You Would Be Hearing Correctly 😁

anyways, don't forget your daily click to help palestine!!!! 🇵🇸

I wish I could play RDR2 for the first time again

soso perfect <3

hi! do you take requests? if not you can discard this but i really love the way you write emotionally charged moments so i’d love your writing style on this prompt, it can be a one shot or more of a blurb whichever you like: so perhaps taking place post canon where arthur is found half dead on that cliff and reader is nursing him back to health, trying hard to stay strong and believe he’ll get better but arthur is just waiting to die any day now and wishing he hadn’t been found, until he hears reader in another room crying to herself having to see him so deathly ill like that and slowly losing hope. so he starts feeling more determined to at least try for her sake and maybe see her smile one last time. but in the end he does get better, not quite back to his full strength yet but better 🥹 hope i didn’t ramble too much, i absolutely love your work and the way you write and i can’t wait to see what you post next 🫶🏻

IN TREMBLING ARMS

Pairing | Arthur Morgan x Fem! Reader Summary | While the world you had built around yourself seemed to crumble right before you, the last measures to sustain your happiness grew hard to take as the man you love fell deeper into his own despair. Tags | Angst-heavy, description of violence and wounds, fluff somewhere... :o Word Count | 11.4k A/N | Hiiii lovelies! ♡ I recently got this request that I really liked the sound of, which meant I obviously had to write it;) I hope what I wrote was in tune with what you had in mind! Enjoy! Also, thank you for the kind words♡

The pain of recalling an old life is surely something we’re all familiar with. Undoubtedly, it’s a brutal world we live in, one that sometimes takes too much and only gives small crumbles in return. You often found yourself crawling the ground to pick up these crumbs, laden with dust and dirt, just like your joyous memories are tainted in blood and pain–small glimpses of happiness amidst the hardship in day-to-day life, the tiny things that make living worth fighting for.

They were all thanks to Arthur. You’d been aware for quite a while that he didn’t think highly of himself, meaning he couldn’t possibly estimate how much his presence impacted your life. He couldn’t see that every good memory lately was in his favor–how he held your entire world in the bare palm of his hands. He could never understand, and you could tell he didn’t.

Every part of you was clinging to the last remains of a man who dropped the world’s weight off his shoulders, preparing to breathe the last breaths on this earth, alone and without you. It was so close now that you could almost taste it. You could tell by how his shoulders dropped heavily in resignation, the words that grew dull and lifeless, and his wit that never failed to bring a smile to your lips disappeared. 

Even so, you saw glimpses of the man you fell for, and if you looked closely, you could find those few crumbles that gave you hope, even though they were ridden with filth. He’d still pinch your waist lightly to jest when you were in a bad mood, always putting your comfort above his own, even though he needed it more.

The burden on his shoulders was heavier than ever when he returned from being out. He was no doubt following Dutch's careless orders that, with time, became more uncaring and, worst of all, unsafe. It bothered you heavily that there was no regret anymore as he bid his orders around like Arthur wasn’t hunching down in exhaust with every step, more often than not needing a seat as coughs so rough wrecked through him, never failing to make you cringe.

Of course, Arthur could take care of himself, never stopping short of explaining that to you. But now, times were different, and you could see his eyes grow slightly more hollow every time he returned to you, and his bloodshot eyes grew into normality.

So naturally, you never stopped short when voicing your concerns to Arthur, but he was so headstrong he refused to acknowledge the toll everything was taking on his body. Deep down, you wondered if he continued since he had come to terms with his fate, putting other’s safety before his own because he had simply stopped trying. 

He damned you for not listening to him, but his words held no real threat because he couldn't find it in himself to force you away against your will. So he let you stay, and through his violent coughs and wheezing, he always felt you rub his back soothingly, knowing that his time was running short. Because of this, he took every chance to bask in your gentle touches that felt more like home than anything else.

"Did you find out anything about John today?" Speaking softly, you run your fingers through his tousled hair, undoubtedly from wearing his rugged hat all day, observing his tired face as you were on his lap, Arthur sitting down as he came back to rest his aching legs.

"Mmm, we did." Thumbing at the fabric of the shirt you had stolen from him, he let the words rumble softly against you, breathing warmly against the chilled skin of your cheek.

"Abigail's real worried, you know, begged to come with us." Humming, you pondered over his words. Your dear friend has been over her head in worry as of late, the disappearance of John not doing the slightest to ease her anxiety.

"We'll get him back." You weren't sure if you were reassuring Arthur or yourself, but then again, there wasn't much you were sure of anymore. It seemed unlikely that anything you would say would comfort him, but that didn’t mean you didn’t try–every chance you got, you wanted to make him see reason.

Bringing you closer, he breathed heavily into your shoulder, throat whistling slightly from the strain, as his hands gripped your waist firmly, sighing in contentment when you hugged him back.

"How are you feeling?" you whispered, earlier taking notice of his eyes that had grown redder than usual and the slight blood stain he hastily wiped when you approached him, hoping you didn't get the time to spot it.

"The usual, I guess." Nodding slightly to appear positive before you, he let out a heavy sigh.

As the silence stretched, he kissed the top of your head lovingly after a while when you nuzzled your head further into his shoulder, savoring the moment since you hadn’t seen him much these past days. 

"Tomorrow, me and Sadie thought about goin’-" You didn't give him a chance to finish, lifting your head from his shoulder as a frown appeared. God, you knew it was coming, but you had hoped he would still see reason and not do something stupid like that in his condition.

"Couldn't someone else go with Sadie? You not-" Catching yourself before you said the words you knew would get him riled up, you sighed slightly. "I'm sorry. I'm just so worried about you, Arthur. About everything."

"Hey." Cradling you closer, he softly grabbed your chin between his calloused fingers, beckoning you to meet his warm gaze. "What did we talk about, hm? I'll be alright." 

You grabbed his cheek and stroked your thumbs against the scarred skin. He was so beautiful to you, just like he had always been, and you were sure he would scoff at you if you voiced your thoughts. But it was true. That face had seen you through the most challenging times of your life, and never had they been the reason for your tribulations and sadness. 

"Now you're just lying to me to make me feel better." A long silence followed as you stared at each other, both stubborn beyond means, until the corners of his mouth raised slightly, a low chuckle rumbling deep in his chest. Rolling your eyes, you couldn’t help but smile against your will, trying to keep your previous frown on your face. 

His eyes, often weathered and wise, turned into soft pools of warmth and affection as they gazed at you. The world’s weight seemed to lift every time, even now, leaving only the tender vulnerability of a man deeply in love.

"Now, now," he spoke, words growing into his usual teasing tone as he grazed his hands along the fabric covering your sides, a wicked smirk growing on his lips. There’s an intoxicating allure to how his lips curve, never stopping short of making the butterflies in your stomach go haywire. "There's that smile I've been looking for." 

Slightly tickling the sides of your stomach, you gasped as you tried peeling his hands away when a giggle left you from the unexpected sensation. Damned be Arthur and his refusal to let you worry about him, always trying to lessen your pain when he was severely worse. 

"No, Arthur! Stop it!" Laughing merrily, he placed small kisses in the small crevice of your neck, relentlessly tickling your sides as you squirmed in his arms, an ugly laugh leaving you as you found it harder and harder to breathe amidst his torture. He snickered audibly at the sound leaving you, always finding humor in the strange quirks he loved so much.

The moment didn't last long, though, for the gut-wrenching coughs that left him amidst your banter made the cheerfulness of the moment quickly grow into a distant memory. Arthur would tell you he was okay and that all he needed was a few moments, just like he always did, but you both knew the disease was growing more severe as time passed.

Your precious memories grew less and less, though, and as time passed, there were hardly any crumbs left for you to pick up. The ugly paint of power, distrust, and hatred covered them. A hatred that grew so deep in every single being that surrounded you, and even in yourself. Hostility from one’s upbringing, misfortune, and wrong-doings. Bitterness for striving towards a goal that doesn’t have a finishing line, only a no-return sign at both the start and end. 

A selfish disdain, it is, and oh so human. How could you possibly find the end where everyone could make amends when they had no will to change? How could you save him when he didn’t want to be saved? His only interest now was to get everyone away from the gang that he could for the time being. It had been apparent for some time now that whatever this was, it was over.

Because of this, Arthur told you to leave some time ago. He had begged you on his hands and knees as the blood he coughed up dripped like rain down his paled, gray skin. A beautiful tragedy it was, one that would leave people in a theater with tears glistening down their cheeks as the sight before them clenched at their hearts. That wasn’t how you experienced it, though. It was more like someone cutting through your numb skin and laying your heart down on the table to unfold every crevice and nook to prod at every part that hurt so terribly with a knife. 

It made you wonder if hearts could bleed. You weren’t sure, but somehow you knew yours did as every strained cough from the man you love caused the tears that fell from your eyes to turn into a deep red, mingling with his on the ground. 

As he begged, you could only stare at the ghost of a man you once loved: the warm skin turning cold under the palm of your hands, calculating and mischievous eyes growing vulnerable and exposed, and strong arms that once held you tightly, weak and skinny. They gripped your skirt for dear life like the sullen fabric covered with filth kept his weary body alive. And god, how you tried, despite the pitying looks thrown your way and resistance from Arthur's side, you wanted to keep him alive.

You had hated no one in your meager, seemingly insignificant life, but you hated Arthur. You hated him passionately for trying to make you leave behind the only thing that made you feel even the slightest bit of happiness. The only reason you had stayed with these people for so long was him, only him, and now he asked you to leave so he could spend the rest of his short time either getting shot or dying from his disease?

“You go now, or I’ll drag you on that train myself and tie you to the seat.” Silence had followed his last attempt to push you away, thick with a wave of heated anger from both of you as the remnants of your love grew shrouded in an unwillingness to understand. You didn’t want to recognize his worry, for you knew it would be the end for you and him.

“I ain’t got much left to lose now, so I must do this. You have to understand. Go.” The bitterness in his words grew colder as he spoke; the conversation that started so filled with passion grew harsh.

“Don’t get much to lose?” Your meek voice was choked up with frustration as you felt your heart drop to the ground. “What about me?!” 

