I've been working on this art series for six months and I STILL can't get it done. Only two artworks are finished so far, and there's supposed to be a full render pic with Arthur, Hosea, and Dutch……. i don know what I’m doing please send help
Premise- headcanons on what type of huggers they’d be, X reader. Established relationship if you squint,
Characters-
Reiner Braun
Arthur Morgan
Max Eisenhardt/Erik Lehnsherr
Reiner Braun🧸
When you look at Reiner at first he’s big and scary- obviously everyone knows his looks are deceiving like bro is made of sugar and spice and all things nice, sweeter than grandmas sugar cookies
You’ll go into it at first worried he’ll think you’re clingy but that little look he gives you? With one eyebrow raised and his lips parted in confusion as you welcome yourself in?
So touch starved he’s in disbelief.
That just let him know you’re comfortable for what he’s about to become. His true self.
A whole ass grizzly bear waiting for his hibernation plushie every single damn night.
His favourite to usually lay in is with you sprawled atop and his arms locked tight round you. He’ll make a few exceptions he’s not exactly picky. It’s just that he’ll manhandle you onto him and forget his strength
If he’s not having a good day he’ll settle for resting his head on your chest or tummy like a sad puppy, maybe guide your hand into his hair for much needed pats.
Awh dude this is so corny but I genuinely can’t see him as anything but a cuddler, obviously he has other love languages but the dude is actually a teddy bear.
Softest one on my list. Best cuddler, will probably guilt trip you into snuggling him if you ever had an argument, swearing that it wards his nightmares away.
This is probably the only downside to it all, he’s so insanely needy that if you need space it’s just not possible. The cuddling may have been your idea but once that touch starved man gets an inch of love, that’s it.
Reiner nuzzles, grabs and squeezes you can tell he’s trying to fill a hole inside himself.
He smells like a warm cup of milk and bedtime bath all in one so it’s okay.
Tight, warm and soft. You’re safe here.
Arthur Morgan🖌️
At first I can see him being stiff asf. Like he has no idea where to put his hands, he’s mostly checking to see if you’re fully asleep enough to unconsciously grab onto him.
He’s warm but unlike Reiner he’s NOT soft 😭😭 he’s definitely sturdy and i can tell because when someone hugs him in game the impact sound is rough.
Again, it’s you initiating, head tucked under his chin, arm draped over his chest.
His arm slowly curls over your shoulder whilst the other nonchalantly rests behind his head, continuously checking on you until he himself falls asleep.
If you hadn’t moved the entire night he’ll hide the sore neck that was earned from remaining in that position with you. If using him as a pillow all night helps you sleep then so be it.
Despite all this, he can be easily guilt tripped into cuddling. He may look rough but he has an embarrassing soft spot for you.
I didn’t give Reiner a rating because he’s 10/10 but for Arthur I can see his hugs being 6/10 unless he puts his all into it which would put him at a 8/10 for safety points.
You’re overall safe and warm due to the fact that he’s easily awoken and has the reflexes of a professional fighter. What he lacks for in softness, he makes up for in protection.
He’d eventually start to see it as routine, actively seeking you out at some point in the relationship.
Type of husband to leave the bed to see what that suspicious noise was downstairs and return with a sleepy tease that it was just a tree branch rubbing against the window.
Will pull you in and kiss your hairline, mumbling a hoarse “Now sleep, darlin’.”
Max Eisenhardt🧲
Now this one is tricky. A lot of people like to say Max isn’t soft, sappy- that he puts his duties and responsibilities first and whilst I sort of agree we get a lot of examples of how he behaves within relationships.
He’s definitely not heavy on snuggles but he won’t mind initiating as long as the position doesn’t remain. He’ll probably cuddle you before sleep and then roll onto his side or back to get proper rest, maybe spoon you for a while longer,
He enjoys reading to you before bed with you tucked against him whilst he reads, sometimes doing exaggerated dialogue to hear you laugh. He’ll keep a hand on your shoulder, the other on the book and have you turn the page when he finishes.
As for the texture of it all, I’d say it’s fifty fifty. He’s firm but I can see him being soft especially when he’s asleep. Max isn’t stiff but he isn’t exactly teddy bear material.
Cuddles aside though, he sometimes gets bored with his hands and starts absentmindedly caressing you. Be it your back, your hair or your neck, small patterns being traced into your spine or a small strand he can’t stop fidgeting with, curling it between his finger before releasing and repeating.
He probably doesn’t even know that the physical touch is slowly knocking you out.
Erik doesn’t do little spoon and he never thought he would until a nightmare he was so sure had left his psyche returned one dreadful night. The panicked gasps and tears awoke you from beside him and before he knew it, you moved over and carefully gathered him in, his head resting squarely over your heartbeat.
No words were spoken as you began stroking the silky strands of white on his hair, hushing him before he could apologise.
From this angle, he looks like a cat resisting sleep, watery blue eyes focused on you before his energy drifted away.
Yeah thinking about it now actually he seems better as a plushie as opposed to using you as a plushie. Though I think he’d glare at you if you ever called him that.
