#Camp Wood stocks | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sai-int · 6 days ago

Note

hear me out, in the rdr2 universe right… imagine it’s close to sunset and you’re making your way back home after maybe a hunting trip or just going to another town for bartering/selling some goods.

you’re in the outskirts of a slightly wooded area where you hear soft singing, a slightly deeper or raspier yet not too bad of a singing voice. getting closer, it’s arthur morgan with his back turned, setting up camp and singing to himself to stay occupied as he was alone with his horse.

maybe he doesn’t hear you but his horse alerts him or you step on a branch and you call out to him to let him know “hey, someone is behind you but i’m friendly”

obviously you’d both be on guard, both don’t know if either would attack but you start to talk to one another, trade stories by the campfire as the sun continues to set, casting a gorgeous orange and pink hue over the two of you

(idk just an idea i’m not an author)

UNDER THE GUN

in which you harbor a wanted man that's undeniably sexy.

this had a mind of its own, so it's not exactly what you wanted, but i hope you still like it!

cw: MDNI, 18+, arthur morgan x f!reader, lots of porn, lots of plot, smut, unprotected piv, oral (f!recieving), size kink if you squint, creampie LONGER READ

The ground beneath your boots crackles, the dry twigs and leaves giving way with a sound that seems too loud for the stillness around you. Each step sinks deeper into the thick carpet of earth and rotted flora, the weight of your pack pulling at your shoulders as you push forward. The air bites at your cheeks, a cool and sharp reminder of the early autumn chill that clings to the woods. It’s the kind of cold that seeps in unnoticed, the kind that finds its way under your coat and lingers in your bones.

The scent of damp earth, moss, and rotting leaves fills your nose, familiar and homely. It’s a smell you’ve come to know intimately since you left Valentine years ago, set on ‘living off the land’ or whatever you used to rave about in your teen years. There’s something heavier in these familiar wood, like the forest is both alive and ancient, as though it remembers things you couldn’t even begin to imagine.

You’d been out hunting since dawn, and now, with the last rays of the dying sun slanting low through the trees, your haul weighed heavy at your belt. Two rabbits, freshly killed, their lifeless bodies swinging with each step, and a plump turkey wrapped up in your pack. The promise of a fire, a meal, and the solitude the woods offered made your pace steady but weary. Every muscle in your legs screamed for rest, but the thought of home—the small camp nestled just over the next ridge—kept you moving.

But as you crest the rise, the air in your lungs turns frigid, freezing your breath as it escapes you, your heart skipping a beat.

Thin smoke curled lazily into the sky, trailing upward in the fading afternoon light. It wasn’t the gentle wisp of a dying fire—it was too steady, too persistent to be that. Your fire, the one you’d used for coffee in the morning hours, had been snuffed out. You made sure of it. Right? Yeah. You’d done it. A cold sweat prickled at the back of your neck. The sound of crackling flames reached your ears, sharp and familiar, like a grim confirmation: someone was here. In your camp. And they weren’t supposed to be.

Every instinct you’ve honed over years in the woods kicks into high gear. Your breath catches in your throat, sharp and shallow. You drop to a crouch, sinking into the cover of the trees. Your hands automatically find the rifle slung across your shoulder. Cold wood against your palms, fingers tightening around the stock and barrel like a lifeline.

You’re fluid, practiced, slipping through the underbrush, heading down the small hill. Each step is calculated to avoid the snap of a twig or the rustling of leaves as best you can. The camp’s just a few yards ahead, your senses sharp and alert as your eyes lock on the man sitting by your fire. He doesn’t notice you. His back is turned, broad, solid, and tense, hunched in a way that suggests the weight of the world presses down on him all at once.

The faint glow revealed a rugged silhouette, a weathered, black hat pulled low over his head, a sleek black vest and matching pants, and—most unsettling—a set of silver pistols resting at either of his hips.

You stalk closer to him like a predator as he stretches his hands closer to the fire. Your rifle follows every twitch of his movements, trained at the back of his head. Your eyes flick between his hands and his pistols. If he made a wrong move, you’d end him right there.

Your pulse hammers in your ears, a drumbeat in time with the crackling flames. You halt just behind him, rifle trained, your breath steady and controlled.

“Don’t move,” you hiss, nudging the barrel against his head.

He freezes, every muscle in his body locking up. His hands lift slowly, palms raised in a gesture of surrender. His voice came low, rough like gravel scraped underfoot. “Easy now,” he drawled. “Ain’t lookin’ for trouble.”

“Well you’ve found it, Cowboy,” you snap back, nudging the barrel harder against his hat, a reiteration of your threat. You could smell the smoke from the fire, feel the heat on your face. “Who the hell are you, ‘n what are you doing at my camp?”

He turns his head just enough to catch you in his peripheral, but he doesn’t fully face you. His side profile is illuminated by the firelight, the sharp slope of his nose and the weight of his eyes etched in shadow. His chestnut hair, slightly overgrown, curls into a subtle mullet at the back, with loose strands falling across his eyes. A rare touch of neatly trimmed stubble outlines his jaw—surprisingly well-groomed despite his otherwise rugged appearance.

He hums a low, deliberate sound, like he’s in no rush, as if he could keep this up all day. Maybe he does—lurking around, picking off unsuspecting camps. "Name’s Arthur," he drawls slowly, the words slipping out with an ease that juxtaposes the tension in the air. "Arthur Morgan. Needed a place to lay relax for a spell, miss. Didn’t think anyone’d mind-"

“Well, I do mind,” you grit your teeth, grip tightening on the rifle’s under-barrel, your finger lowering to hover over the trigger. “You’ve got ten seconds to convince me not to blow your fuckin’ head off.”

Arthur’s lips quirk upward, the ghost of a smile barely visible under the shadow of his hat. “Reckon you’re a good shot, but you’d be wastin’ good ammo.” His voice was steady, calm, and there was a strange ease in the way he spoke. “I don’t mean no harm, girl. Just needed some warmth and a chance to catch my breath.”

“Nine.”

He let out a sigh, the first sign of frustration breaking through. “Look… I’m just damn tired, alright? Needed a minute. Ain’t lookin’ to ruffle your… lady feathers.”

Your eyes narrow, scanning his body for any sign of threat. It was as if he wasn’t afraid of the rifle, or of dying. Something tells you he’s dealt with worse than guns in his face. “Lucky for you, I’m not trigger-happy,” you muttered, lowering the rifle just a hair, but still keeping it ready. “I’ll give you half of supper, Morgan. Then you’re gone.”

“Fair enough,” he exhales as he drops his hands, “Appreciate your generosity, mi-”

“Generosity’s got nothing to do with it,” you interrupt, putting the barrel down and rounding to his front, taking in his features in their entirety. “I just don’t feel like dragging your corpse outta here.”

Arthur chuckles, the sound rough and deep, like the rumble of distant thunder. It sends an unexpected shiver down your spine. “Fair point. Mind if I ask who I’m thankin’ for not blowin’ my head to bits?”

You hesitate, your gut twisting. You’d never been one to trust easily, but something about him, in the way he held himself, the rough edges to his voice—made you reconsider. Maybe it was the familiarity in his eyes, the quiet respect in his tone. Or maybe it was just the solitude of the forest making you soften when you shouldn’t.

You give him your name as you toss your pack aside the small tent. You turn and sit a safe distance from him, but close enough to the fire to feel the heat on your skin, the crackling flames casting long shadows between you. You set your rifle down beside you, fingers lingering on the stock, just in case. "Just don't make me regret lettin' you stay," you mutter low and sharp.

Arthur nods, his posture relaxed as he shifts back against the log. "Fair enough," he says, his voice steady. He shoves his hands into his pockets and pulls out a loose cigarette, tapping it lightly against his thumb before holding it to the flame. The tip catches, glowing bright as he brings it to his lips, inhaling deeply before exhaling a cloud of smoke that drifts lazily into the night air. “I’ll be outta your hair as soon as it’s safe.”

You quirk your brow. As soon as it’s safe? You shake your head. Don’t get involved. You turn your attention to the rabbits on your belt. You untether them, fingers working quickly, skinning them with precision. Your mind keeps wandering back to Arthur. The way he sits by the fire, his broad frame casting such a large shadow behind him, the way the heat of the fire seemed to reflect in his eyes. There was something buried deep in him and you couldn’t help but wonder what it was.

You make quick work of the rabbits and you prepare a stew to brew over the fire. The sounds of the crackling flames and the rhythmic chopping of meat fill the silence between you. Arthur’s eyes never leave you. He thinks you don’t notice, but you don't need to, you can feel the weight of his gaze on you. It makes you breathe a little harder, tension building in your chest, your hands shaking ever so slightly as you put the ingredients in and set the pot over the fire. You can’t lie to yourself—it's been a long time since you’ve been this close to a man. And if Arthur Morgan was anything, he was undeniably… sexy.

You sink back against the log, eyes briefly flickering to Arthur, accidentally meeting his gaze before looking elsewhere. Arthur shifts almost awkwardly, clearing his throat. “So… what’re you doin’ out here all alone?” His voice is low, but there’s a genuine curiosity in his tone.

You glance up briefly, giving him a sharp sidelong look. “You really makin’ small talk?”

He shrugs, as if it’s the most casual thing in the world. “Figured I’d get to know the person I’m campin’ with. Ain’t every day one finds a woman like yourself this far from town.”

You cock an eyebrow. “‘Like myself’?”

He hesitates for a second, then exhales a slow breath, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, uh, you know...” He clears his throat, voice dropping a touch lower. “Pretty.”

You narrow your eyes as you study him. “You butterin’ me up for somethin’?”

Arthur lets out a smooth chuckle at that, his shoulders giving a brief, easy bounce. “I’m just an honest man.”

You shake your head, a smile cracking through the tough front you’d been holding up. On your haunches, you move over to stir the stew, your movements quick but steady, before plopping back down—closer to Arthur—and shifting the rifle out of the way. “Guess I like my peace and quiet. Ain’t much else to it.”

Arthur scooches toward you in return, an arms length away as his elbows rest on his knees. “Yeah? You don’t strike me as the type to just sit around, waitin’ for something to happen.” He pauses, looking you over with an easy sort of scrutiny. “You huntin’ for sport, or you just survivin’ out here?”

You flick him a quick glance, trying to ignore the heat building in your chest. “Bit of both, I guess. Gotta eat somehow.”

“Fair enough,” he says, taking a drag from his cigarette. “Reckon you know what you’re doin’.”

You don’t answer immediately, gazing into the dancing flames and letting the silence stretch out between you. When you finally speak, it’s softer, but still guarded. “You always ask so many questions?”

Arthur chuckles like he’s genuinely amused. “Only right to get to know the pretty woman cookin’ me supper.”

You roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitch with a reluctant smile.You don’t respond right away, You can feel his gaze on you again, though—studying your features.

Finally, you break the silence, changing the subject to ease the burn in your cheeks. “Well if you’re way out here, I reckon you’re not the type to stay in one place too long, huh?”

Arthur’s eyes flicker with something unspoken, but he doesn’t shy away from the question. “Not usually,” he says slowly. “But sometimes, a man gets tired of movin’. Need a break now and again.” His voice softens slightly, like he’s letting something slip past his usual guarded tone.

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “And what’s your idea of a ‘break’?”

He grins, that lazy smile creeping back onto his face. “A warm fire, a decent meal… Pretty woman by my side, if I’m lucky.” His eyes linger on you a moment longer than necessary, before he looks away, tossing his cigarette to the ground and crushing it beneath his boot. “Could do worse than this, sweetheart.”

You don't say anything for a moment, caught between the stillness of the night and the tension between you and him. Finally, you give him a small nod, almost imperceptible. "Yeah. Could do worse."

You keep your focus on the stew, but you can sense him edging closer again, his knee almost brushing against yours. “You know, for someone who says she likes peace and quiet, you sure don’t mind me stickin’ around.”

You glance up at him from beneath your lashes, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “Maybe I’m just likin’ the company.” You let the words hang in the air, just long enough to make him wonder if you mean it or not.

Arthur’s grin widens, and he leans in just a bit, “Yeah? And what exactly about ‘your company’ do you like?”

You turn your head to face him directly, the fire casting a warm, golden glow on his skin. Your gaze sharpens as you look him over. “Could be his way with words.”

He chuckles a low, gravelly sound that makes your stomach flip. “That all, girl?”

You hold his gaze, letting the silence stretch. It reeks of ‘What If’s’. “Could be the way he’s lookin’ at me right now.”

His eyes flicker to your lips, then back up to your eyes. He doesn’t move for a second, just watches you, like he’s weighing something. He seems to come to a conclusion when leans in a bit more, tilting his hat further up to avoid hitting your forehead. “That so?” he murmurs, his breath warm against your cheek.

You crane your neck to him,, bringing your face a hair’s breadth closer to his. “Could be,” you reply, your voice almost a whisper.

For a moment, it feels like everything else—the fire, the stew, the night itself, just fades away. “You know,” he rasps, “I’m startin’ to think you want me to stick around a little longer than you planned.”

You can’t help the chuckle that bubbles up, but it’s light, teasing. “You might just want to, Mr. Morgan.”

His smile never wavers. “Oh, I’m wantin’ a whole lot of things right now, darlin’.” His eyes flicker down to your lips again, then back to your eyes. “A whole lot.”

You lean in, your lips just barely touching his, when a distant sound echoes through the forest. The crunch of twigs snapping under the foot of someone careless. A few horses. The low murmur of voices, drawing closer with every second.

Arthur stiffens, his eyes darting toward the inky forest. His expression hardens, the playful grin slipping away as quickly as it had appeared. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath, rising to his feet in one fluid motion. “Don’t like the sound of that.”

The crunch of leaves grew louder, their footsteps unmistakable. Anyone out at this hour spelled trouble. You knew it, and so did he.

You’re on your feet too, instincts kicking in. Arthur looks back at you, brows furrowing in discontent. “I ain’t got time for this,” he says, voice tight. “I need somewhere to hide.”

You froze for a moment, doubt creeping in. Sure, he might’ve done some questionable things—Lord above knows you had—but enough to be on the run? What could he have done to need hiding?

Before he can take another step, you’re already moving. Without thinking, you shove him toward your tent. “In there. Now.”

Arthur hesitates, clearly flustered. “What—? You can’t—”

“Go!” you snap, the urgency in your voice cutting through the air. “Get in the fuckin’ tent, Arthur.”

He shoots you a look, but you don’t have to tell him twice. He nods sharply, ducking into the ten, the flap shutting behind him. You turn and pick up your rifle, holding it tight in your grasp.

A man, a Bounty Hunter emerges from the trees with his horse in tow, his frame illuminated by the light of the fire. He stops just on the edge of your camp, taking in the scene with an appraising look. His partner follows, a little slower, scanning the area more thoroughly. Their presence sends a prickle of unease crawling up your spine, but you don’t let it show.

"Evening, miss," the first one says, almost casual but with an air of inquisition behind it. He sizes you up quickly, eyes flicking over you before scanning the area of the camp. "You alone out here?"

You keep your expression neutral, hands relaxed around the rifle but ready to move if you need to. Your voice comes out calm and steady. "Just me. Goin’ about my business."

The second hunter doesn’t waste any time, moving toward the fire and eyeing the camp as his hands tighten around his horses tack. His eyes lock onto your rifle before drifting back to you. "We’re lookin’ for someone," he says, his tone more serious now. “A man by the name of Arthur Morgan. Seen him around?”

The name hits you like a blow to the chest, but you don’t let a flicker of recognition show. Instead, you furrow your brow slightly, feigning confusion. "Arthur… Morgan?" you repeat as if saying the words for the first time, giving a slow shake of your head. "Can’t say I have."

The first hunter takes a step forward, clearly unconvinced. "He’s been causin’ trouble ’round here. Stealin’ horses, robbin’ folk. We’re checkin’ all the camps." He looks over your fire, the tent, and the surrounding woods with a calculating eye, as if trying to catch any sign of someone hiding.

An ‘honest man’ huh? You keep your posture relaxed, playing the part. "Like I said, it’s just me out here. Ain’t seen anyone else."

The second hunter doesn’t seem to buy it. He takes a few steps closer, eyes narrowing as he sweeps the camp again, this time lingering on your rifle and the faint trail of smoke in the air. He cocks his head slightly, studying you with suspicion. "You sure about that, miss?" His voice carries a bite of challenge now, his stance a little more defensive.

You meet his gaze evenly, giving him a small, almost dismissive shrug. "Reckon I’d know if someone was here. Not the first time I’ve been alone in the woods."

The first hunter looks back at his partner, exchanging a tense glance before he nods and steps back. "Well, if you’re sure," he says, though his voice still holds a note of doubt. "We’ll take your word for it, miss."

The second hunter hesitates for just a beat longer, his eyes narrowing once more as he looks over the camp. He seems to weigh his options, but after a long moment, he finally sighs and glances back at his partner. "We’ll be back if we need more help findin’ him."

You give a small nod, never breaking eye contact, your voice casual as you reply, "Right then. You take care now."

The two men exchange a final, uncertain look before turning on their heels and heading back toward the tall pines. The crackling of the fire and the chirping of the crickets fill the silence as you stand still, listening intently. Your eyes dart, scanning the trees where the hunters walked off. You wait, every second stretched out, until you finally hear the sound of horses hooves thumping against the earth. Away.

You stay frozen, rifle still in hand, until the sound of their horses completely fades into the distance.

"Come out," you call, voice barely above a whisper but carrying through the quiet night.

The flap of the tent shifts before you hear his boots brushing against the dirt. He steps out slowly, a shadow in the firelight, his broad frame emerging from the darkness. He looks at you with that same easy expression, but you don’t miss the flicker of something beneath the surface—something guarded, maybe just as wary as you.

He stands before you, hands at his sides, tense as if he’s waiting to get socked in the face.

You don’t lower your rifle this time. Instead, you stand tall, staring him down with your eyes narrowed.

"Thought you were an ‘honest man’, Arthur," you say it low, each word slow and deliberate, carrying the weight of your suspicion. "Left some things out, did you? Robbin' and stealin’. The fuckin’ bounty you’re wearin’ in my camp? Probably killin’, too, right?."

Arthur’s expression falters for only a moment, but it’s enough for you to see the brief flicker of discomfort in his eyes. He opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off.

"I should’ve known better," you continue, your grip tightening on the rifle, still not lowering it. "You didn’t just need a place to rest. You were hiding. Just like the rest of ‘em."

He looks at you for a long moment, the silence between you thick and taut. Then, slowly, he sighs, a long, drawn-out exhale that seems to carry the weight of his frustration.

"Yeah, alright," he mutters, taking his hat in his hands and running a hand through his hair. He steps closer, but keeps a respectful distance. "I didn’t tell you everything. Ain’t proud of it. But you don’t know what it’s like—always looking over your shoulder, never knowing who’s gonna come after you next."

You don’t answer right away, watching him carefully. The firelight flickers over his face, and for a moment, he looks tired—worn down, like the world’s too heavy on his shoulders. But there’s still something about the way he stands there, trying to explain himself, that softens the edge in your chest, even if you don’t want it to.

He takes another step closer, his voice low but calm, like he’s trying to placate you, trying to make you understand.