Everything hurt deeply, like he had set your whole body alight and then stomped on the remaining ashes. You had tried so hard to keep your head straight for Arthur through these challenging times, following every step he took loyally, never once questioning his decisions. Him telling you to leave had been the final straw. For him to expect you to give up everything you had done for him made you wonder how much you were worth to him.

“You can’t just tell me to leave!” Broken sobs left you when you spoke, hands trembling where you tried to rip his hands off your skirt, anything to lessen the tightening in your chest. When he didn’t ease his grip, your hands hit his chest as tears flowed down your warm cheeks. He closed his eyes from where he sat, the grip on your skirt turning his skin ghostly pale as you tried to create some distance, refusing to let you back away. 

In your head, he was supposed to want you with him until the last second, and you could not dare imagine it any other way. Because of this, it wounded you deeper than he could imagine.

The hands that never once had grown harsh with you only pulled you closer, letting you bat tirelessly at him while your eyes grew heavy with a furious sadness gnawing at your insides. The surrounding air had become thicker than it usually was in the confines of Beaver Hollow, so it left you gasping for air as the distress wound its way around your throat.

His eyes were as warm as they always seemed when looking at you, and you damned him for it. Even when Arthur broke your heart, he rendered you entirely at his mercy the way he kept this gaze reserved for only you–like he understood you.

“I hate you.” Growing weak, you sank to your knees and rested your weary head on his chest, letting him hold you as you trembled in his sickly arms. 

Soon after that, it seemed everything had reached a breaking point, and it couldn’t have been late enough. Arthur put you behind Sadie on the tall horse, making her promise to get you somewhere safe while he went and risked his life. Risk it for what you thought, kicking and screaming at him as he lifted you. Sadie was trying to comfort you, her hand on your waist as the worry for you and Arthur filled her mind.

"Let me down!" Tears were falling from your bloodshot eyes, filled with endless pools of agony and sorrow as the man before you avoided your gaze. "You're not sending me away!" You attempted to swing your leg over the saddle as you spoke through the hiccups that wrecked through you, fighting against Sadie’s hold.

"Please, sweetheart, come on." Broad arms caught your waist hastily, lifting you to put you back behind the worried woman. "Go with Sadie, now; she'll keep you safe." His voice grew distressed as you resisted, a deep worry for your safety that he always kept as a priority clouding his thoughts when you didn’t comply.

Not listening to him, you shimmered down the horse and threw your arms around Arthur's familiar embrace, burying your head in his shoulder as you breathed in his familiar scent. "Don't leave me here; please take me with you." 

You knew now that his death was inevitable, an end you had refused to acknowledge as possible ever since you first set your eyes on him. Despite this, the love you kept for him made everything pale in comparison, not wanting to spend the endless days of the remaining part of your life without him. If he would find his solace in death, so would you.

He didn't answer you, instead wounding his arms around your smaller frame as he hugged you tightly against him, trying to map out every part of you into his mind so that even in death, he could remember the feeling of you forever. 

"Don't go." You begged him without shame, holding onto him tightly as your tears darkened the material of his shirt. "I'm begging you."

You felt a pair of hands cover your cheeks, the blue orbs you knew so well staring reassuringly into yours, hiding the endless anguish taking cover behind its facade.

"I love you, sweetheart." His voice shook as he spoke, gazing with a terrible agony into yours. "I love you so much, you hear me?" Shaking your head slightly as he said, you could only weep as you realized your attempts to save him were useless. 

"I love you too, Arthur," you said through sobs. Arthur was stroking the tears from your eyes as he pulled you in one last time, face scrunching together from having to leave you as he kissed the top of your hair.  

So, in the end, he watched you leave as you stared after him in disbelief when Sadie set off, your body growing numb as he disappeared between the forest trees, hugging the woman as sobs wrecked through you.

"God." Crouching down, he panted as coughs broke through the silence surrounding him after you departed. But it didn’t seem to be the only thing rendering him on his knee as the dirty ground prodded at his knees, the all-to-consuming thought of never seeing you again clamping at his heart something so fierce he thought he might heave.

He had never been a stranger to heartache, having lived a life full of gut-wrenching memories and stories that were not for the faint-heartedly. But this, this was something entirely else. All these years of fighting, never knowing where he would rest his head the next night, and for what? So he could be free? He had been angry, so very angry at the world. 

It all felt meaningless now, the constant blood on his hands, the pain he had brought others that might as well have been him had he chosen another path, the choice to drag you with him to the gates of hell instead of taking your hand and running off so he could keep you forever. 

And in the end, as he lay there on the mountain, bleak eyes staring at the rising sun, he could feel an unfamiliar peace crawl up his feet, relaxing the very troubled muscles that had never rested up to his chest where a heavy weight had been present his whole life. In it, the heaviness had torn a big hole in his chest that pulled every good thing that had found him in his life into the prolonged darkness. 

 But somehow, a relief was spreading in his mind as he figured peace was closer than he thought, slowly and surely beginning to unfold in front of him. Darkness spread around him as the last lights reached his eyes before the tired lids grew shut, the now ever-so-strong memory of you branded into his mind.

–

You were no stranger to the rain. As a child, you reveled in the droplets that fell from the sky when the clouds formed. It was so simple, yet a memory so strong that it stuck with you throughout your life. Now, though, the rain that clung to your clothes only made the numbness grow worse, unable to feel your fingers as you rode on the muddy path that stretched before you, slippery and treacherous. It was no longer comforting, raking through your body like ice, chilling you from tip to toe.

Although not sure of your actions, there wasn't a single regret in your body for leaving both Sadie and Abigail when they found John, taking the first chance to head back the way you came from, the glimmer of hope that you would discover Arthur alive pushing you on, even though it dimmed with time. 

When John returned, he could only look at you sadly while shaking his head, the look in his eyes enough for you to understand that Arthur hadn’t come with him. But you knew, of course you did, that he wasn’t coming back to you; his words and your knowledge of his ways are telling enough.

You had calmed down now, thinking more logically, but you preferred how you felt before instead of the hole beginning to form in your chest. It consumed you, growing bleaker and bleaker with time, making you wonder if you would ever find Arthur.

You found him eventually, but the torment of seeing him lying lifeless as the warm, lingering evening sun glazed over his skin beat at your bruised heart. For the first time since you’ve known him, he looked so small, like his body was cowering against the ground, seeking shelter from the cold breeze and a world that had grown so cruel, so malicious. 

If the anguish following his departure was anything to go by, the sheer pain that shot through you after your bewildered moment of silence could only be likened to a thousand times worse. What you had feared the most seemed to be reality now, and it couldn’t have hurt any less.

Your aching feet, sore from climbing the far way up the mountain, ran the muddy path up to him as your hands enclosed his cold cheeks–swollen and purple with bruises as dried blood covered the majority of his skin. 

“No, no, no!” You mouthed the words since you couldn’t get a single sound to leave you, a force so firmly clamping at your throat. You grabbed his clothes, shaking him as if it would make a difference and show a sign of life. It didn’t work, so you could only wrap your trembling arms around his neck, wailing out his name while begging the heavens above to bring him back to you, for the pain was too much to bear.

How would you continue life without him? The thought was too heavy to consider, your distressed mind refusing to believe he was gone. He’d always rise back up the moment something brought him down, so strong mentally and physically that you sometimes wondered how he was real. Why couldn’t he do that now and spare you all this hurt?

“Do you remember when we first met, how you always told me we would run away, just you and me?" Grabbing his hand, you placed small, lingering kisses on the battered knuckles, intertwining his fingers with yours as your voice trembled fiercely. 

There had been a magnetic pull in the way his gaze had lingered on you when he spoke of his deepest wishes as if every word was a silent vow etched into the very fabric of your relationship. It’s something you both said of often when everything grew heavy, like an escape from reality to what things could be.

“How can we do that now if you’re going to leave me?” Sobs wrecked through you, gazing at his closed eyes while you internally begged for them to open. “Why are you leaving me?!”

Resting your head on his chest, you breathed in the scent solely your Arthur as he flooded your senses. Your guttural cries of anguish filled the air until your voice broke, eyes growing heavy with strain while you could only lay there with him, imagining he was alive under you.

Your head had grown empty after that, laying upon the body you had so many times before. You remembered the moments of complete and utter peace when he held you in the confines of his tent, warm hands always managing to find sanction around your waist no matter how exhausted he was.

The thought made you smile, remembering how his heartbeat would pick up as you intertwined your fingers. He was in many ways stoic, rarely sharing how you affected him, but you knew. In secret, of course, you knew, and you would kill to feel that again.

But when he fell asleep underneath you, the beating pattern would cease and instead follow a slower thud, never failing to bring you to sleep. Just like it beat now, you felt the lids of your eyes that were still wet with tears grow heavy under the comforting thudding of his heart, lulling you closer and closer to sleep.

Your eyes shot open so fast that you almost got a whiplash, raising your knees in disbelief. Arthur was lying still even now, body still beaten and bruised, but as you put your fingers on his pulse, you could feel it.

There it was, the slight thud of a pulse buried deep between the layers of skin and flesh, keeping Arthur alive despite the turmoil that had rendered his body almost inert. Grabbing the sides of his face, you shook it slightly, hope now filling your mind even though he didn’t move a single muscle. 

God, he was alive, even though barely. The air got lodged in your throat as you felt puzzled, having been dead set on having to bury a corpse. 

“Arthur, can you hear me?” Not a single indication left him as you spoke, wiping the hair covering his eyes so you could get a better look at him. A slight fluttering of his eyelashes could be seen as your voice broke through the stillness of the mountain. The more you grabbed his body in disbelief, the more movements you saw from him: fingers twitching slightly, small intakes of breath, and brows furrowing in small motions. 

Raising on your feet, you sat down with his head in your lap, stroking his cheeks gently before you started tapping at them briskly, anything to wake him up. It didn’t work, so you started calling for him loudly, hoping it would reach him wherever he was. 

“God dammit, Arthur, wake up!” 

That did it. Unfocused eyes began to open up from underneath you, though Arthur found it difficult because of the swelling around the eyes. Seeing him so beaten up hurt you heavily, but you put all your energy into making him regain consciousness, forcing the turmoil far away from your mind. 

“Hey, look at me. Can you see me?” The slightest motion of a nod could be seen, and you thanked whoever above that he responded to you.

