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plzfeedmebread · 1 year

Text

What Do I Tell My Friends Family?

Word count: 5086

Pairing: HUMAN Miles Quaritch x Female NA'VI Reader Tags/Warnings: 18+ ONLY, rare pairing, possibly dark content, smut, adult themes, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, lust, older man x younger woman, under age reader (16), degradation, nsfw, dubious consent, dirty talk, orgasm, orgasm denial, foul language, choking, vaginal fucking

Author's Note: This came to me in a day dream. Listening to this song. Set in the same idea I have for Lie of Providence, where you're able to communicate with the spirit of Quaritch in a Dream. Though it's a bit different there. Won't be included in LoP. Have kept reader's appearance vague in some parts so imagine it as you will.

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*by clicking keep reading you understood the contents there within*

You shouldn’t want this. You should not be feeling like this. Oh Great Mother, the shame is near unbearable. Yet you are powerless to stop yourself. You want him, this you know. He is a man. Not like the boys of the clan. Immature, stupid boys who know nothing. No, this is a man. You have no doubt he would treat you the way you deserve. Or perhaps, the ways in which you want to be treated.

It started as a childish crush; a flight of fancy. A silly little thing you were, developing feelings for a man you only see in a shared Dream. You enjoyed watching him flex those oh so strong arms, the expanding of that broad chest with each precious breath. Each movement deliberate, no energy wasted in the fluidity of his being. He was taller than you then.

But time passes and it brings with it changes you weren’t entirely expecting. Becoming taller than him at 17 was a given. You’re almost 7’5” now, and will surely keep growing till you’re at least your mother’s height. What you did not expect however, was the swell of your chest. The women of your tribe you notice, do not have such large breasts. They are small, extenuating their lithe form, the agile body of Huntresses. But here you stand, barely an adult, with tits bigger than your hands. Your hips are noticeably wider too.

As time made you older, so too did it make you bolder. You care not if his gaze meets yours as you shamelessly stare down at him when he trains. You openly watch him do any human ritual, especially when it involves him testing the limits of his physique. And you notice too, how his gaze lingers on you. His eyes travel up and down your form when he thinks you do not notice. You eat up the silent attention. You sure as shit weren’t getting it from the young boys of your tribe.

Sure, mother and father tried their best arranging future mates for you. But every meeting of the family, you seem to be the only one to notice the boys’ upturn sneer. To them, you were always a freak. Proportionally wrong. A half-breed.

Your friends tell you not to worry about it. Boys are stupid anyway and wouldn’t know a good thing even if Eywa herself was prostrated before them. Yet you can’t help the jealously that rips through your very blood when they speak of stolen kisses and secret rendezvous. They do not make tsaheylu, as that is sacred and meant for their future life mate, but that doesn’t stop them exploring their baser desires with equally eager boys. And as the days to weeks to months pass, the frustration of it all builds until you are bursting at the proverbial seams.

And when the dam finally breaks, so too does your rational thinking. You are sick of your feelings being rebuffed by these stupid, immature boys. And you are equally as sick of this bizarre dance you’ve entered with Quaritch. If his soul is going to share Dreams with you, and so blatantly eat you with his gaze, then by Eywa does he owes you some actual attention.

---

And so tonight you are going to put your plan into action. You adorn the least amount of beads and thread you possibly can, barely covering your nipples let alone the rest of your chest. You wear a loincloth with a thinner cut fabric in the back, it easily gets eaten into the swell of your ass. You’re sure Quaritch is going to like that, if his roaming eyes are anything to go by. The final touch are some pretty feathers in your hair which you let hang lose and un-braided. You take your ikran and fly somewhere else into the forest; you do not want to be disturbed this night and Eywa forbid your family asks about what you are wearing (or lack thereof).

You find somewhere suitable to lay your head for the night, the flattened top of a nearby tree. Your ikran makes themself comfortable elsewhere, far enough to give you privacy, but close enough to hear you call should you need them.

You sit on your haunches and take a big calming breath. You look up to clear sky. Eywa has blessed tonight with warm breezes and a dazzling display of stars. The forest is alight with bioluminescence and it brings you a sense of comfort. And with that, you lay yourself down and close your eyes.

---

The Dreamscape too, it would seem, has taken the shape of Night. As you have hoped, you are immediately in a Human settlement. You think it is perhaps Hell’s Gate, but something is different. You cannot tell, but it feels different. No matter. These are irrelevant details. You are here on a mission.

You let pure instinct guide you into and through a building. You are drawn to him and he to you. Finding him is never difficult. As you traverse the halls, you are thankful you do not have to bend as to not hit the ceiling, though were you fully grown it would probably be a problem. You immediately stop in front of a door. He’s in this room. You take a moment to steel your resolve. You do not want to back out now. Not when you’ve already come this far. You take a deep breath, then press button on the side.

---

Quaritch finds it strange. To know oneself is dead. To be a wondering soul, bound to The All Mother. To say he was surprised to learn she was indeed real, would be an unprecedented understatement. Yet she does not speak to him. But he can feel her influence wherever he wonders. Most surprising though, is You.

By Eywa’s grace, the two of you keep sharing Dream spaces. He’s sure you’re not dead though your spirit visits him often. And he’s also sure of one other thing; you must be sweet on him. Never in his waking life, and apparent afterlife, would he have foreseen something like this. A savage girl, the daughter of the traitor Jake Sully, developing a crush on him.

It was cute at first. When you were small. But you’re not a child anymore. And he has, to his disgust and pleasure, taken notice. He thinks of the way you tease him, swaying your hips with purpose when you jog ahead so as to walk in front of him. That damn tail flicking whichever way to draw his attention. When you puff out your chest when you show him how good you’ve become with bow and arrow. Oh yes, he’s sure you’re doing this shit on purpose. And you stare! You openly stare, and when he catches you, you don’t even try to hide it. The audacity of it all.

He’s not even sure if you’re considered an adult by your people’s standards. He never once cared to learn about the filthy natives’ culture. If he remembers correctly, you had mentioned to him last time he saw you that you were 16, coming on 17. You were complaining about some dumb teenage boy in your clan. Something or rather about not finding you attractive. He let you vent your frustrations by manifesting an appropriate sized gun turret in the shared Dreamscape for you.

You mounted the machine without hesitation, and shot at nothing in particular. Your frusted yells drowned out by the loud rhythmic expulsion of bullet rain. And while you had your cute little moment, he watched as your supple body jiggled and bounced oh so wonderfully.

It’s wrong, he knows it. To lust after such a young teenage girl. But you’re not exactly human.

He rubs the back of his neck frustratedly; doesn’t even notice he’s manifested himself in his old quarters, a place of comfort.

---

He tries to clear his mind. Think of something, anything else. But it all comes back to you. Fuck you’re a God damn tease. A succubus sent by Eywa to torture him. God dangling a piece of Eden in front of him, just out of reach.

What he wouldn’t give to bury himself deep into that pretty little cunt of yours, a hand grabbing fistfuls of your hair as you cry out in pain and pleasure. He wants to leave pretty purple bruises up and down your skin. Mementos he hopes you carry out with you into the waking world. He wants every one of those pathetic teenage boys to know who you really belong to. Show them how a real man lays claim to what’s his. Typical savages having no fucking taste. There’s a tent in his pants now, and he’s about to reach in and relieve himself when the sound of the door sliding open catches his attention.

Speak of the Devil and so shall She appear.

When the door opens you stop yourself in the door way. There he is, standing in the centre of the room. He’s wearing that black singlet you love so much; the entirety of his arms are exposed as well as part of that divine broad chest. The giant window ceiling lets in the natural light of the night awash the room in gentle moonlight.

You’re blushing hard, you can feel the heat spread up from your neck and dust your cheeks. There is a gentle heat forming between your legs as you keep staring.

“Well hey there Sweetheart. Now aren’t you just a sight for sore eyes…” Quaritch is the first to break the silence. His eyes start from your face, and slowly he rakes it down to your loin cloth and back up to face; not before lingering on your chest you notice.

“Now you didn’t have to get all dressed up pretty for lil’ old me—or should I say, dressed down?” You smile shily, brushing some of your hair behind your ear. “Come closer darlin’, let me get a good look at’cha.” He’s smirks at you mischievously.

You obey without thinking and step into the room to stand before him, the door shuts behind you instantly with a quiet swoosh.

When you’re this close, the height difference is a bit more apparent. His head height is perfectly situated at your breasts.

He hums approvingly, then gestures behind him for you to take a seat on the bed. When you, he standing in front of you, arms crossed on his chest. You bite your lip noticing the bulge of his biceps, your tail flicks excitedly behind you. He chuckles when he notices.

“Now tell me, [Y/N]—” it takes a great deal of willpower to stop the whine threatening to escape your throat when he says your name in that delicious accent. You audibly inhale. “—what exactly is it, that you think you’re doing Sweetheart?”

You decide you to feign ignorance. It is far too embarrassing to simply come out and say it. You want him to say it; want him to be the one to admit it first. He wants you just as much as you want him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Colonel,” you see the slight tense in his arms when you address him by his title; ‘oh he definitely likes that’. You place your hands in your lap, lightly squeezing your breasts together with your arms. You see his eyes shift down to stare at your cleavage, you can feel your nipples teasing through the bare fabric. He licks his teeth and you inwardly shudder at the action.

“Oh ho, I think you do, you little fucking tease. Now what I’m wondering is, does your Dear ol’ Pa know you’re here? Presenting yourself in front of the enemy like that.” Quaritch bends forward so he’s eye level with you. “I wonder how disappointed he’d be right now. Guess his sweet little [Y/N] ain’t so innocent after all, huh?”

“I do not want to talk about my Father right now Quaritch,” you huff at him frustratedly. You don’t want to think about your family right now, that’d be a sure-fire way to kill the mood before it’s even begun.

“Oh? Then, what is is that you want to do, [Y/N]?”

“You know exactly why I’m here Quaritch…” you avert your eyes, too embarrassed to make extended eye contact. You don’t see him lean closer, moving to the side of your head to whisper directly into your ear.

“Come now you’re a big girl [Y/N]. Why don’t you use your big girl words? Be a good girl, and tell the Colonel what it is that you want?” You audibly whimper. He moves to the front of your face again, grabbing your chin in his hand, forcing your face forward.

“Now I’ll ask again—What is it that you want hm? What is your plan here?”

“Eyes on me baby,” your ears perk forward at the new moniker, eyes immediately fixed on him. Oh Great Mother this man is going to break you.

“I—I—want…”

“SAY IT.”

“You! My plan! You were my p-plan! It is you that I want! Please Colonel!” You all but yell when he commands you. You squeeze your eyes shut, the shame and embarrassment too much after such a declaration.

You hear Quaritch hum approvingly and can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

“Well, aren’t you just sweet?”

His lips crash onto yours suddenly. Both of his hands are on either side of your head, holding you firmly in place. He doesn’t move at first, testing to see your reaction. When he feels you tilt slightly to one side and gently push up into him, he deepens the kiss. You’re a mess of teeth, saliva and tongue. Hot breath mingling in each other’s mouths. By Eywa does he taste divine. Better than anything you could have possibly imagined. Heat pools at the base of your belly. The tiny flicker of a flame come to life. You stupidly wonder if the boys of your clan are even a fraction as skilled as he.

“I can feel ya thinkin’ about something you shouldn’t be, naughty minx.” He says when he breaks away from you. He pushes your collar bone forcefully enough for you to fall back onto the bed with an oof. You lean up on your elbows to look at him at the foot of the bed, your legs planted firmly on the ground.

He uses his legs to kick apart your legs and stands in the space between.

“Let me clear that pretty little head of yours…”

He leans onto the bed, presses his right thigh firmly against your sex, his hands are on your hips holding you in place. A pleasured gasp escapes you, the sudden unexpected feeling of pleasure sparks from your core through your entire body.

Satisfied that you won’t move, you can feel him move his hands up the expanse of your body, thumbs pressing into you as he traces the stars painting your skin. Upward he travels till he reaches your chest. Your breasts are exposed to the open are, your meagre coverings having fallen wayside when he pushed you back before.

He delicately traces the glowing pattern of one breast, before he gives you a gentle squeeze.

“Hmmm~” you murmur at the feeling, warmth pooling at the precipice of your legs. He grabs you, one in each hand, and starts kneading you firmly. The rough callouses of his palm causing delicious friction upon your nipples. He feels them peak into his hands and squeezes you tighter.

You can’t help but moan. You’ve never been touched like this at all by anyone else. It feels nothing like when you do it yourself. No, this is so much better.

He swings his left leg over you, resting on your side, his right leg presses harder onto your cunt as he leans forward. He kisses you roughly, forcing his tongue into your mouth; immediately seeking you out to fight for dominance. You feel the slick of your cunt coat your loin cloth.

He breaks the kiss to plant kisses on the underside of your jaw. Slowly he starts licking the dots there, tracing down your neck, and he sucks hard on the flesh there, catching the skin between his teeth. At the same time he pinches both your nipples between his forefinger and thumb roughly.

“Fuck!” You exclaim loudly, the pleasure in your body starting to burn. Each nerve is set alight in pleasured brilliance. You body demands more friction, so you rub your greedy clothed pussy up and down his thick muscular thigh, drenching his pants leg in your juices.

“Aww is that all for me? Well ain’t you just a peach,” Quaritch teases you when he feels the wetness upon his leg. He looks down and inspects the darkening hicky on your neck. Satisfied with his work, and continues to leave more on either side of your neck. Not content yet, he starts leaving them along your collar bone. All the while you grace him with the sing-song of your voice, openingly moaning in pleasured ecstasy at his ministrations.

You feel his hands vacate your chest, his leaves a wet trail as he traces his tongue along one swell. He gives your nipple an experimental lick causing you to make the cutest mewl. And when he takes your whole nipple into his mouth and starts sucking like a starving man, you can’t help the profanity that escapes your lips.

You push harder against his leg, enjoying the feeling of his strong muscles rub against your neglected clit. The pleasure from your cunt and tits pool together in your belly. A gentle coil of a promise starting to form. The build up stops suddenly when Quaritch moves his leg from your sacred conjunction. But before you can even complain, you watch as he moves his entire body lower until his face is between your legs.

Your embarrassment is renewed tenfold. You lay your head back and cover your face with both hands; too bashful to watch what’s about to happen. You aren’t completely ignorant, your friends made sure of that, sparing no detail of their escapades.

You obey his command, pushing yourself up on your elbows to stare down at the man poised at your nether region.

Quaritch laughs quietly at your display of embarrassment. He unties your loincloth with ease. When he takes in the sight of you, he cant help but suck in a large breath through clenched teeth. The stars painted on your cunt glow brightly in the moon light, the nectar of your arousal flows freely from your slit. A Waterfall of Eden before him.

“Now that just won’t do Sweetheart. Eyes on me, I wanna see those pretty eyes while I eat this pretty pussy.”

He nods approvingly and lowers himself once more, his eyes never break contact with you.

You inhale sharply when you feel him flatten his tongue against your slick, giving your slit one long slow lick up and over your clit.

Louder and louder you moan, there is no need to keep quiet here; there is only the two of you blanketed in soft moonlight.

He presses his hands into the groves of your hips to hold you down as he gets to work eating you out proper. Up and down he licks between your folds, sucking on your clit finally, in between. He cleans you up good, drinking deep of your honeyed nectar you so graciously give him.

He listens to every keen, mewl and moan. When the pleasure becomes too much you’re on the flat of your back once more, eyes closed in blissful ecstasy. Each hard suck on your clit pulls tight the coil in your core, the fire burning brighter with each passing moment.

And just when the tension on your belly threatens to snap in glorious orgasm, suddenly the feeling stops completely. Quaritch having ceased his ministrations.

“Delicious, thank you for the meal.”