"Those men?" He gestures vaguely toward the trees. "They ain’t the first to come lookin’ for me. They won’t be the last, either…I ain’t gonna put you in danger. I promise, Ain’t gonna let you get hurt. I just needed a place to lay low for a bit. Ain't nobody else around for miles."

You keep your eyes locked on him, but the harshness in your grip loosens just a bit. The tension in your body starts to fade, even as your mind races with the implications of what he’s saying.

"Yeah?" you say, your voice softer now, though there’s still a bite to it. "That’s it? You’re just ‘tired’, and ‘needed a rest’? That is what you said, right?"

Arthur’s gaze softens, and he nods, his lips curling into that half-smile of his. "Pretty much. Wouldn't lie about that."

You breathe out slowly, your rifle now hanging loosely in your hands. The hard edge in you has started to dull. You don’t feel as guarded as you did. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, like he values your opinion of him. Maybe it's just the firelight, the warmth, or the way his eyes bore into yours, silently pleading with you.

You stare at him for another beat, then let out a small huff. "Fine," you relent, your voice carrying the weight of reluctance. "Don’t make me regret it. I’ll put a hole through that stupid hat you got."

Arthur’s smile widens just slightly, a genuine warmth in his eyes. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

You set the rifle aside and move to the fire, the heat from the embers warm against your skin as you reach for the pot. The stew is well past ready, the rich scent of rabbit, herbs, and vegetables swirling in the air. You take it off the fire carefully, the sizzling sounds dying down as you settle it on the edge of the stones.

Arthur doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you. His eyes linger for a moment before he shifts slightly, as though he’s unsure of what to do next, where you both stand. The tension between you is still palpable, the silence bringing you back what happened mere minutes ago. You both know what almost happened—what could have happened—and the weight of it hangs in the air like the forest is beckoning it to happen again.

You pour the stew into two tin bowls, your hands steady as you bring them over to where Arthur’s moved to sit by the fire. You settle down next to him, your shoulders brushing lightly, the silence between you heavy.

The crackle of the fire fills the space where words should have been. At first, the quiet is just uncomfortable—a reminder of the spat you just had. Arthur shifts a little, taking a bite of the stew and swallowing before speaking again, his voice softer now. "You know… that’s the kindest thing anyone’s done for me in a long time." He looks over at you, his blue-hazel eyes glowing in the firelight. "Protectin’ me like that... You didn’t have to do that."

You glance up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. It’s not what you expected, but you mull over it before responding.

"Guess I don’t like people pushin' folks around," you say with a small, almost teasing shrug, trying to brush off the seriousness of the moment, staring down at the stew. "But I also don’t take kindly to anyone gettin' hurt if I can help it."

Arthur smiles, his gaze steady as he watches you. "I’m grateful then," he says, his voice low. “Ain’t never expect anyone to do all that for little ol’ me."

A silence settles over you again, but this time, it feels different. The words hang between you like a thread waiting to be pulled, and Arthur shifts closer, just enough that you feel the heat of his body next to yours. His tone changes.

"For the record," he says, leaning a little closer. "That was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen."

Your brow furrows, and you glance over at him, a slight confusion pulling at your features. "What?" you ask, not sure you heard him right.

He doesn’t miss the perplexed look in your eyes, and he chuckles, that same mischievous grin creeping back. "You don’t know what I’m talkin’ about?" he asks, eyes gleaming with that playful edge.

You shake your head, your heart beating a little faster.

Arthur leans back, but his gaze never leaves you, steady and intense. "You shoved me right in that tent, all bossy-like, told me to stay put while you handled those hunters. That... that was somethin’ else, girl."

A flush creeps up your neck, the heat of it settling in your cheeks. "That’s not—" you start, but Arthur’s grin widens, and the way he’s looking at you—like he’s memorizing every detail of your reaction—makes your words falter.

"It is," his voice almost a whisper, "ain’t even hesitate. Took charge like it was nothing." He gives a low whistle. "Got me all fired up."

He leans closer, close enough that you can feel his breath on your lips again and its more than welcome. He hovers there, tantalizing and teasing. Arthur’s voice is low, a soft growl under his breath, as he looks at you with something deeper in his gaze. "Reckon we’ve got some unfinished business, ain't that right, doll?"

You take a shaky breath, trying to regain some sense of control, but his words leave you in a haze. Your mind races as your heart beats louder, and for a moment, you think you might just say fuck it and close the gap just to feel his lips against yours.

But you hold back, just barely.

"Right," you say softly, voice almost a whisper.

It’s almost too much, the way he’s watching you, daring you to make the move. The temptation is unbearable. Your hand moves instinctively, pulling his head to yours and closing the gap, feeling his lips completely against yours for the first time.

It's gentle at first, a tender dance like neither of you are sure how much to push or how much to pull. It doesn’t last long. Arthur deepens the kiss, his hand finding the scruff of your neck to pull you closer, his other hand palms your waist as he guides you to straddle his lap, pulled tight so your chest is flush with his.

His hands roam your back and paw at your hips with hunger. The kiss deepens, messy and impatient, as his teeth graze your lower lip, pulling it into his mouth and nipping it before he soothes it with the heat of his tongue. The taste of him is sharp—tobacco, the faint tang of whiskey—and underneath it all, you. Every press of his lips against yours leaves you wanting more, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.

Your hands explore him, trailing up to tug at the collar of his shirt, desperate to feel more of him, to have him welded to you. His body is firm beneath your touch, sturdy and strong with a plush layer of fat and hair to keep him warm, the feel of it against your skin sends hot bursts of heat down your spine, where they settle in your cunt and drool out of you.

Arthur’s hands leave your back, moving to the front of you, his fingers brushing against the curve of your ribs before they slide lower, gripping your waist with possession. He pulls away from the kiss for a moment, his lips slick and swollen, his chest rising and falling with the weight of his breaths.

You take this as an opportunity, hands unbuttoning his vest and shoving his shirt up over his head. When he’s bare, your fingers brush against the hard planes of his chest as you pull him closer again. You kiss him with everything you have, a silent agreement that this is what you both want, what you both need.

His canines nip your lips, pulling a sharp mewl from you. He takes full advantage, slipping his tongue past your parted lips, tasting you with a hungry, unrestrained fervor, like an untamed mutt. He knows you won’t stop him—knows you’ll let him take as much as he wants.

You both move with a desperate kind of need. Arthur savors everything, though—his touch is firm, but there's a certain reverence in the way he undresses you, like he's trying to drink up every moment, every inch of skin he uncovers. He peels off your top, letting your tits bounce free, he’s near hypnotized, immediately palming them with a groan. He takes your right nipple into his mouth, sucking and flicking it with his tongue as his hand pinches the other. You arch your back into him, whining at the way his ministrations get you breathless and all red in the face. A low groan rumbles from him at the sound you make, his hips rolling up to meet yours, grinding his clothed cock against your cunt with need.

He pulls away, eyes flickering with something dark and hungry, but there's a tenderness there too, as if he wants this to be as much about you as it is about him. You see the way his chest rises and falls, his breath heavy as he fights the urge to pull you even closer, even faster. But he doesn’t. Instead, he flips you under him, carefully lowering you onto a discarded coat, the rough fabric cushioning your body as he hovers above you, his eyes searching yours.

"Comfortable?" he asks, his voice hushed and serious, even as his hands trail down your body, squeezing the plush of your waist and hips, near branding your skin in their wake.

You nod, your throat tight with anticipation. "Yeah," you breathe, your voice rough. "Just don't stop."

Arthur gives you that grin again, that dangerous, charming smile that you know will be the death of you. "I ain't goin' anywhere."

He leans down, his lips brushing against your neck, slow at first, like he's giving you time to adjust, to breathe, but it's not long before he’s kissing you again—harder this time, more urgent. You feel the weight of him on top of you, his body pressing against yours, the heat of his skin burning through you. His hands explore, tracing the lines of your body, memorizing every curve like he's afraid to forget.

The coat beneath you feels rough compared to his touch, but it’s grounding, real. As he hovers over you, his hands deftly undo your pants zipper and tug them down. You feel it—the overwhelming need to be consumed by him, in all measures of the word.

Arthur tosses your pants carelessly behind him, leaving you bare before him, your body illuminated by the flickering firelight, looking like something ethereal. You squirm, desperate for any hint of his touch. “Arthur, please…”

He groans, his hand palming his painfully hard cock through his pants, eyes drinking in every curve, every inch of you. “Tell me what you need, princess.”

“Fuck, touch me—anything, just... as long as it’s you,” you plead, your voice breathless with need, eyes blown wide.

“Atta girl,” he hums, a smirk tugging at his lips.

He presses his lips to the sensitive spot beneath your ear, sucking and biting hungrily, saliva trailing down your neck as he marks you with raw intensity. His mouth moves down, giving each tit special attention, his tongue flicking over your skin before dragging down your stomach. Every touch, every brush of his fingers, has you reeling, arching your back into him.

His hands grip your thighs, spreading them with primal sort of determination as he presses a searing kiss right above your mons. His gaze locks with yours—dark, hungry—promise and danger flickering in his eyes as he finally settles between your legs, his breath heavy, the air thick with tension.

He dives in without hesitation, his lips instantly latching to your clit, licking and sucking with just enough pressure to make your eyes screw shut. You hear him slobbering all over you, making out with your cunt—his tongue laving over your folds like a home cooked meal. His tongue dips to your tight hole, greedily gulping down your juices, groaning at the taste of you.

The sounds he makes are oh so primal, so sinful they could conjure a demon right then and there if he wasn’t so focused on the way your hole pulses with each flick of his tongue on your clit. You bite down on your lip, the pain sharp as you struggle to suppress the desperate cries building in your chest. Blood wells in the small cut, a testament to how much you’re trying to hold back. But it's impossible. Your hands card through his hair, unsure if you should hold him close or force him back because—God—he’s just too good.

He reluctantly pulls his mouth away from your cunt, and the loss leaves a harsh cry on your lips. He had brought you so, so close to the edge.

“Awe,” he shushes you gently, “none of that whinin’ now, I’ll take care of you.” His face is soaked, stubble glistening, his lips covered in your slick, catching the flicker of the firelight. He leans forward, tongue flicking out to lick them clean, savoring every trace of you.

He rises onto his haunches, unzipping his pants and pulling them down quickly, muscles rippling as he moves. Once free, he leans back over you, hovering just above, his gaze heavy with desire. He taps his index and ring fingers lightly against your lips, his eyes locking with yours, waiting expectantly.

“Open up,” he coos, his voice low and commanding. You part your lips, taking his fingers into your mouth, your tongue swirling around them in slow, deliberate motions. Your eyes meet his, and a smirk plays at the corner of his lips. “Fuck, there you go… Sweet thing… so fuckin’ gorgeous… Gonna look so nice sittin’ on my cock, ain’t that right, girl?”

You nod fervently, releasing his fingers with a soft pop. “Need it, please, Arthur—” Your words falter into a desperate plea. “Shh… Shh…” He murmurs, his hand brushing your cheek, his voice low and soothing. “I’m gonna give you what you need, baby doll. Gotta work you open before you take me.”

He keeps his gaze locked with yours as he brings his fingers back to your searing cunt, all wet and messy with his spit and your slick. Your hands find his broad shoulders, holding onto him as he teases your hole with the pads of his fingers. He bites back a laugh when you clench around nothing. He gathers some slick, moving up to draw a few quick circles to your clit before snaking back down and pressing his thick digits into your cunt.

The stretch is immediate, overwhelming, so much bigger than your own. Your eyes well from the relentless teasing, a mix of pleasure and ache burning in your belly. With a click of his tongue, he leans down to kiss a loose tear away, soft and tender, before giving experimental curls of his fingers. His gaze scans your face, waiting, searching for that sweet spot. After a certain thrust, your face contorts and you clench around him with a whimper, a smirk curls on his lips, and he continues, steady and deliciously curling his fingers inside you, stretching you out and hitting spots you never knew existed.

You clench around him again, the familiar hot burn of raw pleasure pooling in your core, pleading with him to let you cum. You've been on the edge for so long, your legs tremor uncontrollably, and he can feel it, knows just how close you are.

“Getting close? Makin’ you feel all warm inside? Gettin’ real wet down there, baby, you gonna cream my fingers, hmm?” He murmurs in your ear, his fingers curling at the same steady pace, but you’re desperate, you need more. The slow rhythm isn’t enough anymore—your body aches, craving that sweet release.

“N-no, wanna cum on your cock— Arthur— Please, fuck!” You wail unabashedly. He slows his movements before gently pulling his fingers out of you with a wet schlick that makes your ears tinge pink. “Easy, easy, girl,” he hums, patting your hair with his other hand, “that’s what you want? Want me to make you cum all over my cock, pretty girl? You want that?” He babbles in your ear all desperate, wanting nothing more than to hear you say it again, the words falling from your lips like a prayer.

You nod vigorously, and a genuine smile spreads across his face. He finds you so endearing like this—sweet, eager, and willing. He settles back against the log, his hands moving to your waist, guiding you to sit atop his thighs. With a swift motion, he pulls his drawers down, and his cock genuinely makes you gasp. He’s incomprehensibly thick and decently long, thick, dark curls around the base and a deliciously ruddy tip, drooling with pre and begging for attention.

He takes it in his hands, giving it a few lazy strokes before holding atop your belly. “See that, baby?” He drawls, tapping his cock against you, “Gonna fit so snug, so deep in your belly.” You look down, seeing how he’s perfectly lined up, length resting just below your navel. The thought of him inside you, all of him, has you trembling, your mouth watering at the anticipation.

You lift your hips hovering just above his length. His hands find your sides, guiding you and letting you move at your own pace. You sink down slowly and it's euphoric.

You lift your hips, hovering just above his cock. His hands find your sides, guiding you gently but giving you the freedom to move at your own pace. Slowly, you sink down on him, and the sensation is euphoric, every inch of him stretches you, slowly remolding your pussy to fit him inch by agonizing inch.

Arthur doesn’t believe in God, but in this moment, he looks up at the sky, searching for something, any deity or saint to anchor him. If he spent another second watching the way his length disappears inside you, he knows he’d blow his load instantly. You’re just so tight around him, as if you’re trying to cut off circulation.

Finally, he’s buried to the hilt. You can feel him in your fucking lungs, every part of you aware of him. Your body no longer feels like your own—it’s as if you've become one with him, his cock filling you completely, and everything else fades away. Each breath you take, each subtle movement beckons his cock to hit new spots so deep inside of you, your senses overwhelmed.

You’re both sweating, your bodies a tangled mess of movement, desperate and breathless. Your hands cling to his shoulders, and his grip on your waist and hips is firm, controlling. He mutters softly, almost incoherently, “There you go, girl…” The words send a shiver through you. You take his head in your hands, your eyes locking for a brief, intense moment before you kiss him with everything you have, your passion and need pouring into the kiss. He responds in kind, his movements slow at first, as he begins to thrust, the rhythm causing the kiss to falter. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ deep, darlin’, such a good girl,” You’re both panting into each other’s mouths.

You’re already so fucked dumb, your mind a haze of pleasure. All you can do is meet his thrusts, your body moving in sync with his, bouncing with each sharp motion. Every movement sends a new shockwave through you, a mix of pleasure and pressure that has you near whining, your breath hitching—soft ah ah ah’s—as you struggle to keep up with the intensity.

All you can hear is the sound of his thighs meeting yours and the sound of your pussy making an absolute mess of him. He’s muttering, groaning incoherently into your skin. “Fuckin’ made for m— Fuck! So fuckin’ tight, baby, milkin’ my fuckin’ cock— My girl—” He cradles your head against his and thrusts up into you at a pace that’ll leave you sore tomorrow, your tight wet walls clamping around him, milking him for all he’s worth while he hammers your g-spot. Each roll of his hips rubs against your clit, the friction is delicious and you feel heat begin to simmer in your belly, your walls clenching tight around him. “A-arthur, I’m gonna… Gonna cum..” You mewl into his shoulder as you claw into his back, your voice hoarse.

“Fuck, cream my cock, sweet thing. Come on now, I got you, focus on me,” He huffs, keeping up his pace despite the fatigue in his hips. He can feel you pulsing around him already and it’s egging on his own orgasm alongside yours. He guides your eyes back to his, keeping you locked there.

He can feel the tension building, his balls tightening with the urgent need to release, every thrust pushing him closer to the edge. His body trembles with the effort of holding back his orgasm so you could have yours first. You bounce in his lap, ragdolling from the strength of his thrusts.You crash your lips onto his, messy and urgent, as you swallow the wail threatening to escape. The coil inside you finally snaps, an intense rush of pleasure flooding your senses as you come undone, your body trembling uncontrollably against his as you cream his cock.

“That’s my girl— Fuck,” he starts but is cut off by his own orgasm washing over him, his balls empty and fill your cunt with his spend, pumping you full. He gave a few lazy thrusts while riding out the after-shocks, each thrust making your body twitch in overstimulation.

You sit atop him, your legs trembling with exhaustion as both of your chests rise and fall in tandem, each breath heavy and ragged. His body stills beneath you, his cock softens inside you, but he doesn’t make any attempts to move. He stays with you, fully embedded, the connection between you both lingering in a slow, steady pulse.

Arthur brushes your hair out of your face, his hand resting gently on your cheek. His eyes lock with yours, and for a moment, everything else fades. There's a quiet intensity between you, the kind that doesn’t need words but still feels so heavy. His thumb moves slowly across your skin, grounding you in the softness of his touch.

"You alright?" he asks, his voice low and steady, as if he’s reading the tension still lingering in the air between you. His gaze doesn’t waver, just searching your face like he’s trying to understand every little shift in you.

You nod slowly, feeling the warmth of his hand, the steady rhythm of his breath. "Yeah… just… give me a second."

He watches you carefully, but there’s a softness to his expression, a kind of understanding that doesn’t need to be spoken aloud. He leans in slightly, his forehead brushing against yours, close but not quite touching. "Take all the time you need, darlin’," he murmurs, his voice rough but comforting.

As you come to, you feel the lingering rush, the aftershocks of what just happened, and it’s almost overwhelming. But Arthur’s presence is steadying, his calm and quiet like an anchor. "I’m good," you say finally, though your voice feels a little breathless, like you’re still trying to catch up with yourself. You meet his eyes again, and this time, the intensity is different—softer, maybe even a little tender.

Arthur lets out a low, quiet chuckle. "You ain’t gonna be sayin’ that in the mornin’," His voice holds a hint of teasing, but there’s no judgment in it, only affection, a quiet warmth that makes you smile despite yourself.

"Probably," you admit, shifting slightly, still feeling a little shaky. " I doubt I’ll mind, though."

Arthur’s smile is small, but it holds more than words could say. He stays close, his hand still on your cheek, his thumb running in slow circles. "You don’t gotta worry about a damn thing, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice rough , like the realization of everything that just happened hasn’t quite settled in for him either.

You stay there in Arthur’s arms for what feels like forever, neither of you making any effort to move. The fire crackles softly, its warmth enveloping you both, casting flickering shadows in the night. You don’t know what’s in store for you and Arthur, but at this moment, none of that matters. He’s here, his hand gently cupping your cheek and arm is wrapped securely around your waist. Right now, that’s all you need.