✰ A/N: thank you to the lovely @shapsara for growing this idea with me :) this oneshot never would’ve seen the light of day if not for them so thank you <3 (Ill also do anything to get out of doing my stats work)
Arthur pic is mine :)
✰ Your estranged husband finally decides to show his face and disrupt the life you’ve built for yourself in the aftermath of your separation
✰ Word count: 3k
✰ Tags: Arthur x female reader, low/medium honor, established relationship, mild violence, angst, no comfort, unhealthy relationship, Arthur Morgan has tb, no use of y/n
Three long years of solitude and bitterness to keep the cold away.
36 months of rage.
1,095 days of hate.
26,280 hours of pain
And 1,577,847.6 minutes of longing.
One final argument in a sea of others was your breaking point with Arthur. A final stand without bullets, without fists, but full of words you never thought you could say to your husband. Words he never thought he’d say to you. His heart. His world, and his wife.
But what’s done is done. That night, you left with a bag of all your things and turned your back on him. On your life together and everything it could have been.
What choice did you have? Arthur married you young and made young promises. A life of happiness and brimming with unconditional love. A promise to put you first and be the husband you deserved.
But now? All these years later? None of it ever happened. Why did you even stay this long?
Time and time again he put the gang before you. How many times had he left abruptly to go with them? Left you for days, weeks and even months without a single word? Left you wondering if he was even alive?
The paperboy down the road was rich every time Arthur went missing. Every day you’d check for the headline you dreaded.
What spouse deserves that?
But now. After everything is said and done, you found your peace. Your own little pocket in the chaotic world. A home you gained from your hard work and dedication to the life you deserved. One he could never give you.
You had a beautiful garden. A well-kept home and the peace of the wilderness. You even had a porch! Complete a swing you put together on your own.
But no matter what you could give yourself, your mind always wondered what could’ve been if he left with you. If you had taken his hand and begged one final time. If he was just a little bit different…
By now, maybe you could’ve had little ones running around your yard instead of wild animals. You could’ve had a bigger garden, full of his favorite foods too. A more secure roof. Maybe even a bigger house overall.
But no. Life dealt your hand and you had to play. You won. But not the jackpot. But you won nonetheless.
At least, thats what you thought.
Now.
With your rifle trained on the figure in your sights. Who trampled your lilies and stepped onto your yard in the middle of the night, you felt unsure.
Arthur always took care of this. Kept you away from this side of the world as much as he could. One of his successful duties as a husband. What would he do if he was here?
“Don’t move.” You spoke out to the intruder. “I’ll shoot.”
The figure’s hands raised halfway in surrender. Their frame swaying slightly.
A drunk?
The rifle wavered.
Maybe they were lost.
“Sir..?” You called out.
The figure tilted their head like they were trying to remember something. They stepped closer. Through your flowers.
An audible gasp entered their lungs as they neared. Followed by a fit of coughs.
You startled a little. The coughs wracked their whole body and forced them to kneel. Your eyes never left their poor frame. Must be one hell of a sickness…
You watch as the stranger picked themselves up and stood again. Wobbling still, but a little more stable as their eyes found yours.
They spat something onto the grass.
Tobacco?
As they entered the threshold of your sanctuary, the lamp caught his face. Illuminating the red stain on his chapped lips.
Blood.
He looked like a corpse. Pale, sickly and complete with dark circles under his eyes. His cheeks were sunken in and the light was gone from his eyes.
He looked thin too. Small. Nearly swimming in his clothes. His broad shoulders carried less muscle in his arms than you remembered.
A dead man walking.
You could’ve sworn your heart stopped.
Why here? Why now?
For a moment you forgot you weren’t together anymore. You forgot every sharp word, broken promise and the sting of being forgotten in his world.
You nearly dropped your rifle and ran to him before your mind caught up to you.
Do not give in.
“…Arthur?”
He stared at you like a ghost. Haunting you, even now. His eyes, red-rimmed and blurry, tried their hardest to focus on you.
The alcohol must have been strong tonight for him to forget your face. Your voice. Your mannerisms.
The recognition set in after a few moments. Tense and confused, his back straightened as his gaze darted all over you in disbelief.
He coughed again. “…Woman,” the bitterness rising like bile in his throat.
You hated when he called you that.
It felt like he was stripping you of everything else you were. Reducing you to what was stuck between your legs. Shrinking you down to something lesser.
You scoffed and lowered your rifle. “Charming. Real charming.”
“Always.” He forced out a smile, flashing the red stains in his teeth.
His eyes roamed over your body. Appreciation that you got even more beautiful since you stormed out that night. Filling out in all the best ways.
Your lips wanted to curl into a snarl. “Go home, you drunk. You’re not welcome here.”
Your tone didn’t deter him even a little. He stepped closer onto the first porch step.
“I can’t see my wife?”
“Your wife?” You shot back incredulously.
“My. Wife.” He insisted.
The cheek on this bastard. Coming into your space. Stepping on your flowers, spitting on your grass and calling you his. Your minds eye conjured an impulsive backhand swinging across his face.
He glanced over his shoulder and looked at the property. The thriving plants, the cleanliness, the smell of basil growing nearby in pots. The small house. The paint job. The structure. The closed curtains. Cutting him off from your little world.
“Go away.” An exasperated beg. You turned to leave him.
“Hey—“
The moment you felt the bony grip of his hand on your arm, something came over you.
Maybe it was all the repressed anger finally pouring out. The tears you hid finally demanded to be acknowledged. The rage of a woman disrespected filled your veins with the adrenaline of a trapped doe.