You whimper unabashedly, tears threatening your eyes as you look down at him with a confused lidded look.

“So sorry Sweetroll, but the first time your cumming is going to be on my cock; no exceptions.”

You watch with bated breath as he undoes the belt around his waist. Eagerly does he free his throbbing cock from the confines of his pants. He’s already so fucking hard as he starts slowly pumping himself. He sees you bite your bottom lip as you drink in the sight of him. You lick your lips eagerly.

He feels himself twitch in his hand at the thought of you on your hands and knees as he throat fucks you till your insides are raw. But he’ll save that for another time. Right now the sweet musk of your cunt is beckoning him, and nothing is going to stop him answering the call.

He gathers some of your nectar to spread up and down his member, before he lines himself up with your entrance.

He looks down at you, eyes meeting yours.

“You ready baby? I don’t think I can be gentle,” you nod in response. He rubs his thick tip up and down your slick, gathering more of your nectar. When he finds our entrance, he slowly pushes in just the tip, gauging your reaction. Your eyes close as pleasure assaults every nerve of your body. You feel your cunt immediately drench, excited at the prospect of being utterly fucked full. He can’t help it, seeing your face like that, hearing you sing like that? His resolve all but shatters. In one fell fluid motion he pushes all of himself in up until the hilt, meeting no resistance.

The suddenness of him, feeling his long hard cock stuff the entirety of your pussy, you can’t help the scream that rips itself from your throat. There is a pleasure you didn’t think possible, but also a dull pain from the sudden stretch. You can feel the hairs of his crotch brush against your clit. He isn’t moving though, waiting for you to adjust to this new feeling.

“[Y/N]…Can I?” He’s trying to ask if he can move in between laboured breath. You nod almost immediately. The dull pain nothing you can’t handle.

“P-please move Quaritch,” you beg and he hums in response. You feel him lift both your legs, holding them up at the knees. He pulls out slowly till the tip, then slams back into you.

“Aaah!” You yell in pleasure at the friction gracing your inner walls. Quaritch takes in one deep breath, and he starts pumping into you with all the force he can muster. He is not gentle. He leans over your body, pushing your legs up and apart, granting easier access to your welcoming cunt.

It’s all too much, all too good. The pleasure is insurmountable. Touching yourself will never bring you pleasure like this. Each time he slams back into you, he crashes against your throbbing clit; lightning sparks through your veins, each nerve ending singing a chorus of pleasure, your body is burning in the flames of desire.

You feel the coil tightening; the build-up of orgasm approaching far quicker than you anticipated.

“Fuck—fuck you feel so good baby,” Quaritch starts praising you. Despite the size disparity, you are tight, perfect, made just for him.

You can’t answer him with words, the only sounds escaping your swollen lips are sing-song moans. It strokes his ego something deep, to see you like this; folded in half, hair framing your face like a [h/c] halo, your face dusted in deep blush. And oh, the faces you make. You can’t be this cute. It should be illegal. If this was Earth, it would be illegal.

But he’s not on Earth. And you’re not Human. Such delicate sensibilities don’t apply out here 4 light years away. Besides. Eywa presented you before him oh so generously, and it would just be impolite to refuse such a gift.

“Q-Quaritch—I’m—” You can’t seem to get the words out, your orgasm approaching without mercy. He knows it though. The squeezes of your drenched cunt warning him. But he’s not ready for you to cum yet. He’s got one more little thing he wants to do.

“Don’t you dare cum [Y/N], you hear me? That’s an order,” he doesn’t relent his pace, the bastard. You close your eyes tight, trying through sheer force of will not to cum.

“Y-yes Sir,” he all but growls the moment you call him that, and you can’t help but smile cheekily. You feel his pace slow to deliberate thrusts. He doesn’t say anything but you feel his hands remove themselves from your legs and hear him fidget with something. You open your eyes in time to see him brandishing his belt in hand.

“Now hold still darling,” he instructs as he, without question, ties the belt around your neck, wrapping the leather around his left hand in tight coils.

“Do you trust me?” he asks as he smirks down at you. Your hand traces the belt around your neck, and your eyes meet his. You stare deep into those blue pools; he is brimming with lust, desire, and something so much deeper. You can’t explain it, but you trust this man with every fibre of your being.

“Yes…I trust you,” You give him the sweetest smile you can muster, and hold your left hand. He threads the fingers of his right hand through yours.

He picks up his pace, returning once again to that brutal pace before. He thrusts and hard as he can, pounding into your cunt with all the strength he has.

“Yesyesyesyes!” You chant eagerly, feeling your orgasm build up for the third time. Without warning, Quaritch pulls on the belt. It tightens around your neck, cutting off your oxygen.

Your eyes widen in sudden panick, reasling you can barely draw in any air. And that feeling, the leather as it bites into the skin of your neck, the tightness in your chest at the lack of air, it is delicious. Your cunt squeezes unabashedly around Quaritch and he huffs with a smirk.

He lets go of your hand then, you bring it up to your throat, grabbing the belt to try and relieve some of the tension.

“No you fucking don’t—!” Quaritch pulls tighter, and with his now free hand, grabs a hold of your tail—and pulls.

Your shut your eyes at the pleasure, tears falling freely down your face. Drool seeps from the corner of your mouth hanging open. No sound escapes your parted lips.

“Such a good girl, you take my cock so well [Y/N]! No one will ever fuck you like I do! Don’t you ever forget that, you God damn hear me?”

You are unable to form any words, the only sound you can muster is a strained moan. Good enough for him.

“That’s it baby—FUCK—Take it all of me like the slut that you are. Throwing yourself at those boys, knowing full well you belong to ME!”

That does it.

The coil in your belly snaps violently, your pussy grabbing his cock in a tight vice as your orgasm wracks your body in glorious ecstasy. You ride the high for all you’re worth. The only sound your able to make is a quiet choke as you struggle to breath, eyes rolling back into your head.

Black spots appear along your vision from the lack of air. But you don’t care, your cunt is still cumming and hard, gushing relentlessly, bathing Quaritch in your heavenly nectar.

You feel his thrusts falter as you continue to squeeze him without mercy. And after a few final pumps, he cums with a load growl. He’s coating your slick walls in his hot seed. He pumps a few more times into you weakly, his hold on the be belt slackens, rewarding you with glorious air once more. You gasp greedily, taking in long slow breathes.

You lay there for a time. Drenched in all manner of bodily fluids. The smell of sex permeates your senses, and you blush, embarrassed suddenly by the activities. You feel Quaritch slowly pull his softened cock from you, the feeling of his cum slowly seeping from your slit giving you a dull pleasure.

Your hole feels utterly abused, but the pain throbs pleasurably, you find you don’t mind the feeling. You feel Quaritch untie and remove the belt from your neck. He hums approvingly at the bruise left in its wake and plants a kiss to your sensitive skin.

He moves up over your jaw to your lips, planting soft kisses along the way.

He kisses you deeply, you can taste yourself on his lips and it almost reignites the fire within you.

When he finally pulls away from the kiss, he’s staring down at you. There is something unreadable in his expression. He opens his mouth to speak. But when you blink, he’s gone.

The room is gone.

Instead, your eyes are greeted with the blinding light of morning; your senses suddenly assaulted with the burgeoning life of the day.

You sit up and immediately notice your clit is sensitive. You smile to yourself; your body must have cum while you dreamt. You stand and stretch, feeling utterly refreshed. You feel a bit bad leaving so suddenly, but that was out of your control. You’ll be sure to apologise in the next Dream.

You call for your ikran, and make the short journey back home. You are trying very hard to remember to wipe the stupid grin from your face. You make your way back to the family nest in the trees, grabbing the extra garments you hid near where you leave your ikran.

Everyone in your family is awake already. You can hear the sound of idle chatter and the smell of breakfast hits your nose. Good, you are practically starving. You don’t bother trying to be quiet as you make your way up. Just as you pull yourself up and onto the platform, it is your brother Lo’ak who addresses you first.

“Ahhh look who finally decided….to…” his voice trails off when he looks up to you.

“What the—WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR NECK?!” Kiri yells as she immediately stands up and rushes over to you, cold hands immediately on you, turning you this way and that.

Your neck?

Oh.

OH!

Oh no…

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Author's Note: Thanks for reading!!! Hope it was to your liking! Apologies for any mistakes. It's 1am and I have working in the morning lmao TwT

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#colonel miles quaritch #miles quaritch #miles quaritch x reader #human miles quaritch #na'vi reader #miles quaritch x you #colonel quaritch x reader #rare pairing #interspecies #dead dove do not eat #older man younger woman #avatar smut #human x na'vi #reader insert #female reader #afab reader #adult only #Spotify #what do i tell my family

1K notes · View notes

cheollipop · 7 months

Note

So maybe I am just emotional but I am in the soft girl hours of the sleepover.

You know I love big, kinda dumb men that are in touch with their feelings, Song Mingi... Just imagine having a bad day, a rough week, or an okay month. It kind of seems like it's dragging on, and for the sake of holding on, you try to keep pushing forward. Today is not a push-forward day. Water overflowed in your bathroom; you have to turn the water off bc there's no off value to that pipe. You are a little behind on work, and the sites that you need are down, and the deadline is closer than you would like it to be. All you want is a warm shower and to curl into the covers until you forget what day it is. Mingi notices you slowly folding into yourself. It's difficult to be present with so much to worry about. So today he called just to check in. Through blurry eyes, you answer. Unable to hold the dam back any longer, you let out a soft sob, and he's throwing on his coat and snatching his keys off the counter to come get you.

Mingi stays on the phone with you until he climbs the stairs to your apartment. Opening the door to him, there are dried tear marks on your cheeks that you have failed to wipe completely away, but he just wraps you in the biggest hug. His hands pull you close and tight, squeezing a few more tears from your eyes.

"Let's go shower at my house. Then I'll feed you while we watch TV on my couch. That sound good?" He mumbles before pulling you back to look at you. Pinching your lips tightly together, the worried look on your boyfriend's face just makes you want to cry more, but maybe a nice shower and some private time is what you need to clock out of life for a bit.

Shut up, I'm going to cry my eyes out lolol

Nora I am too soft for life rn

2𝙠 𝙎𝙡𝙚𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙀𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙩

oh, my nabi. the warmth and comfort this made me feel—reading your ask and writing it out—drove me to tears, on multiple occasions. i was initially saving this drabble for a bad day, and ended up starting it after a particularly taxing one, but I actually wrote most of this while feeling quite...happy. so putting myself in mingi's shoes instead of reader's was the way to go, i guess. I really hope I did this justice, and that it floods you with lots and lots of comfort <3

pairing: bf!song mingi x gender neutral!reader

w.c.: 0.8k

tags: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, mentioned symptoms of anxiety & depression, non-sexual nudity (they shower together)

note: you are not alone

The drive to his apartment was silent, save for the wind blowing through the cracked-open windows to send short, blonde strands flying in different directions. The sun had departed from its locus, descending the changing sky to kiss the horizon, a gradient of orange and pink painted before your eyes. Your gaze moved off the breathtaking scenery to focus on Mingi—a hand resting over the leather wheel while the other locked with yours, glancing over at you every few minutes, squeezing your fingers to remind you of his presence.

As if you could forget, you thought, as he guided you down the hall to his door, twisting the keys while your hands remained intertwined, his thumb drawing soothing circles over your skin as he ushered you inside with a swing of his arm.

Steam engulfed the small bathroom, the warmth of the shower brushing against your skin as delicate fingers helped you out of the hoodie you should’ve washed last week. Mingi didn’t complain, though; he didn’t even comment, wordlessly adding it to the pile of clothes building up in the corner. Your insecurity must have bled into your expression, strong arms pulling you ito his chest and plush lips pressing against your forehead.

“I’ve got you,” was all he said, but it was though you were already immersed underneath the balmy stream, a comfortable heat searing through your skin as he held you against him.

With your back to him, Mingi noted the way your muscles slackened under the steaming water, the soapy droplets rushing down the curve of your spine while he worked his fingers through your hair, hoping his shampoo was strong enough to cleanse away some of the burden you’d carried on your shoulders, the dread he’d helplessly watched eat away at you for weeks. Twisting your body to face him, his thumb and pointer closed around your chin, tilting your head back to rinse the scented suds out of your hair, leaning forward to press his lips to your cheekbone while the water warmed your scalp.

Washing away weeks-worth of grime and self-loathing with delicate palms and a lathered washcloth, Mingi silently spoke of his infatuation, his care, his unconditional, overwhelming devotion to you. Even when you were broken, anxious, blind to any and every possibility of a future worth looking forward to. Mingi was there, calloused hands picking up the brush you’d broken and painting tomorrow, then the day after, one stroke at a time—open fields of daisies and sunflowers, the hopeful orb of light splaying golden rays over the land while the man with the grown-out roots stood amidst the flora, pearly teeth reflecting the daylight as he watched you approach him, his warmth seeping into your very soul as you buried yourself within his embrace.

You felt light, your breathing steady while you rested your head on Mingi’s chest, his thighs on either side of you as you curled up in his lap. You’d heard the doorbell while you were dressing, walking into the living room to find takeout containers spread out over the coffee table, and a shoujo anime paused on his TV.

“It’ll pass,” he spoke, tapping the spoon against your bottom lip and watching you take the steaming food into your mouth. Your eyes remained downcast, and he noticed hints of guilt tainting your features as you processed his words with inexorable disbelief.

“Mingi-“

“I know it’s difficult to see it now, so I’ll believe it for the both of us,” he held his lips to your forehead, your eyes fluttering shut and heartbeat erratic. Not because of anxiety, or dysphoria, but because of the overwhelming sense of tranquillity Mingi flooded into your chest so easily, the animation in your peripheral and the cheesy sound effects now masked under the faint movement of his lips over your face, planting kisses over the trail of tears rushing down the skin. “I’m here, (y/n). You don’t need to go through this alone.”

And you didn’t. Episode after episode played on the big screen, takeout containers and popcorn bowls resting empty on the coffee table while you remained encompassed within Mingi’s arms. The moonlight, aided by the warm hue of his standing lamp carved shadows over the drowsing man’s face, and you took in the slight part of his lips, pretty eyes shut as he explored the dreamland, limp arms somehow still firm around your figure, as though he couldn’t bear to leave you alone again, even while dormant.

The overbearing weight of your thoughts had long since mitigated, your chest rising and falling to the same rhythm as Mingi’s, and now that it was no longer overcrowded with taxing angst and negativity, hints of credibility laced themselves into his words. You ran your pointer over his knuckles—his fingers draped over your hip—a silent ‘thank you’ stuck in your throat as you mooned over the tomorrow he’d drawn out for you. A tomorrow you wanted. A tomorrow you didn’t dread. A tomorrow illuminated by a gentle sun, and a contagious, toothy smile.

#panda's 2k sleepover o(≧▽≦)o #cromernet #song mingi x reader #mingi x reader #ateez x reader #song mingi fluff #mingi fluff #song mingi angst #mingi angst #ateez fluff #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #song mingi imagine #song mingi scenarios #mingi scenarios #song mingi x gn reader #ateez x gender neutral reader #ateez x gn reader

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sanjisblackasswife · 2 years

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LITERALLY IN LUV WITH UR WORKS??????

could i request a monster trio + ace (and any other character you’d like) reacting to their y/n throwing it back on them during one of their end-of-saving-a-country banquet ???

take your time 🫂

A/N: Got me blushin and shiiii skskskssk thank u sm! But I gotchu I gotchu thank u:)

One Piece Men Reacting to You Shaking Your Ass/Grinding On Them

Ft. Monster Trio + Ace

CW: I—idk I guess some sex is insinuated, but not described i—

Luffy

Y’all know that one little animation they did of all the strawhats dancing and Luffy, Brook, Sanji, and even Chopper was thrusting their hips in the air?

