairs to the table. You meet Rhett's eyes and he smiles softly.

"You know what? Really bad reception here. We're eating, Shiree found a friend…Just text me when you're ready to go. Bye."

You'll answer to your rudeness later. For now, you take the plastic chair next to Dani with a barely contained grin.

The next few hours fly by swiftly, it's almost sad. You have a great time breaking down Royal's strong man front alongside Amelia and Shiree, stomach hurting with how much you laugh at their antics. Cecilia tells you she hasn't seem him this open in a while, and you feel a weird sense of pride.

Dani, Perry and Rhett are on their own separate world. The latter doesn't exchange a word with you, despite a number of stolen glances throughout the afternoon.

At one point, Amelia jokes his favorite attraction is not the mechanical bull, but the tunnel of love (which they don't even have) and you can only imagine you're matching his pink cheeks. He blames his brother for the way his daughter freely mocks him.

All good things come to an end, and your phone pings three times in a row in your back pocket, and you know it's over. Taking it out, it's dark enough that the screen highlights your disappointed expression.

You get up, stretching your arms out, not missing the way Rhett's eyes follow the movement.

"My ride's here." You hug Amelia goodbye very tightly, before turning back to Dani. "Are you sure you don't want to come?"

"Sorry angel, she's tired, which means I'm destroyed."

Kissing her head and Shiree's cheek, you gather yourself to leave.

"I'll see the rest of you at the rodeo, I'm assuming?" The family nods, all a little tipsy. Stifling a laugh, you quietly but boldly turn to Rhett before leaving. "Good luck tonight."

He acknowledges you, a little surprised. But not more than you when he briefly takes your hand, fingers grazing in an awkward move. No one notices, and he turns back to the table immediately. You walk away with a smile and weak legs.

There's not much to do when you arrive at the arena.

Just a few hours after you left, the Abbots made their way to the stands, waiting to watch their son. Royal has a questionable look on his face when he notices who you're sitting next to and that pride you felt earlier goes down the drain.

You and him got pretty tipsy throughout the day, he at home with his brothers and you at the fair with Danielle, and neither of you are stopping anytime soon.

Being a city girl, you can hold your liquor. Your boyfriend, however, finally breaks into his clingy self. His hands are all over your body. You keep trying to push him off subtly under the excuse of talking to the group of girls with you but he's very persistent.

The boys sent the girls to get the next round and you're walking with them, excitedly nodding to one of them when rapid summer rain surprises all of you. Laughing at their groans and yelps, you lend the blonde complaining about her hair your coat and tell them to just go back to the stands, you'll get the drinks, it's fine.

While waiting, someone playfully kicks the soles of your crossed shoes. Heat spreads through you despite your soaked clothes.

"Got my tip?"

He's so close to you, speaking so low into your ear, breathing down your neck.

You throw a quick glance behind your back, tip of your nose an inch away from his, and you notice his half-lidded eyes. A smile threatens to appear so you interrupt it with a huff.

"You know I did. Dick."

He slides aside, leaning his forearm on the counter where you wait for the nice lady to bring your beers, playfully bumping you in the shoulder and looking up at you from under his hat. It's insufferably effective when he does that.

"Think you mean 'thank you'. Dontcha?"

You hate the way these types of western men garble their words. You hate even more that you want Rhett to get behind you again and tell you all the things he could do to warm your drenched body.

The two of you have been staring at each other for a minute, so you recollect yourself, meaning it when you thank him.

"Thank you." In your drunken state, you stretch the sentiment. "It's an insane person thing to do and I don't deserve how good you are, and it's secretly eating me alive…but thank you."

Blue eyes shine in what you hope is adoration, as he smiles at your excessive sharing.

The nice lady comes back with five plastic cups, and Rhett asks for one for himself. He calls her honey and you audibly scoff, another drunken confession of how he makes you feel.

Rhett moves his mouth to comment on it, but you cut him off, embarrassed about your momentary lack of restraint.

"Should you be drinking before your little show?"

His brows furrow at the dismissive tone, seemingly offended at how you referred to what he does for a living.

"Why?" You get hit by his smell - sweat, leather and fresh grass - when he squares up and steps so close his boots bump into your sneakers. "Worried 'bout me?"

"Fuck off, hotshot." He blinks at your crudeness. You are mad. Mad that he's openly pushing your buttons, and that it's working, and you're allowing it to. "Just don't fall off and break your neck. It would suck for Amelia to lose the best material she has for her future stand up comedy."