You didn’t realize what you’d done until you heard the crack of skin against skin. The smack of your hand meeting his face.
It felt good.
He stumbled back a single step. Unprepared. Bewildered.
Five years ago you never would’ve done it. Never even imagined.
But he wasn’t your husband. He was an intruder.
He took a breath. His eyes bore into yours. He sobered just a little.
“…Alright. I’m sorry.”
…Thats it?
You expected more. Yelling, a hand across your own face, even a bullet.
Arthur has killed and hurt worse people for way less disrespect.
But nothing came. Just the deafening silence and the weight of your actions.
You swallowed and straightened up.
“…I’m sorry too. I don’t know what came over me. I’m…very sorry.”
He shrugged.
“I overstepped.”
“But still, I shouldn’t have done it.”
“Don’t do that.” He chided. “I deserved it.”
Finally you two agree on something.
“…Can we start over?”
“Go ahead.” You replied exasperatedly.
He cleared his throat and shifted on his feet.
“It’s good to see you. I’m very happy to see you again. I was lookin’ for you. I, uh…didn’t stop.”
Part of you didn’t believe him. If he looked hard enough, he would’ve found you hours after you left. You left behind tracks, for goodness sake.
Too exhausted to argue, you simply nodded.
“That’s nice. Good to know I was missed.”
His eyes narrowed. Like the very thought of you going unnoticed in his life was insanity. Did you really think that little of him?
“…’Course you were. You…You’re my wife. I married you for a reason.”
You had to swallow back another scoff. An eye roll.
That reason aged out a while ago.
Young love. Young, stupid love. So bright and full of ideas and possibilities. Now dim with reality and actions.
You often wondered what he thought would happen once you wed. He promised you his time, his love and devotion. A life together as a pair. A set.
But as quickly as the promise was made, it seemed to be forgotten.
The day after your wedding, he was called away. Then again. Again, and again.
Dutch’s lapdog. Not yours. Never yours.
Your silence spoke volumes to him.
The familiar bite of his frustration crept into his words.
“No matter what you’ve told yourself, I married you because I love you. I never stopped.”
“Okay, Arthur.”
“Would you stop doing that for Christ’s sake?!” He barked.
“Talking??”
“Good lord, shutting me down! You always do that. Shut down or shut me out! I’ve always hated when you—“
“Oh, you want to get into hate?” You found your bite again. “I’ve hated every moment as your wife! Every day since then, I’ve woken up and wondered what possessed me to say yes to you!! You have given me nothing but a life of misery!”
Your voice raised in a way he hadn’t seen in a long time. Not since your last argument. He missed it. You weren’t shutting him out.
“You don’t mean that.”
“Stop telling me what I mean! I know exactly what I’m saying!”
He shook his head and you wanted to strangle him.
You hated when he did this. See right through you.
Keep pushing.
“You’re upset—“
“No shit, Arthur!”
“Stop! I don’t know why you’re acting like this.”
“Oh.”
The white-hot, blinding rage that overcame you was intoxicating. Addicting. The spine you grew in his absence rising tall.
“You sorry excuse of a man. Of course you don’t know! Why wouldn’t you? All you’ve ever done is pay attention to other people! Never me!”
“Oh, come on, woman! Enough with that!”
“No! You’re going to listen and listen good to what I have to say!”
You stepped closer. Into his space.
His hand shot out and rested on your shoulder. Keeping you away despite the grip.
“Then talk to me. Don’t scream.”
“I will scream if I want to!”
He pushed you away. You caught yourself immediately. Your mind imagined what it would be like to rush him like an angry bull.
He blocked that idea by meeting you on the porch. On even ground.
“Stop acting like you’re the victim. You left me!”
“What else was I supposed to do?!”
Your eyes burned and you felt a weight in your throat.
The deja vu that struck was like a reckoning. How many times have you done this song and dance with him? How many times have you both screamed until your throats were raw?
He was supposed to choose you. He promised he would.
“You were supposed to stay!”
“So were you! How many times did I beg you, Arthur?? For even just a second of your time!”
Circles. Talking in circles.
“Don’t pull that with me. Talking like I abandoned you.”
“You left me! Your wife! alone in that—“
“I came home!”
“Not enough!”
Back on the ring-around.
He looked like he had a response, but got cut off by more coughs. Wracking his whole body. His hand gripping the wooden railing like a vice.
What else could you do but watch. Even on death’s door, all you two could do was argue.
More blood in the grass.
Part of you wanted to help him, but some part of you stayed put and unmotivated. But the growing realization of his condition made you step forward.
He held his hand out to stop you.
Keep your distance.
Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he rose again to his full height.
The fire in his eyed was gone.
“…I never abandoned you,” he breathed. Paused. “I came home. I was there. I showed up.”
You swallowed hard.
“…Only when it was convenient.” A step forward. “When you had the time to grace me with your presence instead of just—“
Arthur threw up his hands and turned from you.
“You’re not even listening to me.”
You scoffed, turning around and taking your rifle with you as your feet moved faster than your mind. Your front door slammed behind you. He wasn’t even hearing you out!
You didn’t have to do this. Look at him. Talk to him. Tolerate him. Slam the door in his face.
Frustration prickled up your back, infecting your rational mind.
“Goodbye, Arthur. You can go.”
“Stop shutting me out, woman!”
Heavy breaths and coughing overcame him again. He couldn’t keep going. Couldn’t keep yelling.