Yeah that’s what he is doing to you as you all dance.

You didn’t think Luffy could move like that it was kinda hot so when he pulled you and started to thrust upwards you knew it wasn’t him trying to be sexual but it was a bit of a turn on none the less.

You felt his arms stretch twice around your waist to pull you closer to his pelvis

You wasn’t sure if he was being intentional with that or not

He began to dry hump you at this point and you all were having fun and so you said why not

“Y/N!”

Luffy laughed with a huge smile on his face looking down to feel your butt twerk on him.

It felt so good to him feeling you in between the fabric

Both of your bodies was on beat to the music and nobody seemed to have noticed their captain practically fucking you through your clothes

“Y/N!…can we go somewhere private and finish?”

You didn’t know what he meant by finish until you turned to see a small tent in his pants

Zoro

He’s not much of a dancer, but you really wanted him to be

“No.”

“Just one song!”

He’d rather drink himself half into a coma.

You stayed on his lap for most of the night but you had an itch to dance.

You were so focused on the party scene you didn’t realize what you were doing.

“Y/N!”

“Hm?”

His face was flustered, you assumed because he was drinking but you remembered he doesn’t get drunk. His arm was tightly wrapped around you, dull nails digging in the fat of your stomach

The entire time you were grinding and shaking your hips on his dick KSHSGDSOSK

He didn’t know you could move your hips like that and he enjoyed the show for a second until he felt himself get hard

“Why don’t you show me those moves in my room?”

“…Gatta dance with me on the dance floor once though.”

“No.”

“Then no pussy.”

“I DONT LIKE TO DANCE Y/N!”

Sanji

Well if you wanted to kill him then you got it.

It was all just innocent swaying of the hips, until you started to feel the music a little too much

You began to grind and twirl your lower body against Sanji as he was behind you.

His eyes did not leave your ass shaking on his dick it was so beautiful and tantalizing

You suddenly felt a tight heavy weight against your back and waist and you stopped

Mf was Like that gif above but on your back.^^

“Oh Y/N you feel so a-amazing! I love you so much! —please marry me we can make so many babies!— I love you please don’t stop! I love you! Marry me please! Your body is the b-best! I am in h-Heaven!”

You just stopped dancing at this point but he kept blabbering for the next two minutes with the tightest grip you could ever feel from him.

He doesn’t even grip this hard when y’all have sex

You had to get Usopp and Frank to pry him off of you because you felt your dress rising way too high but you couldn’t move your arms due to a certain blonde.

He asks you to dance with him everyday now

Ace

Poor boy creamed his pants.

You were already wearing his favorite short skirt with a red thong under it and when he pulled you into dance his hands were rubbing all on you.

You started to move your hips laughing with him

His face was so flustered when you turned around and just shook what your mama gave you fr.

“F-FUCK!”

You felt risky with him rubbing your sides and inching closer to your butt each time you bent over and started to shake.

Biggest mistake

Ace was already a bit drunk so he started to dry hump you a little.

And by a little I mean a lot

You had to stop because you felt the bottom of your butt feel kinda damp?

“Wait wait don’t turn around just…common.”

He did indeed take you back to his room and that’s when you found out about the mess he made before of you

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jasmineiros · 5 months

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I wasn't going to post this here due to the somewhat sensitive subject of idolization of celebrities and I actually already vented on Instagram stories, but once the dam breaks out it's useless to even try to contain it. And the only thing that is flooding my mind now is rage.

I already hated millionaires, but after Taylor Swift came to Brazil to that freaking circus people called a concert, I hated them even more.

In case you're not aware, Brazil is dealing incredibly badly with the climate crisis. In Rio they hit the temperature of 60°C (100F, but the sensation was of 140F). It was the highest temperature registered SO FAR. A mix of this unbearable heat and the fact that the staff managing the production of concert used certain materials such as god-damned metal to cover certain structures made several people to get severe burns and 23-year-old die of a heart attack.

Now, that's where the irony comes.

After hearing the news, the best Taylor could ever do was posting a stories saying "how sorry she was and she was so young and she was so beautiful and blablabla" but also very vehemently reinforcing that "due to her grief she wasn't going to say anything about it during the show". I mean, a person who technically loved her, had to get donations to travel across the country and literally died because of this god-damned concert and you can't even make a tiny, small tribute for her. She didn't even mention her name in the stories, which was Ana Clara, btw.

She or the staff never reached out to the family to ask if they needed anything, even though they absolutely had the means to do it. Several years ago, when a Rihanna fan was murdered, she personally paid for the expenses of the funeral, because the family couldn't afford it.

And it gets worse.

She cancelled her next performances due to the climate issues. Being herself is the biggest celebrity CO2e polluter of this year so far. And she got back to the US. In a fucking private jet.

I mean, this combo couldn't be more unbelievable. She not only completely dehumanized an incredibly painful and serious situation, as she, with the 1% of magnates that literally rule this planet, is simply the root cause of the imminent destruction of this planet but it doesn't matter, as long as she still has money being shoved into that white ass of hers.

Or maybe I'm being naive, maybe it's our fault, after all, monkeys are meant to the zoo, not to be in the presence of an untouchable, perfect and almighty nature force such as she, since apparently she can't even breathe the same air we do by just using a freaking common airplane, like a sensitive and sane person would.

The fact that she will just run out and make other concerts with that same innocent angel aura, even though she displays a borderline psychopath behavior, like she still was the 16-year-old girl writing songs about her break ups is absolutely unbelievable to me.

This is just so similar to when that cryptofascist piece of trash of Aurora decided it would be just a good idea to make a shallow and generic discourse about love and acceptance and how everyone is being cancelled nowadays when a member of her band posted and gestured dog whistle supremacy symbols on more than one occasion.

Honestly I wish I could feel anything else right now, but the only thing I can still manage to internalize and express is pure hate.

#yara.txt #taylor swift #anti taylor swift #anti swifties #swifties dni #anti capitalism

