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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.
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✰ 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.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
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