Choking on his words and the mucus in his throat, he gripped the doorknob to stop himself from falling again.
He could think of a million reasons why his eyes were blurry again.
“…I’m sorry, sweetheart,” A ragged breath.
“I can’t let the last time I see you end like this. I wont let it. Please open the door.”
His weary head rested against the wood surface. Eyes closed like he was praying.
With your face in your hands and nails digging into your skin, you asked whoever was listening: Why must this happen? What god did you anger to bring this on? Why you? Why him?
How far have you truly fallen?
Why did your life have to end up like this? It was supposed to be better. He was supposed to be better. You were supposed to be better.
You promised each other to do better.
Now he’s coughing up blood and you’re running out of patience.
It can’t end like this.
Dragging your hands down your face, you bit the bullet and turned around.
He’s suffering.
He stepped back when he heard the door rattle. Your eyes met again. A ghost of a smile on his lips.
“Thank you.” He found his breath again.
You nodded, arms crossing over your chest to shield your palpitating heart. From nerves, anxiety, you didn’t know.
He shifted on his feet. Fingers fidgeting. A deep breath.
“…I got sick a few months ago. Doc said TB. Probably wont last ‘till fall.”
Tuberculosis. You’ve heard of it. Some poor bastard in Valentine had that disease, but still ran a charity. You remember seeing him whenever you’d run into town for the general store. Always made sure to slip in a few dollars for the cause. Watching slowly as that man debilitate over the span of months.
You wanted to cry.
What were you supposed to say to that? “karma’s a bitch?”, “kiss me so we can go together”, “you can’t leave me again”.
You nodded, feigning strength.
“…I’m sorry, Arthur. I really am.”
The awkward tension was palpable with the heavy weight of unsaid words spanning years. What good would they do now?
What good would it do to say you missed him? You wanted him home, here where you can look after him until death. Maybe he can see the leaves turn again if you tried hard enough.
The thoughts left once you finally looked at him. Really looked.
Moments away from collapse and pale as paper.
You weren’t a doctor. Nothing close. What could you do for him? Not a damn thing.
Your arms drooped to your sides. “…So you’re dying is what you’re telling me?”
He nodded. Eyes searching yours for something. Anything. Other than your disdain for him. Please…
“I was…we…came back to this area a few days ago. Something came up. I was in the saloon and somebody recognized me as…well, your husband. Your neighbor. They told me where you were and I…”
“You decided to make the trip.”
The bitterness coated your words like oil. So he wasn’t looking for you. Another lie. He only found you by sheer fucking luck.
“Of course.”
He was stern. Insistent. Almost truthful.
Desperate.
His gaze looked over you once again. Thoughts racing, memories replaying of better days. Times when you’d run into his arms instead of turning him away.
“I want one more night with you,” He began. Before I…”
“Absolutely not.”
Your cut off surprised him. He came all this way…
“Baby, I—“
“I said no, Arthur. Get going.”
“No.”
He closed the distance. Hands holding your arms in silent plea.
Your eyes refused to meet his. This had to be a joke. A scam. A stupid con.
“…Please.”
With gentleness you only remembered from your wedding day, he took your hand in both of his and stepped closer.
His wedding band glinted in the light.
“Look at me.”
His hand moved to your cheek, but faltered when your head shook and the floor suddenly looked so interesting.
The part of you that still loved him was screaming. You’ve lost so much time with him already and once again, he’s going to be taken from you. Why let him back in this time?
You will regret this for the rest of your life if you don’t.
“Please,” He begged. His knees protested as he sunk down onto your porch. Hands gripping your skirt like he was trying to hold himself from falling into hell. “Please, baby…”
Teeth sunk into your bottom lip, curling them back into a frown as you wavered. Eyes burning You looked up and searched the night sky for an answer. A sign. Something.
what if your BROTHER was in a SUICIDE CULT and your DAD was an ALCOHOLIC who STOLE FROM YOU and your HUSBAND DIED of PNEUMONIA and you were ALL ON YOUR OWN and so you write to your EX who is an OUTLAW who is also technically in a CULT TOO is the ONLY ONE who CAN HELP YOU because YOU LOVE HIM and he depending on the player says NO but later on you give him a SECOND CHANCE ANYWAY because you LOVE HIM and when you tell him to RUN AWAY WITH YOU BECAUSE YOU LOVE HIM and he says NO and goes back to his CULT but you STILL KEEP LOVING HIM AND YOU NEVER STOP and the EVIL red dead redemption fandom HATES YOU and calls you a USER and MANIPULATIVE because you had the NERVE TO ASK ARTHUR FOR HELP BECAUSE YOU LOVE HIM
Premise- A glimpse of a rare morning you spend in Genosha beside Erik.
Authors note- I really wanted to write something in the duration of Erik’s time as king, this isn’t SUPER comic accurate- yes he was king but I’m not sure about the other details I included. It’ll be faithful to the timeline though.
Word count- 962
Content- just fluff
Rays of sunlight filtered through the delicate material of the pale curtains. The colour pallet of the room had set into a navy blue, royal velvet red and a rich brown, all of Erik's favourite colours.
Now that he was king, you were sure he'd be able to change those curtains that consistently woke you from your sleep. It's not often that you stay in Genosha with him- much to his dismay, but you'd prefer a blacked out room in contrast to this.