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updownlately · 11 months

Text

i wish i could be like you

| alexia putellas x reader | angst | 1.8k | inspo: be like you by tyler shaw | a/n: first official song fic let's go! this one's just complete angst to be honest. i've been meaning to write for alexia since this ask came in and while i have a few fluff ideas for future fics, i randomly heard this song today and decided to play it on repeat for *checks watch* 3.5 hours as i wrote this. didn't edit this one so hopefully there aren't too many errors!

~~~

I know I Should have asked you to stay Should've fought a little harder, when you said you need space

You’d been going back and forth for weeks, the same fight each time, the same result each time. Or so you had thought. While the argument you both had had today seemed worse than others in the past, you believed that you both could fix this. You could fix the missed dates. Fix the number of nights you went and woke up to an empty bed. Fix the amount of two person dinners that you cooked that turned into leftovers for you. You loved her. She loved you. It had to be enough, right? Love always wins, right?

It wasn’t easy dating the Alexia Putellas, but that didn’t mean you weren’t going to very damn well try your hardest to make it work. You’d thought you were doing your best since the start, the opportunity to date Alexia not one that you wanted to waste. You had tried to be accommodating, to let the first few times she cancelled at the last minute on your plans slide. You tried to be understanding, both of you being footballers, her being the top in the world. You understood her importance on and especially off the pitch, how vital she was to growing the game. Yet, it didn’t magically hurt less, like you had expected, and as time went on and you saw her less and less.

What you didn’t realise in your blindfold of love was that this was the beginning of the end, the last drop before the tension broke, before the dam you were working tirelessly to patch came crashing down.

So when Alexia, out of breath, tears of frustration streaming down her face, had asked you for a break after the fight you had just had, you couldn’t help but agree and hope it would help you both. Your love would pull you through you’d naively believed. This wasn’t the end, it was just a break you’d thought. You had let her walk through the doors of your apartment, unbeknownst to you that it would be the final time.

I know I Maybe I held you too close And when we started to fade out, I feel in love with your ghost, yeah

You’d always loved hard, or so you were told.

For you, loving was easy. It was everywhere. It was in the way that the sun would shine on the streets of Barcelona as the city would quietly wake up. It was in the way that someone would smile at another as they passed by on the street. It was in the way that coins were thrown into the fountains, each representing a wish for a love, be it for something or for someone. Love was around you and you cherished it.

When you and Alexia had started dating, you didn’t shy away from sharing love with her, from loving her. You’d share your love as much as you could, whenever you could. Be it visiting her randomly to accompany her through the most menial tasks or sending her good luck texts even though both of you were set to play in the same game on the same team, you chose to present her with fistfuls of your love at any given moment.

You never considered it would be overbearing, that it would feel suffocating. When she broke up with you, told you that you wanted too much of her, that your love felt like a room that was getting increasingly smaller, like running out of oxygen, you didn’t understand. You didn’t know how love could feel like anything but the warmth sun on your skin and forehead kisses from your favourite people.

When she left and you didn’t know what to do with yourself, you did what you knew best, you continued to love her, albeit from afar. You chose to love the ghost she had left you with. The ghost that haunted you while you’d mope in your empty shell of a home. The ghost that sat quietly beside you when you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from the two coffee rings that stained your island, without a doubt from when you’d both forgo the coasters and spill your drinks no matter how careful you were. The one silently hugging you as your favourite shirts still smelled of her perfume. The one holding your hand as you played with the promise ring you were going to give her just a few days before she had broken up with you.

Took some, time but I'm finally feeling alright 'Til somebody said your name

You knew the team knew. How couldn’t they? The pair of you once always attached at the hips now on separate sides of the pitch was telling enough, the tear stains consistently marring your face only a confirmation. They did their best to not make things awkward, to stay professional, to not mention her name to you, knowing that you’d silently break into a million pieces.

When three months had passed, and you had finally felt that you could breathe again, you thought you were fine. That the love you had for the football phenom had finally worn off. That the fondness had passed, making a home in your heart now as grief for what was and what could’ve been.

So when your friends from back home called, unaware of the shattered pieces of your heart laying around the streets of Barcelona, asking if you and her would visit at any point during the steadily approaching off season, you couldn’t suppress the stifled sob that escaped. Nor could you hold back the tears that appeared, much less the way your already cracked heart found a way to shatter just a little bit more and your body caved in on itself.

And when you walked in the room Hand, in his hand Only took a minute To bring it all back I wish I could be like you Falling for somebody new I'm alone in my head Praying that you Could love me instead I wish I could be like you Falling for somebody new

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. You were at an afterparty after the team had just won the league. The night was going great, drinks flowing, friends and teammates dancing. You hadn’t even thought about Alexia an absurd amount of times, a win in your eyes. That had changed quickly however.

It was as she entered, hand in hand with another girl, another girl that for sure wasn’t a teammate and definitely not just a friend that the drink in your hand was immediately downed by you. Looking away you couldn’t help but let your mind wander, wondering why you weren’t enough for her, why you loved so hard, why it wasn’t you holding her hand. You had been doing good till now, great even, her barely on your mind. Yet all it took for that to come crashing down was a minute, a second of her walking in, a not-you shaped space beside her.

You had felt physically fine all day, elated even, with the win earlier today still coursing through your veins. You’d felt fantastic till about five seconds ago. Now? Now all you felt was your chest tightening, the muscles in your stomach tense as it took everything in you to not throw up there on the spot. Screwing your eyes shut, you willed the sting in your eyes to go away, quietly begging the universe to speed up time enough for you to go home, to go away, to leave before anything hurts anymore.

Beside you, Mapi witnessed the whole encounter. The way your eyes initially trailed over Alexia, a mix of love and sorrow in your eyes before your gaze wandered over to the held hands. How your jaw immediately clenched, the hand on your drink tightening. How you downed the rest of your rum and coke as if it was water, the tears in your eyes for reasons not pertaining to the burn in your throat.

So as any good friend would, she slowly pulled you away and you let her. And as Mapi thrust another drink into your hand, you prayed that the universe was playing a cruel joke. You wished that you could be like her, already over a relationship that had been six feet under for ages.

I wish I Wish I could hate you so bad But under the surface, you were the best that I had And sometimes I wake up thinking you're next to me I keep on staring at the empty side where you used to be

It was the next morning that the universe decided to continue to toy with your heart. You’d just woke up, mind reeling from the effects of last night, throwing you a year into the past, before you realised the nightmare you were having was reality. You’d reached your arm across the middle, meeting cool sheets that hadn’t been once warmed for months. You’d opened your eyes to a pounding headache and a faint memory of the days the both of you would lie in bed for hours after a night of partying, relishing in each other's touch, staving off the headaches that would be ever-present.

Soon the memories of last night came crashing back to you. How you’d seen Alexia with another girl, hand in hand. How Mapi had given you drink after drink and Ingrid had let you ramble about how unfair the universe was, how you hated it, how you hated her, how you hated yourself for hating her. You recalled the sideways glances they had given each other, the way Mapi gently took the final drink from your hands and led you towards the doors, the pair taking you home. Most importantly, you recalled the way you had felt so horribly sick to your stomach when you realised she wasn’t yours anymore, not that she was for the past six months, this moment reminding you vividly.

Now it was just you in a bed that hasn’t felt comfortable in months, a house that hasn’t been home, and a city you once loved, now just a reminder of everything you’d lost.

In the very bed that you had once long ago wished that she’d be the girl you’d marry and grow old with, you now wished that the hole in your chest could go away, that she could come back and love it closed, that you could be like her, that you could be okay. And when you walked in the room Hand, in his hand Only took a minute To bring it all back I wish I could be like you Falling for somebody new I'm alone in my head Hole in my chest Praying that you Could love me instead I wish I could be like you Falling for somebody new

#woso imagine #woso x reader #woso fanfics #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #be like you #song fic #angst #my writing #fic #iwicbly

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concretevampire · 1 year

Text

Early Morning Breeze

arthur morgan x f!reader ꔫ 9.7k ꔫ emotionally fueled smut, icky gooey lovey-dovey stuff for thou // based off of the Dolly Parton song // religious themes

A/N: this is my first rdr2 fic & my first post on tumblr & english is not my first language so critique is highly encouraged

You sniffle, forearm coming up to wipe away stinging tears clinging to lashes.

A rough exhale escapes your lips, and you can feel the sweeping glance Abigail sends you. Sniffling again, you press the heel of your palm to an eye, the other shut just as tight.

“Guess a couple’a vegetables is all it takes to get you cryin’,” she jokes, cleaver slicing off the head of a trout; her apron stanches the briny blood, scales scattered across her forearms like small slivers of moonlight.

“Onions,” is all you can muster as you finally allow yourself to turn away from the cutting board. You turn your face upward, cracking reddened eyes open to peer at the sky.

Big clouds– white, ozonated mountains beyond imaginable reach– float by lazily.

Another sniffle escapes you, but the dam of your eyes has been rebuilt, and the tears secede. Your sinuses still burn though, sending a horrible ache to the back of your throat.

Swallowing, you return to chopping onions.

Other than Abigail’s humming and the incessant clucking of hens in the distance (Grimshaw and chickens alike), the camp is quiet.

Shady Belle is certainly an improvement to dirt-ridden tent floors and crickets in your pillow, but it’s rather gloomy at times. You’re sure that it’s simply the haze of Bayou Nwa and the spectral creeping of ivy along chipping, gray paint. But it would be foolish, and most of all, naive, to ignore the simmering discomfort lingering under everyone’s skin.

Kieran’s death. Jack’s kidnapping. Dutch’s… nerves, if you were to give it a name.

Arthur feels it, and so do Abigail and Hosea, but all four of you are unwilling to mention his waning psyche for fear that it’ll only darken the already half-lit moon of his mind. It isn’t worth it.

And frankly, Arthur’s loyalty to Dutch is suicidal.

He will hem and haw, but in the end, orders are followed with abandon. Loyal to a fault, you tell him. It’s all I know, he says back, gently smiling as if an inside joke has been said. This ol’ dog can’t learn new tricks, and he’ll chuckle wryly at the quip, head shaking like the sins of the world have been settled and folded into the intestines of his mind.

You can only let him wallow for so long when he gets like that.

Though you’ve learned (after too many years as friends and a few more years as something quaintly more) how to put an end to it: a routine. Artfully mastered, a precariously balanced act that includes a succinct scold paired with a slap to his shoulder before pressing a soothing kiss to his cheek as he grovels over his journal like an overgrown child.

But another layer to the quiet and unease around camp is unarguably Micah's presence. Filthy, bastard leech of a man. Suckling away at Dutch’s good faith.

The fifth horseman of the apocalypse: treachery.

The way he saunters about is simply nauseating— skinny fingers pricking and prying into people’s souls. And he’s always been particularly taken with you. Disappointingly.

Micah finds sheer amusement in laying out your arteries on cork board, needles stabbing; displaying your heart like a prize butterfly, blood glittering like topaz stained glass.

It was simply infatuation at first, back all those months ago.

A game he had played with many women before and one you brushed aside easily. And then he discovered that you and Arthur were something— and Micah became a true savage, fueled by both contempt and his peculiar fascination with having taken women.

Even now as he makes his rounds with the gang, purposefully adding to the gloom, his eyes linger on your figure.

Micah veers closer, and you take a step towards Abigail. Her shoulders straighten, so do yours– a useless attempt to create some sort of fortress. He’s approaching in your peripheral and Abigail slams her cleaver down onto another trout, a singular clawed scale landing on your blouse.

You’ve moved from onions onto potatoes, your knife cutting away skin in precise shallow strokes.

When he’s close, Micah says your name– a horrible rasp of letters strung together by cigar smoke and glowing ash– the depths of hell holed up in his esophagus. You ignore him. And in turn he grins wildly, as if presented with riches beyond King Midas’ imagination. Your jaw clenches, eyes set on the knife and the naked, golden flesh in your palm.

“How’s Morgan’s broodmare?”

Abigail side eyes him. Your next slice is thicker than the last, heavy handed, taking off more flesh than you’d like. A waste.

“Or has he moved on after all these years? Got tired of the same fuck.”

You set the nude potato aside, picking up a new one. You imagine it’s Micah’s prick: dirt ridden and calloused. You begin to skin it too, taking extra care to needle out any dark spots.

“Been awhile since he’s been back in camp too. Makes you wonder.”

“Oh piss off, Micah,” Abigail hisses, her cleaver resting threateningly against the dark wood of the table. A sharp, glaring warning.

His smile widens.

He shifts his stance, shoulders slackening as his thumbs hook on the flap of his pockets. “Hit too close to home? Remind you too much of Johnny and how he ran off?”

“Micah,” you finally interrupt, picking up a new potato. “Shut up.”

“So that’s how I get you to talk.”

You stay silent, returning your attention to vegetables and other honeyed daydreams of skinning the Devil alive.

“Ignoring me again.” His eyes linger, thinking of horrifically creative ways to dissect and tear you apart as you stand. “Wouldn’t you be worried though? He’s been gone for a week.” The statement is mocking and cruel.

He wouldn’t know what concern was if it ate his face off, ravaged his eyeballs and devoured his tongue.

Abigail glowers, this time pointing the cleaver at Micah. “Yer just jealous.”

Micah sneers, the cylinder in his revolver shaking off a warning like a rattlesnake curling up to bite. “Jealous of what Miss Roberts?”

“Jealous she ain’t with you.”

Micah opens his mouth to retort something evil and violent, obvious in the way his pupils have contracted, gray eyes gone silver with wrath. You stab the knife into the cutting board, punctuating the air.

Both of them have stilled, turning towards you.

“Quit it.” You snarl. Abigail gives an apologetic look, but not before sending Micah another scowl. She’s back to chopping off fish heads.

And Micah, damn him, always needing the last word spits out a, “Bet he got himself killed,” before he rushes away, seething and gnashing his teeth.

It’s quiet again.

You get through six more potatoes before speaking. “You didn’t have to do that.” It’s a gentle chide towards Abigail, one that makes her huff.

“I just hate how he talks to us. ‘Specially you. And I hate how you don’t do anything.” Her hands wring together harshly, not having any more trouts to dismember.

“It’s best to ignore him. He gets off on it, the sick freak.” You keep your gaze fixed on your work.

Abigail relents, fingers stilling momentarily.

Her gaze rises, eyes trained on Jack’s small silhouette at the far edge of camp, playing in the weeds and brambles. He seems completely ignorant to such plights. What bliss.

Abigail’s raised him well.

“Ain’t ya worried though?” She says suddenly, spinning to look at you. You pause your ministrations, glancing into her perturbed blue eyes. “I mean,, well, Micah had a point, I guess.” She’s annoyed at the admittance, even if it is her own. “Arthur’s been gone for a while. It ain’t like him.”

You sigh. “It is like him,” your teeth chew at the flesh of your cheek, “but you’re right. He wouldn’t leave for a week without saying something.”

Abigail nods but her fingers have knotted and tangled once again. “Hunting trip?”

“Yeah, but with how long he’s been gone you’d think he’s trying to take down an entire herd of angry caribou in heat.”

She snorts. “He would try. Strong enough for it.”

“Bullheaded, that’s what he is.” And you scowl, starting to dice the potatoes far too quickly; bound to cut yourself. Abigail sends you a sympathetic, knowing smile.

“So you are worried.”

“Whatd’ya mean?”

“I mean you ain’t as calm and cool as yer pretendin’ to be.”

You continue chopping away, somehow not having cut yourself. Years of practice you suppose.

“Course I’m not. I’m always worried when it comes to him.”

Abigail snorts. “Well, ya never act like it.”

“Because if I act like it,” and you finish dicing off the last potato, ‘then that means something bad would actually be happening’, “then who would you have to talk to when you’re worrying?” And you give a knowing smirk.

She laughs, shaking her head, hands coming to a rest. You feel your own face brighten to a smile.

That’s the way it is with her; with all the girls. Quilted conversations complaining about men and life and backaches all riddled with coy smiles.

The breeze picks up then, and Jack comes tumbling along it, hands rusted with the red Lemoyne dirt and beaming at his mother like a little sun; too bright; seen without looking.

His eyes barely peek over the table, but he’s determined, placing a bundle of messy daisies next to dismembered fish, yet to be fileted.

“For you Mama,” he adds with his gift, hands clutching the edge of the table to watch her. And Abigail smiles tenderly, picking the flowers up. They drip, raw with dew and fish blood. She tries, ever so delicately, to wipe away the crimson stain on their petals.

“Thank you kindly, Jack,” she says. And he gives a toothy grin and runs off— on the breeze once again. Abigail ponders the daisies for a moment before offering you one with a teasing smile. “M,lady,” she jests, giving a sloppy curtsy. A true country princess. You snort, but fawn delighted shock, pricking the flower from her nimble fingers.

“Oh how romantic,” you add, putting a hand to your chest. Pocketing the daisy, Abigail does the same with hers, now fully smiling.