#♱ angel’s writing #I know that rabbit stew was overcooked as FUCK #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #arthur rdr2 #rdr2 #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 fanart #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 community #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption two #red dead fandom #red dead redemption community #red dead online

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dandylovesturtles · 9 months ago

Text

I lied

this fic is going to have at least four parts. oops.

Sorry this took longer than I intended! I started working on it literally the next day after the first part went up and banged out 3K words, then wrote another 1.5K over the next couple days, ended up hating it, deleted the whole thing and started over. I'm much happier with this version.

I had intended for this part to go deeper into the immediate aftermath buuuut this part ended up so long I decided to make that the next part!

And I got enabled on discord to be mean with the cliffhanger, so... sorry <3

CW: minor violence, angst, nobody having a good time, Bishop being Bishop

btw this is Part 2 of the Room Fic that doesn't have a title yet. If you're confused, start here!

-----

They're somewhere in Nebraska, and Raph's never seen so many stars before.

He thought he had seen stars, when they went camping in the woods that time with Todd. Now, sitting on the side of the road by the Turtle Tank, he's realizing that he didn't really see them.

He wishes he could enjoy it, but he can't. Not really. Because nine days ago, Leo stormed out of the lair and never came home.

(Raph knows the thing he'll always blame himself for is picking the fight in the first place.)

It took them several days to learn what had happened to him. Even more days to learn where he was taken. And now they're stuck on the side of the road in Nebraska while Donnie fixes a flat.

Mikey's dozing against his shoulder. He hasn't been getting enough sleep, not that any of them have. April's handing Donnie tools and keeping him company while he changes the tire. Draxum and Splinter are inside the tank, on the lookout for cops with the help of Donnie's police scanners.

It's cool since the sun went down. Quiet. Crickets are out and playing their songs. Raph's seen a few deer, and an owl. The stars are twinkling overhead, and it's calm, peaceful.

The weight on his shoulder is suddenly gone; Raph looks down to find Mikey sitting up straight, wide awake and head cocked to the side like a bloodhound who just caught a scent.

He opens his mouth to ask - and then he feels it too.

It's a cacophony of emotions, strong and hot and mixing together until they're overwhelming. Fear, pain, exhaustion, loneliness, and a blinding fury like even Raph has never felt before. Hatred and bile and the desire to attack, to harm, to destroy.

And underneath it all, a presence as familiar to him as his own, one that's been by his side since almost the day he was hatched. One that is fragile and desperate and screaming out for help.

Leo.

Raph stands up - next to him, Mikey is already on his feet. Raph reaches out his hand, his ninpo flaring to life, straining out into the open air like if he just stretches far enough, he can pluck Leo out of the hell he's trapped in and bring him home.

But he can't reach far enough, because the EPF took him all the way to Colorado. And they're still on the side of the road in Nebraska.

As quickly as it came, the presence is dying away again. It shrinks smaller and smaller and then fizzles out. Raph releases his breath, letting his ninpo fall away, his fingers still grasping open air.

A sniffle. Raph looks down and finds Mikey sobbing. He scoops his little brother into his arms, and Mikey throws himself into Raph's chest, heaving breaths shaking his tiny frame.

"Leo," he whimpers. All Raph can do is pat his shell.

He turns to take stock of Donnie next, carrying Mikey over. His other little brother has tears trickling down his face, too, more subdued but still visible. He's holding his wrench in a vice grip, and for once he doesn't utter a single protest when Raph reaches out and tucks him in under his free arm.

"...What just happened?" asks April, hesitant. Raph wishes he knew how to explain.

"It was Leo!" Mikey does it for him. "He... he's reaching for us."

"What!? Like, mind meld or something!?"

"No," answers Raph. "I don't really know what that was... but it was definitely Leo."

"So..." April pauses, eyes searching each of their faces. "Is he... okay?"

None of them know what to say, but she gets it anyway.

"...I'm going to destroy the EPF," says Donnie, voice dark and cold. "I'm going to raze it to the ground. There will be nothing left."

Raph squeezes his shoulders, pulling him closer.

He doesn't know what to do other than agree.

-----

"This is a good thing," says Draxum. "That means he's still alive."

"But they're hurting him!" Mikey argues. He's halfway in Draxum's lap, arms wrapped around Draxum's middle. Donnie sits on one of the bench seats, curled tight around his own legs, while Splinter strokes his head. Raph sits on the bench seat across from them, April leaning against his side.

"I told you what the EPF is capable of," Draxum reminds them. "This is not a surprise."

"Read the room, Barry," says April.

Splinter's look is increasingly far away, his touch on Donnie's head automatic and absentminded. He's able to stay in the room with them when there's something to do, but now the fear and depression are threatening to take him away again. For the hundredth time since this nightmare began, Raph feels the hopelessness set in.

Draxum sucks, but he's right, echoes the voice in his head that sounds too much like Leo. The plan hasn't changed. Now get moving before you tire out.

"Drax is right that Leo's alive," Raph echoes. "So we need to get a move on. Donnie, how's the tank?"

Donnie uncurls, coaxed by the request to talk about his baby. "The spare's on, and I did some checks on the engine and interior systems. We're ready to go."

"Alright." Raph stands up, rolling his shoulders. "It's Raph's turn to drive. Everyone buckle up."

The mood in the tank shifts after that; they have a direction, and a plan. Leo is hurt, but he's still alive, and nothing has changed.

Donnie and April sit together in the front seats. Mikey passes around snacks and drinks from their cooler, then snuggles in between their dad and Draxum. Draxum says something negative about the snack food, which pulls Splinter out of his trance and starts up some heated bickering between them. Even more of the tension leaks out of the cab.

Raph puts the tank in drive and pulls back onto the quiet highway, driving west again. At their back, the sun starts to rise.

-----

It's late in the day when they reach Colorado Springs.

Donnie was able to pin the EPF base's location down to the mountains surrounding the town, but he couldn't find its exact location. Whatever equipment they have, it's completely scrambled the subcutaneous tracker Donnie put on Leo (and boy, was that a stir when Donnie revealed he'd put trackers on all of them). It had taken a combination of Donnie's hacking and April's investigative skills to get this far.

"It makes sense," says April as they pull the tank into a campsite outside the city limits. "There's, what, three bases here? Where better to hide a secret branch of the military than with the military?"

There's snow on the ground outside, even though it's early May. Even so, the temperature was pretty mild while the sun was up. "It's the proximity to the mountains," Donnie explains when Raph mentions it, but the rest of the explanation blurs together. He's too tired to keep up with Donnie's science facts, but infodumping calms his brother down, so he lets him do it and nods along.

They eat a proper meal that Mikey cooks for them on one of the campsite grills, then settle in to nap until the sun goes down. Raph isn't sleeping, and he can tell from all the shifting around that Mikey and Donnie aren't, either. They're too close to Leo now to rest.

But you gotta catch some Zs before you go storming into enemy territory, the Leo in his head reminds him.

Raph hates every second you're in there, he thinks. But it won't be long now. Big bro's comin'.

He wishes the Leo in his head would say that he believes that. But all Raph can remember are the words they said during the fight, and he never quite goes to sleep.

-----

They break into pairs for their search. Raph goes with April, Mikey with Splinter, and Donnie stays with Draxum at the tank. Donnie uses his tech to try and narrow down the location of the base, while the other two teams go in opposite directions and start scouting the area on foot.

It takes a long time for them to learn anything, and as the sun comes up again, Raph starts to worry that they're going to have to leave Leo trapped for another full day.

But then he and April finally get a lead. They send the info to Donnie, and it helps narrow down his search.

Just after dawn, they reconvene at the tank, gathered around satellite images and drone shots of a nondescript military compound several miles outside the city.

"There it is," says Donnie with finality. "That's where they're keeping Leo."

"Then what are waiting for?" asks Mikey.

Wait for dark, says the Leo in Raph's head.

And that advice makes sense. There will be fewer employees at night. The dark provides natural cover. It's sane. It's smart.

Raph ignores it entirely.

He's not leaving his little brother with those people for one second longer. Not after what he felt, sitting on the side of the road in Nebraska.

"We're not waiting for anything," he says. "Let's move out."

From the looks on their faces, they all agree.

------

The site looks as generic as possible. There's a high electric fence circling the whole thing, with a basic "No Trespassing - Government Property" sign. A simple guard stand sits at the drive-in gate. The buildings visible beyond are drab and featureless.

The government stopped publicly funding the EPF in the nineties, Draxum had told them. But the organization had never truly gone away; it was just funded through underground means now. Miscellaneous defense funding. Anonymous donations. Private benefactors.

Originally it had been founded to defend Earth against aliens. But when no alien threat appeared, they moved on to a new mission: defending the United States against yokai.

"Even though we were here first," Draxum had said testily. "Typical Americans."

Raph hadn't liked anything Draxum had to tell them about the EPF. That they weren't bound by any of the laws the rest of the military was. That the yokai they had managed to capture were never seen again. That Draxum had had a very brief run-in with them once, decades ago, and he doubted they had ever forgotten it.

Really, though, all he'd needed to know was that they had his brother.

It's the middle of the morning, so their stealth options are limited. Still, they aren't ninja for nothing; they use the forest and the snowy terrain to their advantage and sneak their way into the compound. Raph has to admit, he was a little worried about Draxum on the trip over, but the old goat does a pretty good job keeping up.

It takes them a bit of time to work out which building to enter. They rule out a mess hall, a medical ward, the barracks, and some kind of training center first. Then, toward the furthest reaches of the compound, they find a building that looks particularly suspicious, with a guard gate on the path leading to it and more armed guards on the roof.

"That has to be it," says Raph. No one disagrees.

They use a passing supply truck to slip past the guard gate, then sneak around the back and use a fire ladder to get to the roof. They dispatch the guards on top quickly and easily, then find a ventilation shaft leading inside. Mikey, Donnie, April, and Splinter fit easily enough, but Raph and Draxum are too big to wiggle through.

"Find out where we're going. Radio us as soon as you find something," Raph says. Then he gives Mikey, April, and Donnie's shoulders each a squeeze in turn. "And be careful."

"Take care of Red," their dad says to Draxum just before he follows the others inside.

"He's safe with me," Draxum promises.

"You're safe with Raph," Raph feels the need to say. Splinter chuckles before disappearing into the shaft after his siblings.

Waiting outside becomes nerve-wracking quickly. Raph starts to pace the length of the roof, back and forth, glancing at the unconscious guards from time to time to make sure they're still unconscious.

"You're going to wear a rut on the roof," Draxum admonishes him. Raph keeps going anyway.

-----

Finally, after what feels like ages but is only about ten minutes, his radio crackles. Raph freezes, pulling his wrist close, where Donnie's tech is hidden under his wraps.

"Hey." It's April's voice. She sounds out of breath, but not distressed. "Come to the back of the building. Should be a door."

"On our way," says Raph, waving at Draxum to follow before dropping off the roof.

The door is easy enough to find, the snow around it trampled down. He gives the metal a rap with his knuckles when he gets there, and the door swings open, April grinning, her bat perched against her shoulder. Behind her is another unconscious guard.

"Nice, April," says Raph, hustling inside. He kicks the last of the snow off his feet once he's on the cold linoleum floor, Draxum following suit. April lets the door swing shut again. "Where's everyone else?"

"We found some kinda security room. Leo's gear was in there." She pushes by and starts to lead them down the hall, voice low, eyes watching for anyone rounding the corner. "Donnie's poking through the camera footage. Didn't look like anyone much was in this hall, so I came to get you."

"And Leonardo?" asks Draxum.

April gives a shake of her head. "Haven't found him yet, but he's gotta be here. There's not much more of the building to search, so we're close."

Raph peeks in open doors and through windows as they walk, taking in the space. It looks like an ordinary office building inside; nothing nefarious, except for the fact that the people working here are kidnapping scum who have done something so terrible to his little brother it made him scream out in anguish and fury. But if he hadn't known that coming in, he wouldn't have expected anything. It all looks very...

Raph comes to a sudden stop. Through the sliver of window in a door, he sees the first occupied room since he's entered the building. Only one person is inside, wearing a white lab coat and tapping away at a computer.

But what's more interesting is the door on the other side of the room: solid metal with no window, and a sign that reads "Inmate Observation - Authorized Access Only".

Raph grabs April by the shoulder before she can get too far ahead, pointing at the window. "Do you know what's in there?"

She turns back and takes a peek. "...No. I don't think we went through there yet."

So they haven't ruled this part of the building out yet. And it's the only one so far with anyone inside.

Inmate Observation.

"Raph, wait, I think we should-" April starts, but Raph doesn't listen. Raph can't stop himself.

His little brother is in here. He knows he is. The one who was taken from them. The one who cried out to them in fear, begging to be saved.

He's not making Leo wait a moment longer.

Raph throws open the door and marches inside.

"...Okay," April says behind him. "I guess we're doing it this way.

-----

The scientist or whoever they are tries to radio for help. Raph picks the radio up and crushes it in his hand. They turn and run, and that takes care of that.

April calls the others on her radio. Raph doesn't listen to the conversation. His eyes are locked on the door.

Inmate Observation.

He reaches out and throws the door back with a bang.

He's ready for the gunshots before they come, and his ninpo is already active, forming a protective bubble around himself and shielding Draxum and April. He's expecting bullets, but instead it's darts; they embed themselves harmlessly in the arms of his projection. Raph waits until the volley stops, then drops the projection, and the darts fall harmlessly to the floor.

He steps into the room and clocks one of the guards on the head before they can reload, watching as they fall to the ground. April wallops the other one, then kicks their fallen gun under a desk. She brandishes her bat at the other occupants of the room: two more scientists in lab coats, and one steely faced man in a suit.

The scientists seem intimidated. The suited man does not.

"Ah," he says. "So you've finally made it here, Draxum."

"Bishop." Draxum sounds equally unimpressed. "I thought you died in the nineties."

"So does most of the world. It's convenient for my work."

"You guys know each other?" April asks, looking between them.

"We know of each other." Draxum sneers. "If my plans had gone as I intended, he would truly be dead by now."

Raph narrows his eyes at the man. "Are you the one who's been keeping my brother here?"

To his credit, Bishop still looks unphased, even though Raph is tall enough to hulk over him. "I am the director of this facility."

It's enough of a yes.

Raph rushes Bishop, slamming him into the wall behind his back. Raph keeps him pinned, one hand on his neck, the other arm pressed against his chest, and Raph presses until he feels something start to crack.

Bishop hisses but does not cry out.

"Where are you keeping him?" Raph demands.

"He's in there," says Bishop, wheezing only slightly from the constriction on his lungs, his voice firm otherwise.

Raph tosses a look where Bishop indicates, seeing a large window. It's looking into a seemingly empty room; white walls and no furniture other than a toilet in the corner.

"Raph don't see him," he growls.

"He hides under the window." Bishop's eyes flicker to one of the scientists. "Pointless, really," he says, giving the man in the lab coat a nod. "Show them."

The scientist looks uneasy, but he turns and clicks a few buttons on a desktop. A screen pops up, but it doesn't show anything other than static.

"...Something is wrong with our camera signals, sir," the scientist reports.

"Ah." Bishop's eyes glint, and then flick back to Raph's face. "So there are more of you."

Raph doesn't answer that. He gives Bishop a rough shake. "What have you done to him?"

"Your brother?" Bishop clarifies. "Nothing."

Another shake. "Don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying." Bishop's eyes are steely, even as his wheezing picks up the more Raph leans into his chest. "Other than as was necessary to move him, we have not touched him."

Raph doesn't move an inch. "I don't believe that."

"Then see for yourself." Bishop looks at the other scientist now, giving a small nod of his head. "Dr. Keller, open the door for this brute so he'll stop assaulting me."

Raph scowls, staying exactly where he is while the other scientist scurries to the metal door by the window and inputs a code into a keypad. There's a beep, and a clipped, artificial voice says, "Inmates clear the door. Security personnel entering. Stay still and you will not be harmed."

Finally, Raph lets Bishop go, and approaches the door.

-----

When Raph imagined one of them getting kidnapped by a shady, quasi-governmental agency intent on imprisoning mutants, he always pictured something... different.

He thought they would be in cages, not tall enough to stand in. That they would be fed from dog bowls or water drippers. That handlers would patrol the room with cattle prods, ready to shock anyone who stepped out of line.

But there is no cage, and no cattle prods. Leo is just in a room.

The first thing Raph notices about the room is the cold. The rest of the building is hardly stifling, but even then, the blast of air that comes through the open door feels like Raph is stepping into a freezer.

As he saw from outside, there's no furniture. Or he doesn't think there is, until he looks down, under the window, and finds a cot.

And what's on the cot makes his heart stop.

Raph can barely remember the last time he saw Leo pull himself fully into his shell for anything other than shell bowling. He complained that it was too small, that the hot and cramped space made him feel claustrophobic.

Now he's completely pulled inside, still and silent in a way Leo should never be.

For an eternity, Raph thinks he's too late. They came all the way here only to save Leo's corpse.

"Leo...?"

He kneels by the cot, reaching out and putting a hand on Leo's shell. He's cold to the touch, and it unsettles Raph even further. He shouldn't be this cold.

Raph keeps his hand where it is and stays very still and very quiet. And he waits.

And then he hears it, so faint he almost misses it: a terrified, whimpering chirp.

Leo is alive.

Raph feels tears spring to his eyes. He puts his other hand on Leo's shell, rubbing in big, soothing motions.

"Leo! Leo, it's me! We're here, we're getting you out! It's all going to be okay, just trust Big Raphie, alright?"

So saying, Raph straightens back up, and grabs Leo's shell in his hands to carry him out, to take his little brother home.

A hand shoots out of the shell, stick thin. Though it's clearly weak, it grabs on to Raph's arm with a desperate ferocity, clawing at the skin there.

Raph freezes, not putting Leo down but not lifting him any further, either. He peers into the gap in Leo's shell, and sees eyes peering back at him, glassy and wide and full of terror. A cornered animal fighting for his life.

Raph takes a deep breath. He summons all the love he has for Leo, all the relief he feels at finding him alive, all the happiness he has from having his little brother in his arms again, and he pours it into a genuine smile, no matter the danger outside.

"Hey, Leo," he says, voice soft. "It's just me. Raph came to get ya. Everything's okay now."

A second passes, then five, then twenty. April starts to come in, but Raph waves a finger at her to tell her to go back before she startles Leo. He keeps the smile on his face, his eyes locked on Leo's, his hold secure but non-threatening.

And then, slowly, Leo pokes his head out.

"Raph?" he asks, in a voice that is exhausted and hoarse and warbling and absolutely beautiful.

"Yeah," says Raph, blinking tears back. "Hey, buddy."

Steadily, Leo unfurls the rest of himself, one limb emerging at a time. He looks terrible. His cheeks are sunken and gaunt, his skin is an unhealthy color, his eyes are ringed by dark black circles showing off how little he's slept.

Raph is so happy to see him. He so wishes this wasn't the state he was finding Leo in. If he could turn back time and make it so Leo never suffered, he would in a heartbeat. But he's so happy to have Leo back that the tears keep flowing.

The grip Leo has on his arm shifts. No longer trying to claw himself free, but grabbing on, holding still, with all the same desperation as before. His eyes search Raph's face, over and over until it seems he's finally satisfied.