Though you could only guess he kept the curtains light to ensure the morning sun would awaken him if his fatigue were too heavy.
And yet, the beams of yellow continued to seep through the canopy drapes framing the bed.
Beside you, Erik's head tilted comfortably against the pillow, an arm kept loosely around you whilst he slept like a log. He managed the entire night without a nightmare. A miracle for him, really.
Without a sound, you carefully peeled yourself off his chest and crawled out of bed, tiptoeing to the glowing curtains.
Upon closer sight, the view of the fresh nation bore hope, the distant sea glistening in the morning rise. Distant construction work of new buildings began to fill with workers clocking in for their shifts.
Your eyes softened. Finally, a safe place for mutants, just as Erik dreamt.
Just as you followed the horizon with your eyes, you caught a familiar pair of blue reflected against the window pane, aimed right at you.
By the time you spun around Erik had closed his eyes and pretended to sleep.
A smirk lit up your face. "Ah..." You stalked to the bed, "His majesty is still fast asleep," you playfully murmured aloud.
The drapes fluttered apart, allowing you space to sit. The mattress dipped beneath your knee, reaching over to cup his cheek. For a revolutionary leader of a nation he has his soft moments.
"What usually wakes King Magnus?" You whispered, his lips twitched as you kept talking.
"Hmm," your attention follows the curves of his arms and collarbones, down his torso. You don't ever recall him warning you of physical sensitivity but surely everyone has their weak spots.
As he continued to pretend, the idea only grew irresistible.
You took a wild guess where his most sensitive spot could be and pressed your palms down to his ribs. He restrained a smile at the touch, quickly flinching as you began the tickling.
Erik awoke with a clenched jaw and barely restrained sounds before grasping your hands with a glare.
"Good morning, your majesty."
"I believe I told you not to call me that." Erik's grip tightened enough to restrain you. "Is this any way to wake your sleeping husband?"
You cackled at his scolding before snatching your hands back and continuing the barrage of tickles on the old man.
He fell back with half panicked sounds- huffs of air escaping his shut mouth as he refused to give in. Erik's palms wildly scrambled to catch yours.
"This is what you get for pretending to be asleep!" You cooed, managing to escape every attempt of restraint until his cheeks flushed pink. You slowly released him.
Your mercy proved to be a mistake as Erik suddenly lunged and scooped your entire body.
The world tilted dizzyingly as he rolled you onto your back and trapped you down. No magnetism just pure strength.
"Not so cocky, now." He smirked triumphantly, "hm, maus?" His index finger curled softly at your cheek.
You let him believe he's won for strictly ten seconds before you tackled him onto his back, catching him off guard. He released a shocked sound in between a laugh of disbelief.
The two of you tussled around and wrestled until the sheets tangled up.
"Just give up, Erik!" You groaned as you tried to press the silver haired king down.
"Oh, my dearest." He strained, slamming you into the pillows. "The master of magnetism has and never will surrender!"
You attempted to crawl away before he snatched your ankles and dragged you back.
Your stomach clenched with giggles as you desperately clawed at the mattress, Erik finally getting ahold of your squirming body before his lips pressed to your forehead.
"Mm-" you wriggled around as he began to pepper your face, "Erik"-
"Hold still,"
Your cheeks spilled over the hands that firmly cradled you before he left a final peck onto your nose.
His usually neatly combed hair fell over his face and pointed in four directions, leaning over you with a sleepy smile.
"Can't believe you're ticklish." You snorted, reaching up to stroke his hair back.
Erik, like a big cat, closed his eyes and tilted towards your hand, "I don't believe anyone has ever dared to pull the very stunt you have today.”
"Are you calling me brave?" You teased, buried between the white tousled sheets.
Pale blue pools of mischief travelled down your face, before he leaned in and closed the gap with his lips.
You carefully held his face as his mouth warmly captured yours.
Your eyes fluttered as he pulled back too soon.
"Brave? No... Reckless, perhaps."
"I'll take it," You whispered, eyes still trained on his lips.
Just as he leaned in for another, a polite knock on the door interrupted the two of you. Erik sighed and spoke a frustrated "Yes?"
"You have a meeting with the UN this morning, your majesty."
You shot him a sad look, tracing his growing stubble. "It's alright, Erik... I'll still be here- 's not like I have to return to Westchester anytime soon."
Hearing the reassurance, Erik nodded and leaned in to place a final peck to your mouth before moving out of bed, faithful to his responsibilities.
You guys don’t know how much I loved reading Jane Eyre and how I know some poor girl in the 1800s discovered she liked hurt/comfort but had no idea what to call it
Premise- Set around the timeline of X-men red, Erik decides it’s ultimately his time to retire despite discouragement. Along with his leave from Krakoa, he breaks off your relationship to him in favour of isolating himself.
Corrections- yes I know (SPOILDERR!!) that Erik dies in xmen red before he gets to fully settle down in the autumn palace so I will be diverting from that plot point. He hasn’t fought and actually stayed his old ass home lol.
Few things- Maus is an affectionate term used by Germans- mainly for their loved ones. Hurt/comfort (I know, again.)
The rain on Arrako was nothing like Krakoa. An unforgiving wrath, unlike the gentle drops of dew rolling off fertile leaves back home.
You hadn't thought about Krakoa these last few months, hell- you'd not been there enough to miss it, not after Erik announced that his retirement included respite from both you and the beloved nation he helped grow.