Rhett laughs, and the sound is incredibly gratifying. You're so drunk it nearly makes you moan in public.

You have no reason to still be here, talking to him. One of the boys will come looking for their beers anytime now. It would be best for you to leave and end this conversation before you dig a deeper grave. But it's so nice, to capture him. It's becoming addictive.

"As long as you stick around she'll have a great mentor for that mean sense of humour you two share."

"Are you admitting I'm funny?"

"I'm admitting you're mean!"

"Abbott, you're a baby."

"I'm sensitive."

He puts his hand over his heart, and your heads lean in, making direct eye contact. You're laughing, voices high-pitched, ignoring the lady bringing Rhett's beer completely.

When she coughs, you turn your head away flustered, and what you see makes your easy expression falter immediately.

It's your boyfriend, and Maria. Together, probably coming to check on the group's drinks. He's too gone to recognize Rhett from a distance, but Maria's eyebrows are furrowed and her step is uncertain, taken aback.

Seeing your boyfriend reminded you that you have one. And an image to maintain, for your own safety. You shouldn't risk Rhett, or anyone else, thinking that you're going to leave your boyfriend for him. That's not what's happening, despite what your silly heart desires.

Taking your cue to leave, you take self preservation too far.

"We've been caught by two confused people. One of which is very cute and seems unhappy she's not the one getting your attention, currently." Slurred words, moreso because you're trying to make them sound honest. Rhett furrows his brows and you have to hold back against smoothing them again. Unfair. "I mean bye."

You're picking up the five cups, uncomfortable with your own words, and start walking away before turning back, almost spilling the yellow liquid on the confused looking boy.

"Oh, and please don't get hurt. I'll hate seeing it. Make my life easier. You seem to like doing that anyway."

Before you can see his reaction, you're smiling big at your boyfriend and kissing him back, accepting his help with the cups. Maria walks right past you, nervous hands in her jeans' pockets. Even in your tipsy moment, your heart annoyingly insists on breaking a little.

Rhett has a bad night riding, while the family you came with has a successful one. And that means your boyfriend is being louder and warmer than ever, overcompensating for the many weeks prior where his insecurities were in charge.

He entertains people congratulating him for a few minutes, you under his arms, before whispering in your ear that he needs to go home to fuck you.

It's not exciting or promising, but he is still your boyfriend, you are still his girlfriend. This is an important reminder.

Later, you're trying your best on top but losing to boredom anyways when he comes down the side of your leg.

He's in the shower while you finally work on yourself, the scent of bodywash over your clean and still wet skin facilitating things for you. It's not your bed you imagine laying on, or your hand pulling your hair, or that it's yourself fucking your slick folds.

It's so wrong for you to think of the young Abbott boy when you just shoved him into the hands of another, beautiful, single woman. But it's the only face - and most importaly, voice - that gets your spread legs shaking and the knot in your stomach to release.

A name starts to slip away from your tongue before you catch yourself, covering your mouth with your hands and snapping your head towards the bathroom door. He's still in there and you pant back into bliss.

The bell ring pulls you away from your thoughts. Did they forget their keys?

Dressing up quickly, you walk into the bathroom and tell your boyfriend someone's at the door. He tells you to get it but that he will be right there, since it'll hardly be for you.

Your knees almost buckle when you open the door to find Rhett, holding the coat you had lended to the blonde girl when it started raining in the arena.

"Rhett, are you serious?"

You're curt, and it seems to upset him, genuinely. But what was he thinking, coming here? With your coat?

"I was just-" A hiccup. He's wasted. "On my way home, and one of the girls with Maria mentioned giving this back to ya."

He shrugs and your eyes widen in disbelief.

"And you volunteered?"

"Thought-" Hiccup. "'D be nice."

Rhett leans against the doorway, looking inside, and you have the forethought to push him back before he invites himself in. He grabs your wrist whilst you steady him on top of the entrance's mat.

Curious, you glance past him, checking for a figure on his passenger seat.

"Looking for someone?"

"No!" You reprimand him for his flirty tone. "No. You need to leave."

In that moment, Rhett notices the blonde man coming down the stairs.

Jesus. Your boyfriend's still dripping, in nothing but sweatpants and a towel thrown over his shoulder.

He strides slowly, pulling you into him with his arm around your torso. It's more than obvious what just happened.