"Raph," he repeats, and it's not a question this time.

"Yeah," Raph says anyway. "I'm here."

He lifts Leo the rest of the way, cradling Leo against his chest. Leo's so much lighter than he should be, and Raph feels a sharp pain in his heart over it.

It's okay. They'll leave. They'll take care of him. And then Leo will be all better again.

Leo shifts himself, reaching one arm up and hooking it around Raph's neck. Just that much movement seems to sap a lot of energy, and he slumps his head against Raph, giving up on holding it upright. It reminds Raph of when they were little and he would carry Leo to bed, before Leo started insisting he's too old for that.

"Am I dreaming?" Leo whispers.

Raph's heart breaks, but he doesn't lose his smile. "Nope. You're wide awake."

"Then..." Leo nuzzles closer. "Can we go home?"

"Yeah." Raph sniffles, shifting his grip so he can get a hand free without disturbing Leo. "We can go home."

Leo doesn't say anything more, just hums quietly against Raph's neck. Raph wipes his tears away, then turns and carries Leo out of the room.

-----

Bishop is still against the wall; it's Draxum's vines holding him there now.

When Leo sees him, he shrinks into himself, crossing the arm not hooked around Raph over his chest. Raph turns his body so Leo is shielded from view, glaring hard at Bishop as he does.

"Didn't do anything to him, huh?" he asks, voice icy.

"He is unharmed," says Bishop, equally cold. Raph wants to kill him.

"That's enough out of you," says Draxum, and a new vine wraps around Bishop's mouth. That shuts him up.

April's eyes are wide, her hand over her mouth as she looks at Leo, but she quickly pulls herself together, her expression turning to one of hard steel. She comes closer, only softening when Leo's eyes lock on her.

"Hey, Leo," she says, reaching up and giving his arm a pat. "How're you feelin'?"

"Happy to see you," Leo rasps, and it's so sincere that Raph feels tears spring to his eyes again. April has to blink hard behind her glasses.

"We're really happy to see you, too."

"Yes, everyone is happy now," says Draxum, though his eyes are worried as they look Leo over. "But we still need to get out of here."

"Right." April opens the door back into the offices, letting Raph through, before she pulls up her wrist to talk into her Donnie tech. "Guys, you there?"

"We're here, April," comes Donnie's voice. "We've extracted the information and we're on our way to meet you."

"Great." She smiles up at Raph. "We got Leo."

"Leo!" Mikey's voice comes booming through the radio, loud enough that April cringes and leans back. Raph can hear Donnie make a noise of protest in the background. "Is he okay!? Can I talk to him!? Did he miss me!?"

April raises her wrist so the tech is in front of Leo's mouth. He tilts his head towards it, saying, "Course I missed you."

"LEO!" screams Mikey even louder, and Raph thinks he hears the shout from somewhere in the building, too.

"-key, give me back my arm-" comes Donnie's voice, then there's an exaggerated throat clearing before he's saying, "We'll be there in one minute. Be ready to move."

"We're ready," Raph assures him. They move to the door and watch for the others to appear.

-----

Days of stress seem to fall off his brothers and Splinter when they see Leo.

Raph wishes they could have all the hugs and reassurances he knows they all need, but there's just no time; they're still in enemy territory, and the man who hurt his brother the most is just behind two doors, only being held by Draxum's vines. There's time only for brief shoulder touches and for Splinter to jump up on Raph's shoulder and give Leo's forehead a quick, relieved kiss.

Raph gives the rest of his family a quick glance over. Mikey is carrying Leo's gear, the katana sheathed across his shell and the rest of it slung over his shoulder. They haven't gotten any injuries, as far as he can tell. Everyone looks good to go.

"How do we get out of here?" asks Raph. Donnie pulls up his wrist tech.

"It may be inevitable that we'll face resistance on our way out... But the closest door is this way." He points down the hall, back the way Raph, Draxum, and April came from.

There's a weak thump against Raph's shoulder. "Gunners on the roof," Leo rasps once he has Raph's attention.

Raph wonders how he knows that, but there's no time to ask.

"We took care of 'em," he says instead. "You just relax, okay? We're getting out of here."

Leo lets his head fall against Raph's shoulder again, and Raph takes that as the okay to move.

It takes less time to get out than it did to get in. No need for stealth now that the director knows they're here, after all.

They run down the hallways, through doors, past the still unconscious guard April took care of earlier. Draxum takes the lead through the door, and they all crash as a group outside.

Where a ring of soldiers are waiting for them, guns trained their direction. And Raph isn't sure they're loaded with darts this time.

Leo shudders in his arms, and Raph curls protectively around him, already summoning his ninpo to shield them. His family forms their own protective barrier around the two of them, readying their weapons and squaring off against the soldiers.

Behind them, the door opens.

"This doesn't have to end in anyone getting hurt," says Bishop as he walks out.

Raph doesn't turn towards him, keeping the shivering Leo out of his sight. "What, like you didn't hurt my brother?"

"I've already told you, I didn't touch him." Bishop sounds only mildly put out. "He can attest to that himself."

"It's cute that you think any of us care what you have to say," snaps April, rounding on him and pointing her bat his direction.

"You should care what I have to say." Bishop nods at Raph. "Your comrade needs medical attention. Care that I can provide, if you lower your weapons and surrender."

"Care he only needs 'cause you jerks kidnapped him!" yells Mikey.

"Mikey," whispers Leo. Raph glances down at him, but Leo isn't looking his way.

"I gave Inmate 24365 plenty of chances to cooperate in exchange for more comfortable living conditions. That he declined was his choice. But I have no wish to see him dead. We were going to transfer him to the medical unit just as you arrived and interrupted us; surrender, and we'll take him there now."

"No," snaps Splinter, stepping toward Bishop. "You will come nowhere near my sons ever again."

"Mikey," Leo hisses with more urgency.

"These turtles are your sons? Really?" Bishop sounds disbelieving. Raph still doesn't turn his direction. "What am I supposed to believe next? That humans can give birth to birds?"

"They are my sons!" Splinter asserts. "Come near them again, and you are dead!"

"Perhaps we should kill him now, Lou Jitsu, and be done with it," Draxum suggests.

"Mikey," says Leo, kicking one emaciated foot. Mikey finally looks their way, confused. "Gimme... swords."

He doesn't have to explain. But Raph feels uneasy. He exchanges a glance with Donnie, who seems similarly concerned. "Nardo, I don't think-"

"Hey," says Leo, and even though his vocal chords sound tired and out of use, they can all hear him, their confident face-man of a brother, with a big ego and a cocky tone, shining through. "Trust me, I got this."

Mikey gives him the katana.

"The American government have allowed the yokai to live peacefully within our borders up until now," says Bishop. "If you kill me, that peace will be ruined."

"This war was started when you kidnapped my child!" cries Splinter, snapping his tail.

"You threaten the Hidden Cities as though you know anything about them," says Draxum. "They do not fear you."

"We know more about them than you think."

"You expect me to listen to this blathering?"

"Is it a chance you're willing to take, Draxum?"

Draxum falls silent. The lack of answer makes Raph feel even more on edge. But Leo is holding his katana now.

"You'll threaten the yokai no matter what we do today," says Splinter, voice dark. "No. We will not hand Leonardo over to you. You will not lay a single finger on him."

"So you're saying you won't surrender." Bishop pauses. Leo takes a deep breath. "You agree, Draxum?"

"...Leonardo is my creation. My son." Draxum sounds resolute. "No. I will not surrender."

Bishop scoffs. "Your son... this animal."

It's only the fact that he's holding Leo, fragile and shaking in his arms, that keeps Raph from turning around and killing Bishop right then.

But he doesn't, and Bishop raises his voice.

"Baron Draxum is a known yokai terrorist, who has threatened mass murder on the civilian human population of the United States and the rest of the earth. These five yokai are co-conspirators, and this woman with them a sympathizer and accomplice. They are attacking this base with the intent to harm those inside, and so anything we do now is self defense."

There's a smile in his tone as he says it.

"Fire at will."

Around them, triggers are pulled, and gunshots sound off.

But the flash of blue under their feet is faster.

For the first time since coming outside, Raph chances a look over his shoulder at Bishop, just as he's falling through the portal. Bullets whiz overhead, and one hits home.

The last thing Raph sees as he disappears into the blue light is blood blooming across Bishop's suit.

-----

They fall out of the portal somewhere outside the fence. Raph's not sure exactly where. He's not even sure Leo was aiming, beyond getting them away.

He lets out a relieved laugh, looking around at everyone, in one piece and notably not shot. They still have to get back to the tank, but they made it. They're safe.

"Leo! You did it!" He whoops, looking down at his little brother. "I can't believe you really- ...Leo?"

That's when he realizes that Leo isn't moving.

He's slumped over in Raph's hold, no longer holding himself up. His katana slip out of his lax grip and fall into the snow with a soft whump.

"L-leo!? LEO!"

Part 1 | Part 2 (here) | Part 3 | Part 4 Part A |

#rottmnt #dandy fanfiction #rise raph #rise april #rise mikey #rise donnie #baron draxum #rise splinter #rise leo #cw violence #cw guns

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ak319 · 13 days ago

Text

Dark A.M x fem!reader

-- ★ The Word of Claim ┃ ─𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟒─

Warnings/MDNI: Slight fluff, angst, abuse , reader being called names e.g. harlot // I don't condone such beheviour irl! ✰ 9K

★ Prev I concept m.list

Two weeks had passed...The mornings at camp always began too early for your liking, the faint rays of sunlight slipping through the cracks of the canvas tent like unwelcome intruders.

You had grown up in silk and lace, with meals served on porcelain , peaceful, and quiet environments. Now, you woke to the distant clatter of pots and pans, the sharp bark of someone’s laughter cutting through the cold morning air, and the unfamiliar scratch of coarse blankets that smelled faintly of damp wood and tobacco smoke.

Suki, your beloved, was your only source of comfort. Her soft purrs against your chest at night were a balm to your wounded spirit. She stayed close to you, a reminder of the life you’d left behind. But there was also the reality laying behind you...his snores making you remain awake. Awake to the new truth, the bitter truth.

Arthur brought you food without asking if you were hungry. He made sure your tent was stocked with rations, even as the others made do with far less. His instructions were on the second morning when you still couldn't process anything. Just more control disguised as care.

Don't walk to the river alone

Don't even think about walking too far from camp. (as if you can even walk to the stables...considering the tight watch on you from him and the men)

Don't get out of the tent at night for unnecessary reasons.

Stay in the tent when strangers come to camp.

If anyone gives you trouble, you come to me, not Hosea, not Dutch, just me.

Keep your voice down, no one needs to hear you arguing with me. (which must be a joke--because....what? Not happening.)

Don't do any hard labor around. For anyone. No matter what anyone says.

"Don’t need you breaking a nail." The words stung, a bitter reminder of the prison disguised as protection. The audacity to say that after shattering your whole life.

What a gentleman.

But you didn’t let it touch you.

When he handed you a plate of food, you ate in silence, your expression unreadable. When he tried to drape his coat over your shoulders on a cold night, you shrugged it off the moment his back was turned. Always facing the canvas wall and not him at night and shivering with fear. Sleep never came easy for you. And when Arthur left the camp, you felt Bill’s eyes on you, not subtle in the least, his broad figure often leaning against a post or pretending to tend to some task, but always nearby. It wasn’t protection, it was surveillance.

You didn’t lash out, didn’t scream or cry or beg. You knew it wouldn’t work. You’d seen the set of his jaw, the steel in his eyes that said he wasn’t letting go. So, you resisted in the only way you could, being quiet and in your shell. Inside the prison.

A cold silence when he spoke. A pointed look when he tried to touch you. A refusal to acknowledge the small gestures he thought would win you over.

Arthur didn’t say much about your resistance, but you could see it in the way his hands tightened into fists when you ignored him, in the way his jaw clenched when you sat stiffly beside him at the fire (which he dragged you to) , not saying a word. Not exactly a picture perfect newly wed couple others hoped. Or perhaps he lived in the delusion of.

When Grimshaw came by, she didn’t carry the same judgment as the others. Her tone, usually sharp and commanding, softened around you. Once, she even sat beside you, her hands busy mending a shirt as she said, almost too casually, "It gets easier. This life, I mean. Not right away, but… it does."

You didn’t reply, but she didn’t seem to mind. Grimshaw didn’t push; instead, she surprised you with an unexpected patience. She offered small gestures of comfort, a steaming cup of herbal tea to "settle your nerves," as she put it. Or heating up some water for you to freshen up.

Her vigilance extended even to the simplest of tasks, like when you went to use the girls’ makeshift toilet/bathroom. It was yet another struggle, a constant reminder of how far you’d fallen. Gone were the days of soaking luxuriously in your own bathtub. Now, even basic necessities felt like a downgrade.

Every now and then, she’d drop off chores she thought were manageable, like sorting linens or cleaning a few utensils, tasks that didn’t require you to step far from your tent. “Something to keep your mind busy,” she’d say, leaving before you could refuse.

You hated how grateful you felt for her small kindnesses, didn't actually mind it, but it didn’t go unnoticed. When you’d reluctantly finished the tasks she left, there was a quiet understanding in the way she’d nod at you from across the camp or leave another small task the next day. It was the closest thing to routine you’d found here.

Still, even her attempts to draw you out fell flat most days. You could see the pity in her eyes, the way she lingered as though waiting for you to say something , anything , but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond. Even when she tried to talk about mundane things, like camp chores or the horses, complaining about men here, all you could do was nod or mutter a half-hearted reply.

The girls would occasionally stop by, trying to talk to you or cheer you up, asking questions to piece together fragments of your life. But their curiosity, their attempts to connect, never went far. You rarely engaged, and when you did, it was clipped, distant. You didn’t miss the taunts about your so-called "lavish" past either, were they innocent jabs or something more bitter? You couldn’t tell, and truthfully, you didn’t care.

You would never trust these people. Not after everything. And then there was this incident with Mary Beth, on what? The third day? You don't even fucking remember. You came to know about her calling this all..... "romantic" as if sprinkling more salt on your wounds and you lost it.

The night had been calm, the campfire casting a warm glow while everyone gathered for supper. Mary-Beth sat on her usual spot, her knees tucked under her as she read, her face serene.

Before she even realized it, her book was in your hands, and then, rip. Pages tore from their spine, fluttering like wounded birds to the ground.

"Romantic, huh? This is what you read?! The fuckin' nerve of you. You think this is all fun?! LOOK AT ME!" you screamed, your voice shaking as you threw the remains of her book aside and grasped her face making her freeze in fear and shock. "AM I FUCKING PRANCING AROUND HERE, GIGGLING?!"

"Hey! I-what-"

Before she could get a word out, Tilly stepped between you, untangling you, her hands raised, her tone firm but careful. "We didn’t mean it like that-she didn’t mean it like that. Trust me. We were just talking-"

"Then don’t fucking talk about me!" you snapped, now turning to her. "Don’t even DARE! How dare you all even think that?! Only people like you can celebrate such a shit and cruel tradition! Bunch of morons!"

You didn’t care how you looked, wild-eyed, trembling, growling like a maniac. You didn’t care about the stares or the silence that followed, broken only by your ragged breathing. You now grabbed Tilly's arms shaking her. "Nobody here should even say my name out of your nasty TONGUES! I'll kill someone if I hear such shit again. YOU HEAR ME?!" Your voice echoed across the camp, sharp and seething with fury. Then a strong hand clamped around your arm. You didn’t need to look to know who it was.

Arthur.

"That’s enough."

"Let go of me! ASSHOLE!" you hissed, trying to wrench free.

But he didn’t let go. If anything, his grip tightened, and with one sharp tug, he spun you around and started dragging you back toward the tent.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!"

"Enough!" He shoved the flap open and all but pushed you inside, stepping in after you and yanking the flap closed again.

"You done now?" he asked, his voice quieter but no less sharp.

"FUCK OFF! I HATE YOU! IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!"

The tears were already spilling over, and before he could say another word, you threw yourself under the covers of your bedding, burying your face in the fabric as the sobs came harder, relentless.

Arthur stood there momentarily, his hand falling to his side, unsure whether to press or leave you alone. He sighed his jaw tightening as he turned away. He wasn’t going far though. Not tonight.

And then days passed in cold, depressive silence from you until last night...

The cot creaked under the weight of his broad frame as Arthur lay down beside you, the narrow space forcing his presence against yours. His arm brushed against your shoulder, and though he made no move to pull you closer, the heat of him was impossible to ignore. You lay stiff as a board, your back turned to him, your entire body practically vibrating with anger and fear.

The tent was dark except for the faint glow of the moonlight filtering through the canvas. Outside, the muffled voices of the gang were distant and always the same to you.

“Y’ain’t gonna say a damn thing, huh?” His voice broke the silence, low and raspy, laced with irritation.

Your jaw clenched, but you didn’t answer. The effort to stay silent was exhausting.

Arthur shifted beside you, making the whole cot shake in protest. “You’ve been mad at me for days now. Hell, darlin’, I’m startin’ to think you enjoy it,” he said, his tone teasing, yet tired.

Your fists balled up under the blanket, your nails digging into your palms. You stared at the canvas wall ahead of you, refusing to dignify him with a response. The fucking audacity of this monster.

He let out a frustrated sigh. “This ain’t gonna fix anything, y’know. You bein’ all cold and quiet. It ain’t gonna change what’s done. If I could’ve done it different, I would’ve. But I can’t. And I ain’t lettin’ you go."

His words made your blood boil. What’s done?? As if he hadn’t ripped your life from you like a thief in the night.

"Go to sleep." you muttered finally, your voice cutting through the dark like a knife.

Arthur let out a low chuckle, humorless and rough. "Now, that’s the first word you’ve said to me in forever," he drawled, the smirk clear in his voice. "Progress, I guess."

You bit your lip almost to the point of eating it off.

He shifted again, his arm brushing against your waist under the blanket to which you immediately moved even further away if that was even possible. The casual contact felt intentional, as if he was testing you.

"You’ll get tired of this eventually," he said, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. "Can’t keep runnin’ on anger forever."

Shut the fuck up already.

You wanted to tell him he didn’t know the half of it. That he didn’t understand just how deep your resentment ran. But instead, you stayed silent.

"Fine," he murmured, his voice trailing off. "Be mad all you want. I ain’t goin’ anywhere...I ain’t good at this, I’ll admit it. But if you think I don’t care, you’re wrong."

And with that, he settled in, his arm resting just barely against your back. Even as your eyes burned with unshed tears, you stared into the dark, resolute.

And as if matters weren’t bad enough, someone else decided to get under your skin.

Marston.

Of all people decided to bother you today for the first time since you arrived as he wasn't at the camp before. The man you assumed wouldn’t even remember your name with the peanut-sized brain he seemed to possess.

"Came back as a Morgan now, huh? Well, I’ll be damned," he said with a whistle, his voice dripping with mock surprise. He stood outside your tent, leaning against one of the poles, his arms crossed as if he had the right to judge. "Honestly, I’m shocked. Didn’t think anyone could tie down Arthur. But not completely shocked it turned out to be...you. So childhood love, eh? And he did the word....damn. First in our gang. Shit, I missed it all.."