And with a few giggled words you separate; the chores around camp looming as Grimshaw’s eyes sharpen into blades, her tongue preparing to tear you both apart.

You help Tilly with the laundry.

Karen and you care for spare guns.

Under the shade, you patch up holes in socks and shirts and handkerchiefs all while Mary-Beth tells you about her new book— a romance, of course— about an outlaw and upper class woman finding love.

It makes you snort.

Amusement brewing in agitated, annoyed swirls in your chest as you’re reminded of Mary.

You’re too smart to be reading those kinds of things, you tell her, needle pricking your finger as you push it into the cotton of Dutch’s union suit. She shrugs; tells you she likes it.

You don’t blame her. You used to too.

And the sun has begun to set, casting long shadows on long faces after a long day. And people begin returning.

Javier and Bill from a home robbery.

Lenny with a wagon of purchases from Saint Denis.

John and Sadie each with a few rabbits in hand.

But no Arthur.

It’s a bit disheartening. Like a sunshower with no rainbow. What’s the point of the rain then?

You’ve grown anxious, your hands fussing the linen of your apron though there’s nothing to wipe away. And you don’t have the stomach to eat or the heart to make conversation— so as the gang begins settling in for the night you grab a basket, your revolver, and leave.

Charle’s, keeping watch, eyes you like a ladybug in winter, but keeps quiet.

You thank him with a glance.

And you’re not stupid. You know it’s dangerous in Bayou Nwa— whether it be under God’s sun or the Devil’s moon— crawling with bipedal predators and freaks of nature beyond comprehensible understanding. Arthur has warned you. Don’t you go out, firm words with even firmer hands on your shoulders. Not without me.

But you go.

You need to, if only to catch your breath; to steel yourself away from prying eyes if he doesn’t show up for yet another week.

And in the tall, marsh grass and bundles of cattails you’ve found something quiet and private; a place where you can crouch and pick away at plants with a frown you don’t have to hide.

And your fingers are shaky and uncalculated as you rip apart the oleander and sage, like a newborn colt, teetering across grass. You shove the foliage into your basket as if it took Arthur away personally. As if they’ve laced their way into his veins, choking and drying him out.

You’re upset, but you won’t cry, obviously. There’s no reason to, it’s hysterical and ridiculous, but you’re frustrated.

Because even if Arthur is painfully terrible at communicating, he at least has always told you how long he’d be gone for.

It’s a luxury you’ve gotten used to. And out of all the silks, jewels, and luxurious baths the world offers, it is your favorite.

The promise of his return.

“Yer mutterin’.”

The voice would’ve made you jump if it weren’t for the far too familiar rumble of it. Too often has it soothed you and brought you to climax for it to scare anymore.

You look at Arthur over your shoulder, glaring. “I do not mutter.”

“Sure ya do,” he says, stepping over a log to reach you.

His horse stands in the distance behind him, grazing and chuffing indignantly at the occasional alligator. Flighty things, horses are. Arthur’s is braver than most.

You turn back around before said man reaches you, hands resuming to the ripping and the pulling and the tearing.

“I told ya not to come out here without me,” he’s standing right behind you now.

“I know,” you grunt. And it’s quiet— heavy under the screeching of crickets and cicadas— until Arthur sidles his shins up to your skirts and places his hands on your shoulders, leaning.

“Yer mad.”

“I am not mad.”

“Sure ya are.”

“I am not,” and you look up, seeing him gaze out into the bayou with a gentle smile. “I’m annoyed,” you correct.

“Did Reverend chat ya up again?” And he chuckles, stepping aside to finally crouch beside you.

His knee brushes against yours, a touch starved way of saying hello. Under the golden sky, his blue eyes have filtered into grays and greens, seafoam and jade alike.

He looks tired but that pleasant smile is still there; too happy with your presence to be bothered by such ridiculous notions as the human need for sleep. And as much as you’d love to sooth the eyebags away, you continue frowning.

“You may be surprised to learn that Reverend was astonishingly quiet. For a week.” You add the last part roughly, hoping Arthur gets the message.

For a second, you think he doesn’t.

But then his hand raises, the pad of his thumb passing over the furrow of your brow. Achingly attempting to pacify you. To tell you he’s sorry.

“What’d I do this time?” And his voice rumbles over the question, soft and sweet, a tone he takes only with you. You sigh, turning back to the plants.

His hand retracts as you pick away at the leaves, but his eyes are heavy on your face, as if he trying to kiss you with just his gaze.

You’re sure he wishes.

“I just don’t like when you leave like that without telling me, or anybody really,” you say. And with Arthur, you always keep things succinct and out in the open because lord knows he won’t read between the lines.

He’s not like you, where you can tell he’s in a bad mood just by the way he drinks his coffee in the morning.

And Arthur takes a deep inhale, and then an exhale. “Yeah, I know.”

You look up, raising a brow.

“Sorry,” he coughs and you know it’s the most you’ll get out of him. It’s always that way with Arthur. Hands-on approach. Not much in the way with words.

The only way he failed Hosea.

“Abigail was worried too,” you add absentmindedly, finally letting yourself dawdle a bit now that he’s by your side again.

Arthur scoffs. “She’s always worryin’ about somethin’. Jack, John, you, me.”

You can’t argue with that, but you can’t blame Abigail either because you worry too. You just hide it better.

And you look up, less angry this time.

He left with a stubble and has returned with a beard. And though you’re sure his hair hasn’t grown much in a week, you notice the way the sandy blond locks brush against his shoulders— like golden willow on blue hills.

Finally, you acquiesce.

Your own hand raises, reaching out. And before you can even touch him, his fingers brush against the skin of your forearm. Ferns to sunshine.

You meet his cheek, wiping away at a smudge of dirt before tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear and hat.

“Your hair’s gotten long.”

Arthur looks amused, leaning into your palm not unlike the way a puppy does.

“Want me to cut it?”

You shrug. “That’s up to you. But at least take care of this.” And now both hands are on his cheeks, rubbing childishly over his beard. You beam at the way his nose crinkles.

“Wha’ I thought you liked my beard?”

“Not when it’s this long. You’d give me a rash every time you kiss me.”

Arthur smiles, dropping his head to laugh quietly.

And you stand, hand reaching to pick up your basket, but Arthur already has it in his grip, rising too.

“Oleander. Sage.” He notes expertly. You hum. “Tryin’ to poison someone?” He asks.

“You,” is your easy reply as you step away from him and to his horse. He follows in a pavlovian fashion, well trained.

“That mad about me leavin’ huh?” Long strides quickly bring him to you, arm brushing against shoulder.

“I wasn’t mad. I was annoyed,” you correct once again.

Arthur makes an entertained sound as he grabs for his horse’s reins. You finally notice all the carcasses strapped to the poor creature. A doe, a fine pelt, geese and rabbits hooked here and there. “Ya missed me?” He teases.

And before you can snort and tell him off, he leans down to kiss you. His hand cups the back of your neck gingerly; giving you all the ability to pull away if you’d like.

But you don’t. You never would.

Instead, your eyes slip closed as Arthur presses further. His lips are uncomfortably chapped, dried from the days on the road but so incessant in their need to feel you that you wouldn’t dare tell him to stop.

Instead your hand rises to hold his wrist loosely, a move that’s always made him melt for one reason another.

Then just as quickly, he pulls away, brushing his nose against yours.

“I missed ya.” And he breathes in as you breathe out.

“Me too,” You admit, though it’s not a secret. He knows. His favorite little luxury it is; the promise you’ll be there, awaiting his return.

Hasn’t gone a day without it since meeting you.

Admittedly, 1891 was a bad year to meet Arthur. Grieving, and angry; Eliza and Isaac freshly dead.

But you were there, picked up by Dutch, almost like a feral animal. Rabid enough to shut down Arthur’s (correction: everyone’s) bullshit immediately, yet organically compassionate to soothe him through bad nights. Even when you barely knew each other.

That was you.

Strained it all was at first. Funny, what time can do to two people.

Unraveling knots and kinks to smoothly twist two lives together.

And you watch as Arthur starts walking, not bothering to clamber onto his mount— even if the exhaustion in his step is obvious, like meatpie in a patisserie.

“You’re not gonna ride?”

He pauses and shakes his head, turning to look back at you.

“Personally? ‘M tryna get as much time alone before we have to be surrounded by fools and degenerates.”

You snort, strolling over to his side. “So what kept you away for a week?”

The back of his hand brushes against yours as you both begin walking.

“Heard about a wolf in Cotorra Springs. Wanted to check it out and well,” he eyes the pelt. “ Didn’t think it’d take me that long to hunt her down, but she was sneaky.”

He shrugs. “The rest of this I got on the way home, knowing how Pearson’ll be if I don’t come back with somethin’.”

You nod knowing how the man can get. Feisty about food, placid about most everything else. Sometimes he reminds you of a bear going into hibernation, and you doodle it on scraps of paper— messy, untrained caricatures of the gang.

They make Arthur laugh.

“Me and Abigail joked about you hunting caribou in heat. Not to give you ideas.”

Arthur flicks a brow. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“You would if there was money in it.”

“Is there?”

“I’ll say no for my own sake.”

Arthur laughs at that, and you grin, his joy infectious. A bad disease you’re willing to catch.

“So what have you been up to then, if not grumblin’ and mumblin’?” Arthur asks, eyes sweeping your frame.

“Cooking. Cleaning. Sewing.” You shrug. Arthur frowns a smidge.

“You gotta get out more.”

“I wanted to go out to Saint Denis but I got caught up with Grimshaw, I guess.”

All he can do is press against you a bit closer. “I’ll go with you soon then.”

An incredulous look is sent. “No you’re not.”

And Arthur looks so genuinely offended you have to laugh.

“What do you mean I’m not?”

“You hate Saint Denis.”

“I know but-“

You lean your cheek into his bicep. “Thank you, but you don’t have to torture yourself for me.”

He pouts. “It ain’t torture.”

“Mhm, sure.”

Voices in the distance become louder, the echo of Molly’s gramophone and Uncle’s drunken singing coming to a crescendo— smashing and breaking the isolation in a gradual blunder.

And you pull away, taking the basket from Arthur’s hand as you do.

Charles greets as you approach, and you hand him the spoils of your anger-fueled gather with another silent thank you. He nods politely, in his own grateful way.

And as Arthur hitches his horse— cooing with all the affection in the world— you leave him, going up into your shared room.

You know he has to take care of a few things before you can really have him for yourself:

Talk to Dutch.

Contribute money and check the ledger.

Load the hunt’s catches into the kitchen.

Help with any last minute chores.

Say ‘hello’ and ‘how are you’ to Hosea, Jack and John; Abigail and Tilly; Sean if he’s in a good mood too.

So you sit. Passively reading and waiting as you lean against the bed’s headboard.

And half an hour later, Arthur pulls open the door and then shuts it tight. Like maybe if he held it closed for long enough, the walls would thicken then burst fantastically into a hot air balloon; sending you beyond reach of civilization.

Under the yellowed light of the lantern, he seems entirely exhausted; the slope of his shoulders dooming, his usually straight back hunched.

Ain’t no rest for the wicked, Arthur jokes at times.

He sits down on the bed. For awhile he’s like that; just sitting and staring at the white canvas of the wall. And his eyes are flicking back and forth, like he’s sketching whatever he’s seen in the past week on the molding wallpaper.

It’s strange when he gets like this.

It’s not that he’s sad or upset, just caught up in his head.

“You should get undressed,” you command gently, sliding off the bed as you undo the buttons of your blouse.

Arthur watches. You pause. And then you deadpan.

“Are you serious?” But he says nothing, and neither do you, not as you come to stand between his knees.

You take his hat off, shoving the worn leather jacket down his arms, and he rests his head against your collar bone, pressing impossibly close into the revealed skin there.

Like maybe, just maybe, this time your atoms will combine and he won’t have to leave your side ever again.

When you begin unbuttoning his shirt, his hands finesse to undo the clasps of your skirt and you have to momentarily brush him aside, slapping his hands like a toddler gone for the cookie jar.

“Hey,” he protests, blue eyes pleading. But the way they blink slowly and idly tells you everything.

“No. Sleep. We can do that tomorrow.”

Arthur groans but listens; hands dropping, head knocking against your chest. “A week,” he grumbles.

“And whose fault is that?”

He’s quiet as you work, up until he catches a look at the thin silver chain around your neck. His finger notches on the ring that’s hooked to it.

“I wish you would wear it,” he mumbles languidly.

“I can say the same thing,” and you glance at the gold band he keeps tucked away on the rope of his hat. “Maybe if things get better.”

“When,” he amends. “When they get better.”

“Sure.”

He glares, the lines of his face darkening. “Don’t be like that.“

“Arthur.” And you cup his face, kissing him quickly and quietly. “It’s late.”

He stares up at you, an odd mix between enamored and frustrated.

A huff then escapes his lips, and he unbuckles his belt as you finish with the last button of his shirt. Your hands toys with the hem momentarily as if gripping to the tendrils of his soul.

But you let go, and turn away.

Getting rid of your own clothes is quick work, but Arthur makes even quicker work of kicking his pants and boots away, collapsing onto the furs and blankets of the bed. And as insistent as he was, he’s out quicker than nightshade, his arousal forgotten.

You’re sure he’ll remember it in his dreams. It’s happened before.

And you dim the lantern, laying yourself next to him in your chemise. Even though his back is facing you, a half-hesitant hand runs through his hair.

He’ll need a wash tomorrow.

You’ll force him into it, chase him around with a bucket if you have to. But for now, you let him rest; let sleep capture him like a firefly cupped between two soft palms. Pleased, your cheek presses against his bare shoulder blade.

Obviously, you wake before him.

Already dressed before he can even become lucid enough to call for you, hand reaching out to grab your missing form. You bend down, press a hand to his forehead, and whisper for him to forget you in favor of his dreams.

His soft snores ensue. You drift away.

And today, like yesterday, is quiet. But it’s less gloomy, more of a peace that’s settled because, praise be, Micah is out for the morning. It is both surprising and delightful, and nobody takes it for granted.

And you drift around the manor and camp, helping with the odd chore, saying hello, sipping at coffee.

At some point you walk off, where the ground is more solid and less swamp to have a quick word with God in the early morning breeze.

He doesn’t reply though you knew he wouldn’t. Still, you hope he heard.

At your return, Grimshaw unloads a torrent of harsh words, quickly placing you on dishes duty. You accept it.

Mean spirited, but kind hearted, that one. Always has been. You don’t have the will to complain though— not since Arthur’s come back.

He pacifies you, Hosea has teased, a coy smile hidden by the brim of his hat. At first it was embarrassing, but soon you came to realize denying it is like looking for oranges in an apple orchard. Psychotic and pointless.

Abigail has said the same thing, John nodding along enthusiastically.

It’s annoying and the truth, and you have no energy to argue.

Arthur is still asleep by the time you’ve scrubbed both the cast iron and your skin raw. Unsurprisingly. You’ve seen him passed out for nineteen hours once.

You wish you had that ability, especially with how hot and sticky the Lemoyne air is; boiled molasses in your lungs. You would sleep the entire afternoon just to avoid it all.

But in the slowness of the day, and your boredom, you approach Dutch, reading as always.

“Anything interesting?” You ask, readjusting the basket of laundry at your hip. It’s a conversation you have often— ever since you’ve joined the gang your time to read has dwindled— being much more preoccupied with needles and guns and terrible men instead.

He hums, flipping a page. “A collection of essays done by Ralph Waldo Emerson. I presume you know him?”

You nod, stepping closer. “He wrote before the war. A Transcendentalist, wasn’t he?”

“Yes,” and Dutch smiles. He’s always told you that you’re too smart for your own good. Smarter than he deserves— than the gang deserves. But you never indulge in his compliments (at least not too much).

And you’ve never really been sure if they’re true.

He’s kind, though that may not be the word. Merciful. Insightful. And perhaps that has fueled the compassionate part in him.

But as of late it’s all been brought into question you suppose. His sanity. Whether or not he’s still the same old, reliable Dutch that he always has been.

But you brush it aside for now, letting yourself pretend it’s all normal and everything is okay. A happy family.

“Which essay are you reading?” And you lean against the doorframe, fixing your apron.

“Man the Reformer. Do you know it?”

“Only parts. I think. Care to read me some?” You tilt your head, tucking one ankle behind the other.

Refined with him, always, even with his penchant for savagery.

“For you, my dear? Anytime,” and his eyes scan the pages, flipping through to find a piece he likes. “Ah,” he says after a moment, knuckle tapping the paragraph. He clears his throat, then starts.

“Hence it happens that the whole interest of history lies in the fortunes of the poor. Knowledge, Virtue, Power are the victories of man over his necessities, his march to the dominion of the world. Every man ought to have this opportunity to conquer the world for himself. Only such persons interest us, Spartans, Romans, Saracens, English, Americans, who have stood in the jaws of need, and have by their own wit and might extricated themselves, and made man victorious.”

He turns away from the page, his face lilting towards yours. “Isn’t that lovely?” he asks you. “Just gorgeous, isn’t it?”

And Dutch, like most men, has a strange idea of what gorgeous is. Finding it in bloodied knuckles and revenge. In essays about man and power.

In hatred. In violence.

You’re unsure why you suddenly remember this— but when you were young, still attending school, you had read that Moses was not allowed to enter the Promised Land.

It had confused you. Hurt you even.

And when you had asked one of the nuns: Why? What was the reason? Why couldn’t he? What was the point if his fate was to die?

And you remember that nun, with reverent eyes and sad smile, told you:

“For freedom to be reached, the memory of subjugation has to die.”

And that is why Aaron, and Miriam had died as well. Zipporah too.

You stare at Dutch.

“Do you see yourself as Moses?” You ask. It’s a blurted question, not entirely thought through, and you’re embarrassed the moment the words leave your mouth.

Dutch stares back, his own dark eyes swirling with momentary surprise before he laughs, hitting his knee. Shoulders slacking, your own breathy chuckles escape as you watch.

“You’ve heard The Good Word?” he questions, almost shocked.

“Read it.”

“My, aren’t you full of surprises?”

“Are you calling me a sinner, Dutch Van Der Linde?”