It's no scandal. You're a couple. But to have Rhett see into your life together…You can't look at the stumbling - rather melancholic - mess under the driveway light.

"What's going on?"

"Coat. Brought her-"

"I gave it to one of the girls earlier, and she sent Abbott to give it back."

No way in hell you're letting him speak under these circumstances.

Your boyfriend agressively takes the coat from his hands, looking it over.

"It's ruined, I'll buy you another one."

A kiss to the crown of your head.

Rhett looks intensely at the blonde, eyes sharp and jaw set. He's shorter, slimmer, and drunk. For fuck's sake.

"Anything else?"

God, please don't say anything. Just leave.

Thankfully, all that unfolds is a headshake, his chin down. Before your boyfriend can rudely shut the door on Rhett's face, concern rules over caution.

"Drive safe."

You plea with your eyes, but he barely takes it in before turning around and stomping to his struck.

The door is pushed and you don't see him drive off, running up the stairs to lock yourself in the bathroom and continue your tradition of begging the universe to protect him.

—————————

Games were not something you ever understood. Your priority lies in being straightforward and honest, as much as possible.

Hence why you're wrecking your brain over what his objective is.

You're still on the night shift.

Lenny said you have been granted permission to change back, but Dani could spend more time with her daughter this way, so you denied. He would not complain, obviously, feeling like he had a tighter rope around your neck when you worked nights and spent mornings writing inside your room, within his eyesight.

What none of you could have predicted was Rhett Abbott coming in every night. For half an hour, ordering one cup of coffee and leaving.

The other girls rushed to serve him. He made them laugh and scribble their numbers (the ones he didn't already have) on a stained napkin. Old school, with proof of purchase.

He doesn't make an effort to draw your attention (he doesn't need to, turns out) and you leave him be. Neither of you owes each other a single thing.

One night, he comes in with Amelia and his mother while you're on your break.

Your wishes to go by unseen are ignored when the little girl waves, forcing you to wave back with a smile that does not please your boyfriend. He's sitting across from you at one of the booths, having popped by at your request since you needed a small favor.

Rhett, ever the quiet instigator, leads the girls to the booth after yours. If you look up, you'll meet his and Cecilia's eyes.

As naturally as possible, you cough and go back to your conversation.

"Ok. Like you said, it's short, but I don't feel confident dragging it on for a few more chapters. I haven't done this in a while and it'll probably just confuse me and it'll end up shit."

Amongst other things, your boyfriend was a critic. Showing him the story you've been working on is sure to provide insight, good and bad.

"I see that." He pushes your laptop back on the table. It sits between you, lighting up your features. He has something to say. "I just don't get it."

"The metaphor? It's a little wonky and shoved in at the end, I know, but-"

"No, not the story. I mean the point of all this. Why are you writing something no one's ever gonna read?"

Oh.

Stupidly, you had thought he would feel good about your decision to share this with him. Like you used to do before you got accepted into university. Fix what you broke this morning.

"Practice. Not letting inspiration, albeit short, go to waste? I don't know."

You're picking at the skin around your nails and he grabs your hands to stop the agitation. He notices you flinch, and sighs.

"Is this what's best for us? Writing…I understand it as a hobby, but you're not gonna have a career out of it so why bother?"

You blink.

"Can you just tell me what you thought about the story?"

Another disinterested sigh.

"Not your best, not your worst. Who cares?" His phone rings and he stands up, gathering his things. "Maybe you could help with the family business. In a position where you don't need to understand much about farming and whatnot. Think about it."

With a kiss to your cheek, he leaves you there, unmovable. Empty. He managed to not do the simple thing you asked of him and disencourage you of any future in doing what you love. You should ask Lenny about picking up extra shifts.

Amy's head pops up, hopeful eyes demanding you to collect yourself and answer her request. She wants to read your story.

If she heard, so did the other two.

Tears threaten to stream down your cheeks when you glance at them, anticipating their pitying looks. The nausea grows at the sight.

Closing the laptop's lid with automatic movements, you politely smile at the child before apologizing. "Maybe some other time. Okay?"

The remaining of your break is spent in the bathroom, looking at the words you had typed and debating if it's worth your energy to rewrite them into a better story. Maybe if it was good enough, one person could tell you to not give up, anyone.

When you return, the Abbotts are gone and you pass by the seventh crumpled napkin with prettily scribbled digits in the bin.

Just a few more hours before you can go home to a good book.

You're waiting for a fresh pot to finish brewing when he texts you. 'Find your own ride home tonight'.