This unrelenting storm was merciful in comparison to the grief he left you to deal with alone. Decades spent fighting by his side, arguing with him about his swaying beliefs until he finally stabilised into the leader everyone knew and revered only to be coldly pushed to the side in favour of isolation he swore he deserved. You knew he didn't want to be left alone. Erik was trying to save you from him. As always, it backfired.
When he left for retirement you were instantly hired on missions, your gravity mutation was useful but it wasn't your prime, your prime sparked when the X-men were all together as a family. Without them, you pushed and moulded yourself into a disposable machine.
And now, without Erik on top of it all, you slowly shrunk into yourself.
The bedroom Erik once slept in beside you became a grave of sickeningly sweet memories, the cedar-wood and bergamot infused pillows woke you before you had a chance of closing your eyelids an inch, instinctively reaching for the warmth of his body only to be met with cold sheets.
The kitchen felt hollow in the mornings without the floating utensils he'd joke around with or the soft flickering of book pages he busied himself with on peaceful mornings and somehow, the black coffee he loved had staled in the air, spoiling your appetite before you had the chance to consider eating anything.
Now, out of your prime, without your friends that you continuously pushed away and without motivation to fight anymore your pride collapsed and you took off to Arrako where you knew Ororo was ruling in. Other old friends resided there but they weren't quite your focus.
Even through the cold and violent whips of wind, you pushed, knowing the physical neglect on your body gave you little time left.
Your bones shuddered as your clothes clung to you, beads of rain and tears rolling down your numb face.
The Autumn Palace stood tall and proud, an architecture cold and sturdy enough to ensure you it was your Erik Lehnsherr. Oh your dramatic, theatrical Max. You could almost picture him creating his cosy little grave to slowly die inside.
You heaved short pained breaths as you clumsily knocked. The last one a faint slap against the door before you staggered against the porch stand, bracing as graceful footsteps padded towards the door.
You had a whole speech planned about abandonment, your pain, to dare him to gaze upon what he's done to you. Instead, your throat constricted when the door opened.
You rehearsed and replayed this scenario a billion times since he left you, in none of those versions did he look like that. Not angry nor the cold exterior of disappointment. Instead, his worn features twisted in pure devastation.
He whispered your name like he'd been punched.
You release a mangled apology, lungs frozen from panting through the cold wet journey. Your chest barely expanded and forced warbled sobs shuddering out of you.
He pulled you inside, hands frantically wandering from your cheek to your shoulder, waist, stomach. Checking hastily.
"Maus? What's wrong? What happened?" His slender fingers pushed wet strands from your face, frantic. "Are you hurt?"
You shook your head, parting your lips to speak. A traitorous breath latched onto a cry. "I-I tried"- you hiccuped breathlessly, the thunder rolling from the open door behind you.
Erik stilled, hands frozen on your cheeks.
"I tried so hard to leave you alone," you choke as if every word left your throat in sharp edges. "Thought if I left you alone long enough it would stop hurting-but- but"-
Your body finally caved in to the neglect, blacking out for a second.
He caught you with a frightened yell of your name.
Thankfully, you remained conscious, crying despite the collapse. "Why did you leave me? W-What did I do?”
Both arms firmly gathered up your soaked and shivering form into his chest. Up close, he could hear your teeth chattering, nimble fingers grasping at his shirt as if you could siphon his energy.
"Hate you..." you croaked repeatedly. "I hate you, I hate you..."
He swayed with you for a few moments before stilling, he sighed, unable to defend himself.
"You left me-" Your voice shrunk into a rasp. "You- You abandoned me.. why- why does everyone..."
"How long have you been living like this?" He carefully brushed his knuckles across your face. You couldn’t answer, not out of shame, more the epiphany that you've shattered him.
Your flesh, cold and sunken was moist with rain dew, face tilting up like a wilted flower seeking the sun.
When he realised you were too worn out to yell or weakly hit at him, he slipped an arm under your knees, the other firm against your back before scooping you up. You didn’t ask where he's taking you, too busy clinging for warmth.
Erik used his mutation to shut the door, muffling the distant crackling of thunder.
Despite you dripping all over his floors, he continued up the staircase. The interior heat soothed your jittering to a faint shake. The sensation painfully blissful after weeks of sleep deprivation.
Through your blurred vision, you could make out the soft golden lamplights through the hallway, down a small step and into a room he shouldered open.
Here, the scent of cedar wood and bergamot was strongest. This was unmistakably his bedroom. Your vision swayed as you caught the packed book shelves, the specific silk he liked to sleep on, small translucent drapes over the wooden canopy.
It resembled a feverish dream.
You almost dozed off against his chest until he placed you on the bathroom countertop. Erik left and murmured about grabbing a few towels and spare clothes.
The bathroom design resembled the outside of the palace, pristine, spotless and elegant. You could've laughed if you weren't on the verge of passing out. All this space for one man.
"Liebe," he settles a warm towel over your head and starts fluffing the damp away. You took control of the task.
“You think you can make it to the bed?” he asked, kneeling to pluck your shoes off.
"'S okay, 'm not that weak." You reassured with a smile he didn’t deserve.
You shrugged the soaked fabrics off your body with struggle, avoiding his gaze through it all.