He tilts his head, raising a brow. “Aren’t you?” It’s said as if it were common sense.

“Maybe I’m not a saint, but I don’t think I’m a sinner.”

Dutch hums, bouncing his knee. “You pray?”

“When I’m dying,” you tell him, half joking.

“And how often is that?”

“More than I’d like.”

Dutch doesn’t laugh, but a warm, hearty chuckle rumbles in his chest and he picks his book back up.

“Isn’t that the truth.”

Looking away, your eyes flick about the greenery outside his window. The chickens cluck incessantly, bouncing about like cotton ball clouds on grassy mountains.

You can make out the outline of Jack, bounding around a tree with a stick in hand, occasionally swiping the trunk. Abigail keeps a watchful eye.

And it’s all very domestic.

A little green rectangle of quiet love, framed by rotting wood and sin. It seems so far away, you can’t tell if it’s real. But you know for a fact it is, and it makes the deep, longing pain in your chest all the worse. It’s a dream really, one you think of often and one you and Arthur have only discussed either after sex or in the early morning— when everyone is still asleep and when things are a little imaginary.

When dreams rule the plain of existence.

Suddenly Hosea passes by the room. His gaze stabs through you, a knowing familiar look he’s sent over the past few months.

Like you’ve discovered a dirty secret.

And it seems you’ve both come to a conclusion you’re both equally unsure of. Same with Abigail. Same with Arthur, even if he denies it.

“I should get back to work,” you mumble, pushing yourself off the doorframe.

“Atta girl,” Dutch simpers, but you’ve already walked off, head full of fears and doubts and thoughts you know you’re not supposed to have.

Hanging laundry is one of the easier chores, one that eases the nerves. Gentle afternoon breeze, as humid as it is, drifts by, wafting the smell of soap and swamp water. Earthy and clean, rolled into a lavender clay.

Jack hovers around your skirts as you work, and you easily indulge him in poems, songs, and stories, all with a gentle smile.

He glances at the manor. “Uncle Arthur sure does sleep a lot.”

“He does, doesn’t he?”

“Where did Uncle Arthur go?”

Clipping a bedsheet to the line, your eyes gleam, turning to Jack. “He went beyond civilization” and you crouch down, making claws with your hands, a playful grin at your lips, “hunting wolves.”

Jack beams, grabbing at your hands, easing the claws. “I wanna hunt wolves!”

You laugh a little, pulling away and reaching for a pair of drawers in the basket.

“You’re still too small— they’d eat you up.”

Jack frowns. “No they wouldn’t.”

And you hide an amused grin with the back of your hand, thinking of John. After a moment, you nod. “You’re right. They wouldn’t eat you, you’re too skinny.”

“Hey!” And Jack pouts, tugging at your skirts. You finally laugh, dropping a hand to pat his head, fingers sifting through soft brown locks.

“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t let them eat you. None of us would.”

Jack seems appeased. “Do you think Uncle Arthur will take me next time?”

And not wanting to break his little heart, you say, “I think that’s something you have to ask him.”

And Jack seems to be somewhat miffed by the answer, reserving himself to sit by the laundry basket as he watches beetles and ants march along the dirt.

Little brown capped soldiers.

“Have you ever hunted wolves, Auntie?”

You hang up the drawers, humming. “No. But one time Uncle Hosea took me hunting for a bear.”

“A bear!?” And Jack crawls a bit closer. “I don’t remember that?”

“It was before you were born.” You add gently.

“Ohhh. Was it scary?”

“Well only at first. It tried to eat me, but Uncle Hosea wouldn’t let that happen.” Embarrassment bubbles at the memory. The way Arthur had laughed when you sulked, telling him and Hosea you would never hunt again.

Jack smiles. “Do you think Uncle Hosea will take me bear hunting?”

A downturned smile marrs your features. “I hope not.”

Jack complains at that, and you gently assert that bears are much worse than wolves, and they wouldn’t care how skinny he is.

And the moment is sweet and funny and utterly ruined when a horrible, rasping voice says,

“There she is.”

Micah’s back.

Setting your shoulders, you gently tell Jack to find his Ma. Tell her those stories I told you, murmured by his ear. And he scurries away, an excited smile on his face. Your full attention is then granted to the laundry basket and the sodden clothes inside.

Micah stands on the other side of the clothesline, watching you between the flaps of bedsheets and button ups. A fabric jail cell keeps you separated.

“Heard our workhorse is back, hm? Where is he?”

A sock is hung up, next a union suit.

“Oh, so you won’t even talk about your darlin’ Mr. Morgan with me?”

You’re running short on clothespins.

“You gettin’ tired of him?”

There’s still enough for now.

“Mr. Morgan, running off for days on end, only comes back to fuck his little mare good and then runs off again. Ain’t that just sad?”

You could use a new skirt maybe. You’ll head into Saint Denis tomorrow. For now though, another sock is hung.

“I could take care of ya, while he’s gone. He’ll never have to know.”

Two blouses are clipped on the clothesline and you’re officially out of pins.

“So, what d’ya think? Offer stands.”

You step away from the hanging laundry, your eyes meeting Micah’s. It startles him but turns him on just as quickly.

And then you walk away, to the manor in search of more pins. Micah doesn’t follow, though you feel his eyes burning holes into you, gaping pits of Tartarus on your skin.

You’re surprised to see Arthur leaning against the windowsill, cup of coffee in one hand, the other scratching away at his journal in long precise strokes; a wolf. And he’s trimmed his beard and hair, his skin clean.

Washed away of filth and stress.

An easy smile comes to him when he turns to see you— he downs the rest of his coffee, closes his journal, and steps over.

“Good afternoon,” you say.

“Afternoon,” and Arthur glances around for peeping eyes before kissing you chastely. “Thought we could go to Saint Denis today like ya wanted,” he offers.

You shake your head. “I can’t today; maybe tomorrow?”

He pulls away, looking bemused. “Always ‘tomorrow’ with you, woman.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s too late to go to Saint Denis anyway.”

“We could rent a room.”

“I am not spending money on a bed I have here,” you chide.

He raises his head to look at the ceiling, hat tipping back slightly back as he does. A stiffness overcomes him, like a thousand rocks have settled into his stomach. “You always gotta make things difficult.”

“Shut up,” and you pat his chest, stepping around him to continue your search, “I’ll see you tonight.”

That seems to help him digest the rocks but he still grabs at your wrist, stopping you. And there’s a deep longing in Arthur’s eyes; lust and sorrow mixing to create something entirely desperate.

“I love ya,” he mumbles quietly.

And it’s not something you say often, never really finding the need to. You know. He knows. You’re on the same page.

But sometimes, you’ll indulge each other with those three little words.

And Arthur lightens when you smile and nod and tell him you love him too. It’s like he’s seen the ocean for the first time, eyes sparkling in wonderful adoration. So he lets you go, assured he has you no matter what.

Expectantly, you barely see eachother for the rest of the day, each preoccupied with your own tasks. Small glances are thrown, like pebbles against windows, but nothing more.

Not until night falls.

You’re sitting around the fire with Abigail, snorting over a not so appropriate story Karen is telling when you see him in the distance, past the embers, crawling back into the manor. Admittedly, it is late but not late enough for Arthur to call it a night.

Usually, he’d stay with the group– drink a bottle of beer and sing a tone deaf melody with Tilly and Javier. But not tonight. Tonight he’s waiting you out.

And so when Karen finishes her story, you give one last laugh and leave.

Arthur is sitting on the bed when you come in, writing something slowly; the clear mark of verbal constipation.

And the lantern is lit low, warm and golden like a dying star. He only looks up from the page when you close the door, his hand pausing. There’s a droll moment where you stare at him and he stares at you– the little lift of amusement curling your lips can’t be helped.

In a brisk moment, you’re standing between his knees; but this time it’s him who undresses you. And you let him take his time with the clasps and buttons, resting your palms on his shoulders.

“Jack asked me if I’d take him wolf huntin’,” Arthur mumbles, standing to kiss at the junction of your neck and jaw. In nothing but your chemise, it’s easy to feel the hard line of him press against your hip. “Did’ya put him up to that?”

You laugh, hands rising to undo his own shirt. “Maybe.”

A rough palm presses between your shoulder blades, the other cupping your cheek as he nudges you to tilt your head with his nose.

“Yer evil,” Arthur mutters into your skin, “making me be the one to say no to him.”

“Was he angry?”

“Nah,” Arthur sighs, knocking his hips with yours, “just said I’m no fun.”

And you slip his shirt off, revealing broad shoulders and firm muscle, laced and sewed with scratches and scars.

You run your hand down a particularly marred one at his ribs. Knife fight.

“Did he hurt your feelings?” You tease. The hand at your cheek drops, bundling the hem of your chemise up your thighs. And before you can poke his ego again, the hand dips, grazing against your bundle of nerves.

You sigh, leaning into him as he lazily dips a finger in and out, in and out.

“John looked like he was ‘bout to have a panic attack,” Arthur rasps right in your ear. “If I had said anythin’ other than no I think he woulda killed me.”

“Can’t have that,” you hum, and Arthur snorts.

“Ya need me around to fuck ya, is that it?”

Scoffing, you pull away. “You’re ridiculous.” Your chemise falls back over your thighs, covering the slick Arthur built up. And he gives a soothing smile, hands lifting yours to twine fingers together.

“Did I hurt yer feelin’s?” And though you’re frowning, you let Arthur guide you to the bed— let him push you down onto the mattress. At your silence he runs his lips across your face; kissing at your brow, your nose, cheeks and chin. “I didn’t mean any harm by it.”

Lifting himself on his forearms, he watches you. You’ve softened exponentially, pliant and willing under him.

Only him.

And the look on your face is so fond— too loving and so soft, that he feels as if you must be a figment of his imagination. A sick twisted trick his mind is playing to feel something.

But you’re here, breathing against him, and looking like a drop of sunshine under the lantern’s light.

He’s struck gold.

Bending down, Arthur kisses you and in turn you breathe him in, arms coming up to wrap around his neck. You roll your hips, and a groan verberates in his chest— the sound makes your bones rumble— the first sign of an avalanche.

He lifts the chemise once more and a knee comes up to sit between your exposed thighs. Arthur dips his hand again, this time spreading you open on two fingers.

The both of you have gotten very good at being quiet after so many years of barely any privacy; a tarp or tent at most; but in Shady Belle, bless the heavens above, you allow yourself little, quiet whimpers.

The gift of walls.

And Arthur feels himself pulse as he edges you on, fingers increasing in speed. His thumb brushes against that bundle of nerves again and you choke back a moan, hands gripping onto the sheets.

“Arthur,” you pant, eyes shining with adoration. And he pauses. You stir something in him, some sort of odd childlike devotion he hasn’t felt since he was in his early twenties.

Not since Mary.

And he remembers when you had first gotten together, back in ‘94, you had told him you wouldn’t ask him to stop loving Mary. I could never, ever do that to you. It’d be cruel and unfair of me, you had whispered.

And you knew he never would stop because that’s how first loves are. Permanent.

But maybe now, maybe in this moment— just like every other moment with you— he has stopped loving Mary. Perhaps not entirely, but he wouldn’t chase after her like he used to.

Not when he has you. Not when you beg his name.

And Arthur rises, lifting you up with him as he sits up against the headboard, huddling you into his lap. His skin is warm, as it usually is, and you can’t discern whether that’s just him or if the Lemoyne heat has to do with it too.

It’s overwhelming and you’ve barely gotten started.

Making a pathetic little noise in the back of your throat, you see the way it lights his eyes on fire, as if you hold the keys to enter the Gates of Hell. And it’s almost too easy for him to pull off your chemise, leaning forward to press his lips against yours.

He’s scarily and surprisingly gentle. Always has been. But tonight there’s an underlying torture in the way he bites at your bottom lip, then soothes it, admonishing his own efforts.

And Arthur, this sweet, sad man who has killed, murdered, and torn apart men from sanity has resorted to fluttering his fingers against your hips; as if you were a prized butterfly, ready to fly off at any second.

For one reason or another, it makes your heart ache.

Your own hands cup his stubbled jaw as you lean down, opening your mouth and letting his teeth gently collide with yours clumsily.

There’s another rumble in his chest when you kiss the corner his mouth, an apology for your gauche actions. And you can’t tell if it’s a breath or a moan, but you assume that it’s something good.

A quiet plea for you to continue. Don’t stop.

Because if you do Arthur’s sure he’ll sob in a pitiful, defeated way that would leave him rutting into the mattress.

To his relief, your thighs press against his hips all the more, and your chest meets his. One of his own hands slides up your side, and he moans into your mouth at the feeling of your skin against his palm.

Silk against stone. Soft where he is rough– ruined by bullets, knives and meaningless labor. And he decides then, he’ll preserve this. Preserve your warm humanity, if it’s the last thing he does.

And he is a fool, but he isn’t insolent. He knows you’ve seen and experienced things that would have him reeling with nausea.

You’re a woman, of course you have.

But if he can help it, he will keep you like this. Coy and kind. Too good for him and too good for what the world has to offer.

Arthur realizes he’d gotten engrossed in his worship when you pull away to look down at him, giving a shaky exhale. Running your fingers through his scalp, you let your hand settle at the back of his neck, peering at his face as if he were a saint.

Arthur can only stare back. Fervently and biblically.

He follows every unspoken order you give him with a ferocity bordering desperation that only stems from his complete adoration. And you’ll never know how or where it started and you won’t ask, in fear of an answer that that any other man could give you. But this outlaw, brute, grunt; this man of all men has become an angel under your gaze and touch.

It’s intoxicating.

For awhile this continues. The kissing– the petting and exploration. Whispered ‘I missed you’s’ brushed across your lips, neck, breasts. At some point, Arthur wraps his mouth around one of your nipples, and you stifle a whimper against his temple.

A hand pushes into the curve of your back, imploring and needy, making you keen. The other, brushes against your core unexpectedly and you almost yelp from the sudden contact. But he dips his fingers into you gingerly, restarting the ministrations from earlier.

You all but melt.

You’re panting into his neck, gripping onto him as he plays with you. It’s shameful how a week apart has ruined you so terribly.

You’re oversensitive and overstimulated.

When your breathing becomes more desperate (which happens quicker than you’d like) Arthur pulls away again. And he likes this game; the build up before breaking you. An annoyed sigh puffs out from your lips, and you find yourself grinding into his lap for some form of relief.

His trousers have become a hindrance.

Arthur’s leaning into your chest, eyes half-open and cheek pressed against the space between your breasts. His mouth is hot and open, panting as you grind further into him.

And though you can feel him twitching against you, it isn’t enough. He’ll need more than the dull pressure of your core. But for now, he lets your hips roll, watching brightly as your slick coats the seam of his pants.

“No more,” he suddenly rasps, the first words said in a long time. “Please, no more teasing.”

You ponder him for a moment, then nod.

The trousers are off in an instant.

And his skin against yours is a relieving sin. Hands on your hips, he rubs you against him— and all you can do is sit it out and watch with bated breath. Arthur, at the feeling, lets out a stilted, raspy whimper.

Before he can do more, you lower a hand, pumping him up and down, up and down; a choked sound catches in the back of his throat when you do.

He’s bigger than average, but not impressively so. The real volume of his size comes from his width, noting that your thumb and middle finger don’t and have never connected when you jerk him off.

And you do this for some time, listening to his gasps and mumbled moans, only stopping when he begins pulsing in your palm.

Arthur whines when you pull away, eyes gleaming almost angrily, and you have to smile at the hypocrisy of his behavior. He bites back a curse at the way you look at him, too entranced to be upset.

Then, pushing him flat onto the mattress and straddling his waist, you kiss him. His hands land on your back once more, begging to press you closer, further.

Wanting nothing more than to simply have you against him.

And finally, you slide onto his length.

It’s jarring at first, uncomfortable in the way it splits you open. And you feel his every millimeter and every movement. It takes a minute for your body to adjust, to realize it’s him. Arthur lets you wait it out, lets you take your time as you finally sink down completely.

He thrusts, once, shallow and uncertain, brows furrowed in concentration. And your eyes close shut with a gasp, squeezing your legs even tighter around his waist.

Then, you lift your hips off him and sit back down. And then you do it again. And again. And again.

The pace you’ve set is slow, but it allows you to further assimilate to the stretch. Furthermore, the friction is accumulative. You quickly find that Arthur’s hands have lifted to clasp around your own shaking ones in an act to sooth you.

To quell whatever ache has settled in your abdomen (for the time being).

And his eyes are shining with an indiscernible emotion as he watches you; something that makes you want to cry out of sheer wonder.

You’re so sure it’s love. It has to be. You refuse for anything else.

You refuse to be a broodmare or quick fuck.

And something must flip inside of Arthur because suddenly, he flips you two over, and moreover, he turns you over onto your stomach.

“Arthur,” you mutter, as you lift yourself up on your forearms. And he bends down pressing a kiss to the vertebrae in your neck as if they were jewels on a crown.

His hands return to your hips and bring you towards him.

“I know,” he replies. It only takes a second for him to slip into you again, letting a deep, pleasant groan out.

In this position he’s quicker, rougher. Less careful.

Arthur utters the occasional incoherent word and you can only pant in reply. After a while of this— of his hips slamming against yours— your shaking arms collapse under you, and your cheek presses into the mattress.

Arthur doesn’t stop though, nor does he slow, and the whole thing overloads your nerves.

Yet somehow, his touch is still loving— even as he takes you so harshly. It’s an odd dichotomy. You’re not quite sure he knows his own strength in this moment. Maybe he never does.

And you can’t help but be utterly grateful that this is the only way Arthur uses his strength on you. To fuck you into a mattress.

And the only noises you can make are broken little gasps for air, an entire lifetime’s worth of vocabulary forgotten. He’s moving in and out of you at a far quicker pace than you had initially anticipated; and you feel yourself begin to shake, quivering for help beneath him.

“Please,” you beg.