It’s past closing time and you're still waiting for him to show up.

Lenny offers to drive you but you ensure him you'll be fine. He always picks you up.

Twenty minutes later, bright headlights shine through the windows. You can finally stop typing.

You're locking the front door, struggling with the lights off, when you hear the truck's door slam. You swallow.

"I don't need a hug hello or an apology kiss."

"Are you sure? I think it would help."

A shiver runs down your bare legs, voice making you shoot up and smooth down the dress, wondering if he saw anything when you bent over to try and find the lock.

"Seriously?"

Rhett smiles.

"How many times are you gon' ask me that?"

You don't concede yet. Crossing your arms and hugging yourself tighter.

"Why are you here?"

Dark boots prop him up to sit on top of the hood, popping gum into his mouth and leaning on his elbows. "He's been at the bar since I got there, right after I dropped mom and Amy back home. He's not coming."

The straps of your purse burn your palm as you grip them tighter, holding back the tears. Fuck how you hate crying.

It's hardly ever over heartbreak or pain, but frustration and anger. That suffocating feeling that you have no power. That things could be better, they just won't be.

Rhett has seen you break too many times now. It almost pisses you off, how often he has invaded your bad moments. You two are not intimate enough to peer into each other's vulnerabilities.

Wetness pools at your waterline again, mad that you can't even control his impression of you due to your overflowing emotions.

Your teeth hurt as you grit them together, snifling, fighting to keep your composure.

"He was pissed. No way he saw me." Need dominates his tone. Followed by bitterness. "A pretty redhead kept his attention elsewhere."

You can't stop the loud exhale that almost takes you down to your knees. Almost.

Again, it's embarrassing that Rhett knows all of this. Knows you let your boyfriend cheat, because you two haven't enjoyed each other in over a year. You don't love him, you don't want to keep him. Let him have his indulgences while you plan your leave.

He jumps back to the ground, raising dust when he walks to the passenger side and opens the door, circling back and taking his seat behind the wheel.

Asshole. Why does he make you feel like this? Like running to his car and driving away with no destination. Stopping at dingy motels. Making good use of the backseats.

You tell yourself it's just the fantasy of being with someone who isn't your boyfriend.

His car smells like sex and spilled bourbon, for fuck's sake.

In a beautiful instance of contradiction, he sternly orders you to put your seatbelt on.

A good bad boy. It's stronger than you, and you break into a fit of laughter.

Poor guy, he is utterly confused.

Pulling out of the diner's parking lot, he's fed up with your crisis.

"Jesus." His head is shaking, but amusument colors his cheeks.

As if instinctively protective, he leans over and pulls the belt across your body. He fits the smell in his truck perfectly, and his tanned skin is warm when it makes contact with your uncovered arms.

"That's better. Brat."

You don't have it in you to laugh anymore.

When asked if you're hungry, your stomach answers for you and he chuckles, making a turn.

(Don't think about the way the lights shine over his sharp features or how he sits lazily, comfortably directing the steering wheel with loose hands, fingers tapping the leather. Look away.)

You do. But then his head turns. His gaze is excruciating, and your thighs are sweating on the seat. For the first time today, you're glad to have picked out a sundress.

Rhett makes smarter choices and takes you to a drive-through.

You convince him to park somewhere and eat out of the car. You're a terrible messy eater and you'd feel bad about getting his car dirty. Sure, we wouldn't want that, he said. Fine, dirtier.

He lets you steal his fries even after you said you didn't want any. You hand him the ketchup packets. Your drinks sit between you on the hood, your ankles crossed, kicking your feet mindlessly.

"Feeling good?"

He licks grease from his fingers.

You hum, stupid smile stuck on your lips.

"It's ok to break the rules sometimes."

"Oh my God." You groan, throwing your head back and crunching the wrapping paper in your hand. "You think I'm a fucking prude."

He points to your drinks. His beer and your water. You roll your eyes almost cartoonishly.

"Beer makes me burp too much. We're not there yet."

His eyebrows raise at your possible implications. That you're becoming acquainted, warming up to each other. It denotes effort and will. Your brain wants to take it back, but your heart beats you to the punch and you shut yourself up with a sip.

"I'm more than my relationship, Abbott." His eyes say he wants to believe you. "I used to want to be a street car racer."