Although through blurry eyes, he could see a slight indication of you hovering above him, wondering if he somehow had ended up in heaven to be able to gaze at you one last time. But maybe it was hell after all, the torturing fire replaced with you, barely in reach where he couldn’t touch you, which was the worst kind of torture he could conjure up.

You could see his fingers flex slightly, in your mind trying to show signs that he heard you, but in his stretching so he could reach out to you to touch the softness of your skin with his sinful hands.

“I need your help, Arthur. I can’t carry you alone, so you need to try, okay?” To be quite honest with yourself, you had no idea what you were doing, never mind if it was even possible to get him to move to the state he was in. But you had to try, at least. You weren’t leaving him here to fend for himself in search of help, pondering if those few moments could lead to his death. It was the only way.

“I told you to leave.” Amidst his close-to-death confusion, Arthur had grown more conscious, managing to speak as his eyes closed again. He realized you weren’t conjured up; instead, you were as real as could be as you prodded at his exhausted limbs. 

You ignored his hurtful words, putting your arms under his head so you could assist in getting him to raise. He wasn’t light, that was for sure, but still, you tried until he was sitting up, although his head was hanging low and his back was arched forward in exhaustion.

“Come on, Arthur, I need you to help me.” Amidst your tries to keep him upright, you felt the all too familiar flood of tears threatening to flood from your eyes when the challenge felt impossible. You never felt so weak as you did right now, the possibility of helping him stay alive fading against the man's heaviness and your weary muscles. 

“Honey, go. You-” Arthur slurred out as he almost dropped. “You shouldn’t be here.” Yelling in frustration as he once again fell towards the muddy ground, you put your hand over your face as the dam of tears broke.

“I’m not leaving you here to die, Arthur!” Taking a deep breath, you bent down again to try once more. His eyes were barely open now, staring at you in pain. “Please, just try.”

A loud grunt left him as he raised again, hands gripping the soil underneath him, damning your stubbornness. Although weak, you managed to get him to stand, leaning most of his weight on you. It was hard, no doubt, to feel his body supporting your smaller one, but it worked, for now. The breaths leaving him were awful, and he gasped out loud as you stepped forward slowly. 

“This ain’t gonna work, honey,” Arthur mumbled, not a single hope left in his body to survive the long way to safety.

“Yes, it is.” You refused to listen to him, mind set straight on getting him to the horse. 

Far back in your mind, you remembered a place Arthur used to take you, always going on about a man he used to hunt with until your ears bled. He had told you of its location when the poor man had died, bringing you there once. That should be fine, you thought. Hopefully, it was empty. If not, you have another problem on your hands. 

The way back to the mare was challenging, with both of you falling countless times as the ground underneath you was uneven and riddled with stones. But your stubbornness wasn’t in vain because, after some time, you saw the familiar black coat of the horse appearing in front of you like an angel.

Not a single sound left him, eyes now almost closed as coughs left him then and again, both body and mind tired. He was taller than you, so he got on the horse much faster than you initially thought possible. Soon after, you swung your legs over the saddle in front of him, letting him lean his weight on you as you circled his arms around your waist so he wouldn’t fall off. 

“Stay awake, Arthur.” Glancing back when you didn’t get an answer, you only met a tuft of hair as his head fell on your shoulder. “Come on, I can’t do this without your help.” 

The road to the house you barely remembered was long, and you couldn’t ride too fast, worried about the grip on you that grew less by the minute. Thankfully, he had managed to stay awake the whole ride, but you felt his breathing grow more unstable and shallow. 

The weather on that mountain had been forgiving, like time and space had stopped moving in sorrow, the warm sun covering you in its blanket. Now, though, the howling wind surrounding you made your surroundings bitterly cold, arms held in front of you to see where you were going.

Many times, you tried to speak to make sure he was still with you, but your voice grew muted against the forceful wind, so you gave up, hoping his weight on you meant he held some sort of consciousness.

As time passed and darkness began to spread around you, a small house by a lake appeared behind many trees and foliage. It was different from what you remembered, but still, somehow the same, staring back at you like some sort of angel, the promise of comfort egging you forward.

Not a word was exchanged as you helped him down the horse, a solemn resignation making him follow your will without a complaint, or maybe he was too tired to complain; you weren’t sure.

Stumbling through the doorway, it felt just as cold as outside, shivers shooting through you. It felt strange just barging into a dead man's home, but you deemed your selfishness just, Arthur’s health at the forefront of your mind. Empty of life, it was, and it made you relax slightly, not having to worry about someone else taking refuge here.

Soon, you could rest your heavy arms; you thought as the bed in the right corner of the house appeared before you like a halo. With the door closing behind you with a slam, you waste no time pulling Arthur with you in clumsy steps, letting him lay down on the soft mattress with a huff, dust flying around you as the bed creaked audibly under his weight. 

Glancing at Arthur, his face was still contorted in pain as it had been since you found him. You carefully lifted his legs on the bed, removing the filthy, wet shoes from his feet and throwing them to the floor. Leaning over him, you touched his freezing cheek, finding him already passed out.

Hastily, you removed the wet clothes from his shivering body, laying them by the foot of the bed as you hurried to drape the sheets as well as some pelts you found over him to warm him up. Looking around, you tried to get your hands on some firewood to warm up the house, thankfully finding some not too long after your search. Your arms complained, though, from the weight already spent from the strenuous day–blisters on your fingers only worsen it. 

The room soon filled itself with an orange glow, bouncing in heavy shadow on the walls, and your whole body huddled close to the fire as you warmed your hands for a moment, not realizing amidst your frenzy that you, also, were almost freezing to death in the chilly night.

It only lasted for a moment, though, the reminder of Arthur making you rise on your tired feet, rummaging through the cupboards and various wardrobes to find some supplies. Luckily, it appeared that the veteran kept quite the supplies on him, which you thanked him for under your breath. Some bandages you were sure you could still use were pushed into your arms, a few tonics that could lessen the pain, and, best of all, coughing medicine. 

Walking back on the creaking floor, you dragged a side table closer to the bed and placed what you had found in your search, running outside quickly to get the water pouch hanging off the mare. 

It wasn’t easy tending to Arthur; the number of hits he had taken was noticeable. Some kicks to his ribs, it seemed, amidst the various other bruises that loitered his skin. Stopping in your tracks, you wondered who could have done this. You hadn’t thought about it until now; your worry for his safety has been on your mind this entire time.

Micha.

The sudden thought of him sullied your mood even further, making you realize that no Pinkerton would leave him at the brink of death like that. Undoubtedly, they would have finished him off or taken him with them, another way to get to Dutch, for sure. 

Cringing deeply at every purple bruise you dragged your finger over, hatred for the man laying his hand on Arthur grew. It was more fierce now than ever, the persistent name-calling and teasing he put him through when the disease started taking its toll not nearly as severe as this. You knew Micha was capable of this; deep down, you had known.

And where was everyone else, you wondered. Thinking logically, everyone had most likely run away the second things went downhill, but Dutch and Charles? Javier? Had they lost Arthur as they escaped from Beaver Hollow? And why did John not return with him if he had been alive?

The questions were running wild in your mind, but you had to put your questions aside for now; there was enough time later to wallow in contempt and confusion. Instead, you focused on cleaning the rest of Arthur’s bloodied face and bandaging the more gruesome gashes on his body. You knew getting him better wouldn’t be easy, but you weren’t ready to give up.

Sighing audibly, you put your head on your knees when you had done all you could and dragged the sheets over his shivering form. Gods, you were tired. It felt like your whole body had been running on spurts of adrenaline until now, and now that you got the chance to sit down, it rushed over you like a tidal wave. The whole ordeal, by any means, had felt like a fever dream.

No, more like a nightmare, you concluded. It was strange, and everything had happened hastily like the time had been fast-forwarded. Quite the difference from now, as the only thing audible was you and Arthur’s breathing and the slosh as the water hit the bridge just outside, time seeming to stand still in the tiny house by the lake.

It felt nice, though, you concluded as your eyes grew heavy. It was like the air around here cleared your sullied head slightly from all the months of stress and worry–gaining some distance even though it wasn’t by much. You could see why the man who had lived here chose to stay, finding the landscape calming yourself. 

Often, Arthur would tell you about the man. Hamish, you believed his name was. A veteran, he said as he stroked your hair, telling you about the days he spent with him, softly lulling you to sleep. You had always found their relationship endearing but were only met with a scoff from Arthur every time you voiced your thoughts about their camaraderie. The idea made you smile.

You turned your gaze toward him, gazing thoughtfully. The swelling on his face was severe but not yet rendering him unrecognizable. You admired him for a moment, the rugged masterpiece under the purple bruises that the harsh strokes of life had always weathered. Yet he had always seemed to have been carved with a pen so beautiful everything it created couldn’t be anything less. Every scar, like poetic verses, had always added to his allure.

In many moments, Arthur’s gaze had been a haven for you, a refuge where you could peer into his most profound thoughts when he kept himself away from you. It was a place where you could find solace amidst all the chaos, a silent dialogue–a gaze that showed what he never said. But now they were closed, and the thought left you sadder than anything.

–

You had tended to Arthur many times before, and even though the scrapes had been nasty, this was something entirely else. His disease only worsened the state of his injuries, taking you ten steps back every time you thought you could see a flicker of consciousness in the following days.

Yet, he remained motionless on the bed for days on forward, awful coughing episodes making him shoot straight up from the mattress. Succumbing to the relentless coughing, it echoed in the room with harsh, hacking sounds. Each one seems to wrack his body, the force evident in how his shoulders tense and his grip tightens on whatever’s within reach, the strain etched on Arthur’s face, lines deepening with each cough. 

Your hands reach his back to reassuringly rub the warm skin, feeling helpless. Unable to stand his pain any longer, you retrieve the cough medicine you put on the side table, the label on the glass bottle promising relief. 

Too out of it to register what you were doing, he only lays there as you pour the liquid down his throat, and as soon as his sore throat swallows the last drops, his eyes flicker close, body relaxing in resignation on the bed.

“You would hate me if you were awake right now.” A breathless laugh left you, hand stroking the hair away from his face as you pondered how long he would stay like this. It seemed that’s what filled your days and nights now, constant worry as you sat plastered by the side of the bed, holding his hand tight as you prayed for whoever would listen to give him back to you. 