“Please, what?”

Your face flushes, hot and embarrassed even if you’ve done this hundreds of times before. “Arthur,” you whine, and he gets the message, quickening his pace as more broken, unintelligible syllables bumble out of your lips.

He brings one hand away from your hip to cup under your chin, lifting your face slightly so he can press his cheek against yours.

A loving act that tells you this is more than lust and cum.

Your hands claw into the mattress and his other hand leaves your hip to land on top of your own— fingers moving to curl into the spaces between yours. You’re crying now, sobbing quietly for some form of release at the absolutely brutal pace he’s set.

And you feel yourself coming close to climax, warmth pooling and subsequently dripping from your abdomen.

Arthur’s close too. You can tell by the way he twitches inside of you and by the way his groans have become hoarse and breathy.

He then removes the hand from your jaw and you sink back into the mattress, his fingers reaching for that bundle of nerves and rubbing it. You leave an open-mouthed whimper into the bedsheet, your breath and spit creating a hot and sticky spot.

Delicately, he pushes your body over the edge.

The orgasm rushes over you like a snap— quicker than lighting but drawn out like thunder. It singes and quakes as you quiver around him, moaning dumbly and begging for some form of sanity. Your back, arching, pushes him further into you, ignorant of your own overstimulation.

Arthur’s grip is tight on your hips as he watches, having to stop himself from spilling into you right then and there. He would.

He would if things were better. He would if he were stupid and ignorant.

But he holds himself back, teeth gnawing at his lip. Eventually you calm, the bedsheet loosening in your grip, leaving linen hills in your wake. And as soon as you take a quiet, deep breath, he continues to thrust just as quickly.

It’s now his turn to gasp and whimper, and you’ve never heard him so desperate— properly crying as he presses his face into your neck.

Your own tears bead at your eyelashes as you let him use you, abandoning any and all self respect for yourself.

But it doesn’t last long, as he’s quick to follow you over the edge. His hips begin to stutter and you know it’s over.

Arthur pulls out, and you feel him throbbing against you as he cums into his hand. He’s practically collapsed on top of you as well, his body gone boneless and weak from the aftershock.

He’s still for some time, catching his breath and his mental faculties.

And you’re not sure how much time has passed until his lips press against your neck and shoulders gently; but you sigh quietly at the feeling, pleased and sated.

He reaches under your body, cupping your waist so he can roll the two of you over to lay on your sides. And Arthur curls himself around you protectively, like he could obstruct everything evil with the slope of his shoulders.

It’s quiet and peaceful, as the aftermath of sex usually is.

And each time he kisses your skin indolently, you press back into him— a silent message that you want to kiss back. He seems to understand.

After a while, he mumbles your name.

You don’t expect it, his usual preference for silence being the norm. But either way, you hum in reply, entirely lost in comfort and bliss.

“I’ll kill Micah.” It’s said so simply, like an everyday part of his itinerary. Cleaning, hunting, murder. Well, maybe it is then.

You don’t open your eyes though. This is not a new conversation, nor is it one you like.

“You heard him today I’m guessing.”

“When you were doin’ the laundry.”

You want to frown. “It’s fine.” Is all you can say.

“No it ain’t.”

You pull away from him a little. “I don’t wanna talk about him. Ever. He doesn’t matter.”

Arthur’s quiet again. But then he nods and closes the space you created.

“Okay.”

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fic #arthur morgan fanfiction #reader insert #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfiction #might get a part two

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be11atrixthestrange · 2 months

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Bathroom Light

It's been two years since I've written anything, but I heard the song Bathroom Light by Mt. Joy, and this story wrote itself. Rated M for Ron's thoughts. <3

***

Find me a lane to drive through

In a Halloween costume

I'm an astronaut without you

As usual, the Three Broomsticks was bursting with Hogwarts students on a Saturday night. Echoes of conversations bounced off the walls, cluttering Ron’s mind like a cloud of wrackspurts, which made it even harder than usual to focus on his date. Lavender had been chatting about a new beauty charm she learned from Parvati. Or was it from Witch Weekly? Honestly, Ron didn’t know, but apparently it had something to do with volumizing curls. Maybe.

Ron stared into his half empty butterbeer. Although he was tempted to chug the rest of it, he just knew that if someone in particular saw him gulping it down like a river troll, she’d disapprove. He shouldn’t care what that someone in particular would think, as they weren’t even on speaking terms, but for some reason he still did.

“Are you listening to me?”

Ron’s skin prickled at her question, and his fingers clenched around his glass of butterbeer. “Yes, of course I’m listening,” he lied.

“Then what did I just say?” asked Lavender, one eyebrow raised.

“Something about beauty charms…”

Lavender’s eyes narrowed.

“Beauty charms that you don’t even need.”

Ron’s shoulders relaxed when Lavender’s face softened into a grin. “Aww. You’re sweet.”

He smiled back at her and took in her features. She wore a different color lipstick than usual for their date, and it had taken Ron by surprise when he first saw her. Lavender had seemed hurt by his reaction. He tried to assure her that he didn’t think of her lipstick color as good or bad, but apparently that was the wrong thing to say.

Truth be told, he didn’t actually know what Lavender looked like without all the effort, but he knew better than to mention that. She took great pride in her appearance and wanted validation — that Ron could understand. Some guys equated makeup and beauty charms with deceit, and Ron really didn’t want to be one of those guys. But was it wrong to want to know what your girlfriend really looked like?

And honestly, he’d love to go on a date that had the potential of ruining someone’s perfectly curated hair. Lavender wouldn’t even watch one of his Quidditch games if it was raining for fear of ruining her appearance. Even though that would mean so much more to him than finding a never-before-seen shade of lip balm just for him. He couldn’t shake the image of someone else sitting in the stands at a particularly stormy Quidditch game, her curls soaked down to heavy waves that stuck to her face, completely unbothered by the fact that she looked like she’d nearly drowned in the great lake.

As if reality read his mind, those same curls caught his eye, bouncing along the edge of the pub toward the loo. His eyes immediately followed Hermione until the light of the bathroom hallway illuminated her. Who was she here with? Harry or Ginny? Neither had mentioned anything about going to Hogsmeade tonight, and the thought made his stomach feel as heavy as a bezoar. Was she on a date?

The persistent thought, the one that he was usually pretty good at keeping at bay flooded into his mind like a dam had broken. What would happen if he followed her?

We're twisting our way to the back of the bar

Yeah, locking the door, falling into the stall…

Maybe she would respond positively. Those canaries meant something. No one would attack a person for kissing someone else if they only held platonic feelings. Ron definitely wasn’t wrong about that. It was possible that she’d welcome a grand gesture from him.

Was following her into a bathroom stall in a crowded pup a grand gesture? It surely wasn’t on the same level as hiring a string quartet or writing a romantic poem. But if memories of a rogue mountain troll served him correctly, it wouldn’t be the first time their relationship changed in a bathroom.

Suppose he got up, followed her, and she invited him in. Then what?

That would never happen. But it didn’t hurt to imagine, right?

Stripping you down to your jewelry

You're breaking the rules just for me

What a life under big stars and a good woman in charge

Got me falling in, got me falling in hard.

Would she want him to kiss her the way he kissed Lavender in the common room that first time? Because honestly, he probably couldn’t. It would be so different.

If he kissed Hermione in that bathroom there would be no hesitation. His mind wouldn’t freeze and turn on autopilot without a moment’s thought about the fallout of his actions. He’d kiss her not in spite of the consequences, but because of them. Could a kiss ruin their friendship?

So be it, ruin the friendship. Sometimes things needed to burn down to grow back stronger.

It wouldn’t just be a kiss. If the scars on his arms meant anything, she had passion. Sure, that manifested poorly sometimes, but it wouldn’t in that bathroom. He could just imagine her tugging at his shirt while he plucked at the buttons on her blouse, pieces of clothing hitting the floor one by one, until all she was left wearing was that perfume he got her back in fifth year.

He’d run his fingers through her perfectly voluminous curls that needed no beauty charms, and maybe she’d bite down on his lip as her bare legs wrapped around his waist. His fingers would dig into the skin of her thighs, and she’d groan her approval, which would have a similar effect to setting Ron on fire.

Something Ron loved about Hermione was her relationship with rules. She knew the ins and outs of every rule in the book, so when it came time to break them, she was the one to ask. She could get away with anything without risking her perfect reputation, especially for someone she cared about. Setting a professor’s robes on fire? Check. Blackmailing and transfiguring a nefarious journalist? Check. Jinxing the D.A. sign up sheet? Check. That one time she snuck a flask of firewhiskey on a prefect round, and they skipped patrol to drink in an empty classroom? Check. Harry didn’t even believe Ron when he told him about that last one, and honestly, Ron preferred it that way. It made it seem special.

If breaking rules was Ron’s love language, Hermione was fluent, and she only spoke it for him.

So even though he was on a date with someone else, and maybe she was too, it wasn’t difficult to imagine her fully letting him in under the dim bathroom light. He’d prop her up on the sink; she’d tug on his front zipper and slip him out of his trousers. And despite the fact that they were in a dingy stall in the bathroom of an overcrowded pub, he’d do to her what he’d only ever imagined in his dreams. Fuck the consequences.

Shag her best friend in the bar bathroom? She definitely would. Check.

So, come on, baby, let's do this right

I think I like falling in love in the bar bathroom light

I won't question it, I won't mess with it, if it's there go grab it

Tell your friends you love who they are

“Ron, are you okay?”

Lavender sat with her elbows on the table, head cocked to the side, a look of concern on her face.

“Yeah. Why?” he asked, trying his best to hide the resentment creeping up from the fact that she yanked him from the most beautiful daydream.

“You seem distracted.”

Ron immediately felt heavy with guilt. What was wrong with him? He was here with a gorgeous woman, and couldn’t control the trajectory of his fantasies.

“I’m sorry. Just tired,” he lied. In fact, he was more energized than ever. “Can we go back?”

“Yeah,” said Lavender, with a brief flash of disappointment on her face. “Want to finish your beer first?”

Ron glanced at his butterbeer, still half empty. Hermione obviously wasn’t looking, so he put the glass to his lips and chugged it.

“Let’s go,” he said. The pair stood up to leave, and Lavender reached for his hand. Who was he to think of makeup and beauty charms as deceit when he was the one imagining shagging someone else in the bathroom?

Yet, on the way out the door, it took everything he had to avoid stealing one more glance toward the bathroom at the back of the bar.

#romionefic #ron x hermione #romione #ron and hermione #hpromione #hermione granger #ron weasley #hermione #hbp missing moment #romioneangst #songfic #angst #one shot

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demigods-posts · 11 months

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Reasons why Drive from The Lightning Theif is an amazing song:

1.) "All your worries come in flurries, but we bested freakin' furries! Look how far we've come. We can't give in." I love how this song is mainly Grover being moral support for his two friends, which is so sweet, in-character, and in alignment with his motivation for being on this quest. Not only does he want to wash his hands of past mistakes, but he wants to protect Percy and Annabeth, whether that be from monsters with the intent to kill, or internal doubt of their abilities. He's such an amazing character and friend. We stan Grover.

2.) "Look, the Gateway Arch!" "Look, a lady with a puppy!" Yes, if course, Annabeth is immediately in love with national monuments, and Percy is captivated by a cute doggy. I just love them both and their little characteristics. I also love how they sneak in the whole 'blew up a national monument and got poisoned' part of the book.

3.) "We urge all citizens to stay off the road, and don't-" "Drive! Just drive!" I love how we know that they're on a quest to return to Zeus his master bolt and save Sally's soul from the underworld, but to the mortals, these three are just breaking every rule all of the time in the funniest way.

4.) "If you hadn't bought all those dam snacks-!" "Uh, it was the Hoover Dam, and I was hungry!" I love how they even reference books that they won't cover in the musical, and they did it in the right way, unlike the Sea of Monsters movie that introduced Kronos in second story of the franchise.

5.) "Why, my brother and I arrived just yesterday: May 1st...1939!" This is what I'm talking about. They creators of this musical even squeezed in a Bianca and Nico Di Angelo cameo in this song and they did it in such an amazing way.

6.) "The oracle can can it! I'll save my mom and save the planet!" I love how this remains Percy's energy throughout the books. Like, it doesn't matter what you tell him, his mind is set on saving the people he cares about and saving the world in the process if he needs to. His loyalty is a blessing (though it can bring about his demise if taken too far).

7.) "Oh, look, a bus to Los Angeles." "Are you sure that's a good idea?" "This one we just wont blow up." "Ha!" And their banter as a team and a group of friends???? I love the writers and creators of this musical. Top tier content.

I wasn't expecting this review to be so long, but I'm not mad. Drive is such a good song, and I hope it gets the attention it deserves!

Tags:

#percy jackon and the olympians #pjo text post #pjo #percy pjo #the lightning theif #tlt shitposting #tlt commentary #tlt musical #tlt musical adaptation #tlt musical commentary #the lightning theif musical #percy jackson #annabeth chase #grover underwood #drive #“the oracle can can it”

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elly99 · 8 months

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Hanni's Playlist

Same challenge as before: including lyrics from each of the songs in Hanni's playlist in a story.

You wake up from a nap to your phone ringing. It was pampam 🐰💕.

"Heeeyyy! I'm on the way home from the airport. How are you?"

"Hey, honey! I'm good! Been missing you a lot, though. How was your flight? And how was Spain?"

"Ugh, I missed you so much, too! Like a lot a lot. Spain was amazing and I had so much fun! But I'm glad to be home now. Can't wait to see you."

She hears you yawning.

"Oh, were you sleeping, baby? Did I wake you up?"

"Possibly..."

"I'm sorryyy! I should've texted you first or something."

You can't help but smile. She was being a sweetheart as always.

"It's no problem, babe. What is a problem, though, here I am waking up, but you're not here. Still can't sleep on your side."

"I know!" You can practically hear her pouting through the phone. "But I'm coming! I'll be there soon." Then with her voice lowered she says, "And I'm gonna need a cuddle buddy to get over this jet lag tonight."

Your smile widens just thinking about it. And it breaks into laughter when you hear the other four crying, "Ewww," through the phone in unison. You can hear her just laughing, too.

"Hey, Hanni?"

"Yeah?"

"I just want to let you know I'm proud and I admire what you do. You guys are amazing! I see posts about you everywhere, I hear your voice in the streets and the TV stations. It's crazy! I see you working hard and you're always such an inspiration to me!"

"Aww, man, you're too sweet! Thank you, baby! That means a lot to hear."

"I'll see you tonight, then? Tell me all about your trip?"

"It's a date."

"I love you, pampam."

"I love you, too! Actually, wait. Amor eres tú."

"What's that mean?"

"It means, 'you are love.' Cuz you're my love! Just some Spanish I learned for you while I was over there. Anyway, see you later!"

She puts down the phone before you can catch the others making a fuss again about her cheesiness. In the silence that follows you're left with her lasting warmth, but a hint of regret. In truth you'd been napping to escape your thoughts. There'd been something on your mind the entire week she was gone and you wish you'd brought it up. But then again, maybe it was better to leave it for when you could talk to her in person.

The doorbell rings once. Twice. Three times. You rush to open the door and before you can even register that she's in front of you she practically tackles you to give you the best hug you could remember.

"Oh my god, I missed you so much!" she growls into your chest. "My baby! Ugh, I love you! How have you been?"

You pull away and look into her eyes. "I've missed you, too. Been feeling kinda down without you. I love you so much, it hurts."

"Aww, but I'm here now, babe! Your pampam's home," she says with the smile that's melted the hearts of millions. But right now it was all just for you. What chance did your singular heart stand against that?

You talk on the sofa for hours, chatting about her trip and the filming of her music videos, getting lost in her eyes and the honey that was her voice. You almost forgot there was something you had to get off your chest.

"Baby?"

"Mmm?"

"You know how I said I've been feeling kinda down?"

Immediately worry flashes across her face. "Yeah?"

"Well, it's cuz while you were away, apart from missing you, I kept thinking about us. About you and how I... Ugh, I don't know how to say this right."

She takes your hand in hers, making sure you knew she was listening. The front of reassurance in her eyes barely masking her concern. "Take your time, angel."

"When we started dating..." In your mind the flood gates open, bursting with the thoughts you'd been keeping to yourself for so long. The dam breaks and tears start to form in your eyes.

She comes even closer, wipes the tears from your cheeks, and whispers, "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

You nod weakly and try to form coherent thoughts.

"When we started dating I knew it would be hard. Like, I know you were way too bright for me. You're a star. So obviously I knew our relationship would have to be..."

"Secret?"

"Yeah, like, there's always that fear of people finding out. We kinda have to live a lie and that really hurts. And it's also terrifying."

"I know..."

"But there's something about your love, Hanni. You really are an angel and you're the sweetest person I know and you make everything better. But sometimes it feels like you're an angel with a gun in your hand. Cuz whenever you leave it hurts. It hurts missing you all the time. And it hurts pretending. Lying to everyone about us. I feel like... I die every night with you, just knowing that the next day you'll leave and it'll be like we don't exist. So sometimes I'd like to make myself believe that Planet Earth turns slowly just so I have more time with you. That sounds super dramatic but..."