He almost chokes on his burger.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But it's true. My friends and I used to skip class and fuck around at the autorepair shop down the street. Then the mechanics would take us to actually watch races. It was a lot of fun, I made some great friends, a couple of them taught me everything they could. You'd be impressed at my drifting skills."

"Wow." He laughs with his whole body. It's painfully cute. "What happened?"

You blink, taking another sip, pushing out the cruel reality. A name. "Everything changed after him. We spent long nights talking about academia, and the future, and education. I was good at school, but suddenly I had a real opportunity - hope- to go to a proper school. Develop my writing. I always liked it but it was pretty obvious to me that you either use your established wealth to build your career, or you probably die poor. He made it seem like I had support, at last."

Rhett repeats his question.

"I guess he never meant it, had his own disappointments. Life is never how you expect it to be. Happens."

"You never talk about your parents. What do they think of all this?"

You shrug. "Grew up in foster care."

Realization crosses his face. It does put everything into perspective.

"'M learning a lot about you tonight."

"Regret it already?"

His hand brings the bottle up to his lips, stopping just before as he pretends to consider it. With a generous grin, he shakes his head.

Silence fills the night as you let him finish his beer.

The breeze plays with your hair, dress trapped between your thighs to avoid an accident, spinning the rings on your fingers.

Breaking out of his laid back position, Rhett grabs your hand and turns it in his own, inspecting it. His thumb massages the center of your palm while he pretends to investigate every one of your rings. Then he stops, feels one of your tense nerves and opens his palm, it glued to the back of your hand.

We're alike.

Blue eyes seek yours, and you roll them again. His bruises are from riding undomesticated animals.

"Writing is an arduous job." To be fair, you can't always pull your phone or laptop at work to take note of an idea. The old pen and paper still play their role. He has one more endearing smile for you. Huffing, and pulling your hand away, you ask for the time. "We should go."

He simply nods, adjusting the hat on his head and jumping off the hood. He almost brings the trash with him to the car, before you cut in front of him and rip it from his hands, walking the very short distance to a dumpster. Honestly.

"Did you just separate our garbage?"

"That's what the signs on the dumpsters are for, princess." You tease him. He started it. 'Our' garbage. "Such a pretty head with nothing but air in it."

You climb onto the passenger seat and he chuckles, turning on the truck. If you don't look for a tinge of pink in his cheeks, maybe he will grant you the same kindness.

He's running through every yellow light and it makes you a little sick, the taste of fast food unforgivable. You remember something.

"Still have some of that gum?"

"Uh, yeah. Jacket pocket."

He points to the back seat. Unfortunately, it isn't dark enough in this town that you don't see defined muscles when his arms raise.

You reach for the plastic packet, popping a piece into your mouth, but something catches your eye. Plucked begonias. It's not a full bouquet, looks more like he grabbed them from someone's yard in a rush.

"What are these doing here?"

You're enamored with the delicate shade of pink. Until who they might be for crosses your mind. Honestly, you would get her flowers too. Half the town would.

"Oh, yeah. They're for you." You have never looked up so fast, glad the car has finally been stopped by a red light. Rhett scratches the back of his neck. "Uhm, Amy wanted to gift you something from our land. She thought about a million things before landing on flowers though. She hopes you like pink."

C'mon, not tears again. You're not even angry. The total opposite, actually.

"I do."

The light has turned green again, but Rhett is reluctant to drive. "You okay?"

You only nod, blinking the tears away and indicating for him to go.

He does, but he continues to glance your way every few seconds, pushing his hair back. You're messing with the hat he abandoned on the console.

"Look, I'm sorry. I have to ask. How's your plan going? How close are you to what you need?"

Jesus, did you give something away?

"Shit, maybe you can read my mind. Or you're psychic."

"What does- what does that mean?"

Dejectedly hitting the headrest, you don't even think twice before sharing. It's unlike you but you don't deny yourself the relief.

"Don't be…judgemental. But. He needed help and I helped him."

He's confused. "You helped him…?"

"He needed some money and I gave it to him."

"What?"

He runs past a stop sign and you scold him, slapping his midsection with his own hat.

"Not all of it. A part."

"He's rich!"

If it weren't so ironic, it would be funny. It's the same exasperated reaction you had when your boyfriend begged you this morning. It was the reason you two fought, and why you were trying to make amends with the draft of your story. Clearly, it wasn't enough.

"He's in a lot of debt with his business ventures, alright? And, it's for his dad! You know medication is criminally expensive in this country."

The older man was very sick. Everyone budged in as much as they could to help. They might be weird fucking people, but they are a family.