Rarely did you take the time to open the various cans loitering the cabins, filled with canned food and other things that would fill your stomach well? Instead, you grew nauseous at the thought of it. You took the chance to spoon Arthur some soup, though, the small moments between sleep and wakefulness, hoping it was enough to give him some energy.

Some nights, when the pain was too much to bear, you would wound yourself around Arthur like a snake, being mindful of his injuries as you rested your head on his chest. You would listen to the slow thumping of his heart that had grown steady, slowly falling into a deep sleep, letting your heart rest, if even for a moment.

–

You were unsure how much time had passed in that house, endless days bleeding into each other. Most time was spent looking after Arthur, and when you weren’t, you were perched on the wooden steps of the house, gazing into the flickering water of the lake. Your bleak eyes always stared heedlessly at the scenery before you, and although beautiful, it did nothing to lighten the intricate knot growing in your chest.

Despite trying to keep your head straight, doubts always come to mind whenever you don’t have your hands full. What if you had been wrong all this time, and Arthur wouldn’t get better? The possibility was big, but you couldn’t imagine doing it any other way as you thought more of it. But all this chaos and energy you put into keeping the very soul of him alive, what if it wasn’t enough? What could you do that would be enough?

You walked down the porch steps with light steps, bending down on the bridge to wash your face, hoping it would ease your mind. While it didn’t, seeing your drained face and bleak eyes greying your features worsened it. You could only sigh as the sight of your exhaust reflected in the water.

“God.” You said, sitting back on your heels as you stared into the distance, horrified. No wonder you hadn’t taken the moment to care for yourself in the drastic days of apprehension, having been too wrapped up in the horrifying complications. With closed eyes, you rinsed your face, refusing to give yourself another lookover as you walked back towards the house.

The sight that you saw when entering through the door made your heart rise your throat. Blue eyes you adored so much were staring back at you, and although laden with fatigue, they were halfway open, gazing at you indescribably.

Quietness followed your surprise, and after a moment of contemplation, Arthur mumbled out under his breath. “Why'd you come back?” 

His question hung heavy in the air; the only answer you could provide him was a face of bewilderment, mouth dry like cotton. 

“I can’t-” As Arthur closed his eyes, a sluggish arm came to rest over his eyes. “-can’t save you now.”

You motioned to speak, but the words were lodged somewhere deep down where you couldn’t bring it up. Instead, you stepped closer to Arthur with small steps, like he wasn’t real. He couldn’t be; you hadn’t been given that hope for the longest time. But he was breathing before you now, moving. 

You were so quiet at this moment you even surprised yourself, but as you crawled your way beside Arthur and draped your arms around his neck as you had done so many times before, you found that the bridge holding your tears at bay had blocked the words so they couldn’t escape you. But the bridge overflowed, tears now running freely down your cheeks as the feeling of his arms finally circled your waist. 

He held you in that cranky, old bed for a long while, drowsy, sunken-in eyes closing in content regardless of his earlier concern, basking in the warmth your body provided his shivery one as his hands memorized you. The sunlight mirrored its way on your skin, the feeling now warm and tender, unlike the cold and empty touch it grazed with you before.

Arthur’s raspy voice pulled you closer in his embrace as he consoled you, tears wetting the skin on his neck as you gripped the strands of his hair tightly in your grasp.

“Hush, now.” He murmured out, voice so comforting it only increased your sobs.

"Breathe, sweetheart, breathe." Whimpering into his shoulder, you gasped for air between your snivels, breathing erratic that grew somewhat more stable as he ran his broad hand over the small of your back, hushing soothingly.

Things seemed to ease up from that day onward, and now that Arthur grew more conscious, you didn’t feel the draft of loneliness waft through you anymore. Still, he wasn’t up on his feet yet, heavily bedridden as the slightest movement could set off his coughing.

While his recovery gladened you something immensely, you could tell it put a heavy strain on his confidence; not used to being so weak and counterproductive. You could see how his eyes faltered when you tended to his wounds and how he avoided your gaze as you helped him eat, a deep confliction noticeable.

In these moments, he grew quieter than he usually was now. It was like he was waiting for something–something that was just out of his reach, putting a distance between you that wounded you deeply. You had to tell yourself many times to give him some time, to provide him with some peace of mind as he recovered from the trauma to both his body and soul.

So, you took the struggles daily, and as you stayed with him, you could see a glimmer of the Arthur you knew–the stubbornness, the humor, the fierce loyalty. But they are fleeting moments, overshadowed by the weight of his conviction that he is destined for a different path that doesn’t intertwine with the life you could offer.

“You know,” He told you one night, surprising you as you were plastered on the chair beside his bed, stroking the back of his hand while deep in thought. “I always felt at peace out here, like the air is different somehow.” He only got a hum as your eyes were locked on his fingers, intertwined with your smaller ones. 

“It’s something I always imagined for us.” He murmured, staring at the ceiling as he searched for the words to voice his thoughts rightly. “Well, when times grew hard, I thought about it quite a lot.” 

After some time, a small smile graced the corners of your lips, never having heard him be so open with you. You often voiced your wishes to run away together, towards something more fulfilling, something that would ultimately be safe. An ordinary life with Arthur was more than you could ever ask for, always opting to tell him about it late at night when he was too tired to react fully to your words.

It wasn’t possible; you both knew it, so it was only decided as wishful thinking. Also, Arthur always shot the idea down when you steered the conversation that way. He was too loyal to Dutch, finding your words unthinkable, constantly shaking them off as nonsense. Now, if it was because he felt that way or finding the thought hurting too much, you didn’t know. 

“I didn’t know you felt that way.” You spoke quietly, meeting his warm gaze as he stared at you, lifting your hand to his chest, where he placed it against his heart. 

“Mmh. Well, every time I passed here, I thought about you.” He smiled slightly at you, continuing as a rumbling chuckle left him mid-sentence. “Hamish asked about you quite a lot, found you fascinating, he said.”

“Me?” You raised your eyebrows, half-endearingly for the thought that Arthur talked about you and half-suprised that you made an impression on the man. “How come?”

“He wondered why a woman like you stayed with someone like me. Said you were doin’ charity work or somethin’ like that.” You rolled your eyes slightly in jest, bringing his hand to your lips as you placed a nimble kiss on the coarse fingers.

“Well, I happen to like doing charity work,” you mumbled against the skin, breath warming the cold tip of his fingers, finding Arthur gazing at you indescribably.

But some days, he let the words that he pondered about day in and day out be heard, and those moments were the hardest for you.

“I don’t understand you.” He would mumble as his head finally began to clear. You told him that John, Abigail, and Jack had likely gone to safety. It made his mouth’s corners chirp slightly, content they got on alright. But as matters turned to you, he suddenly became cold, eyes crinkling when his eyebrows screwed together.

“You get the chance to go and live your life to the fullest, yet you go back to try and save a man that already died a long time ago.” It appeared impossible for him to wrap his head around the thought, looking at you as if you were a scientific experiment. 

“You’re not dying.” 

“YES, I AM!” You gasped slightly as his voice grew loud suddenly, yelling out the words as his hand pointed at you, eyes wide open where he lay glued to the bed. 

“And all I want before I die is to see you safe, and you can’t even give me that!” 

He had never yelled at you like this if he had even yelled at you at all. Arthur had always tended to take the image of the rugged, unforgiving brute, but never had he been that way with you. It was always tender touches, calculating glances, and a sense of utter contentment when you were around–acting like you would break if he didn’t keep calm and collected.

It differed from now, the usually calm sea of his eyes now a stormy whirlpool, harshness lining the edges, and it was pointed towards you. You pulled your hands against your chest nervously, wishing to shrink into the ground to avoid his, to you, unjust fury.

“Stop.” Your voice grew quiet as the air in the room seemed to lessen, eyes shooting towards the ground. 

Groaning, Arthur raised his arms, gasping when he had to support his weight on it. Stepping forward to help him, you were only faced with his palm begging you to stay away. 

“Of course, I couldn’t leave you,” you reply gently. “Besides, I had to know what happened to you.” 

“Stubborn woman, didn’t I tell you to go? It ain’t safe anymore.” You backed away, not wanting to listen.

“Now I don’t know where the hell Dutch is, where Micha is, which means this is far from over. That’s why I’m sayin’ you shouldn’t stay!” He tried to reason with you, make you realize that your part in this was over.

He felt conflicted. Whenever he thought of you, he struggled between being selfish and thinking of what was best for you and what he needed to do to keep you alive through all of this. On one side, he longed for every part of you to remain with him, but on the other side, he couldn’t stand you being hurt on his behalf more than you had already been. 

He knew he crushed you in the process, it was undeniable, the cries that left you when placed behind Sadie before telling enough–but it had to be done, despite how much he despised himself for putting you through this. You were always so calm and level-headed that he couldn’t be anything more than heartbroken when you called after him that day, the distress so unlike you.

Arthur didn’t like it, which fueled him to push you away even further when he realized you didn’t see reason, deciding that the only plan left was to show you what kind of man he was, or rather, what kind of a man he was to everyone else. 

“This isn’t you talking, Arthur.” 

“What do you mean it ain’t me talkin’?” His face grew red with strain as he spoke, alerting you as you bent down to meet his gaze, placing your hands on either side of his cheek. He scrunched his eyes together, heart pleading to give into you as your ever–so-gentle hands closed around him.

“You're sick, Arthur, and you’ve been beaten to a pulp. Now, I don’t know what transpired on that mountain, and I’m not sure finding out would do me any good, but I thought-'' Stopping in your tracks, you closed your eyes. “I thought you had died, Arthur. I, I cried for you, thinking I would never see you alive again.” 

“I ain’t less than a ghost now, darlin’; you should have left when you had the chance.” He stared tiredly into your eyes and then turned away from you. “You have to accept that. It’d gone much easier if you left me on that mountain.” His heart beat as he voiced the reality of his thoughts, knowing it would hurt you, but the statement was also true.

Silence followed for a long time after that, the turmoil inside you breaking, seeping like blood from the cracks of your heart as you were left staring at the side of his face. 