Your teeth clenched at his smug tone. The insinuation was too much. You shot up from the cot, the anger bubbling over as you shoved him back.

"Get out of my sight, you pathetic piece of shit."

"Whoa there!" he said, stepping back with a laugh, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Still no manners, huh? Well, if you’re gonna live here, might as well start being nice to your brother-in-law. Oh, it's going to be much more fun annoying you now.'

That smug wheeze of his was the final straw. Your hand shot to the nearest object on the small table a tin cup and you hurled it at him. He ducked, barely missing it, his laughter only growing louder.

"Rich words coming from a man who still has to pay women just to glance at him. Exactly what I envisioned you’d grow up to be, John. You didn’t disappoint."

His grin faltered, just for a moment, before he forced it back, shaking his head with a low, humorless chuckle. "Same ol’ spoiled you, huh? Guess some things never change."

"And some people never grow up."

"You think you’re better than us? Look around at where you are. To end up here, with him... surely you must’ve been no less than a harlot yoursel--HEY! GET OFF ME!"

"Complete it! Go on, I dare you, asshole!" He tried to shove you off, but the moment your grip loosened on his collar, you struck, delivering a sharp smack across his face.

"YOU LITTLE-"

"John!" Dutch’s voice boomed from his tent across the way. "Go do something productive! Leave the girl alone. NOW!"

John froze, his lips tightening as he registered the command. "…What? I was just greeting her. Y’know...family and all.'' He let out a defeated snort, shoulders slumping, and muttered something under his breath as he sauntered off.

You didn’t bother watching him leave. With a huff, you grabbed the tent flaps and yanked them shut, the fabric swishing angrily in your hands. You flopped back down onto the cot, the reality of everything crashing into you again.

Tears blurred your vision as they spilled freely, your shoulders trembling as you hugged yourself, swaying back and forth.

(Y/N) Morgan.

Harlot.

(Y/N) Morgan....

Harlot.

The words kept burning like acid.

No matter what they do, I get blamed?! Of course. Another Saturday being a woman.

Pieces of shit, dirt.

Absolutely the fuck not.

You clenched your jaw, wiping at your cheeks harshly. Don’t let a loser’s words get to you, you told yourself, trying to drown out the echo of John’s taunting voice and your own festering anger.

You are , yes , still are more accomplished and better than anyone here. Not a thief, not a murderer and definitely not a harlot.

But deep down, it wasn’t just John’s words that haunted you. It was everything, the name, the camp, the suffocating feeling of being trapped in someone else’s world.

You will always be (Y/N) (L/N), fuck this tradition. It means nothing.

❀˖°

"Finish this. C’mon."

He held the spoon in his calloused hand, leaning closer. You turned away, clutching Suki tightly to your chest, her soft fur grounding you.

'Why can't he just get lost in a ditch somewhere? Why does he keep coming back? Why doesn't death encounter him with all the dangerous shit he does?'

Should you tell him about John calling you names- NO. You don't need him to deal with your problems, as he would have done if you both were young. You don't need anyone's help.

"I ain’t bringing these for free, y’know. So they ain't gonna rot, you are gonna finish them."

"I didn’t ask you to," you snapped.

"Good thing I ain’t waitin’ for permission, huh? So yeah, I’ll keep doing it anyway because it's my duty."

Your grip on Suki tightened as you turned to glare at him. "I know exactly what you’re trying to do, Arthur. Trying to create this illusion, ‘Oh, look at me, I’m bringing her fruit and meat so she’ll forget what I did.’ No, Arthur. It doesn’t work that way. None of this is worth anything. It’s not going to reverse anything, not even come close to the comfort I had."

Arthur’s jaw tightened, his piercing gaze darkening further. "I don’t care what you think or had. This is your fucking life now. Why do I have to keep reminding you , huh?!." he growled low, his voice like a warning rumble of thunder. "Don’t piss me off more right now. Eat. It. Right. Now."

You held his glare for a moment, your hands trembling with restrained anger as you snatched the fruit plate from him and placed it on your lap. You didn’t touch it, though not with him standing there like some damn lieutenant, watching your every move. But thankfully he went away, probably to freshen up.

You take a few hesitant bites. Your thoughts drift to your family, mother, father, and brother. What might they be doing right now? Are they sitting down to supper together, or is your absence too heavy to ignore? Your work, you miss going to the office with your father. And Omar, is he well? You prayed for him daily. His family? Well, they must be cursing you. Your heart broke that they might be regretting the whole engagement and calling you names too. Is your father doing anything!? Is he trying to find a way to bring you back? He must be. He should be.

But every time you let yourself believe in that fragile hope, Dutch’s cold, calculated words clawed their way back into your mind.

"And you damn well know that even if the law gets here, they won’t care about this. It’s only a crime on paper… in reality, the sheriffs and marshals? They won’t lift a finger. They don’t give a damn about this."

If that’s really true, then… is this it? Is this your life now?

No.

Money can turn heads, grease palms, and open doors. If your family offered enough, those same indifferent lawmen would find a needle in a haystack if it suited them. And your family? They don’t lack for that.

But your reputation.

Your hands trembled, clutching Suki closer as the tears threatened to spill again. The voice in your head....why doesn't it go away...?

No. No, I didn’t lose anything. I don’t give a fuck. Let people think and talk all they want. It’s not the first time it’s happened, and it won’t be the last. They always need something to talk about.

You exhale sharply, forcing the tears away as though the pain will evaporate with them.

And once you get back, no, once you’re free, you won’t stay in this Godforsaken country anyway. Neither will your family. Let this place rot. It doesn’t deserve you. It's hurt you enough.

Another thought had been gnawing at the edges of your mind, something your ears had picked up unintentionally the other morning.

Pinkertons.

You knew about the agency hell, Arthur had mentioned them in passing during one of your 'old' meetings, which were just distant unreal memories to you now. A band of relentless hunters after outlaws, but they weren’t saints themselves. You remembered your father’s words about them, greedy, opportunistic, willing to do anything if the price was right.

Mhm...

Your attention snapped back to the present as a heavy presence settled beside you on the cot.

Suki leapt off your lap, stretching lazily before sauntering off. Almost as if she held the same disdain for his presence. Ain't she your good girl.

You felt his eyes on you, his silent scrutiny made your skin crawl, but you refused to let it show. Instead, you lifted another bite to your mouth, not because you were hungry or needed the sustenance, but because you didn’t want to engage with him again.

Arthur’s lips pressed into a thin line as he took another bite of his meal, his gaze flicking to you out of the corner of his eye. It wasn’t like he minded bringing the food from the fire or making sure you didn’t waste away, but the whispers and sidelong glances from the other men by the fire in camp grated on him.

"Our boy got himself a pretty little wife now."

"Maybe she’s got you on a leash, huh? How’s it feel, boy?"

"Careful, Arthur, don’t forget to tuck her in tonight."

"What kind of outlaw plays house, huh? Real sweet, Morgan."

The words clung to the air like the smoke from their cigarettes, thick with mockery and amusement. Arthur didn’t flinch at their jabs, but he didn’t rise to them either. As for the additional rations and snacks, he brought them in secret, stashing them away like contraband treasures. Caring for his wife, it seemed, was a sin in their eyes, an act that invited ridicule from men who barely knew the meaning of responsibility, let alone love. He couldn’t give you the life you once had, not completely, but he could offer enough to make you forget it or at least dull the ache of its absence. Spoil you rotten in his own way. And if it meant robbing, killing, or bleeding himself dry until his last breath, then so be it.

Because you were his, and no one, not Dutch, not the gang, not even the damned world, and even you, could take that from him.

He told himself it didn’t bother him, but he couldn’t ignore the edge in their voices. Greed? Jealousy, maybe. Or perhaps they just didn’t understand, couldn’t fathom why he’d go to these lengths. Arthur didn’t need their approval. Let them talk. They always yap. They’d never have what he has, even if you still looked at him with cold disdain and fear.

But his pride did bristle every time someone insinuated he was soft as if keeping you... alive and halfway sane somehow made him weak.

And then there was you. Lost...and yet fighting. He wanted to snap at you, to force you to listen to him for once, but he knew how that would end. Another night of tears, of you retreating further into yourself, and him sitting outside the tent wondering what he was doing wrong.

What he in fact, did wrong.

Damn it.

Hell, he still felt shit for leaving you tied up on the cot on the first night for hours to teach you some lesson, which resulted in bruises on your wrist which he could still spot under your sleeves. He was indeed totally lost that day.

He looked down at his plate, then at you, the frustration in his chest threatening to boil over. But beneath it, buried deep where even he didn’t like to look, was something else.

Guilt.

He didn’t miss the way your hands trembled slightly when you reached for another bite, or the shadows under your eyes that hadn’t been there before all this. If you’d let him, he’d feed you himself daily. If he had all the time in the world, he’d spend it making amends, caring for you, pampering you from head to toe, and trying to piece together what he’d broken. You were different now. Smaller, quieter....almost soulless. He missed your laugh, jokes, and teasing that could pull a grin from even the most miserable bastard. The light in your eyes...

He craved what any man would, a wife waiting for him, dolled up or simply present, a comforting sight to return to after long days. He remembered his mother doing just that, though his father had been far from the best. Well… that was another story.

Sometimes, the thought crossed his mind to demand it, to make you adorn yourself as he wished. But again, he didn’t want your compliance born of fear, he wanted it to come from you, willingly...which only felt like a dream.

Snap out of it. Don't let this get to you. It's done. And sooner or later she'll come around. She has no other choice.

Even going on jobs in these two weeks felt different now. Before, his concerns were solely for the gang, their survival, their next meal. But now, you were part of the equation. You weren’t just another responsibility, you were something altogether separate, fragile in a way that set him on edge. He had to think of you, your safety, your future.

And yet, every morning, he pressed a kiss to your head, as quietly and discreetly as he could, fearing you’d stir. It was a small, selfish ritual, one that whispered his own fears. What if he didn’t come back one day? What if everything he’d done, the risks taken, the damn word, ended up being for nothing?

But you, in your own quiet way, were a motivation too....as in your mere existence back at the camp in his tent made him stronger.

"Finish the damn fruit," he muttered finally, his tone softer now, though still edged with irritation. "I’ll be back in a few with the stew. But don’t get comfortable thinkin’ this is how it’s gonna be. If I ain’t lettin’ you work for others, that sure as hell doesn’t mean you ain’t gonna do my work and your own. Ya' ain't gonna be cooped up here as some princess forever."

You glanced at him, finally breaking your silence, though your voice dripped with venom. "Your work? O-h, you mean cooking your food, cleaning up after you, and playing the perfect little captive wife?. Should I start callin’ you ‘sir’ while I’m at it?"

"You’re real good at smartin’ off, but I don’t care if you’re mad, this ain’t a damn vacation."

"Mad? Oh no, Arthur, I’m thrilled. Thrilled that you think you can steal my life and then bark orders like I’m some ranch hand. I am not doing shit for you or anyone."

Arthur’s gaze darkened, his hand tightening around his fork. "You think I like this? I don’t. But it’s better than sittin’ here wasting away. You think I stole your life? Maybe I did. But I’m tryin’ to keep you in it."

You leaned back against the cot sighing in disbelief at his words. "If you wanted a servant, you should’ve hired one. But I guess stealing a wife was cheaper, huh? And I don't care about wasting away. Sounds a thousand times better than whatever this is. I'd rather die-"

"Watch your mouth, woman." His hand as on it's own shot out to your chin giving a reprimanding shake.

"Why? Bec-ause I didn’t like losing my freedom either, but here we are. And I am not scared of you Arthur...you already showed the worst of yourself. I won't be surprised if it gets worse than this."

For once, he didn’t respond. He stood, his boots scuffing the ground as he left the tent in utter silence which you smelled as guilt but does it change anything for you? No. Does it make him take you back? No. Then fuck him.

❀˖°

The faint orange hues of dawn barely began creeping over the horizon when a rough hand on your shoulder jolted you awake. Disoriented, you blinked up at the shadowed figure looming over you, the faint smell of tobacco and leather unmistakable.

"Get up," Arthur’s voice was low but urgent, a gruff whisper that didn’t match the stillness of the early morning.

You groaned, clutching the blanket tighter around you. "Wha-?"

"We’re movin’," he said, already turning away to toss a saddlebag onto the cot near your feet. "Pack your things. Got no time to waste. And don't forget anything here." He was well aware how precious your stuff was.

"What?" You pushed yourself up, the chill of the morning air biting against your skin. "Why? What’s going on?"

"Don’t ask questions, just do it," he snapped, though not with anger, more like the sharpness of someone who had too much on their mind and not enough patience to explain it all. His movements were hurried, shoving items into a chest without care, the clinking of metal and the rustle of cloth breaking the fragile silence of the camp.

"We ain’t got time for your temper right now. Pack what you need and be quick about it. I need to tear down the tent too. Hurry!."

Your mouth opened to retort, but the tension in his jaw and the way his hand hovered near the gun at his hip made you think better of it. He wasn’t in the mood for arguments. With a huff, you threw the blanket off and started gathering your belongings, half of which you hadn't unpacked anyway.

"Where...are we even going?..."

"Somewhere safer. Don’t matter where right now, just that we ain’t here when the sun’s up. Wear something warm too."

"Wh-where's Suki-?"

"She'll be-" He left mid-sentence as Dutch called him over.

Typical.

God, how far could this new place be? What if you were this close to being found by your parents, and now you were moving further away again?

First things first, you need to find your pet. And with that, you dashed out of the tent, eyes scanning the camp until you spotted her, comfortably perched on Hosea’s lap as he cooed at her.

"Oh… here, (Y/N). Hope you didn’t mind-"

“It’s fine.” You were already turning to leave when Hosea stood up from the crate. “Where are we going?” you asked, catching him just before he walked away.

“Just another, safer place. Up the hill.”

“Why, though?”

He shrugged, his gaze distant. "Dutch wanted a change of scenery."

Oh really?

You couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just another move. It felt like an escape, an escape from something you weren’t allowed to know.

"Are you serious?"

“You know him,” Hosea added, his voice tinged with an understanding sympathy before he walked off, leaving you standing there, feeling more annoyed than ever.

Geez… Dutch’s mood, huh? Pfft. And they say men aren’t emotional.

"(Y/N)!".

What the fuck now?

You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath, "God, help us, Suki. You alright girl, hm?" The last thing you wanted was to deal with him again. You didn’t rush your steps as you turned back toward the tent, taking your sweet time, not bothering to acknowledge his call just yet.

The thought of sharing a horse with Arthur made your stomach twist. The last thing you needed was him too close, breathing down your neck, holding you like his personal doll, a constant reminder of the mess you were stuck in. But you had no choice.

Grumbling to yourself, you finally made your way back to the tent, knowing full well what he’d want next. Anything to keep you under his watchful eye.

Great. Just great.

❀˖°

Taking you back home or at least letting you meet your parents was something you’d stopped asking about after the second day. But today, after settling into the new camp, Silverpine Crossing, situated on rather a height, not too far from the previous camp though. As if the weather wasn't cold enough and waking to the stillness of yet another isolated morning, you felt the misery again. He was being sent on a supply run, and you wanted out. Not just to interact, fuck that--but rather just to see a fresh face, smell something different, anything that wasn’t this suffocating place or these people.

The idea was barely out of your mouth when he shoved you back into the tent.

"Wha-"

“You can’t understand a word, huh?"

"B-but it's not like I am going alone-"

" I said fuckin’ no. So sit your ass down!”

“F-or like what? Forever?!”

His hand shot out, grabbing your bicep with bruising force, his grip making your breath hitch. "Until you learn to be fuckin' grateful and nice. Now quit whinin'. And when I come back… see that pile over there?"

Your gaze darted to the heap of clothes by the cot, his clothes.

“They better be fuckin’ washed. Or you’ll make me do something you’ll regret yourself. Ya hear me?”

"Excuse--me?--- laundry?! I don't know shi-"

"THEN FUCKING LEARN!" Each word was punctuated by the bruising squeeze of your arm and making your fear heightened. With a warning shove and a glare that seared through you, he turned and stalked off without another word.

You could hear him calling for Susan...no, please, no.

Learn , my foot. Asshole.

❀˖°

You huffed as you scrubbed one of the shirts against the bucket. The water was icy against your hands, but the repetitive motion of washing was at least keeping you occupied, even if it felt degrading.

"Never thought I’d see the day," came a sly voice behind you.

You glanced up to find Karen standing nearby, hands on her hips, her signature smirk plastered across her face. She looked amused, tilting her head as she studied you.

"Look at you, being all in...the picket fence character," she teased, crouching down beside you. "Arthur got you washing his drawers now, huh?"

You narrowed your eyes, irritated by her tone, but you didn’t stop scrubbing. "How about you shut it and walk away."

Karen chuckled, leaning back on her hands. "Don’t take it so personally. Men like him? They expect it. Don’t mean you gotta roll over, though."

You frowned, her words stinging even though they weren’t entirely wrong. "First of all , nobody here is rolling over and secondly what do you want?"

"Easy, now. Take no wound to the pride. Just thought I’d keep you company. Ain’t like anyone else’ll do it," she replied with a shrug. "Besides, I figured you could use a little girl talk."

You scoffed softly, tossing the shirt into the rinsing bucket. "Girl talk? Right. And what would that be about?"

"Oh, I don’t know," she said, pretending to ponder, "maybe 'bout you ending up here in the first place.."

"Isn't it clear how I ended up in rags from riches huh?"

"No... I mean... why? Because none of us-well, I speak for the girls here--never thought he’d actually go this far. Never thought Mr. Morgan'd do it," she said cautiously, her hands busily sorting through the clothes.

You let out a hollow laugh. "Well, he isn’t a saint, and he’s made that crystal clear. No less than the devil. No, he is the devil."

A painful silence hung between you, the kind that seemed to stretch endlessly, until finally, she broke it again, her voice softer this time.

"But... he wasn’t like this before And by that, I mean... he could have done this before too. If he’d wanted to."

Her jumbled, hesitant words made your neck snap toward her, your curiosity getting the better of your anger. "Hm?"

"There was this lady. Rich, too. City girl. Like you, almost. They had a thing, a good one. They were even engaged. Mutual love, that’s what I mean. But then..." She hesitated, glancing up briefly before looking back down at the fabric in her hands. "Things didn’t work out. Her father, her name’s Mary Linton, by the way--yeah, so, her father married her off to some bloke. Happened...like three years ago."

Your mind reeled, and every word hit you like a blow.

What

The....

"Y-you-you're telling me that-" You sucked in a sharp breath, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions threatening to choke you. "There was a woman he could’ve done this with, but he didn’t, and instead-"

"I-I mean-yes-but she got married and he probably found later...this is just a hunch though. But-"

"He took what? His anger, or I don’t fucking know--revenge out on me?!" You were on your feet now, your whole body ablaze with rage and confusion. "H-how-why?! God, why?!"

Before she could say another word, a voice cut through the rising tension, smooth and calm yet dripping with authority.

"Mrs. Morgan, a word."

You froze, your head snapping toward Dutch’s tent, where he sat, as composed as ever, watching the scene unfold like he was enjoying just another sunny afternoon.

Oh, this fucker.

Your body stormed towards Dutch's tent while he sat there as calm as ever, thumbing through a book like he hadn’t just summoned you out of thin air.