"Hey, I get it," she says before kissing you softly. "Whenever I leave or whenever we're apart I try not too think too much about it but I can't." She sighs deeply and looks at the ground. "Cuz I love you so much. And love is when you try to place it out your mind but you can't think of anyone else. So I always end up thinking of you... and, like you said, how it hurts to have to hide. And it scares me, too."

She takes another breath as if deep in thought, then she looks back at you with a distinct look of determination in her eyes.

"So let's just stop. Let's stop running from love. Let's stop running from us. I'll die every night with you, too. At least we'll be together."

"Hanni, no, we can't do that..."

"Baby, you know I'll be on your side. No matter what. We in this for love. We in this for life. So it doesn't matter what they say if they find out."

Though tempting, you had to remain rational. You knew she was just being impulsive to try and cheer you up.

"Babe, we shouldn't. Maybe in a few years. We can keep it secret until then."

She sighs again. "Ugh, you're right. But you know I'm always here for you, right? You'll always have my shoulder to cry on. You'll always have my arms to fall into."

But before you can even fall into them, she wraps them around you. And before you can even cry, she whispers "No matter what the future holds, it's you my heart beats for."

#hanni x reader #hanni #hanni new jeans #newjeans x reader

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alrxiin · 4 months

Text

Redacted Characters as Song Lyrics

(This includes listeners)

Just some Redacted characters as lyrics from songs I listen to, cause I'm bored and currently hyperfixating...

• Werewolves

David :

♪A Little Death - The Neighborhood♪

"The neighbor was knocking, yeah. But no one would let him in.

Touch me, yeah. I want you to touch me there. Make me feel like I am breathing... Feel like I am human."

Asher :

♪ Everywhere I Go - Hollywood Undead♪

"Let's get this party started! Let's keep them 40's popping!

So just get buzzed and stay fucked up. We'll keep them panties dropping."

Milo :

♪Rebel Love Song - Black Veil Brides♪

"So take your hand in mine, It's ours tonight.

This is a Rebel Love Song!

Hearts will sacrifice, It's do or die.

This is a Rebel Love Song!"

Tank/Darlin' :

♪You're Gonna Go Far, Kid - The Offspring♪

"You're gonna go far, kid...

With a thousand lies and a good disguise. Hit 'em right between the eyes, hit 'em right between the eyes!

When you walk away, nothing more to say.

See the lightning in your eyes. See 'em running for their lives."

•Vampires

Vincent :

♪Bogini - Quebonafide♪

"Jej skóra wygląda i pachnie jak Latte Macchiato, A wzrok na mnie działa jak Mate.

To już nie jest normalne, mylę kawę z herbatą, Ale w razie "W" dam ci erratę.

Byle bez cukru jak na filmach. Krzyczy głośniej niż Walkiria."

Sam :

♪1000 koni - Bedoes♪

"Jeśli zabijesz za mnie, skłamię, po czym wezmę winę za ciebie. Wszedłbym na minę za ciebie.

Czy to jest prawdziwe dla ciebie?

Jeśli zabiję za nią, ona skłamie, po czym weźmie winę za mnie. Ona by weszła na minę za mnie.

Powiedz mi, skarbie, czy wyjdziesz za mnie?"

Quinn :

♪PILLOWTALK - Zayn♪

"So we'll piss off the neighbors, In the place that feels the tears, The place to lose your fears.

Yeah, reckless behavior.

A place that is so pure, so dirty and raw.

In the bed all day, bed all day, bed all day. Fucking and fighting on... It's our paradise and it's our war zone."

Adam :

♪Desire - MEG MYERS♪

"Honey, I wanna break you. I wanna throw you to the hounds.

Yeah, I gotta hurt you. I gotta hear it from your mouth.

Boy, I wanna taste you. I wanna skin you with my tongue.

I'm gonna kill you. I'm gonna lay you in the ground."

•Other

Gavin :

♪ Keep It Down - Migrant Hotel♪

"While I throw you around-

You're gonna scream ...

Shhh: girl keep it down.

The scars you leave on my back, A painting of your attack.

You're biting down on my fist...

I know you cannot resist."

Guy :

♪Flesh - Simon Curtis♪

"Push up to my body, sink your teeth into my flesh (Get undressed, t-taste the flesh).

Bite into me harder, sink your teeth into my flesh (Pass the test, t-taste the flesh).

Hold me up against the wall. Give it 'til I beg, give me some more.

Make me bleed, I like it rough...

Like it rough, rough, rough."

Marcus :

♪War Of Hearts - Ruelle♪

"I can't help but love you, Even though I try not to.

I can't help but want you, I know that I'd die without you."

Lovely :

♪Respite On The Spitalfields - Ghost♪

"We will break away together.

I'll be the shadow, You'll be the light.

Nothing ever lasts forever...

We will go softly - Into the night."

Baaabe :

♪I Wanna Be Yours - Arctic Monkeys♪

"Secrets I have held in my heart, Are harder to hide than I thought.

Maybe I just wanna be yours...

I wanna be yours, I wanna be yours.

Wanna be yours."

Sweetheart :

♪Riptide - Vance Joy♪

"I just wanna, I just wanna know...If you're gonna, if you're gonna stay.

I just gotta, I just gotta know! I can't have it, I can't have it any other way.

I swear she's destined for the screen - Closest thing to Michelle Pfeiffer that you've ever seen, oh."

Angel :

♪THE DEATH OF PEACE OF MIND - Bad Omens♪

"I miss the way you say my name...

The way you bend, the way you break.

Your makeup running down your face.

The way you fuck, the way you taste."

Freelancer :

♪I See You - Jutty Ranx♪

"I want you to myself...Can we take this somewhere else?

My heart's an open book and you just took it off the shelf.

You make me make moves. I see you, you know I see you.

I break through to get to you. It's so true, it's so true."

Honey :

♪Sugar - Sleep Token♪

"Do you wanna see how far it goes? Do you wanna test me now, my love?

You must be crazy if you think that I will give in so easily...

Things we buried low - Coming to the surface now, my love.

You must be crazy if you think that I will give up the game, oh.

Sugar, I've got a taste for you now."

Darling :

♪Killpop - Slipknot♪

"Maybe I should let her go...But only when she loves me.

How can I just let her go? Not until she loves me.

We were meant to be together.

Now die and fucking love me!

We were meant to hurt each other.

Now die and fucking love me!"

Translations :

♪Bogini — Her skin looks and smells like Latte Macchiato. The way she looks at me works like Mate. Something is wrong, I confuse coffee with tea... But in case I'll just give you Errata. With no sugar like in the movies. She shouts louder than Valkyrie."

♪1000 koni — If you kill for me, I'll lie and take the blame on myself. I'll step on a mine for you. Is this real for you? If i kill for her she'll lie and take the blame on herself. She will step on a mine for me. Tell me, darling: will you marry me?"

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martinys-world · 10 months

Text

the girl (7)

chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6)

I made a post before this on. talking about the discord server that i have made. Since no one seen it or cared enough. I going to talk about it here. I was thinking my character was over powered in this chapter. so I made a post and was saying how I posted chapter 7 there and wanted some feedback. I posted on July 15th. a good 5 days before this one. So I left the chapter the way it is.

So if you want to join the discord comment: the robot you like. I will send you the link for the story

______________________________________________________________

I went back to my bag and began to dig. After I found my Nokia 1011 phone, a car door open sound filled the car.

“Good hold this.”

I handed him my phone and continued digging. When I felt the plastic case. I yank it out. so, I can grab the leopard glass and a security bandage with the four diamonds likes symbol. The same diamond as my pencil case. I was beginning to put on the glasses

“Sliver what you are doing.”

“don’t worry about it.”

“Why you are complaining, she looks good.”

“I will tell you this since it won’t go against Kris promise. when you see the things, I seen. You learn how to make your paths easier. I can't tell you anymore than that.”

I saw a yellow beam when, we were beginning to drive. it must have been that energy surge. Arcee was talking about. Grabbing my phone from Noah.

“Noah please hold this,” I traded Noah the phone for the badge after I toss my bag in the back.

“I must make a phone call. Mirage, please take control so I can concentrate.”

I quickly dial a number that I know by heart. The ringers didn’t even go to the second ring when he picked up.

“YOU BETTER EXPLAIN WHATS GOING ON!!!”

I pulled the phone away from my ear when he began to screaming. mirage was laughing for some reason and begin to say drama and sing song like voice.

“k plea- “

“NO EXCUSES. WE ARE RECIVCEING A MASSIVE ENERGY NEAR YOUR LOCATION. I KNOW FOR FACT THAT YOU HAVE A HAND IN THIS. SO, YOU BETTER START TALKING.”

I heard another one of mirages smart ass remarks. It was the ‘uh oh someone is in trouble.’

“K I don’t know what’s going myself.” I lied.

“I know your lying.”

“Dam it!” I said in frustration. “I will explain the best I can later. We got at least 15 minutes until I arrive and cause mayhem.”

“Not until I get at least something.” k can be very stubborn when it comes to someone he cares about. There only one sentence I know that can make just go along with whatever I say.

“I am trying to help a family get home.”

“Wait like human home or us home.”

“Us. this is there only way right now.”

“Wait until I get there.”

“There is no time. I need you on that computer that’s 2 ft to your left.” I heard him growl, but he I hear a chair roll.

“Fine. I want a story when its safe.”

“I promise. I need you. get to Ac and Sc files and find anyone that would still be there.”

Are ten minutes from arriving the campus

“You mean the ones still on campus?”

“You got it. get T. and V. to help. I need you to make them leave.”

“All right got all 900 people. Starting to send messages. Hey t and v get to your computers and start typing. Boss says so.”

I heard some shuffling in the back.

“Good, have them say there loved one is in hospital or Their place is on fire. if you need to get someone to pull the fire alarm. Get someone to pull the fire alarm. Anything to get them to leave. Hell, if need used the symbol on anyone who there I don’t care just get them gone.”

“Okay. the messages are starting to send, is there anything else?”

“Is Jason v. Armstrong. working at all tonight?”

“You are right, he should be at the security booth.”

“Call him and get him to let-

I looked at the badge Noah was holding

“Sarah J. Kelly though.”

I leaned back in the driver seat. acting like I was driving once again.

“Okay I will call him after. it won’t be any problem.”

We were down to 5 minutes

“Do you want me to see Cam to hack the security cameras.”

“Good call. Give it an hour before they come back up.”

I hear more shuffling in the back.

“T. said that he can't get a hold of Elena Wallace. She will be in the college. The same place that energy spike is at.”

“Alright If I see, I will do what I can. Keep trying to reach her.”

“k I hear talking in the background. speak to me.”

“Got it I will call after.”

“You better women or so help me, I will drag you back by the skin of my teeth if I must. You will have stuck her until we are old grey.”

“I know you will. Friends forever.”

“We never surrender.”

I hang up and tosses the phone next to my bag.

“You, young lady is amazing.” Said mirage.

“Sliver what was that?”

“My way in making sure no one gets hurt friends.”

No other questions were asked. We began to pull up to the security booth and as soon as I showed him the badge. He didn’t look twice. He opened the gate and began to pack up around his desk. we just roll in like we own the place. Once he stopped in a random parking spot. I jump out began walking to the doors.

“Sliver wait.” He was a good few steps behind me. I pushed the door open and began going up.”

“Sliver, wait I want to talk.” Noah grabs my hand. pulling me to a stop. “Please at least explain how you did all that.”

“I can't tell you that. if I do, you will be drag into something that is far too dangerous even for me. I promised your brother I will keep you safe and keeping my mouth shut is a must, then so be it.”

“Then why help them.”

“I will tell you what, I told Optimus. I know what it’s like trying to get home.”

I began to run up the stair. Just trying to outrun him so he doesn’t go farther down the rabbit hole Like Alice did with the white rabbit. I am trying to my promise. I will not drag you into the life I have. once I saw the door. I busted it open without a second thought.

When I was in the same daydream land again.

I was in a middle of a forest. the same forest that Apeling was in. the same surface of grass and tree like statues around me.

“how did I get here?”

Really how did I go from opening a door inside a building on earth to a planet I only saw once. I heard movement to my right. when looking at the sound there was a dull orange blob coming at me. the closer it came the more it began to take shape. It was a Cheetah, but not the ones on earth. This one was larger than the ones on earth. They had more of an orange coat, then its classic yellow. Also, Its eyes where a very bright green. Aren’t cheetahs supposed to have yellow eyes?

what really caught my attention was where he was heading. Right for me. I went into fetal position. I don’t know why I did that, but I did. I was never flattening like a pancake. I felt a chill in my spine. The feeling I had with Apeling. I became a full human when I saw the cat was becoming a wobbly blob again.

I felt a breeze pass me; a grey rhino was following the cat.its seems like no one is noticing me.i might not be able to get hurt in this dream like land. Wait, am I a ghost. My thoughts where interrupt when the sound of rustling trees filled my ears. I look up and saw Apeling, but it wasn’t really Apeling. The ape looked a lot smaller and more childish. Then a bird was following closely behind the primate. The birdie looked like a raven but completely metal and with a beautiful tint of blue.

A “I can do this.” Sound was coming from where the other animals where coming form

Was coming behind me. a very dark navy-blue blob was coming closer and closer. She had an outline of a wolf. The navy coat had a dot of yellow dots, mad her fur look like a night sky, with little stars at night. there was a fire is in her eyes. Nothing was going to stop her. the more she said the line the faster she was becoming. the walking night sky was passing each animal one by one. the more living beings she passed the more confident she gotten. Before anyone knows it, she was in second place. The dog and cat were neck to neck. Both determine to not let the other pass.

“Come on Midnight. You can't pass me. so, stop while you can.

“I not giving up that easily.” The finished line was feet in front their face was nearby.

While the cheetah kept trying to decrease the dog confidence. Mr. Kitty Cat didn’t notice the little pebble in the path. didn’t notice a little pebble. With him focusing on the wolf. His paw stumble on It. the stumble gave the wolf a better chance to jump ahead. Giving midnight the win. She was holding the stick in her mouth. Once she dropped it.

“Who the fastest now?”

“I let you win.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” While the canine was rubbing the win in the cheetah face. The others came through. Rhino was 3rd. bird was 4th and the ape was 5th.

“See sis, I told you can do it.” said the rhino.

“You were right Rhinox. I had to just believe in myself.”

“I let her win.” Said the cheetah.

“Keep telling yourself that.” said the bird.

“As much as this was fun, me and Star have to go.” said the ape.

While both party wave goodbye to each other. I stayed with the other 3.

“I did let her win; I just didn’t want to see her cry.”

“I appreciate your concern for my sister, but everyone say you stumble.”

“I didn’t stumble.” said the frustrated cheetah. When no one was going to believe his lies. he spit out ‘I going to hang with rattrap.’ Then began to run again.

When the last two left saw the orange furball was far enough. The bird saw her opportunity.

“Rhinox, can I ask you are personal question?”

“Go ahead Air-razor.”

“How do you feel about their feelings for your sister?”

“it’s complicated. As a big brother, they both don’t deserve her. she can do so much better than those two. But as their friend I have seen them grow over the years. They aren’t full mature, but they are better then Tigerhawk and Inferno. I learned I can't choose who she likes but if she is happy. That all that matters.”

After he finished his sentence. Everything was twisted. It twisted into a new scene. I was back with Midnight and the little ape.”

“So, what do you think Apeling wants to tell us.” midnight asked

“Something about a key.”

“Why would we need to know?”

“I don’t know. we might want to know everything we can right now before we become leaders.”

“You mean you will be.”

“We both have the chance.”

“No, you are Optimus Primal. You are the best person to lead. You lead all the group actives.”

“you are right about that, but you are the one that has all the ideas. I do apprentice the confidence boost, but don’t put yourself down.”

“I’m ju- “

Before they could continue their conversation. They walk into a cave. Where the real Apeling was standing. He was staring over the land. Kind of like Simba and Mufasa in lion king. When Mufasa says ‘everything that touches the light is your’ scene.

“Hello young ones.”

“Hello.” The little ones say.

“Today lesson is going to be special one.”

“Is it about the key?” ask Optimus.

“You are right. the key also comes with a legend. That precedes the dawn of our civilization. there is a vile god so large and so powerful, he has to consumed entire planets for fuel. That god is name Unicron.”

“isn’t that myth. We don’t need to worry about this god.” Said the Primal.

“It Could be a myth, but we aren’t for sure. It could be real for all we know.” said the wolf.

“Star is right. if he is real, he will be after this.” Apeling gotten up and walked inside the cave. Around a pedestal with a floating diamond thing. “If Unicron gets his hands on transwarp key. there is no way to stop him. “

“What is a trans-swap key?”

“Transwarp key. have been among our kind for generations. it allows us to go from universe to another.”

“So, if Unicron gets a hold of the key. he could open a portal. To eat other worlds?” Ask Optimus.

“Yes. There will be nothing in his way.”

“But isn’t there a way.”

“What do you mean.”

“In the records before the great war. They were saying something about a sister.”

“You mean brother and yes. Him and his twin brother (Primus) would fight for centuries. Unicron himself wanted to consume the universe. Getting rid of the good. So, there is nothing left but a void of torment. Primus had other ideas; he saw that there was good in freedom. He fought his brother time and time again. trying to keep the balance to the two sides. The legend says that Primus defeated Unicron each time. he was toss in a void to never be seen again. Said Apeling.

“Shouldn’t Primus have this instead of us.”

“That is a mystery that could not be solve.”

“Why is that?” Primal finally spoke up.

“We lost contact with Cybertron eons ago. with time information gets lost. Data pads get lost or destroy. without proof, all we know is that Primus and Unicron are myth.”

“That’s why they are myths? Ask Midnight .

“Yes. That is why if there even is a chance that Unicron is real. We need to guard the key from him and whoever is under his command.” Said Apeling.

“We promise to protect the key with our lives.” Said Both or the younger Maximal.

That when the vision started to change back to the museum room. rubbing my eyes trying to get eye site back. I was facing the window that lead outside for some reason. I heard chatter in the back. a girl voice said something about stealing museum property. I couldn’t fully make out the conversation. Once my vision was clear and I can see everthign like before. I saw three bots. The other 2 where unknown but when my eyes landed on the centered being. was Scrouge. Same one form Apeling vision. Nothing about seeing him said safe. I saw his hand turn into a canon, that’s when I knew we were in trouble. Seeing that it was powering up and aiming at us I turn.

“Elena and Noah get down.”

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