“I’ve loved you for a long time, Arthur, but it has never felt like I’ve known you entirely.” While he gazed at you, the fury still raced deep in the blue orbs, coloring them darker with pain. 

“You have a barricade around your heart that I can never breach. And I tried; believe me, I did. For the longest time, I tried to be there for you, be something for you to come home to, to ease your mind that always was off somewhere else, somewhere I could never follow!” Your tone that started quietly grew loud as you spoke, heart racing inside your chest as the words fell like liquid out of your mouth.

“I can’t-” Your voice hitched, angry tears falling unwillingly from your eyes. “I can’t help you if you don’t let me in!”

“I don’t need your help!” You could see Arthur close off from you even more, pushing you away as the harshness of his voice cut you like a razor. “I never had!” His voice broke as he yelled, panting as he sat on the bed, hunching forward as frustration rose.

“Arthur!” You felt anger grow in your chest, finding him unbelievable as you swatted at his chest lightly, standing up to put some distance between you, seeing him trailing after you. “I’m done with you telling me to go when all I live for is you!” Fiery and consuming anger flared within you, setting your cheeks ablaze as you spun around to face him.

“Well, I’m over you being so stubborn all the time! Never listen to me when I only want to see you off safe, caring for me like it’s a glimpse of hope that I’ll survive!” A scoff of disbelief left you, staring at him as you almost laughed in shock.

“Me!? Stubborn!?” Your palm found your forehead, voice laced with anger-filled frustration. “That is very rich coming from Mister. I never listen to anyone other than myself!” You paused before you yelled. “Ever!”

“Because I know what’s best, alright!? And I know that you should be far, far away from me!” A fire started to show in his voice, but it also crept into your bones, warmth spreading on your cheeks. 

“Oh, and what?! Find some boring, middle-aged asshole who’ll tie me to the kitchen and make me have tea-party with some lifeless, dreary, pompous, old ladies?!” Your breathing was hectic as the words spilled out in a heated rush.

“Yes, that’s what I want, ‘cause that would mean you would be safe!” He stalked closer, cornering you at the door.

“I’d rather die, Arthur,” you said. “I’d rather die with you than face the long, bleak years of this world alone! You backed away, feeling suffocated when he didn’t give you any space to breathe.

“The only place I feel safe is with you, Arthur!” Your voice broke slightly, gripping his shirt to shake some sense into him. “It’s with you I’ve always felt at home!” Gripping his stubbled cheeks in your palms tightly, you pleaded with him as he gazed into your eyes. “I’m not leaving you; get that through your thick, dumb skull!”

“Stop being so goddamn unselfish and think about yourself for once!” He met your gaze, dark as he stared at you from underneath his brows. “Get out the hell out, leave!” 

You only stared at him, cold shivers like freezing water wrecking through you, backing towards the door as his shadow grew more prominent, stepping unbalanced on his feet towards you. Grabbing your shoulders in his broad hands, he stepped so close that all you could see were his eyes blaring into yours.

“Come on!” He yelled, shaking your body as if to shake some sense into your stubborn mind. “GO!”

Choking on your tears in distress, you were left gasping for air as you tried to breathe, feeling his body falter above yours. The coughs that now raked through him made you sink on the floor with him, and as the blood splattered on your dress, covering your chest in a deep red that contrasted the ivory fabric, you sat on the dirty floor, a man devoid of the will to live anymore laying in your trembling arms. 

After that, you only felt his lips that sought yours, entangling your limbs together like snakes in a snake pit–not a gentle surrender but a clash of hunger, a collision of lips borne from ages of holding back the reality.

Bloodied lips against bloodied lips met in a fierce urgency after taking a quick breath, fueled by the unspoken desires and the acknowledgment that, despite your disagreements, the love you kept for one another was deeply engrained in both of you, hearts unable to stand the hate you felt.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, gripping as if seeking reassurance as the world blurred. Anger melted into a raw vulnerability, frustration giving way to the unspoken plea, and the desperation grew more considerable than it ever had–and as you both pulled away, breaths heavy and gazed locked, the air crackled around you as he instead hoisted you up in his arms so you could fall into each other’s embrace yet again.

Your tears now rubbed their way down Arthur’s cheeks, your breath hitching as sobs still found their way through you. His broad hands pulled you tighter against him, the inner fight that took place in his mind showing as he wanted to push you away, only to draw you closer to his dying limbs.

“You know I ain’t a good man, honey. That ain’t going to change, ever.” His gaze was gravely and serious as he stared into your eyes, an uncanny vulnerability etching them deep down. “This life lives within me; I can’t escape it. I can’t escape the sins that I carry. I’ve done horrible things, things you couldn’t even dream of.” Sighing, he closed his eyes. “You know that.”

Your eyes softened as you saw the wrinkles in his face release, finally hearing something real coming from him. “You’re not your sins, Arthur. And even if you were, I’d carry them with you, lighten the burden.” Stroking his cheek with the tips of your fingers, he opened his forever lonely eyes, now staring into yours.

“God, I tried, honey. I tried to get you to leave, talkin’ to you in ways I’ve promised myself I never would–everything to get you to leave.” He pushed your head against his shoulder, resting his head on yours in defeat. “It was harder than I thought, see you cryin’ like that.” Sighing heavily, he continued. “But somehow, you always stay.”

“I’m not leaving.” You mumbled against his skin.

“There’s no mistaking that.” He chuckled, stroking your back. “Everything I do is to keep you safe; you’re so stubborn not to realize that.”

“I’m safe when I’m with you, Arthur.” He didn’t answer you for a while, holding you comfortingly. He felt the strings that held his will up loosen, giving up on trying to push you away, the sight of you sobbing tugging at his heart.

“I feel like all I do is make you cry lately.” Staring at your smaller arms that hugged him, the doubt that he still wasn’t good enough for you clouding his mind. 

“You make me cry when you push me away,” you admitted, your voice steadier now. “It hurts, Arthur.” He sighed, fingers still entangled in your hair, twisting your hair strands with his fingers.

“I know, honey,” he murmured, a concession to the unspoken ache.

“Then stop.” He lifted your head to make you look at him through wet eyes.

“Stop hurting me; I can’t handle it anymore.” He felt like you had shot him right in his chest as you begged him, staring through vulnerable eyes he rarely saw. He had done countless horrible acts in his life, but this was indeed to be pivoted as the worst, never having felt the pang of agony quite so brutal.

He couldn’t tell how long he would live now, down to his last breaths, but he didn’t have the power to keep you away from him any longer, not when you were so adamant about staying. Had you been angrier at him, he was sure you would take your things and leave him, but there was a part of you he so adoringly loved, a part that always seemed to care too much, love too hard. 

Somehow, he praised whoever made you that way because were you not, he would no longer have the light of his life in his arms, even if his time was running out. No longer would he be able to feel the graceful touch of your fingers on his skin and the sparkling in your eyes as you stared up at him in mischief, making him feel more alive than he had ever felt in his miserable life.

Hugging you closer to him, he captured your soft lips in his, feeling the ache only increase as he basked in the way you sighed, relieved. You felt the promise of not pushing you away anymore lingering in the corner of his mouth, dragging you closer to him as hope finally seemed in reach.

–

“And as the last light of day shone through the window, he realized how it felt like to hold the world in the palm of his hands, for her eyes were the window to everything he wishes for, and more.” Glancing mischievously into Arthur’s eyes through the pages, you conclude. “The end.”

Pushing the book’s pages close with a loud bang that echoed through the sunlit room dramatically, you presented him with a toothy smile.

“I never took our dear friend for being such a romantic, Arthur.” Raising from the bed, you spun around to face the man who seemed reluctant to let you go, bending down to stare into his eyes cheekily. “Are you sure you went hunting together? With all these books, maybe you spent your time cooped up here reading romance?” A giggle left you as you walked towards the stove, checking on the stew bubbling deliciously, the smell making your mouth water as it passed your nose when you opened the lid. 

Behind you, you could almost hear how Arthur’s eyes rolled back into his head, arms still outstretched towards you. “Sure,” he drawled, staring at you warmly as you teased him. “Our favorite pastime. How did you know?”

His sarcastic tone reached you as the warmth of the cooking burned your tongue slightly when you tried to get a taste, hissing as you dropped the spoon back into the pot. 

“You can’t fool me, Arthur; I know you’re a true romantic.” Pushing your finger against the sore part of your tongue, you turn to face him, resting against the counter. 

“It’s something I always imagined for us.” You mocked slightly, puffing out your chest as your voice grew into his familiar southern drawl, imitating your earlier talk with him some time ago.

Scoffing at you, he suddenly rose from the bed, the book falling from the floor as he stepped towards you. Perking up at his motion, you found yourself stuck as his arms encased around you, the warm scent of him mingling with the food as he stepped closer. 

Cowering slightly under his gaze, you giggled nervously as you leaned back. “Have you ever heard of personal space?” He didn’t answer you as you jested with him, palms finding each side of your face as his eyes observed you tenderly. 

God, he loved you like this. Ever since your fight, every obstacle that hindered you from growing closer to each other was breached. Every time you laughed, it filled his heart with warmth, finding the life he once fell in love with reaching you again as you settled; the hardest of times now passed.

He couldn’t help it as he pressed against you, sighing deeply as your lips found his in a loving caress, smoothing over one another as the sound of your slight humming broke through the silence. 

It felt like a blessing to have Arthur close again. Some time ago, you feared you had utterly lost him as he remained a shell of who he once was, shielding himself from you and everyone else. Although at ease now, the heavy shadow of his disease still lingered over you like a cloud, most times reminding you of the sad realization that all was not well.

Despite this, you could see how much better he was faring, now both up on his feet and with a sane mind–much more like the man you fell for. At times, the anxiety still clawed its way into your mind, wondering if all of this was too good too last. Although, since both you and Arthur realized that relying your thoughts and fears on one another was fatal if this was going to work, he always kissed your worries away, driving the somber mood gone with his hands.

“Where did you go?” The words rumbled quietly against your lips as your eyes lifted to gaze into his wondering ones, feeling him push your hair behind your ear. You gave him a small smile, playing with the buttons on his shirt.

“Secret.” You whispered when you felt him lean closer again, the tension growing in sparks around you. 