"So you paid for his share. Do they even know? Or did he use you to keep his good son image too?"

You don't say anything. Of course he doesn't deserve it. You should've said no and dumped him right there. But you do owe his father a lot.

"I didn't use the money you gave me. I took it out of the extra shifts money. And I'll pay you back for the food tonight."

He stutters, looking at you with an undescribable expression. "I'm not mad about that! And don't you dare 'pay me back'. I took you out to eat, I'm not buying you out. Did he fuck you up this bad?"

Your mouth opens to answer but it's not worth it.

Rhett bites his own hand, letting a beat of silence befall you before improvising a U-turn in the middle of the street and speeding.

"Hey, what the fuck?"

Your voice is soft, confused but not entirely put off by the speed. Your boyfriend drives fast all the time, but he gloats too much, it takes away the fun for you. Rhett is also better at riding. The two things are probably not as correlated as you want them to be, but it does imply better control.

You trust him more, is the point.

(The thought terrifies you as much as it is exciting. Kind of like his driving right now.)

Another red light. Awareness dawns on him. He turns to you, quiet and a little unlike himself, but determined.

"You don't have to go home tonight. Fuck him. Do you want to go home?"

You don't need time to consider. "No."

"Okay."

Bright green reflects off his face and he's speeding again, taking you somewhere you hope is not his home.

He finally pulls up to a small neighboorhood. A blue little house, innocently sitting amongst brighter and bigger properties.

The ignition is switched off.

"It's a friend's, he's out of town."

Before you can acknowledge it, he's grabbing the hat from your hands and stepping out of the car and opening your door. He looks up and down the empty, quiet street. Anywhere but you.

You forget the begonias.

Rhett picks a key from the flower pot, poorly hidden in the decorative rocks.

It smells good inside, like fresh laundry. It hasn't been left uninhabited for long.

"I'm surprised to hear you have friends."

He frees the space in front of the sink for you to wash your hands as well, but throws the paper towel roll at you before you can. You catch it, defying his poor throw with a look.

"Don't push it."

"I mean it. I never see you with anyone outside of your family. Except for-"

Why? Why did you start that sentence?

For a moment, all you hear is the water running.

"For?"

Ah, shit. You close the tap, cringing and breathing in deeply before turning around and looking for the paper towel you could've sworn you just put down.

"Maria."

You drag the name out. It comes off more suggestive, and less teasing. You're blowing this, trying to sound like a friend picking on him but reaching more into a creepy side. At least your avoidant eyes find the towels.

"What do you know about that?"

Ice cold. You shiver.

"I have eyes."

Neither of you show signs of kidding. You overstepped.

"Sorry, I shouldn't-"

"Is that why you act weird when you see her? Why you left, that day at the rodeo?"

You cringe again, hearing your nervous laugh.

"What?"

"Don't play dumb, kitten. We both know that you're not."

"What did you just call me?"

Bite the bait.

"Answer me."

Fuck. His posture is too intimidating for you to fight against.

"I mean, sort of. Yes. I'm giving you two privacy." He scoffs, shaking his head. "Are you mad? Jesus, Rhett. I'm not making fun of you. It's a crush. It's sweet."

Dirty boots ruin a pristine floor, Rhett stopping inches away. A hand runs down his face.

"Did Perry say something?"

"Amy. Who was told by Perry."

He huffs humorless.

"Who needs enemies…"

You snicker at his childishness.

"Relax, hotshot. Damn, I see what he means now, you are scared of her! I get it, she's hot."

"Scared?" He squints at you, but his voice cracks. He steps closer and you push back against the sink, your dress rises an inch. "Do I look scared now?"

You remember him calling you a goody two-shoes earlier. Out of (stupid) pride, you won't give him the reaction he's expecting, fuck that. So you push back.

"Of course not. It's different." His arms are now trapping you, asking for elaboration. You look him up and down, raising your eyebrows before scoffing and rolling your eyes, challenging. You look away, then slow blink back to him. "Maria is a beautiful, single woman who has known you forever. There are stakes. It's real."

"And you?"

The tip of his nose is brushing yours, but you refuse to be the submissive one (for now) and angle your head up, lifting his along. It's like a dance, enticing and reckless.

Whispering is more appropriate.

"You and I are friends." Your lips are parted, tongue hitting your teeth provocatively, leaning your head back and he follows in a daze. You have to hold back laughter. "I have a boyfriend. You can't have me. It's playing with food you're never gonna taste. Meaningless."