"Come in, come in, missy," he said smoothly, gesturing to the space before him. "I wanted to-" But you couldn't take it anymore.

"Are you happy? Hm? All of you? How could… you do this to me?" Your voice cracked as sobs wracked your chest, but you didn’t care. The words poured out like complaints of a child. And at this moment you were a child again. Lost and vulnerable once again. "I can’t believe there was a time…" You gasped for breath. "A tim-e when I held your hand and… came here, blindly following you. And for years… I-I was grateful to you… and this is what I get f-for that?"

He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond you. For a fleeting moment, there was something in his expression a hint of reflection, perhaps regret?

Oh you were mistaken if you took that for guilt.

"Sometimes," he finally said, "good things happen… for the worse too, girl. A curse in disguise." He tilted his head slightly, his tone hardening. "Believe it or not… accept it or not, I wasn’t the one who webbed this. It was in your fate. Because if you’re going to play the blame game," he continued, his voice cutting deeper, "then there are plenty of others. Your own parents, for leaving you alone in the care of greedy relatives. Your relatives, for treating you like garbage. And then yourself, for giving a thirsty dog water and not expecting it to follow you home."

"So being nice is a crime? Being a friend is-"

"Man and woman, friends?" He barked a chuckle sharply. "You young generation sure have your own beliefs. But that is a hoax, girl. A trap. And you fell for it." He leaned forward, jabbing a finger in your direction, his eyes hard.

"What about her then?! That Mary girl! They weren't friends, they were engaged! He should’ve done this with HER! Why me?! Why did you all ruin my life?! Why didn't you stop him!?" The words tore from your throat like a wounded animal. Your fists lashed out, colliding with his chest and face over and over, your anger and desperation boiling over. He stood firm, his jaw tightening as he absorbed every blow.

"Dutch! Hey- what is she doing?!-" Molly sauntered hurriedly to the entrance.

"Miss O' Shea, give us a moment."

Without a word, he reached over and shut the tent flaps, sealing you both inside and ignoring your latest panic-fueled outburst.

"Listen here," he growled, pushing you away. "I don’t need more drama in this camp from you. I understand this may not be ideal for you, but life ain’t always ideal, missy, is it? So stop this at once! I won’t have this nonsense. Him, being the hard worker he is, loyal to the bone, and you," his eyes narrowed, "his spouse, acting like a damn lunatic. He made his own decision and you need to accept it!."

You froze for a second, seething, your body trembling with fury. Then you straightened, glaring at him with all the venom you could muster. "You people...made me a lunatic!! And I'll act however the hell I want, Watch me. And I’ll tell you this-I won’t ever forgive any of you for this. EVER! Ya'll think you are on top of the world? You are...going to one day fall deep in the same pit you all are digging. And it's Ms. (L/N) for next time."

❀˖°

Arthur held up the tattered remains of his shirts under the firelight, his fingers brushing over the jagged holes that mocked him. His scowl deepened as he turned them in his hands. Karen stood a few paces away, putting on her best performance.

"I swear I saw her hang them up, and these shirts were pristine, Mr. Morgan. I am tellin' you, it’s gotta be one of the boys pulling a prank. Y'know how John gets when he's-"

Well, none of it was true of course. She was the one who washed them and hung them which you later slashed. Karen regretted telling you everything altogether.

Arthur’s glare cut her off. "Do I look stupid to you, Ms. Jones?" and without another word, he stormed toward his tent, the worn fabric of the shirts clenched in his fist.

Can’t have one damn evening in peace.

His jaw tightened as he moved, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He wanted things to be normal, to make them better for you, but you made it so damn hard. So difficult to keep himself in check.

He yanked the flap of the tent aside and stepped in. "What is this, huh?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the stillness as he displayed the ruined shirts in front of you one by one. You flinched as they hit the floor in a crumpled heap. His anger was evident in every movement, in the way his chest heaved and his eyes burned into you.

"I asked you somethin'-" His hand shot out, grabbing your chin to force your gaze upward. "Fuck--look at me!"

Your eyes locked on his. For a fleeting moment, you saw it, his anger faltered, his grip loosening as his eyes softened, regret flickering in their depths like an ember struggling against the cold.

"Why, Arthur?" Your voice wavered, but you steadied it with a bitter edge. "That’s what you wanna know? Hm? Well, I do too." You patted the cot beside you, your tone turning mockingly bright. "Have a seat, here. Let’s figure it out together."

He didn’t move, his jaw tightening again as he studied your faux-bubbly smile and his frown deepened as he watched you rise from the cot, the firelight catching the tension in your movements.

"What? Don’t wanna sit with your wife? Oh... hm. I understand. Must be hard, huh? Coming back here, to this-" You gestured vaguely around the tent and his shirts, your tone teetering between anger and despair. "And maybe--just maybe--you dream of seeing someone else. But what did you get? Or rather, what did you take? A replacement for your broken heart?"

His jaw tightened, his hands flexing at his sides, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

"And this?" Your voice was sharper now as you raised your hand, the ring catching the dim light. His earlier warnings still echoed in your mind, but you ignored it. Recklessness burned through you as you slid the ring off your finger, holding it up like it was a mockery of everything between you.

"Is it hers too? Damn...you never told me about your tragedy filled love-story before. Why not?" The anger you felt was just. You wished she was in front of you so could beat her to a pulp and ask her 'Why didn't her ass marry him!?' because now you are the one paying the price for these discounts Romeo and Juliet.

Arthur’s nostrils flared as he stepped closer, his presence looming, his voice low and cold. "Don’t."

But you didn’t stop. You held the ring out, your own anger a match to his. "What, Arthur? Don’t what? Don’t ask if this belonged to the woman you couldn’t have? The one you let go? Who I guess didn't even agree to running away with you?" Your chuckle was biting, venomous and you wanted to hurt him as much as you could. "Or more like you were too late to snatch? Guess, someone else beat you to it."

"You don’t know what you’re sayin! It's yours! Put it back right now, I swear to God-"

"Why did you destroy my life!? ANSWER ME! WHY DIDN'T YOU DO THIS WITH HER!" Your hands collided with his chest with full force but he didn't budge.

"BECAUSE I JUST DID! I COULDN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE! Fucking accept it! How fucking--dense can you be! You are not the first woman it's ever happened to so stop acting like this!"

"But...does it make it right? I won't be the last too...I jus' know there must be some girl right now...out there...relaxing, hell, just existing, and next thing you know....a man, like you comes and...plucks her away-"

"Did you forget what I confessed to you?! That meant nothing to you?!"

"And I rejected YOU! You still have time. Go on, GO! Kill her husband and bring her here and let ME GO!"

"You--you think this is a joke?"

You wiped your tears putting on a firm mask again. "You made my life a joke, Arthur..... made me...a joke."

He, however, wasn't in the mood to hear all this again.

"Put. It. On. Now." He stepped closer as his fists clenched. He didn't even know that he possessed this much restraint until now. He grabbed your hands but you struggled.

"Put Omar's on too, make it even then at least-"

Before you could fully register the shift in his expression, he twisted your arm, forcing you off balance and sending you crashing to the ground with a thud. You barely had time to breathe before he was towering over you, his rage evident in the wild flickers of his eyes.

"Repeat that."

"I loved my life too! You h-ad no right! No right!--I love him too! He didn't deserve all that too! NOBODY DID!"

Love him too?

A pained scream left your lips as he slammed his boot on your bare hand pressing on it with brutal force.

And again.

"Done acting like a wench?!" With that, he grabbed the numb hand and forced on the ring again. " This ring ain’t comin’ off your finger, not while I’m alive."

You struggled to catch your breath, the pain too much to even register and tears clouding your vision. But before you could even react, Arthur’s hand was on your hair, dragging you up with such force that your head spun. His movements were quick, and cold, and there was no mercy in them. You gasped, trying to free yourself.

"Arthur-" you cried, but your voice was swallowed by his fury.

"Shut the hell up!" he roared, his voice vibrating with anger as he dragged you across the dirt. You tried to dig your heels in, desperate to break free, but it was no use. His strength was overwhelming.

With one final yank, he threw you into the back of the wagon, your body hitting the wooden floor with a painful thud. Before you could sit up or gather yourself, he slammed the door shut, trapping you inside in the pitch-dark, cold space.

"Fuckin' stay there," he growled from the outside, his voice harsh and final. "I won’t have you disrespecting me, not like this. You’ll stay in there until you get your damn head on straight. This is the only language you seem to understand."

"Mr. Morgan--stop-please-let (Y/N) out!" Grimshaw's voice cut through from beside him.

Arthur's head snapped toward Grimshaw, his expression hard, his eyes like ice. "She will stay here until I say so. And if anyone dares to come near her or try to help, they’ll answer to me. And tell the girls to fuckin' stay away from her. They don’t talk any nonsense to her. Got it?"

With a final, warning smack against the wooden door, Arthur turned on his heel and walked off, his boots thudding against the ground as he headed back toward his tent.

Susan turned toward Hosea who met her gaze, his worry evident as he nodded, then slowly made his way to Arthur's tent. Inside, Arthur was calmly sitting on the cot, casually removing his boots as though nothing had happened.

"Arthur, enough," Hosea's voice broke the stillness. "I won’t sit here and watch you treat a woman like this, the woman you brought here yourself. Isn't this inevitable? Were you expecting her to bend to your will?"

"SHE DAMN SHOULD! I really am trying. But it ain’t workin', and I’ve got no choice now. So don’t meddle."

"You’re only pushing her further away, Arthur."

"Gentleness won’t always solve the problem."

"But it sure as hell won’t make it worse. You’re handling this all wrong."

Arthur stood up, a hint of defensiveness in his posture. "She’s the problem, Hosea. She doesn’t fuckin' understand-"

"No," Hosea interrupted, his tone heavy with conviction. "She ain’t a problem. She’s someone’s daughter, and now, unfortunately, your wife. Even if you've done what you’ve done, roughness will only shatter what little is left of her. A hammer may break... the glass, but it does nothing for the vase."

❀˖°

The enforcer's thoughts still sharp with anger, but the sharpness had dulled just enough for him to notice the start of morning chill in the air. His hands gripped the edge of the cot as his mind lingered on the coldness between him and you, the things he’d said and done in a moment of blind rage.

He didn’t want to be this man. Not again. Not with you.

But he couldn't control it.

His boots scraped against the dirt as he made his way toward the wagon. The camp was still quiet, the morning still young, and as he approached the wagon, he saw her, Suki, curled up down by the wheel, her small body trying to make the best of the cold rough ground. The sight of her, peaceful and innocent, did something to his chest. If she could curse...she would be doing it too for what he has done to you until now.

His hand moved to scratch behind her ears, the motion automatic, a familiar comfort. But as soon as his fingers made contact, Suki stirred, her small body tensing as her golden eyes flicked open. With a flick of her tail, she stood and slinked away, padding off a few feet before halting, glancing back at him with a clear sense of judgment.

Arthur's heart sank as he watched her move, the way she embodied a certain grace, withdrawn, distant, unwilling to let him in after what had passed between you two. His chest tightened, and for a moment, he felt his own anger twist back to the forefront. The cat had always been your companion, your comfort. And now she was moving away from him, just like you had.

It hit him harder than he cared to admit. She wasn’t just a cat to him right now, she was you.

If he's soft...you hate him, when he's mad...you hate him.

You.... hate him.

"The woman you brought here yourself. Isn't this inevitable? Were you expecting her to bend to your will?" Damn man is always right.

He slowly and with a deep sigh undid the chain on the lock and then...he saw you curled up inside, your back to him. The vulnerable position made his heart ache once again.

“(Y/N),” he murmured, almost a plea in the softness of his voice. He couldn’t force you to face him, couldn’t drag you into another fight. He knew you needed space.

You didn’t respond, didn’t even stir at the sound of his soft murmur.

With a sigh, Arthur stepped back out of the wagon, leaving the door open. He made his way over back to the tent with his thoughts swirling in a confusing mess. He didn’t know what else to do.

He grabbed the thick, warm blanket and returned to the wagon, crouching to get halfway inside. He carefully draped it over your shoulders, his fingers brushing against your skin as he settled it around you. He couldn't see your eyes as it was shadowed with your arms and hair. He wanted to say something, anything that might make you feel seen, understood. But the words got stuck in his throat, due to guilt.

"I won’t drag you back in," he whispered softly, not wanting to force anything on you. "But... it’s cold out here...."

He took a step back and let the blanket rest gently on you, pulling the door flaps of the wagon back slightly to let in the morning light and some fresh air. All he could do was wait, try to be patient...

Arthur didn’t leave, though. He wasn’t going to walk away. He pulled a nearby chair over, sitting down just outside the door of the wagon lighting up a smoke.

Patient.

Patient...

It was hours later when he watched from a distance as Susan approached the wagon. Moments later, Arthur saw you emerge, wrapped tightly in the same blanket he’d left draped over you. You looked... weak, exhausted, and withdrawn, leaning heavily on Susan as she guided you down. His jaw tightened when he saw how carefully Susan covered you, pulling the edges of the blanket tighter as if shielding you from everything, including him.

His heart twisted as he watched her take you to his tent, her voice low and comforting, her hand steady on your shoulder. He stayed where he was, his gaze fixed on the two of you until you disappeared inside. His chest ached with a mix of guilt, knowing that it wasn’t his arms guiding you, wasn’t his words offering comfort. Instead, he was the one that hurt you. He wanted to run inside and apologize...but where would he even start. His apology would be nothing but a joke...a painful reminder...to you.

"Arthur."

"Dutch…"

The older man leaned in, his voice calm but firm. "What you need is a bit of distance. Cool your head, boy. I’ve got a few jobs to need doin’, away from camp. Might take you a few days."

Arthur hesitated, a protest forming on his lips. "Yeah, but-"

"Her hand might be broken..." Susan’s voice cut through the moment, matter-of-fact, her sharp eyes fixed on Dutch as if Arthur wasn’t even there.

Shit.

Guilt once again rose like a wave, crashing hard against his already frayed nerves. He took a step forward, instinct driving him, but Dutch’s hand shot out, firm on his shoulder.

"No. You go. Charles will take her and Grimshaw. If it’s not too serious, Hosea can just treat it here."

Arthur tensed, his jaw tightening at the mention of Charles. The thought of you going anywhere with him, trusting anyone else. “I....don’t like that idea,” he muttered, his voice rough.

Dutch arched a brow, a faint, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Oh, I know you don’t. But it ain’t your call now, is it? Don't worry though, we are here, aren't we? Ms. Grimshaw, tell Hosea to check her."

Arthur stood there, torn between guilt, frustration, and something he couldn’t quite name. Dutch gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before letting go.

"Come, I will give you the list of tasks."

After receiving that, he strode to the camp's edge finding Bill lounging idly near the horses. "Bill," he barked, his tone short. "Keep watch over the camp while I’m gone. I’ll be back in four to five days, maybe less. And uh...her too. No one bothers her, got it?"

"...Got it."

Arthur nodded once, curtly, before turning to his horse. With a final glance at the place he should’ve been, where he should’ve stayed, Arthur swung onto his horse.

He didn’t look back as he rode out of camp. He couldn’t.

─AN: To be added or removed, you can always comment. Interactions are always appreciated.

★ tag list: : @m1stea @warmsideofthepillow03 @thatoneraeder @marzintears @nxttaru @cazzacarm @she-is-my-unrequited-love34 @nulixity @poll-u @bajabish @cheesycheddarr @luzzbuzz @dilfsarelife @ninastyless @claire-is-here @raeraypoca @hopingtoclearmedschool @lain3iwakura @bashfulcowgirl87 @catjsashrine @bipolarbitties @lizynownow @littlebirdgot @heloixe @summerdazed @meheheasasa

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 1 year ago

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Steddie Upside-down AU Part 17

Part 1 Part 16

Let it be known that Eddie Munson is not a morning person, presuming it’s morning at all. And with the bags under Will and Steve’s eyes, Eddie’s doubtful. He doesn’t look in the mirror to check his own. If King Steve Harrington looks this ragged even with his genetic lottery, Eddie doesn’t want to know what he looks like.

He wants to brush his teeth, but when he opened the toothpaste, it was a rusty-looking brown color. He wants a shower, but none of the pipes work, and their quarry water is a precious commodity. Hell, he wants a hot cup of coffee, and he doesn’t even like coffee.

It'd probably turn to acid once it hit his gut, though. Hunger’s gnawing at him in a way it hasn’t for years. When the fridge would be empty for days. When he wished for school days, so he could take his little blue slip up to the lunch line and get a meal for free, never mind that all the other kids gave him a wide berth for it.

It's messing with his head to have that same, gnawing feeling in this place where Wayne makes breakfast in the mornings after he gets off a shift. Where there’s always food in the fridge, no matter how lean money is. Where someone cares enough to stock it.

So, no. Eddie Munson is not a morning person, and he’s going to strangle Steve Harrington if he keeps corralling Eddie like a wayward child as they pack up their supplies for the trek to Mama Byers’s house.

“Just help me sort the first aid supplies, and then we’ll be done,” Steve says, riffling through their stolen loot where he’s strewn it out across the kitchen counter.

Eddie groans, pinching the bridge of his nose, letting the weight of his elbow settle into Steve’s shoulder. Regrettably, it’s the bad one.

“Ow, fuck,” he groans, shrugging out from beneath Eddie’s arm.

“Shit, sorry big boy,” Eddie says, fluttering his fingers toward Steve’s injured shoulder like he can magic it all better.

“Are you hurt?” Will asks quietly from where he’s once again hovering at the threshold.

They both jump, trading guilty looks at the omission caught so quickly. “Just a scratch on my shoulder,” Steve replies, like a liar.

Will nods but doesn’t seem to believe them. The kid’s clearly too smart for his own good.

“Should we go?” Eddie asks brightly, clapping his hands like he’s a camp counselor leading a nature expedition and not corralling a middle schooler and a peer he still totally hates, he swears, out into a hellscape.

Steve rolls his eyes, but dutifully swipes it all back into his pack after a cursory look.

Steve and Will follow him out of the trailer like ducklings, Eddie in the lead, and Steve maintaining the rear, keeping Will sandwiched in the middle in silent agreement.

They keep quiet. Eddie’s eyes skitter wildly about, and when he glances back, Steve is clutching the shotgun tightly. Clearly, he’s not the only one more on edge with a kid to keep alive now. In contrast, Will looks excited.

Eddie doesn’t know which is worse, that the kid trusts them that much to keep him safe, or that he’s so excited to talk to Mama Byers that he’s not fussed about the rest of it.

Eddie remembers the general direction of the Byers’ house. It’s a small town – there’s only so many places for people to live, but he still has to ask Will for directions a few times. Will tells him where to turn, both speaking quietly enough that Harrington only twitches a little in alarm from behind them.

Only once does Steve stop, the sound of him raising the shotgun the only indication Eddie receives that he’s stopped at all. His heart kicks up as he whirls around to see Steve standing, gun trained into the woods, like fucking always. It takes endless moments before Steve lowers his gun again, waving them along.

No one talks after that. Eddie looks at Will, and Will points. It works well enough.