“Oh, I see. We keepin’ secrets now?” Raising his brows in fake mock, you felt his hands circle your waist so he could lift you around his torso. An innocent smile covered your lips as he hoisted you up, slightly pinching your waist so you let out a breathless laugh.

Stalking back towards the bed, you realized his only plan had been to bring you back all this time, giving Arthur a knowing look. “I am allowed to have some secrets, you know.”

“Are you now?” He smirked at you, kissing your nose before laying you on the soft bed, hovering above you. “I think I know a few ways to get you to speak.” Crawling up your thigh was a hand filled with sinful intent.

“Well, I won’t tell, you brute!!” You laughed as you squirmed against him, wishing his hand away as they traveled further.

“Oh, I’ll show you, brute, darlin´.”

All the wounds and hurt weren’t healed by any means, but as time passed, it started to mend the damage it created. The crumbs that once were so few grew larger and larger, now swapped out with a special love that you were sure was destined just for you and the man who always had it in the palm of his hands–only the need to accept himself in order to let it reach you. 

And while this story certainly isn’t over, the worry about Arthur’s health and the glimmer in his eyes he still kept for the life he had lived and would never escape still existed. You could tell he was aware you saw it, noticing him staring longingly into the wild, fingers flexing with anticipation.

But those were thoughts for darker days. For now, as you lay with Arthur’s arms wound around you and the sparkling of the fire cracking into the silence, you would bask in it for as long as you could. With the soup long forgotten—you realized you would follow him to the ends of the earth if he asked you, even if it meant your death.

nghhhdbsnfbdk

I’ve been so down bad for Sevika and I saw this thing about a pirate AU and I had to draw it

Scissor me timbers indeed

!!!!!!

this is not my typical post so if you don’t wanna hear complaints just scroll please. these are just my initial thoughts of tlou s2 ep2.

tlou hbo is a fucking mess. neil and craig have lost the fucking plot.

the mischaracterization of abby is insane.

-abby going on a fucking rehearsed monologue is so out of character. abby is a woman of few words. holy fucking exposition dump. what happened to show not tell?

-having abby call joel handsome AGAIN, to his face this time. what does that fucking have to do with anything? she would not be saying that about the man who killed her father and dozens of other people she cared about.

-making show abby seem like more of a smug, sadistic villain when in the game we see her being conflicted during the act, realizing hurting joel isn’t satisfying her like she thought it would.

-saying abby’s body doesn’t matter in the show and then making the actress who’s half the size of abby be even stronger than abby is in the game? beating joel to death with her bare hands and breaking golf clubs in half. there’s zero reason they couldn’t give us buff female representation if they were gonna make her do that in the show. it’s actually ridiclous.

-telling mel if she doesn’t knock dina out she’ll “smash her in the fucking head” is not something abby would have said, she’s not mean just for the sake of it. her focus was on joel, not tommy or ellie being there whatsoever. she didn’t give a fuck about them and never ordered her friends to do anything. they handled it in the background themselves.

-no ellie and dina weed den scene???

-no abby waking up and taking a walk with owen scene, are mel and owen even together in the show? is she even pregnant? who fucking knows

-manny kicking ellie??

-oh and then a horde basically destroyed jackson. yay!

i’m on the floor

cute little painfully nerdy 2000s ellie williams x popular bimbo fem reader part 3

since yall hornballs wanted smut so badly 🙄

cw : smut, public sex in class, degradation, ellie’s horny fantasies, wet dreams, plot twist kinda

the bell rings. you don’t rush to your seat—you never do. you glide in late like always, cherry gum in your mouth, tight hot pink juicy couture velour zip up barley zipped up with your black lacy VS push up bra peeking through. a boy stares. you don’t care. you’re too busy reapplying your gloss with your middle finger.

ellie sees you before you see her, she recognizes your heavy, dreamy scent of the love spell body spray from 5 miles away.

she’s already at her desk, hood up, legs bouncing under the table like she’s got an energy drink in her bloodstream. which, honestly? she probably does. her fingers are smudged with pencil and her notebooks half open, little doodles of swords and boobs peeking through the lined paper. she’s not ready. for anything.

mr. brooks clears his throat.

“alright, students. group projects. DNA replication and genetic variation. pages 94 through 99. picked your partners for you.”

groans ripple across the room. you roll your eyes, zoning out as he goes on to list random pairs of students in the class… “david and rebecca, ashley and karen, adrian and braxton, becky and jared-“ then suddenly.

“y/n and… ellie.”

you look up from your manicured hands in your lap instantly, silence. you make a disgusted look. brows furrowed, lips pouted.

but ellie? she jerks in her seat like someone pulled a string in her back. her eyes snap up and lock on you, wide behind her crooked-ass glasses. her whole face goes red—forehead, ears, even her damn neck. she freezes. then immediately starts fumbling with her the spirals on her notebook, like she thinks if she looks busy enough, maybe you’ll ignore her.

you don’t.

you sigh heavily as you take your time walking over, swinging your hips just enough to make two boys whisper. you drop your bag next to her desk. she looks at it like it’s a bomb.

you sit down.

“so,” you say, voice flat, bored, already annoyed. “you gonna write the whole thing or just f*ck yourself to it?”

she chokes. like physically chokes, hand flying to her chest, eyes bugging out. she tries to answer, fails, tries again, and somehow makes it worse.

“i—i don’t—i wasn’t—f*ck mysel-?—no—what—”

you stare. blow a bubble. let it pop, then giggle in her face.

her face is ruined. her mouth opens and closes like a fish. she looks like she wants to die. and then crawl under the desk. and then die again.

you lean in, just a little, enough for your perfume to hit her nose.

“i still remember that sketchbook from last week by the way.”

ellie flinches.

“i wasn’t—you know.. it’s for anatomy,” she blurts, which makes no sense, and she knows it. “not like, your—i didn’t mean your anatomy, just—like—the concept of anatomy, which, like, technically—f*ck—”

you tilt your head.

ellie covers her face with her hands and groans, long and low, like she’s in pain.

“do you touch yourself to those with your hoodie on, or do you take it off to set the mood?”

“please,” she whispers. “please shut up.”

you giggle again, soft and wicked.

adrian—your adrian—is three rows in front of y’all, hearing the whole thing. you haven’t even acknowledged him since class started either.

ellie peeks through her fingers. she’s twitchy. sweaty. miserable. and when you pull your chair closer, she damn near leaps out of her skin.

“we’re gonna get an A,” you hum, dragging her open textbook toward you. “you’re gonna do all the work. and you’re gonna keep your nasty little sketchbook zipped up tight.”

she nods. small. frail.

“say ‘yes, ma’am.’”

“…yes, ma’am.”

you smile. pop another bubble.

this is gonna be fun.

ellie keeps her eyes locked on the textbook. she hasn’t spoken in five minutes. not since the “yes, ma’am.” her handwriting’s shaking. her cheeks are red. her hoodie sleeves are halfway over her fingers again, clenched tight like she’s praying.

you lean back in your seat, legs spread just a little wider, flipping your hair over your shoulder. her eyes flicker for a second—just a second—to the inside of your thigh under the desk.

you catch it.

“are you even paying attention?” you ask, fake sweet. “or are you too busy trying not to cum in your boxers?”

her pencil snaps in half.

“i’m—i’m paying attention,” she mumbles, head down, the tips of her ears red like she’s been slapped. “mitosis. cell cycle. S-phase. DNA replication. i—i know it.”

you hum. press your knee against hers under the desk. she jerks back like she’s been shocked. you look down at her shaky hand on the table. long, twitchy fingers. drum and guitar callused.

slowly, you reach out. grab her wrist. guide it down.

“wh—what are you—” she tries to pull away, but she’s weak. pathetic. you’re stronger. meaner. so much prettier. you press her hand against your bare thigh, just above the hem of your skirt. warm skin. smooth. soft.

she stops breathing.

“f*ck,” she whispers, wide-eyed, voice cracking. “you—you can’t—i’ll f*cking—”

you don’t let go.

“don’t be a p*ssy,” you murmur, eyes half-lidded. “it’s just a little skin, right? nothing you haven’t seen in your nasty little sketches.”

her fingers twitch.

you push her hand higher. just a little.

the edge of your thong peeks out. she squeezes her eyes shut, like she can block it out. but her fingers stay.

shaking. burning. gripping your thigh like it’s keeping her alive. ellie whimpers.

you smile, slow and wicked and keep her hand right where it is. she doesn’t move at first.

your fingers are still around her wrist, soft but firm, like a leash she doesn’t want to escape. her palm is pressed flat to your thigh, skin burning hot, nails barely grazing you. you’re looking ahead like nothing’s happening. like you’re so fucking bored. like her hand being between your legs is just part of your routine.

ellie’s brain? completely fried. ‘f*ck. f*ck. f*ck’ she thought.

she doesn’t know where to look. her eyes are flicking between the worksheet and your lip gloss and your thigh and the window and the corner of the floor like any of it will help her not lose it.

her face is flushed. her mouth’s dry. her hoodie’s too hot and her fingers are twitching because all she can think about is—

‘she’s soft. she’s so soft. i can’t—f*ck—i can’t.’

you’re right next to her. in the flesh. warm. sighing softly. looking down, pencil in hand while pretending to read the textbook like her hand isn’t right there.

and now?

her fingers start to move.

slow. slight. like she doesn’t even realize at first. like muscle memory. like her horniness has taken over completely.

she slides the tips up, just a little.

then down.

tiny little strokes. featherlight. testing you. seeing what she can get away with.

you shift in your seat.

press your legs together.

you don’t look at her. but you don’t stop her either.

so she keeps going.

and her heart is slamming in her chest.

she’s so wet in her boxers, her clit becoming a rapid beating second heartbeat to the point it’s actually painful. ellie thinks she might cum just from this.

her fingers dip slightly beneath the curve of your thigh. under the edge of your thong. just barely.

her breath stutters.

you’re wet. not soaked. not dripping. just warm and soft and slightly damp and f*ckf*ck—

she bites the inside of her cheek to keep from groaning. her forehead hits the desk. just for a second. to ground herself.

you look at her finally. say nothing. just smirk. and she knows you know exactly what you’re doing.

she doesn’t say a word. she just keeps stroking.

slow, pathetic, desperate.

and no one can see a thing.

yet, her fingers go still when she feels it. the way your c*nt clenches as she pushes past the edge of your soaked thong.

how easy it is to slip in.

how tight you are. how f*cking warm you are.

like you’ve been waiting.

ellie lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding—shaky, low—and stares at your face like it’s the only thing that matters.

you’re still looking at your notes. like this is nothing.

like her fingers aren’t buried inside you right now, moving slow, dragging against that soft spot she’s imagined so many times her body could do it with her eyes closed.

and it kinda is.

her fingers start working in that perfect rhythm she’s practiced—on herself, in the dark, in the shower, during her breakdowns after seeing you in a mini skirt.

she curls them just right.

presses deep.

slides out slick and slow, then back in, faster.

you twitch.

your thighs shift.

but you don’t look at her.

and that’s what makes her lose it.