At the last word, it's as if you were a robot being reset. You straighten up, pat his chest and push him off, walking towards the door. You can't possibly hang around him after all that. And did you actually think you could spend the night somewhere that isn't your boyfriend's house without consequences? You're in enough trouble as it is.

From the same spot in the kitchen you two were completely sharing seconds ago, he calls your name. It's breathless.

"Stay."

"Am I your dog?" You laugh, but he doesn't. His hand is closed in a fist.

"I can't offer many of the things he provid- Actually, fuck that. What does he provide? His daddy's money? I know you don't actually care about that. So, what? Fear, dependence, pain? I could go on."

"Please don't."

You get it. He's right. Most men can do better than that, and the money was only another factor that allowed him to control you, you've abdicated from it as soon as you got the waitressing job.

"I'm not saying you should be with me-"

"I know, you mentioned."

He winces at your sudden change in demeanor, less apologetic. It agitates him, and he powers forward. This time, you don't step back.

"But I can make you feel good. Don't you think you deserve that?" No. You don't. This is wrong. It doesn't mean you don't want it. "And before you can say it, no, it's not a favor. I want it as much as you."

You almost drop to the floor with the shock of his sentence.

"Who says I want it?"

You're stalling, flight or fight instinct taking time to boot up.

He laughs. At you. God, do you look cock deprived or something?

"Are you gonna say he satisfies you?"

"Are you gonna say you can?" Before he can answer, you cut him off, serious again. "Look, I'm not going to do what he does. It's not me."

Rhett looks, somehow, more baffled.

"You're not…like him. This is not the same thing. Tell me you understand that."

"Cheating-"

"On the guy who abuses you."

He's holding your arm, caressing old bruises that haven't healed yet, but he's looking at you. Deep into your soul.

Terrible time for your eyes to tear up again. You're overwhelmed with desire and conflict, afraid of how you might feel after but desperate to let go.

Calloused thumbs dry your face. He's so close…

"Abbott, turning into one of your girls is the last thing I wanted, for the record."

A cheater and a liar, all in one night.

"You're the one in a relationship. If anything, I'm one of your boys."

You gasp, pushing back on his hand around your neck and furrowing your brows at him. "You're fucking revolting."

"We'll see about that. Shut up, would you? Damn."

The latter is basically said into your lips.

His other hand has risen fron your shoulder, to your neck, and finally your jaw. More eager than you were ready to admit, you don't waste time and open your mouth for his tongue to slip in. It hasn't been ten seconds and you're both breathing heavily.

You bite his lip and he sucks on your tongue, a surprising minty taste. That's when you feel Rhett practically pick the gum you forgot you were chewing from the back of your mouth and turn away to spit it out.

He catches the roll of your eyes.

"Does everything prick your sensitive fucking fingers, princess? I'll show you how to be less pent-up."

The tip of his hat bumps your forehead when he picks you up, setting you down on the little table by the entrance hall after knocking everything to the ground.

His lips barely leave yours, which is a shame, you wish you could see if his eyes were blown out.

The table rocks against the wall and you notice him buckle when it grazes his crotch. Bless those thight fucking jeans.

"Rhett. Underwear."

Your hips lift so he can pull them down your legs, easily pushing the fabric of your sundress until you're exposed. He doesn't hesitate to run two fingers along already slick folds.

You fist the thin material of his shirt, head dropping to hide in his neck when he pushes them inside. "Fuck. It's better than mine."

He growls, and it's so important to you, to hear this low speaking, timid, ungiving cowboy lose himself under you.

"Tell me." You already know what he's going to ask. With your forehead still stuck to his collarbone, your hands fly to his belt, pulling him forward before you can start unbuckling him. "You've thought about this, haven't you?"

You stop just before pulling him free, fingers crooking inside his boxers. Your head rises enough that you can whisper in his ear.

"Well, someone's gotta help me finish."

Like that, his free hand that was pressing your breasts moves to your throat, bringing you back to where he can push his tongue down it.

He pulls his own underwear off, slowly removing his fingers, swiping them up and circling your clit. You hiss into him and he chuckles. You finally open your eyes. Yeah, the blue outline of his pupils is very thin.

Your smile props him to bunch up your dress and pull you forward.

Before he can fuck you, you're asking that he fullfils one (please, just that one) of your wishes. And like magic, he reads your mind once more.