The Byers house is a single level, short and small, but it’s got a front porch with chairs on it, and laundry on a clothesline. It would look homey without vines. And the sky. And the ash. And the everything about this place.

Still, they file through the unlocked front door. Eddie can almost feel the smack Uncle Wayne would land on his head for going into someone else’s house first, uninvited, but there’s no way he’s letting Will go first into a place the Demogorgon had been less than twenty-four hours before.

It's silent inside. Will pushes past him, rushing into the house and taking a left. Eddie and Steve follow, Steve still clutching the gun. They find him in a small, outdated kitchen. He’s picked up the phone.

“Mom?” he says. His voice breaks, and Eddie wants to grab him and hide him in Steve’s closet for the rest of the day. “Mom?”

They stand in silence for a minute, ears straining for the smallest sound. “Anything?” Steve asks, brow furrowed.

Will doesn’t answer, just presses the phone to his ear harder. “Mom?” His voice sounds wet. Eddie’s going to fucking murder Joyce Byers. “Mom, please.”

“Maybe we can try in a few minutes?” Eddie asks, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder.

Will puts the phone back into the receiver like it weighs a thousand pounds. “What if the Demogorgon got her?”

Scratch the murder threats, Munson. “She’s probably just out,” he says.

Will finally turns around, slowly. Reluctantly. His face is streaked with tears already. Eddie doesn’t fight the urge to wipe them off. His hands leave grimy streaks though, so he switches to the sleeve of his shirt.

Behind him, Steve is pacing down the hall, muttering quietly under his breath. He’s not concerned until the movement abruptly stops.

“Steve?” Eddie calls, still cradling Will’s face.

His steps start again, slow, and purposeful. “Come see this,” he says. He doesn’t sound scared. Shocked, maybe even awed, but not scared.

Eddie pats Will’s cheek before turning and making his way out of the kitchen. Steve Harrington is haloed in light. It’s white, and fluttering, and following every step he takes. He looks like a fallen angel – bloody and grimy, but heavenly still.

Eddie almost asks, “are you an angel?” because if there are monsters, then why not something good? But he doesn’t. Because as soon as he steps past the threshold, there’s a light above him. Holy. Beautiful.

“What is this?” Eddie asks.

“I don’t know,” Steve says, smiling up at the light hanging over him. Steve Harrington is entranced by the lights and Eddie Munson can’t take his eyes off him.

Will steps beside him, and lets out a little, “oh.” When Eddie glances his way, he’s not looking at the lights either. Eddie can’t blame him.

“Do you think it’s dangerous?” Steve asks, still too focused on the beauty of it to sound worried.

“It’s just—” Will starts. But he’s interrupted.

The voice sounds distorted, but not like the Demogorgon’s. It’s more like the sound is coming from far away. Like Nancy Wheeler’s voice. Like her friend’s.

“Will?” it calls. “Will, are you here?”

Well, looks like it’s time to meet Mama Byers. Eddie can’t wait.

Part 18

#steddie upsidedown au #steddie fic #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #my fic

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crystalgastles · 3 months ago

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Who are you?

I’m bored erm, here’s how my versions of the creepypastas would react to finding someone lost in the middle of the night/woods

Jeffery Issac Abel (Jeff the killer)

If you are fem leaning he is more likely to help. He trusts women more

“You lost sweetheart?”

If you’re in the woods he has no idea where he’s going either, the blind leading the blind.

He does know how to hunt and survive if you end up being out there for an extended period of time

“Here I’ll teach you how to skin a deer”

He likes company, you don’t know if he genuinely doesn’t know how to get out of the forest or if he just wants to camp for a few days.

(He can’t remember where he parked his truck)

If he finds you wandering along the road he’s a bit more hesitant to help just because he knows himself, he doesn’t want to be put on the other end.

“Where’ you headed?”

If it goes well you have a new late night visitor. Again he likes the company.

Keep your fridge stocked, he will clean it out

Natalie magnolia (clockwork)

If you’re in the woods she’s very territorial. You have to convince her you’re not there to kill her.

If you’re successful she knows her way around, she can walk you to the nearest gas station and have you home before sunrise

She’s very hard to convince that you’re trustworthy. She won’t hurt you if you’re not there to hurt her but she doesn’t stick around like Jeff.

She doesn’t need company

“I’m only getting you out of here, you don’t need to know anything else”

If you end up walking for days with her she’ll feed you, if you happen to peak her interest she’ll converse with you but nothing after that

If you happen to gain her trust she’ll consider finding you again but it’s incredibly rare, the only person she will slightly consider a friend is Toby.

Even then she’s closed off

You have to be a special type of person to get close with this woman and meeting her in the woods once isn’t gonna cut it

Toby Alblano (ticci toby)

“Close your eyes and look down if you hear ringing in your ears just for the love of God keep them closed”

Toby doesn’t want anyone else to be exposed to the man in the suit. Night clickers already buzz around this place like flies

You don’t want to see him in the forest, not because he is dangerous but the angel is close by. Toby is the easiest to control

He knows the forest like the back of his hand. Just not how to get out of it.

He will lead you to the abandoned ghost town he and clockwork squat in if she isn’t back yet. He will have her take you out.

The man in the suit never visits him in the church. It’s a holy place. That’s where he stays at the most.

“Are you hurt how did you get out here?”

If you don’t know he silently waits for you to turn into one of those things, every person he’s met with amnesia has eventually.

If you don’t you might end up there for days, he won’t let you leave the church in fear you’ll see him

He’s a very sweet boy even if his clothes are covered in dirt stains and blood. Funny too.

Once clockwork comes back he makes you leave with her but he may visit you like Jeff does.

#creepypasta #jeff the killer #creepypasta fanfic #eyeless jack #jeff the killer x reader #jeff the killer headcanons #slenderman #creepy aesthetic #jeff the killer x oc #eyeless jack x reader #ticci toby headcanons #ticci toby fanfiction #clockwork creepypasta #clockwork creepypasta x reader #my slenderman

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emswritingsstuff · 6 months ago

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Blood Root (Daryl Dixon x Reader)

summary: bonding with daryl over your cooking

note: another @caseylicious request!! this quite a while in the making and i hope you enjoy, even if it did take forever!! also highkey recommend MF DOOMs special herbs albums because i listened to them on loop while writing this

WC: 3.7k

Since the start of the camp at the Quarry, you had the job of cooking and making food to go around. You volunteered to do it and loved it, not to mention it made things feel somewhat normal. But, with supplies running low and resources scarce, it got hard to make things for everyone.

It seemed meat was always in stock; thanks to the Dixons’ hunting and the Harrisons’ fishing, you never really had to worry about losing that. But spices and herbs were difficult to come by, with only a few of you knowing how to identify herbs. Not to mention, spices aren’t a priority when it comes to necessity runs. It was disheartening you had to admit. All you wanted to do was make appetizing food, or at least something better than cooked, unseasoned rabbit.

Doing research on herbs and plants before the fall through books and such, you knew how to pick out edible plants, including fungus like mushrooms too. With that came the knowledge of harvesting and cooking, which was your favorite part no doubt. But going out into the woods was a difficult task, not because of the potential danger but because you were always needed elsewhere on camp.

Finding herbs was tough in general, a lot of them blending in with the other plants in the woods. Luckily, mushrooms came easy with how they stuck out like sore thumbs against the green grass and dark trees. The trick was knowing what was edible and what was toxic. Everyone was always skeptical about the mushrooms, not wanting to run the risk of getting sick. Thankfully, Shane could vouch for you. You couldn’t help but feel a little bitter that no one took your word for it. But you couldn’t dwell.

And now you’re here, stressing about the low stock of your cooking supplies and ingredients. A lot of the group was out on a run, meaning you had to pick up the slack when you weren’t cooking. Ultimately meaning you couldn’t go out and look for ingredients yourself, which upset you even more. Sitting with the thoughts racing in your head, making attempts to think of a way to get the things you needed.

An idea soon struck, and it was honestly a shot in the dark. But it could never hurt to at least ask.

Daryl Dixon was an expert in those woods, and thankfully the mushrooms you needed were located there. The shaggy mane mushrooms ironically sprout on game land trails, and the oyster mushrooms on fallen trees. It was almost perfect, but the hard part was getting Daryl on board.

The Dixon’s were loners, and it was respected for the most part. They both had tempers, Daryl being more explosive than Merle. Merle had his moments too, but he was more condescending and somehow irrational than his brother. It was common for everyone to avoid them so as to not piss them off and risk an explosion. And maybe you were risking getting a bad reaction from the younger Dixon, but you couldn’t care at that moment. Desperate to restock the makeshift inventory you had, you would try anything.

Scanning over the camp to find Daryl, you managed to spot him talking to Shane about the hunt he was about to go on. Bingo.

When the conversation ended between them, you bolted over to Daryl. Projecting a loud “Hey,” in which he didn’t hesitate to turn around and look at you. Catching up with him, you stopped and caught your breath before cutting to the chase. “I wanted to ask if you could grab some mushrooms while on your hunt? If you see them of course.” Handing him a piece of paper, it had attempted drawings the mushrooms you needed as well as small important details to pick them out. Getting nervous, you attempted to explain yourself, “I would go out myself but with a bunch of people out, Shane has me running around this place like crazy.” What you said was followed by a nervous laugh, watching Daryl as he gave an intense side-eye to Shane.

Taking the paper from your hands, he looked over it and nodded, “I’ll see wha’ I can get.” Nodding back you handed him a small container, “In case you find them.” Taking the container he offered you a respectful nod before walking off and disappearing the blur of the woods.

The days dragged on while he was gone, getting antsy to see if he found anything out there. So many bland meals have come and gone, feeling helpless and upset with yourself you couldn’t do better for the group. Amongst all the thoughts, part of you had to wonder if Daryl had even done what you asked in the first place. What if he just said he would get you off his back? What if he actually didn’t find anything? All you could do was wait and dwell on those intrusive “what if” thoughts.

Right as you started to get lost in your brain, the archer emerged from the woods, a bunch of squirrels roped around his body. Trying to focus on cleaning from that night's dinner, all you did was hope he would make his round toward you. And luckily he did, as soon as you looked back to spot him, he was coming toward you with his bag.

Glancing at him, you muttered a fast greeting before he placed his bag on the ground and reached into it. “Found the shrooms, got some herbs too. Remember ya talkin’ to Carol about ‘em.” Daryl handed you the container full of the mushrooms and well as a dry rag that held the herbs. Your mouth was agape, in shock he did this for you. Blinking rapidly, you mustered out a speedy “thank you.” Maybe you didn’t show it, but you were ecstatic.

Dinner the following day was much better than you anticipated. It made you feel like yourself again, the food wasn’t five star quality but you did it. You made it, and the compliments from the group added to your radiant joy. There was one thing that damped your spirits though.

And that was Daryl not coming to dinner. Him and Merle never ate with the rest of the group, usually just grabbing food and leaving, tonight was different. He didn’t come over at all. With Merle being out with the run group, he was all alone. Peeking over at him, Daryl just sat at his spot working on something you couldn’t really see. Unsure if he ate something, you made the choice to prepare a small portion of what you made for the group for him.

Considering he was nice enough to go out and help find the ingredients, he deserved to try some. And you were going to make it happen. Approaching his space, you stood there for a minute, unsure if you should disturb him or not. It didn’t take Daryl long to notice your presence, stopping what he was doing to look up at you. No words were spoken, just simply handing him the bowl. And he ended up taking it, investigating what exactly was in there.

Taking in a breath, you finally spoke, “You didn’t come to dinner, didn’t know if you ate or not.” Crossing your arms, you watched as Daryl nodded along and took a quick bite. “Good, it's good.” Daryl's words surprised you, even if they were muffled by the food in his mouth. “Oh, thanks.” Pausing for a minute, you continued to sneak glances while he ate. “Want more?” And by the time you asked, he was a few more bites in, perking up at the question. “Got more?” Nodding, you grabbed the bowl from him and took it to grab him more food.

As you walked away you smiled fondly to yourself, absolutely thrilled you made the most stubborn person in the group at least a little bit happy. He may not have had a ‘happy’ expression, but you could feel the energy off of him.

And from that point on, the relationship you had with Daryl bloomed into something more. A sort of friendship, but you weren’t entirely sure if he would’ve agreed with that.

Nonetheless, since that day at the Quarry, you had grown accustomed to talking to Daryl about random recipes you had made in the past. Or showed him beat-up cookbooks you’d found. Just going on and on about what you could do if you had the ingredients.

And like clockwork, Daryl magically found an ingredient or two that you talked about on a run. It would always make your day, knowing he was thinking of you and about what you talked about while out there. And without a doubt the dinners were always better.

Hence, the dinner routine started. Daryl always got to try what you made first, your way of showing gratitude to him. He’d always take what you handed him, sometimes begrudgingly. To him, it felt like you were sort of “babying” him. Also known as, feeding him decent food.

He tried to act all stubborn and tough, but all the walls came down the minute he tried what you made. More times than not, he would be right over as soon as the group started eating.

After arriving at the prison, soon came the new opportunities with an almost gated off “community” you all had created. The change was good. Even if it was stressful to get used to at first. As the days went on, the more and more improvements you had made. And the more people that joined. One of the improvements was livestock and gardens. With the help of Hershel and Rick, maintaining both of them was easy and rewarding.

Meals got better too, suddenly having so much more food and ingredients at your disposal to mess around with. And with that, came Daryl too.

The so-called dinner routine that had been created between the two of you blossomed to something more than you letting him try the food. Once everybody’s routines got solidified, so did the time for meals. With that came Daryl always somehow being around and getting first plate was given out.

It was adorable, you had to admit that. Daryl would never outright say it was because he enjoyed your cooking. But all of the signs were there, not to mention he’d try and play it cool every time he stuck around while you cooked. The nonchalant act he was putting out didn’t work on you at all. Not even for a single second.

“You can just say you like my cooking, you don’t have to race for first plate everyday to show it.” Shooting him a cocky look, he just scoffed in response. “Not tha’. Jus’ got nothin’ better to do,” as you worked you sneaked fast glances at him, a smirk just on your face.

“Really? Everyday, you have nothing better to do?” Daryl just gave you a “Please shut up” look, which caused you to eventually drop the subject. But an indescribable joy filled your heart every time you saw him waiting, even if he was so stubborn about it.

As the weeks went past, the relationship you had with Daryl grew. It sprouted into something so much more than what you would have ever thought. Amidst all the times he’s helped find ingredients or hang around you while you worked, a new feeling ignited in your chest. You liked him, and it was a feeling you really couldn’t deny any longer.

So, you did something about it. A feeling within you told you he felt the same, but the man was so hard to read that you were unsure. And With all the confidence you could muster, you asked him out before dinner one day. A ping of nervousness was there, thinking you misread the signs he was giving. Thankfully thought, you were right. The relationship the both of you had basically remained the same, but with more touches and kissing now. It made you happy, and it made him happy.

Somehow within all the moments of disappointment and sorrow, you finally had something amazing. Something you never thought you would be able to have.

But like all good things come, they also go. For once you wished everyone would stay the same, thankful for the change you had. but now the prison was gone, and now you all were on the road. After being separated and being held at Terminus, everyone had changed. In one way or another.

To you, Daryl’s was the most notable, especially after Beth. He was always stubborn, but it wasn’t like him to be so closed off and quiet. The going off by himself worried you as well, but he never wanted you to go with him. Not wanting you to see him in such a way.

Just as everything seemed to get worse, a man named Aaron came along. Speaking of a community called “Alexandria”. It sounded too good to be true and no one believed it was true.

No amount of pictures or “brochures” could convince the group otherwise. But Aaron was a man of his word it seemed, ultimately taking you to Alexandria to show you the real thing.

It was a dream, you swore you had to be imagining the whole thing. Sure you had running water in the prison, and you had other “normal” things. But electricity and hot water was something you never thought could be possible again. And here it was.

After the interviews, all of you were accepted. Getting jobs or “earning your keep” as they say. Even getting offered a home, which Aaron was kind enough to show you to.

Finally stepping into the new home, it felt even more unreal. Looking around you weren’t sure how to exactly feel about it. Aaron bashfully followed you in, Daryl sicking outside with his crossbow. Aaron slowly inched his way to be up beside you. Looking at him you gestured toward the kitchen. “You weren’t shitting us right? All of this works?” as you spoke you pointed at the oven and stove. Aaron laughed as he crossed his arms, “Take a look for yourself.” Raising an eyebrow, you did what he said. And to your surprise, it did work.

“Holy shit?” Aaron laughed at your amazed tone, causing you to laugh with him. “This whole place is for you and Daryl, if he ever comes inside that is,” peeking at Daryl outside you could barely see the top of his head as he sat on the deck. Shaking your head, you muttered a quick thank you before following Aaron outside.

“There's a welcome party at Deanna’s tonight, all of you are invited. If you want to go,” looking at Daryl, you could see in his face that it was a hard ‘no’ from him. “Think we’ll just stay in, adjust to everything you know,” Aaron nodded in agreement. “I understand, but Daryl,” his head shot up as Aaron addressed him directly. “Stop over at my house at some point, have something to ask and show you,” you could see Daryl’s blank stare as Aaron spoke to him. And as if on cue, Aaron quickly made his leave, waving a goodbye before walking off to his home.

Walking over to Daryl, you made your place right beside him. Sitting there in silence, you rested your head on his shoulder causing him to wrap an arm around you and pause working. Bringing your hand up, you captured his hand in yours.

“I know this isn’t what you want, but I think this could be good,” you whispered quietly, causing Daryl to let out a breath. “Judith needs a roof, so does everyone else,” he couldn’t even look at you, almost ashamed. “What about you?” shaking his head, he finally looked at you. “Don’ know,” wrapping your arms around him, you let him bury his face in your neck. Letting your hand play with his hair, you began to speak again. “You should go in the house, get cleaned up. I’ll run to the pantry and I’ll make us dinner,” he grunted quietly but obliged. Placing a kiss on your head and letting himself into the home. Waiting a few minutes, you eventually got up and made your way to the pantry.

Walking through the streets of Alexandria, it felt peaceful, like nothing can hurt you anymore. It felt silly to think such things, but maybe this place was the safe shelter you’d always strived to have. This was your fresh start.

Once grabbing everything you needed for your dinner, without any delay you made your way back to the house. Ready to relax after days on the road.

Entering the home the sound of running water filled your ears, signaling Daryl was in there. Smiling fondly to yourself you walked to the kitchen, ready to start dinner. Just deciding to make plain spaghetti, it was easy and something you haven’t had since the fall. Plus it was romantic in a way, or at least it was considered that in your opinion.

Cooking up the sauce and meat, you let them simmer together while you start the noodles. Putting on the pot and letting the water boil, and while waiting you lifted yourself up on the counter and sat there.

Sitting there for a few minutes, Daryl emerged from the hall. His hair was still wet, but he was cleaner and had a fresh set of clothes on. A gleeful smile painted your face as he walked toward you, standing still beside you.

“Whatcha makin’” his gruff voice broke the silence, him shyly looking up at you. “Just some spaghetti, change of pace from stew and jerky,” you laughed as you spoke, even getting a chuckle out of him. Reaching your hand over to his hair, you ran your fingers through it. “How are you feeling?”