“f*ck,” she whispers. her head is down, lips barely moving. “you’re gonna make me cum in my f*ckin’ boxers, sh*t.”

you don’t flinch. you just turn the page in the textbook, lip caught between your teeth.

ellie’s eyes flicker to your mouth.

her fingers thrust deeper. faster. the sound is obscene but muffled by the low hum of the class, the hum of the lights, the buzz of old ac.

“this p*ssy’s so f*ckin’ warm,” she whispers, voice cracked. “you’re gonna—geez—you’re gonna ruin me.”

you pulse around her. her legs shake.

she’s gritting her teeth. trying not to grunt. trying not to moan.

“can’t believe i get to finger you in bio,” she breathes, nose brushing your shoulder. “you’re so mean to me—so f*ckin’ mean—and you’re so wet. you like this? letting the loser do this to you?”

your pencil scratches across the paper like nothing’s happening.

you’re breathing harder now. lips parted. eyes still down.

but your hips start moving—tiny little rocks forward against her fingers—and that’s when ellie knows you’re close.

she curves them deep, presses her palm against your clit, and starts pumping harder.

you clamp your thighs.

grip the edge of your worksheet.

swallow a whimper.

“good f*ckin’ girl,” she mutters, barely audible. “take it. just take it. i’ll make you cum so hard you won’t walk to 5th period.”

and you?

you turn your head just slightly.

lips brush her ear.

“then do it, perv.”

ellie’s gone. she’s imagined this so many times. in her sketchbook. in the shower. in her f*cking dreams.

you sitting on her lap, whispering in her ear, your lip gloss smearing on her neck, your tits bouncing while you ride her neon green strap—

you calling her a freak while grinding on her face—

you licking her fingers while sitting on her bed like a brat—

suddenly, she jerks awake with a sharp inhale, eyes wide, hoodie tangled around her arms, face flushed, sheets kicked off the bed.

her room’s still dark, lit only by the faint glow of her lava lamp and the blinking red light of her PS3. her sketchbook’s open next to her—flipped to a half-finished drawing of you sitting on her lap with your thong around one ankle.

her hand’s still in her boxers.

and yeah… they’re soaked.

disgusting. tragic. predictable.

ellie groans. drags her forearm over her face like it’ll wipe the sin away. mutters to herself.

“f*ck”

her voice cracks. she rolls onto her back, staring at the popcorn textured ceiling. her stomach flips. her hips twitch.

and suddenly she’s grinding her hand into her boxers again—again—because the image won’t leave her brain.

your face when you bit your lip.

your whisper in her ear.

your p*ssy squeezing her fingers like it needed her.

it’s too bad this is one of them. just another one of her pathetic dreams.

taglist : @deliciouslydeviantsatan, @valeisaslut, @dollinrehab, @l0veylace, @velvetinkbym, @liztreez, @elliesgffrfr, @sleepingwasp, @brooks-lin, @lovelessswan, @cherrylipsmakerss, @shookkatofthat, @mars4hellokitty, @jaydonisnothere, @ellieslittleslutt, @pussyeatercunt, @livvietalks, @angelsglitch, @robiceps, @lesb4ellie, @sparkle-jump-rope-queen, @sweet-anonyme, @mylettterstoyou, @pinkpigtailedjoy, @pink7princess, @nahcala, @mascspleasegetmepregnant, @sincerlykelsss

lmk if uu wanna be added. :)

oh my god this is so perfectly comforting but slightly unsettling ughhhfjjrrj i love my women a little off putting :3

𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙽𝚂 ⚝ 𝚆𝙸𝙵𝙴!𝚂𝙴𝚅𝙸𝙺𝙰 𝚇 𝙵𝙴𝙼!𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙴𝚁

warnings: some of these are a bit unsettling and darker than arcane’s usual tone. if that’s not your thing, scroll. no need to tell me sevika is a pookie wookie she wouldn’t hurt a fly—i promise i do not care.

⚝| sevika has an uncanny patience when dressing you. sliding silk over your shoulders, fastening buttons, smoothing down fabric. but when she undresses you, it’s different. she never rips, never rushes, but the way she peels each layer off feels clinical, like she’s dissecting something precious.

⚝| sevika never corrects you when you’re wrong. but when someone else does, she just looks at them, quiet and unreadable, until they shift uncomfortably and drop the subject. later, in private, she murmurs the right answer against your skin like a prayer.

⚝| she never raises her voice at you, ever. but her silence cuts deeper than any shouted argument. when she’s upset, she just watches you, eyes heavy lidded and still, until your nerves unravel and you start apologizing before you even know what for.

⚝| sevika has a ritualistic way of loving you…every night, she brushes your hair in long, slow strokes, unraveling every tangle with near-reverence. it’s soothing, but you don’t realize it’s a form of control until you miss a night and she grips your wrist, jaw tightening, voice low “sit down. i’m not asking.”

⚝| sevika feeds you with her fingers, not utensils. no matter how messy, no matter how impractical. she never lets you take the food from her hands, only lets you open your mouth and accept. sometimes she waits too long, lets the food linger between her fingers, watching your lips part in hesitation before she finally presses it to your tongue.

⚝| sevika doesn’t like locked doors, not yours, not hers. you don’t even have a lock on your bedroom anymore; she removed it one day while you were out. didn’t say anything about it, didn’t acknowledge it. but when you ask, she just raises a brow. “what do you need a lock for?” and there’s something in her voice that makes you feel ridiculous for asking.

⚝| sevika keeps your old nightgowns, the ones that have worn too thin, the ones that smell too much like you. she never tells you why. you only find them later, folded neatly in the back of a drawer you don’t open often, tucked away like something sacred.

⚝| sevika is obsessed with your warmth.. but only when you’re sleeping. when you’re awake, she touches you gently, reverently. but when you sleep, when you can’t see her, she holds you differently. arms locked, face buried against your skin, inhaling deeply like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she lets go. some nights, you wake up gasping, feeling like you were being suffocated, but she’s just there, still, unmoving, barely breathing.

⚝| sevika remembers everything you say in passing. weeks later, she hands you something you forgot you even mentioned wanting. she repeats things back to you, word for word, like a recording. sometimes, she tells you things you don’t remember saying at all. and she never lies. you know she never lies. so you believe her.

⚝| sevika has a way of making you feel small without making you feel weak. it’s in the way she stands close, in the way she speaks low, in the way her hands find your waist so easily. she makes you feel delicate, precious, something to be handled carefully. and you like it. you like it so much it scares you.

⚝| sevika hates hearing you apologize. it doesn’t matter what it’s for. every time the word slips past your lips, her jaw tightens, her fingers flex like she’s holding herself back from something. “don’t,” she says, firm, steady. but the next time, you still say it. and the next time, she doesn’t say anything at all, just looks at you for a long, long time before shaking her head.

⚝| sevika kisses you like she’s taking something. it’s never harsh, never forceful. just deep, lingering, like she’s breathing you in, keeping something for herself. and when she pulls away, you always feel a little.. lighter. like something small has been plucked from you, but you can’t tell what.

⚝| sevika doesn’t like when you smell different. if you use a new soap, a new perfume, she notices immediately. her fingers trail over your pulse, slow, deliberate. “this isn’t yours,” she murmurs, barely above a whisper. there’s no accusation in her voice, but something about it makes you feel guilty.

⚝| sevika picks out all your clothes.. not just your nightgowns, but everything. you never really noticed when it started. now, when you try to choose something yourself, you hesitate. your hands hover over the fabric, uncertain, like you’re waiting for her approval even when she isn’t there.

⚝| sevika wears glasses when she reads.. a rare sight, one you can never resist. the moment they rest on the bridge of her nose, you’re on her lap, draping yourself over her like a silken shawl. you press kisses along her cheekbone, her jaw, whispering saccharine nothings against her skin, drunk on the contrast of her sharpness and your softness. she exhales like she’s indulging you, like she’s letting you win.. but she never takes the glasses off. she keeps reading, one hand turning the page, the other resting heavy on your thigh.

i’m so glad people seemed to really like my loser!ellie x popular!reader post!!! i may have to write a part 2 mwehehehehe >:3

mmgghnfnfndn

butch ! ellie ♡

after all your complaining about not dating, you finally psyched yourself up to go out to a bar. you’d spent so much time on your appearance, aiming to be approachable rather than having to make the first move— and yeah, you knew you looked good tonight.

even if, by some impossible chance, you didn’t, the look on the auburn-haired butch’s face affirmed it. her bottom lip was caught between her teeth, eyes locked on you like you were her next meal. you figured she'd approach you. but no. instead, she sank further into her seat, thighs spreading even wider.

was it hot in the bar already, or was that you? you made your way over to the counter, hoping to catch some kind of breeze on your flushed cheeks. even then you could feel her eyes trailing after you, burning into your back like she was trying to brand you.

you stole a subtle glance over your shoulder, and sure enough, her head was tilted to the side, eyes unapologetically glued to your ass before they slowly, deliberately dragged their way up to meet yours. the sheer audacity and confidence of this woman had your knees dangerously close to buckling.

you ordered a drink — just an accessory, really — and settled onto one of the barstools like you had all the time in the world. the girl hadn’t moved either, one arm still draped over the back of her chair while her other lazily lifted the neck of her beer bottle to her lips.

you were both playing the same game: look, but don’t chase. her knee bounced once, her fingers drummed on the glass, but otherwise, she was still. then, with a casual flick of her wrist, she used her free hand to roll up the sleeve of her orange-brown flannel, revealing a sexy tattoo.

fuck.

your eyes were glued, trailing over every detail. you took in the delicate ferns wrapped around her forearm and the hint of a moth peeking out from the angle she held it. she knew she had you by the way she smirked. she set her beer down and reached for a lime. you caught yourself leaning forward, pulled in by sheer interest and curiosity about this woman.

she rubbed the fresh lime across her tattoo in a deliberate line, dampening the skin before sprinkling a dusting of kosher salt over it. she nodded at her arm and lifted her beer right after, winking at you. she was enabling you— and god, it was fucking working.

it felt like an out-of-body experience, because before you knew it, she had you on her lap. “gonna do it f'me, doll?” she murmured, just loud enough to be heard over the thrum of the bar’s music, her salt-covered forearm lifted like an offering. you nodded, practically mindless as you’re leaning forward, tongue out.

you dragged your tongue across her warm flesh, tasting the sharp bite of lime and salt, then lifted your head just in time for her to tip her beer toward your mouth. “atta girl,” she muttered, smirking as you gulped down the cool, bitter drink.

you licked the last trace of salt from your lips, breath a little uneven, the taste of her skin and beer still lingering on your tongue. her hand came to rest casually on your waist, fingers splayed like she was claiming you without trying.