The hand that was lightly placed around your throat slides to your neck, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling on it. You could fucking cry.

He probably notices, you're not hiding anything from him, and when he thrusts into you, it's unforgiving.

The sounds that come out blend perfectly in the air. Maybe he wasn't lying, and he did want this as much as you. It's not too unbelievable that he was letting all of this want build up, not used to meeting a girl and not fucking her the same night.

He slaps your clit twice and you cuss him out. "Still with me? Good. Thought I lost ya."

"Suddenly, so many words to say. Fucking move, Rhett."

A tug to your scalp. It's delirious.

"My name…when you're mad…I'm gonna fucking jerk off to that. Again."

Your eyes widen at the last minute revelation, with little time to properly tease him because he's finally moving. And, fuck, it's heaven.

You're so tired of being embarrassed in front of him but this is truly the last thing you can control. Your walls are tightening faster with each thrust. It's not gonna take too long.

"Rhett, I'm s-sorry. I'm close."

His left hand keeps switching from your hips to your ass, squeezing as much skin as he can grab.

"Good. That's the point." He stops moving to look at you. His eyes are once again taking your breath away, even when they are this dark. "Don't apologize. Tell me what to do."

It might have been too intimate, but you take his lips in a quiet, soft kiss. "Just keep moving. Faster."

He takes a second to follow your instructions, but when he does, it is so obedient your arm pushes the hat off his head so you can embrace him and grab more of his hair, bringing him closer.

His forehead is drenching your neck in sweat, your fingers gripping the thick blonde strands, his a little more lazily tugging on yours. He uses his hold on your hair to angle your bodies better, forcing you to sink down on his cock as he shoots up.

Your hips loudly knock against each other, the table still battering the wall.

It's coming, your legs and abdomen straining, cooing in his ear. His arms are probably burning.

Two seconds later and you hit your climax together. It's the loudest you have ever heard him be.

You're hugging him tight, face hiding in his neck again, body spasming. It shouldn't be such a surprise when tears slip out of your eyes.

He's still panting, soothingly running one hand up and down your back, the other scratching your scalp after brutally pulling on it.

You pull back, and his eyes widen a little at your wet face. "Did I hurt you?"

"Get over yourself."

He laughs while drying your face for the upteenth time.

"I don't know, I never made a girl cry during sex before."

"Now that, I highly doubt."

You finally say something that gets him to roll his eyes, and he clearly doesn't do it often. His hand squeezes your hip as he pulls out, and warm fluid spills down your legs.

"Shit."

He realizes at the same time as you.

"Oh, uhm, the bathroom. Last door down the hallway."

"Shit!"

You don't mean to make him feel bad or guilty. Both of you forgot. You push him aside and jump off the table, awkwardly strutting to the toilet.

You pee and dry yourself the best you can, but there's no way you're fucking sleeping tonight.

The water out of the sink is thankfully ice cold as it drips down your face, neck and chest.

When you return to the living room, Rhett is chewing on his lip, staring at your underwear he must have picked up and put on top of the cushions on the couch.

You pick it up.

"Can you…?"

He turns around. It's silly, of course, but even with his back turned, your skin is burning.

The walk to the car is short and everlasting at the same time.

Thinking that you truly just used his friend's place in the middle of a nice residential street to secretly fuck and leave is insane. He didn't even consent to it being used for that. He didn't even know you. Did this happen before, with other girls?

You don't look up when he opens the passenger door, lost in your thoughts. As soon as it slams shut, you put your head in your hands and groan, fixing yourself before Rhett climbs inside too.

It's after four in the morning when he slows to a stop outside of your so called home.

The words come out too fast.

"We use protection. Him and I."

"Okay."

"Just- Because obviously he fucks other people on the side, and I don't want you to worry about getting any- uhm, anything."

He rolls his eyes and this time it doesn't seem lighthearted.

"That's great."

Another beat, and you can't shut up. "Do you? I know it's not my business but you did just- inside me…and you, allegedly, sleep around so I think-"

"You have nothing to worry about. I promise."

He doesn't take your word-vomit too well. Fist covering his lips, side-eyeing as you gather your purse from the backseat. You make sure to grab the begonias before unlocking the door and hopping out.

Your three second long debate about whether or not you should thank him becomes irrelevant the second you turn to shut the door and he's not looking at you.

So you let him go, shaky legs carrying you inside the silent mansion.

#rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott #lewis pullman #outer range #outer range fanfic

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