Erik helped you dry off before handing you a sweater of his, the smooth material hanging off your shoulder and down your thighs.
Finally, you caught him staring down at your collarbones, ascending to your eye-bags, hollow cheeks and half lidded eyes glazed through.
"What have I done to you?" He slowly leaned in. You awaited an embrace, a kiss, maybe even waking up to realise this was all a dream.
Until he suddenly swept you off your feet.
It caught you by surprise, the room spun. "'Mm... Erik," you slumped, unable to argue.
"Hush now," you felt a firm kiss on your head, "before I summon healers to ride through this storm,"
The soft and warm quilts welcomed your back, your limp body sprawling uselessly. Your lips tugged in a comfortable smile yet Erik wasn't convinced.
"Hmm…”
Your eyes shot open as his palms bracketed your torso, performing a health inspection.
"Erik- please-!" You wriggled and slapped his hands off, glaring up at him with all the strength you had left. However all it did was melt his heart.
His words came out in restrained chuckles. "Merely checking, maus." The last his hands cupped were your cheeks, caressing the flesh that had been once plump, humming in deep thought.
"Let's have you eat something, hm?"
Before he could turn around, you snatched his hand and shook your head. "Please, Erik." you feverishly begged, "Don't go... just- I don't care, I don't even think I can stomach anything.” You thickly swallowed. “Just Stay..."
Still unconvinced, he pulled the cover and comforters off before climbing inside. “Fine, but we are going to figure this out once you wake.”
You helped yourself to him, using the little energy you had left to slot your head on his chest and cuddle his midsection. His body rumbled beneath you as he laughed at your audacious tugging.
“Cosy?”
His arms gently settled around you, one palm resting against the nape of your neck. His fingers curled into the skin to softly graze enough to numb your nerves.
Your eyelids grew heavier, melting under the caressing. “Mm… Erik…”
The other hand tugged the comforter higher against you, locking in heat to prevent a fever the next morning.
“Sleep, Liebchen…” he murmured, voice heavy with sleep despite the continuous movements of his fingers dragging across your nape.
The rain suddenly muffled, his brushing fingers and steady heartbeat filled your ears, reducing you to a napping puddle. You thought you’d never get rest like this unless it was the merciful arms of death.
“Showing up at my door like a drowned kitten,” his baritone drifted through the dim room. “And now you’re a purring mess… Ehrlich gesagt, was soll ich nur mit dir anfangen? Kleine Maus?”
Premise: Krakoan era, you get your period (it’s a PCOS period, agonising, tiring- you get it)
Authors note: not insanely accurate this is mainly self indulgent.
Despite the multiple invitations and reminders of the gala, you regretted to inform everyone that you might not show up and even when asked why you could only shyly look away and whisper a small, "period."
Emma's perfect features twitched in confusion, asking how on earth you were confident about your uterus's timing and why it even mattered.
Anna Marie, however, shot you a knowing look. She'd been there when you were both young at Westchester, the entire mansion would hear your cries and yelps until you grew wise enough to mute the agony out with pills as per her recommendation.
"Only issue is," you continue to explain to Emma, "I've taken so much pain relief in the past that I have to take a shit ton now. Which only redirects the agony to my livers."
She swirls around her wine in her gloved hand and raises a suspecting brow, "Had I been you, I would've fought Beast for a cure."
Anna sits up on her seat properly, "best we could do was stay outta her damn way," she snorted in memory, "poor Remy was the only one who didn't understand-" you both laugh as if the exact same memory replayed in your head.
The Cajun stood in your doorway, dropping peace offerings whilst ducking hard launched pillows you'd used your gravity mutation to attack him with, screeching at him to go bother someone else.
"Careful cherè! Was only checkin' on ya- AGH!"
The memories rushing back only makes you sigh, hoping sincerely that your little prediction was incorrect and that the little cramps and cravings were just a coincidence and that tomorrow- upon the gala's day, you'd wear the gown you saved and make it to the event.
You cut the little hangout short after a few more stomach pangs.
The green pathway was clear and direct, towards the pod you share with your husband, Erik. Along the way, you grow weary and slow enough not to notice the tall figure following from behind.
Instead, you curled on the little stone steps, hugging your stomach.
Leafs and plants swaying amongst the silence soothe you into small chills through the dull pain.
Until...
"Ah, there you are"-
You shriek at the deep baritone voice, flinching towards the direction to find a mildly amused Erik.
"You arse-" you hiss before quickly shutting up and forcibly softening yourself, sitting back on the steps. "Sorry, sweetheart... didn't see you."
The same shit eating grin lit his face. "I was beginning to wonder when you'd notice me," he kneeled in front of you, his white strands mussed from a long stressful day.
The steel blue eyes you woke up to every morning travel across your features, down your body as if he was trying to make sense of your weary state.
Then, he peels his glove off.
"I would be dutiful in reminding you the Gala's tomorrow," the back of his ungloved hand presses to your forehead, "however it doesn't seem as though you are fit to attend," he hums and pulls back. No heat.
"It's my period, Erik." You reassure and eventually stand to enter the warm home. "I wouldn't be fit to get out of bed, let alone a whole Gala..."
His chuckle vibrates through the vacant entry of the home, "Oh, I am well aware of your mighty periods and the doom they cast upon your day."
"Not enough to stop you from scaring me apparently." you limp to the couch, curling up to warm your tummy.