“ellie,” she finally said, voice low and unmistakably smug. “figured i should’ve introduced myself.”

you huffed a quiet laugh, your body slowly settling as the buzzing in your head began to simmer down. “nice to meet you, ellie,” you replied, voice softer than hers. “do you always start introductions like that?”

she grinned, titling her head back with lazy confidence. “can’t say too often. only when the time’s right.” she winked again, just as effortlessly cocky as before.

you feel that familiar throb pulsing through your body and settling in your clit, a slow, steady ache blooming in your core. the way she talked— casual and cocky— and the way she touched you with such confidence, like she already knew what you liked, had your head spinning.

she shifted slightly beneath you, letting her thigh press firmly between yours, and it took everything in you not to crumble. her smirk deepened, her hands sliding up your back. “you wanna get outta here, baby?”

you nodded way too quickly, but you couldn’t find it in you to care at all. “yes. yes. yes.”

she chuckled at your eagerness and pats your back, signaling for you to stand. and as she led you out of the bar, all you could think was how this was gonna please you beyond words.

crying and throwing up /pos

first kiss with abby ୨ৎ

summary: after the romantic tension between you and abby reaches a peak, you two finally share a sweet kiss.

content: answer to this req and part two to this!! fluffyfluffyfluffy! ehehehehehe. i love fluff i love writing fluff. nothing nsfw. just lowk domesticity with abby and then super cutesy pie origami stuff and then a kiss 💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋 ok toodles enjoy

notes: three weeks of no post i’m sorry my children. i am back!!! classes just finished and now i have summer break so i just had to soak in my freedom from my fuckass med teacher. he can choke fr 💯

(wc 1.6k)

a series of vibrations from your phone rudely pulls you out of your sleep and you swipe your hand across the bed to silence the notifications. you find your phone connected to abby's charger on her vacant side of the bed, the sheets cold without the warmth from her skin to heat them up. she always ran hot—especially during the night—which usually resulted in her yelping at your cold feet pressed to her thighs and trying to absorb her warmth in the hours of the night. 

you raise your phone to your face and are met with four notifications from abby on your home screen. 

abby :p otw back with our loot  

abby :p two berry pastries for the missus and one cream cheese puff pastry for me 

abby :p and nadia gave us two chocolate croissants bc we're super cool 

swiping to unlock your phone, you head to messages and reply to her. 

you YAY thanks you're the best 

you we gotta get nadia a gift card or somethin

you or a bottle of liquor 

you head to the bathroom to brush your teeth with your toothbrush abby got for you for her apartment since you slept over so often. while you load your brush with toothpaste, your phone lights up with a notice from messages: "abby :p loved 'or a bottle of liquor.' " sticking the toothbrush in your mouth, you smile around the minty foam and continue freshening up before abby returns. 

around ten minutes later, you hear the jingle of her keys at the front door and practically skip to the living room to retrieve your pastries. 

abby unlocks the door and pushes it open, a brown bag with a cafe logo printed on it in one hand and a drink carrier with two coffee cups hanging from her ring and pinky fingers in her other. with her few remaining fingers grasping onto her car keys to not drop them, she nudges the door back shut with her hip and locks it. 

her blonde head donns a blue and white trucker hat, the brim of it blocking her from seeing you standing and sheepishly smiling a few strides away. she calls out to you to signal her return. 

"hey, i'm back! and i come bearing gifts. i got-" it's then that abby takes her hat off and notices you inching ever closer. "oh, hi. i got you herbal tea. there weirdly was a lot of traffic today, even though it's, like, seven." 

she continues on as she unpacks everything that she got for you. "then again, i guess kids have school. man, i hated that about high school—waking up early and getting to class on tim- you know what? you're not listening anyway with your food right in front of you," she chuckles. "go on. release! free!" she pokes, using command words for a dog. 

you kiss your teeth and scowl at her, mumbling a "whatever" before tearing into the paper bag. you're met with your two fruit pastries first, then you spot the chocolate croissants abby mentioned under them. 

the two of you stand and eat in comfortable silence in the kitchen, you sipping on your tea and abby picking at her puff pastry. when you finish, you clean both of your spots and abby throws away the paper bag and pastry wrappers, washing her hands after.

after breakfast, you guys ping pong around her apartment, moving from her bed to the couch to the floor and then back to her bed again, all just to talk or scroll on your phones.

hours pass, and after a brief joint nap in her bedroom, you guys now sat on the floor of her living room, light filtering in from her large windows and warming your skin. the floor was littered in origami squares of all different sizes and colors, the origami book abby had gotten for you split open between you two. 

there was a village of origami figures surrounding you, from hearts to frogs to ladybugs to cranes. the book was flipped to a particularly challenging page of an elephant, and you looked over at abby in confusion. 

she was just as confused as you, if not more. her hair was tied in a messy golden knot at the nape of her neck, loose strands crazy and framing her face. her brows were pulled tight on her face, her eyes bewildered and looking at the same piece of paper in her hands as if she'd never seen it before. 

"what step are you on?" she asks, looking at the square in front of you that you were working on. 

"twelve. out of..." you flip the page twice. "god. thirty." you sit up straight to stretch your back out. "i get it, though. kinda." 

"what? show me. i’m on, like, seven. i swear they skipped a step. or forgot to add a picture. just something is wrong." 

you scoot over to sit next to her, pulling your leg to your body and propping your cheek on it. abby places her piece in front of you puts her hands in her crossed lap, her eyes wide and waiting for you to make sense of her issue. 

"okay, let's see." you pull the book closer to you to confirm the step she's on. "step seven is... rotating and folding the back of the elephant." 

"which i did," abby verifies. 

you rotate the piece and immediately find her mistake. "which you did not." 

"what?! where?" 

"here." you trace your finger along the missing crease. "you see how on mine, this part is creased and pointed? like a peak?" 

"uh-huh..." 

"and yours doesn't do that." 

she simply hums, so you look over at her to confirm that she's listening. her eyes are unfocused and locked on your face. they flit between your own and then drop to your lips for a second. the single second feels quite long, though, when she looks so deeply at you in the way that she does, or when her baby hairs draw attention to her blonde lashes, long and very slightly curled around her sapphire eyes. 

she seems to snap out it—whatever it was—and she deeply inhales, licking her lips and refocusing on the task at hand. 

"can you repeat that?" she asks. "sorry, i... i zoned out." 

it was your turn, now, to lose focus and examine her. you stare at her lips, rosy and still glossy from her just licking them. you stare at the corners of them and the ever so slight frown her mouth always pulls into when she's focused. you stare at the little creases in them, the dozens of lines that- 

"are you looking at my lips?" she questions, interrogative and almost paranoid. 

"oh, um, sorry. i was-" 

"why were you looking at them?" she interrupts again, her eyes wild and demanding an answer from you. 

"because, i- well, you just licked them, so- i don't know. because." you swallow, mumbling, "what, can i not look at them or something?" 

her stone stare softens after noticing your flustered state, and the two of you exchange a long and quiet look. 

abby held her breath nearly the entire time. she didn't want to assume anything or read the situation wrong, but your eyes were dilated. they were dilated from looking at her, and just from that. 

as if it were out of your control—like you were magnets—you started moving closer to her. abby could not seem to remember how to control a single muscle in her body, so she just sat and watched you move closer as her cheeks grew pinker and pinker. 

you stop right in front of her face, the tips of your noses kissing and your breaths shared. after a few seconds, you realized abby wouldn't initiate anything, so you leaned in and pressed your lips to hers, short and sweet. when you pulled away, abby's eyes remained closed for a few seconds before they slowly fluttered open. 

"you just kissed me," abby whispers in disbelief, pointing out the obvious. 

"i just kissed you," you echo back. 

it's abby who leans in for the second kiss, thick and intense with emotion, her hand sliding up your arm. her hand reaches the back of your neck, and she pulls you closer and deepens the kiss. 

you press your forehead to hers and stop kissing her, an infectious smile taking up your features instead. 

"are you.. are you seriously smiling right now?" abby gasps theatrically with mock offense. 

your smile breaks out into giggles and you press your face into her cheek to hide. 

"wow, i cannot believe this. you are laughing at our kiss!" she teases. 

"stop, no i’m not!" you plead, still laughing. 

"whatever you say." she grabs your chin between her fingers and pulls your face back to look at you. peppering kisses on your cheeks, she relents on her taunting.  

"are you gonna show me what i did wrong, or what?" she says, referring to the initial topic of her paper elephant. 

you smile back at her. "yeah, i will." 

"okay." she presses one last kiss to your temple and then waits for your instruction. 

"i was saying, there's supposed to be a crease here, on what'll be the back of the elephant." 

abby nods and hums like she's listening, but really, she smiles at your profile as you continue to speak. 

@abbysbug @abbyonmars @abigails-gf @picklesarenice69

heheheh all done!!!! this was so cute to write especially the end like i was talking to @abbyonmars while i wrote the end and we were fangirling over typed words and pixels. but what else is tumblr dot com for if not to fangirl!!!!