"Come now, my dear, it was only done in jest." He beelines to the kitchen and rummages around until a few minutes later. He emerges with a mug smelling of multiple seeped plants. The mixture of herbs that usually soothes mild cramping.
You carefully take it from his steady hands and take a few sips. "Forgiven," you sigh and lean back as if your shoulders weighed you down.
"Wonderful,"
You melt at the genuine fond look he shares. "I'm not sure if my period is coming anyway, could be a scare." You whisper as he sits beside you, an arm behind your shoulder.
He hums in response, sharing his bodily warmth with you.
You add hoarsely, "I'm excited to see you there too... I mean I saw your outfit and I can't wait to see how Charles reacts when you out do him again."
Erik laughs heartily at that, slender fingers burying into your hair to carefully bump your forehead with his. "He will be rendered speechless- as he is every single time."
Your eyes softly flutter as fatigue grasps you, his warmth paired with the tea reduces you to a yawning mess.
Erik helps you into bed and you curl up with a few sleepy prayers about your period delaying for the gala's sake.
By the time the cool summer air drifted in through the windows and the Krakoan sun bathed the bedroom, you find yourself in a cocoon with a heating pad on your lower belly. However, it didn't seem to do much.
Despite the fresh breeze and the calming serenity of the morning your stomach tied in knots, releasing in a dull clench before repeating the same agony.
Erik opened the door at the sound of your whimpers, in the midst of getting dressed- no doubt. His white brows furrow before he hurries over and tries to do something to the iron in your blood, which makes you yelp and flinch onto your side. "E-Erik...! M-Meds..." you pant breathlessly.
Without a nod, the old man leaves your side and returns before another dull wave washes over you.
You drink the two pills he often lectures you against having, his hand cradling your head as you chug the water.
To settle in your system, it would take twenty more minutes. You refuse to cry like you did back in Westchester. No, not at such an age. You're a woman now.
You grit your teeth as Erik adjusts the heating pad and rubs your stomach in slow circles.
"G-Gala... go..." you sigh as relief barely washes over you, "I'll be fine"-
"Nonsense," he dresses your cold feet in fuzzy socks to lock warmth in. "Krakoa will survive without me for one evening," Erik half jokes.
"It isn't nonsense..." you whisper between huffs, "Erik, you deserve to be celebrated... you played a huge part in keeping mutants safe..." You bit your lip, trying not to grow too emotional in front of him. "Don't stay because you pity me,"
At the sight of your tears, he assesses again, scanning where your most coiled and stiff movements were to understand where you're hurting.
And of course, Erik Lehnsherr ignored your pleas.
Instead, your poor husband spent the better half of the morning and afternoon around you.
"Have you eaten?"
"Not yet," you rasp, half spent from muffling your sounds of anguish the entire hour.
Erik furrows his brows and leaves to go fix the issue. Somehow problem solving every discomfort the best he logically can.
By then, the afternoon slipped by in a haze of blankets, heating pads and junk food.
It destroyed your carefully balanced meal plan but your husband only protested once- mainly reluctant.
"You'll feel terrible if you eat all this," he sighs before sitting down.
"I already feel terrible," you switch on a random film to distract yourself, curling against his side. Jane Eyre. You think nothing of it.
Between scenes and a few weak nibbles on a bar, you end up with your back half to his chest, his arm curled around you to secure your position.
In the distance, the sounds of laughter and music pangs, muffling in the Krakoan air. The gala being hearable wasn't helping your case- not as the film takes an emotional turn.
Jane had discovered Mr Rochesters mad wife in a locked room shortly after their interrupted wedding, disturbed and confused. Mr Rochester attempted damage control by pleading with her, crying into her dress and explaining why he lied, yet it wasn't getting through to her.
So she ran away, down the window, through the grassy desert.
Both your guilt and the scene of Mr Rochester calling desperately for Jane on his horse builds up into an ugly ball of emotion.
Your eyes immediately began to sting, a broken whisper flying from your lips, "oh God."
Besides your ear came a very familiar sigh, one earned from years of learning how emotional you could become during certain films.
You sniff, thickly swallowing. "Oh Erik... this is awful." You wipe your tears, "he loves her,"
"I gathered as much,"
Your lip trembles as the rain soaks through her hopeless sobs, thinking she found someone who truly loved her just for it to be a lie.
Behind you, Erik slightly shifts. Not because he was uncomfortable but because he knows whats to come.
A broken sound leaves you, turning to peer over at the old man, "are you judging me?"
His lips curl in a soft smirk, “I wouldn’t dare,” Erik beckons you closer, hand slipping over your stomach to check the heating pad. “It may be mildly amusing when you shed tears over fiction, though I suppose that only means you wear your heart on your sleeve,”
“Heck does that mean?”
You snort and curl up into him properly, legs tucked under the little blanket and cheek nuzzled into his chest.
“It means,” he corrects the fabric around you to trap heat, “You are deeply sincere,” he taps your nose, “Maybe even an open book,” another tap.
“Erik,” you sigh and grab his hand before he does it again.
“Sleep, you look exhausted.” His cheek rests on your head, hiding his dreary expression as the two protagonists on screen yearn for each other.
Your arm tucks against his middle, losing the battle against fatigue. Another issue he’ll have to hunt a solution for.
When you’re finally out, he presses his lips into your hairline, smoothing hair back from your face.