You could see Daryl biting the inside of his cheek before responding, “Fine, don’ worry 'bout me.” Not wanting to start a bigger conversation he didn’t want to have, you dropped it. Much to your own dismay though.

As if saved by the bell, the water had started boiling. Hopping off the counter, you placed the pasta in the pot and letting it cook. Daryl remained in his place, watching you work.

After about a few minutes, you fished out a noodle and rinsed it off so it was cold. Putting it in your hand, he looked at you confused. “Wanna try it? See if it's done?” still holding the noodle, he went to grab it and swiftly ate it. He looked unsure and all you could do was giggle at his demeanor, “Never taste tested a noodle?” Shaking his head with a “no” your face subtly dropped, but you didn't let it ruin the moment.

“You know, if you throw it at the wall and it sticks. Means it’s done,” getting out another noodle and washing it off, he took it from your hands. Raising his eyebrow looking at you, he threw it at the nearest wall.

“They’re done,” he pointed at the noodle stuck on the wall. Giggling softly, you made quick work of straining the noodles and mixing them with the sauce. You took the pan with the spaghetti and set it on the table, towel under it so as to not burn the table. Daryl took it upon himself to set the table with plates and silverware, before you could even think about it.

Both of you sat down at the table across from each other, sitting there for a moment you gestured for Daryl to take his portion first. “Shouldn’t ya? Ya made it,” pointing at him, you quickly shut him up. “That’s exactly why you get the first plate. Now, eat,” Daryl put his hands up in a surrendering motion before making his plate. As soon as he was done you got yours, prompting you to both start enjoying your dinner.

It was silent, almost a little too silent for you. Daryl’s expression was one that signaled to you that he was thinking about something. Staring at your plate, you waited for Daryl to finish eating before you asked anything. It definitely looked like something was wrong or at least bothering him. And you were tired of waiting.

By the time he was finished eating, he had noticed you staring. His hand waving in front of your head caused you to look at him, a questioning look on his face. You took a deep breath, preparing yourself to speak.

“Daryl, tell me what's on your mind,” instantly freezing, he looked down at the cloth napkin on his legs. Obviously debating with himself on what he should say. “Jus’, thinkin’ about us,” setting down your fork, you took your hand in his. “What about us?”

Daryl cleared his throat, stalling, still looking down. “No one’s ever done anythin’ like this for me before. Don’ know wha’ I did to deserve it,” his voice was quiet. Looking at him softly, your thumb rubbed his hand, drawing soft shapes into it. Staying quiet, he continued to speak. Just opening up to you at that moment.

“When mom died, Merle took over cookin’. It was never like this, it’s why I liked ya so much back then.” Looking at his face, the tears in his eyes were obvious. The memories from his childhood were painful, it was a known fact between the both of you. It was rare for him to be so open like this. But it meant he felt safe.

Bringing up the hand you weren’t holding, he wiped off his face. Sniffling in the process, he apologized for how he was acting, almost ashamed. Reassuring him it was fine, you stood up and hugged him from behind. Planting a soft kiss on his head, and after staying like that for a minute, the both of you separated.

As you walked away you rubbed his back, picking up the dirty dishes in the process. He was quick to follow you, wanting to help with the cleanup. You almost protested, wanting to tell him you could do it, but he was already washing the dishes. As you watched him, the thought of the change in him creeped into your mind. You knew you might never fully know what was going on with him, and that was his choice, but today was a step forward. And you were thankful for that.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #twd daryl #the walking dead #the walking dead x reader #x reader #fanfic #fluff #hurt/comfort maybe?#if you squint

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lesbiansforastarion · 1 year ago

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A Silly Plan to Begin With

Astarion x gn tav

Summary: Everyone at camp rests for the night but Astarion's left to reflect on his new found affection.

Now he knows he's lost it. It was just a simple touch. Your fingers brushed the slightest bit walking during their journey that day. Nothing more than the fleeting feeling of skin on the back of his hand and now he's left lying here awake thinking about it. It was so silly, how many people had he been with? How much flesh has he felt in his 200 years in much darker ways just to have such an innocent gesture send him swooning like a damned school boy. This was not how things were supposed to go. You were supposed to be lying awake with thoughts of him. You were supposed to be swooning for him. You were supposed to be bending over backwards for him, awaiting his every command, pinning for just a hint of his approval. And here he was.

He felt like a lovesick teenager.

He felt like a dog.

He'd hated the term puppy love but what else was there to call it when he clung to your every word. When he'd follow you around mindlessly like a second shadow. When he pouted and moped at camp when you told him to stay. He did stay as you told him after all. He was no better than Scratch, except he never got the delightful petting that the damned mut did. He definitely couldn't say he was better when he decided that the best use of his time was to lay about your belongings like your scent would somehow bring you back sooner. He'd sit there and mend your clothing and tidy your space for your return, hoping somewhat wistfully that you might notice his work, maybe even praise him for his usefulness and skill. Perhaps he'd even get an enchanting smile made just for him. Maybe one of those compliments he'd been craving so much. A brush of lips. You'd might even hold his face again-

His back shot straight up from his bed roll. This had to stop. All these stupid thoughts and scenarios in his head had to stop. These were not trance thoughts, these weren't restful thoughts. These were lying awake anxiously longing thoughts. They were dangerous. He couldn't afford to get lost in such silly fantasies, that was supposed to be your job after all, not his. He was holding his face between his knees now trying to calm the phantom heart rate in his chest. His hand ruffling the hair out of his face. It should have been yours-

That thought sent him straight up, now standing completely and startled at the mere notion that he would want something so earnestly. He should leave, maybe not forever but at the very least hunt. Take his mind off of his apparent favorite companion, gain some clarity before these rising feelings decide to take hold of his mind. He was ready to stock off into the woods and murder something until he felt better but he'd noticed a dim light still in your tent, and he'd be damned if he wasn't curious. You weren't a creature of the night nor someone who could live without sleep so you being up at such an hour was odd, troubling even, if he were willing to admit to being worried for you. He found himself walking to your tent automatically without question, just the thought that he would be in your presence was enough to make him drop any violent thoughts he had about the woodland creatures.

There was a faint knock on the front post holding your tent up, not wanting to make too much noise in case you'd just forgotten to blow out a candle. But of course that wasn't the case, you were awake and fiddling with one of the many trinkets from the day's journey before you came and lifted one of the flaps to welcome him in. He already felt the tension leave him once his nose filled with your surrounding scent. He wondered if that was what made his own tent so uninviting recently, it smelled nothing like you. Save that tunic he’d found abandoned weeks ago, but the scent has faded so much after just the first night he slept with it that there was almost no point in hoarding it, except the mere embarrassment that would come with returning it.

“You okay?” Shit, they're speaking.

“Sorry, what was that darling?” Embarrassment was flooding him now even at just being caught gawking at you in your entranceway. He couldn't imagine how mortified he'd be if you ever discovered the tunic.

You gave a small chuckle and was cheery as always with your reply “Well I said ‘fancy meeting you here, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?’ and then you got all spacy on me so I asked if you were doing okay.” You tilted your head “Are you okay? You've been a little out of it since the hike this morning. Something bugging you?”

“Oh yes! I'm fine my dear. Nothing serious I assure you.” He spoke too quickly and he could barely hold eye contact with you while he fiddled with his hands. He wasn't used to feeling so nervous and insecure around people but you just seemed to bring this shyness out of him. He was definitely taking too long to answer your question for him to come across as any form of smooth or suave. “Might I- Could I- You…you know I was just wondering if…”

You moved closer and rested your hand on his arm in an attempt to comfort him a little. If he was having trouble concentrating on speech before he definitely was now that your warm flesh was touching him again. He cleared his throat, folding his arms neatly in an attempt to regain order on his person. “Well my sweet, I couldn't help but notice that you still had a light on at such a dreadful hour. Just wanted to check in on you, make sure you were doing alright or if there was a stray candle needing blowing out. That's all.”

You let out a small giggle at his clear excuse and leaned in more comfortably towards the man stood before you. “Well we all know how important fire safety is to you.” If he didn't know any better he'd say you were flirting with him now.

He'd gasped dramatically, clutching his non-existent pears “Why of course I am dear! I mean think of all the little snacks running around in the woods, positively flammable. Gods, what might Halsin say if he found out?”

You played along with his antics so well. You swooned into his arms with a distressed hand to your forehead “My goodness you're right! What ever shall I do if word were to get out?”

“He'd surely alert the grove.”

“The clerics”

“We'd never be allowed at camp again”

“Tarnish the thought”

With each of your comments you'd both drawn impossibly closer. Leaning more and more against each other with your joking distress while you made lighthearted jabs at the druid. Just the two of you stifling laughter in each other's arms with a special warmth brewing in Astarion’s body that only you could be the cause of. He loves being like this with you. He loved the freedom he felt to be silly with you with no need for any sensual act. He loved more than anything that he could make you laugh like this. Like you've always been so comfortable with each other. It sparked hope in his heart that he knew would only add to the senseless daydreams that plagued him. If he could make you happy like this in such a fleeting moment, what would an eternity in your smile feel like? If instead of taking absolute power he chose to submit to your warmth instead. Devoting the rest of his eternity into making you as happy as someone as wretched as him could. He honestly was already confused by your fondness for him as it was but if he could, he'd love to kindle that with you. He'd never be worthy of your love but he craves to have the chance to try to prove a thousand times over that he could be deserving. Gods, he started this journey wanting you groveling at his feet in servitude and now here he was ready to do just the same, all to get you to look at him. Really it was a silly plan to begin with. Honestly, how was he supposed to not fall for you. You're you. And you're looking at him so fondly now that the laughter had died down and you're left both just holding each other with giddy smiles.

“Might I stay for a little while” he broke the comfortable silence. You were looking at him through your eyelashes, absentmindedly stroking his arm in that wondrous way you always did when trying to sooth him. He'd never asked to stay before. Even when he'd fed he'd leave after a while, trying to assure himself that it was only to let your need for him fester in his absence and surely had nothing to do with the fear that his own might if he stayed too long. But he's sure that he's beyond the point of no return now anyways. He was staying awake all night because he couldn't stop thinking of you and he'd definitely continue going restless if he didn't have you near him.

“Star, you could stay all night if you wanted” Your smile was all the reassurance he could ask for. Despite his flirty nature and affinity towards the casual pet name, something about you referring to him with one felt different. Even if it was just a little one, just a shortening of his name, it still made that bashful warmth bloom again. You were the only one that called him that as well, which made it even more special. He could almost be a little virgin with how all your innocent affection made him feel. That look in your eyes definitely wasn't helping. If you let him he would stand in that entrance forever getting lost in that loving gaze.

You seemed to come to the same realization that you two were just standing and staring in the opening of your tent. You pulled him in by the arm you were stroking earlier, giggling all the way while you pulled him down onto your bedroll. A complete disorganized mess of blankets and pillows that he couldn't care less about now that he's hearing such a happy sound from you again. He followed suit with you when he saw you getting nestled under the blankets. He squeezed in next to you and relished the warmth as he pulled you against his body. Rogue fingers finding purchase in the small of your back and another set stroking from your shoulder to your arm. This could be quite nice for eternity. You seemed to be not quite as comfortable yet as you shifted. He couldn't help his grip when it felt too closely like you were leaving. But of course you weren't. Instead you were shimmying up the pile of pillows before pulling his body over yours. Using a gentle hand to guide his head to your chest while a second stroked the skin of his back under his shirt. He moved both hands to circle tightly around your waist as you shifted the two of you. If anything this was better than before. Having such a delicate touch against him for a change was a pleasantry that had been so rare for him in his life. The small brush of fingers through his scalp, coupled with the slight circles you were drawing on his skin, he really was jealous of the dog if this is what it felt like to be petted and praised by you.

A possessive thought crossed his mind as he inhaled your scents mixing together in your small space. Your tent and you would smell of him by morning and his being would smell of yours. Not that the wizard or the blade of frontiers would ever notice the subtle claim over you with their lackluster senses, but the druid and the githyanki would see the meaning behind your muddled scents. Maybe it’d even be enough to keep Lae’zel from enjoying your ‘musk.’ But those two were far from what he wanted his final thoughts to be before he goes into trance. That honor should only be to you and this made up happily ending he keeps longing for after all this mess is over.

His plan had definitely failed now, there's no return from his new acceptance. He still wants you to want him. He still needs you to want him, he supposed. Except now it's not for a vengeance plot, now it's for something much different. A completely new plan his mind couldn't shut up about.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion fanfic #bg3 astarion #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 #gender neutral reader

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smt4flynn · 1 year ago

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stone walled

Note: R18/Explicit, Minors do not interact! There's PIV in this one, with a bit of cunning linguistics, but not too much. again, NO MINORS.

A stuck in the wall fanfic where both you and Ast are being pervy. ('-')b Much thanks to reddituser WeirdGirlActivity888 on r/AO3 for having an easily accessible image for Kinktober 2023, especially with the loss of the google drive link for the Kinktober 2023!

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You, without a shadow of a doubt, are an incredibly embarrassing idiot. You push down on the walls that are currently caging you, making you feel like you are in the stocks, being punished for something extremely mundane and not noteworthy yet here you are regardless. Because you are the smallest out of everyone, you are the one that gets asked to try and crawl through this hole so that you can see if there is something by the end. Of course, you manage to make a good degree through the hole before your hips find you forcefully and humiliatingly stuck. There is a moment of silence before Karlach bursts out into unholy laughter, aided by a Lae’zel whose sigh is so loud it echoes in your head, and Astarion soon joins in with the laughter once he returns to the task bestowed onto him.

Whenever the laughter is finally over, Karlach and Lae’zel take turns trying to yank you out, just for you to yelp and flail and yell to “stop it already! You’re about to rip my legs straight off!”. It is Astarion who suggests to the other two to go and get Gale from camp, given that he surely has something to help with this – a dimension door in the reserves, perhaps? Though there is the mild issue of the fact that camp is hours away.

Earlier, you split your group up when you get this deep into the woods to try and get more ground covered this way. You take with you Lae’zel and Karlach, mostly because they don’t want to be stuck listening to the debates Gale, Wyll, and Shadowheart are going to have, and Astarion because of his dexterous fingers and nimble body. Now, however, you kind of wish you didn’t, because you know for a fact that it is going to take Karlach and Lae’zel an hour at the very least to try and find Gale, then another to bring him back to you so that you can escape.

“Ta, darlings.” Astarion calls out from behind you when Karlach and Lae’zel make their leave; there isn’t much left to the cave that isn’t better to just leave Astarion to slinking about in, given his roguish ways, so of course you are left with your resident vampire.

There is quiet once again when the two heavy hitters are gone. You wiggle a little, trying to get some comfort, and you yowl when you feel something smack down onto your arse cheek. “Astarion!” you cry out, smacking your hands down on the walls either side of you, and you wish you can turn around and glare at him. “Really, now? Stop being so bloody perverse!”

“Nope.” he practically sings out, his hands once more returning to your butt so that he can start groping and squeezing it. “I am oh-so-very glad you wore a neat little robe today, darling. You don’t mind if I take advantage of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, will you?” you want to kick back at him, though your limbs feel a bit awkward given where you are currently locked in, and he simply massages your arse while he waits for your response.

A part of you wants to genuinely say no, given how embarrassing this is; here you are, stuck in a hole in a wall, half of your body being groped and squeezed by your bloodsucking lover, while the other is staring into a bland looking room, hands uselessly slapping down onto the wall. You can somewhat hear Astarion humming behind you as he squeezes your rear. You slump down eventually, sigh, and you can practically see the way Astarion perks up as you say, “fine, but not too rough, they’re going to return eventually.”

You do not realise how excited Astarion is at your predicament until he has your trousers unlaced and shoved down to your knees, leaving you in your panties and you shudder a little as your legs are exposed to the elements. The leather of his gloves drag across your skin, making you jolt as much as you can in your situation, and you flush when Astarion presses a kiss to where your thigh and pelvis meet.

“Thank you.” he says, strangely sincere about it, though you aren’t given a moment to think too much about it when rough fingers once again squeeze your rear and you feel him bury his face into you. You feel his tongue slip out, giving a lazy lick against your clothed vulva, and you stop your twisting a little bit to make it easier for Astarion to touch you. His fingers finally grasp at your waistband, pulling it back just to let you feel it snap against you, a squeak slipping out before dragging your underwear down to bare your vagina to him.

His tongue is back on you again, dragging between your vulva, lapping lazily against your labia, and you sink your teeth into your lower lip when Astarion begins his languid taste of your vulva. You squirm, just for him to grab your hips and force you down further onto his face, nose bumping against you momentarily before his tongue slides slightly further out to flick at your slowly emerging clit. Almost as if trying to coax a prey from hiding, he lavishes his attention onto your clit, thumbs coming down to spread your swelling vaginal lips, and you let out a wet, shuddering gasp.

He is just as skilled at this as he always is; lapping alternatively at your dripping hole and angling you to play with your hard, swollen clit. He holds you open, letting you drip all over his face, and you whine, wishing you can grab onto his hair, or anything, to try and ground yourself while he kisses and plays with your vagina. More and more of your pre drips out of you, no doubt staining his mouth and chin, his lazy movements getting a bit more vigorous, frequent, and you smack your hands against the walls all over again.

There is nothing to help you focus, your mind only able to hone in on the pleasure his tongue drags out of you – perverse man that he is, he moans against you and the vibrations make you squeal, though nothing makes you whine louder than when you feel him completely retreat from between your legs. “Thank you.” he repeats from behind you, and you still have no clue why you are being thanked – there is something going on behind those eyes of his, though you have no desire, nor the wits really, to use the tadpole to probe into his mind.

Thumbs press once more against you, though this time to spread open your hole and show off your insides to him, though you don’t really open up much given how tight you are, and how he hasn’t bed with you in quite some time. You don’t really think much about it; you aren’t that sexual of a person in the first place, or so you think, and it is hard to really believe that when Astarion is currently cooing over your cunt and pressing wet kisses against your inner thighs. The fact that Astarion insists on this is actually surprising, the haze from your mind clearing thanks to the frustration of an orgasm denied, but you aren’t allowed to dwell on it for long when you hear shuffling behind you.

One hand grabs your hip to steady you and your mouth falls open in anticipation when you feel his cock head press against your dripping hole. “Wa-wait,” you start, “aren’t you going to prepare me-?”

“Well darling,” Astarion says innocuously, “I can’t prepare you with leather, can I?” before you can even suggest he just take them off, he slams deep inside of you in one go and you scream loudly, slapping your hands against the stone surrounding you, feeling utterly stuffed by his erection as he settles into you. He is at least merciful enough to let your fluttering walls adjust, your hole immediately feeling sore from how it stretches around him, and you close your eyes while taking deep breaths, trying to steady yourself.

You feel so, so full; the stretch is borderline painful, the sting of it making you shudder and moan pathetically, and you hear Astarion’s answering groan when you tighten around him before relaxing again. “Oh,” and he sounds almost surprised when he says that, “you feel good like this. I could use you however I want.” you aren’t entirely too sure how to feel about the dark edge his voice takes on, though your thoughts aren’t your own for long when Astarion pulls out almost all the way only to violently thrust deep into you again.

“Ahhhstarion!” you moan his name out, aimlessly tumbling out, and he gives you an answering growl before he does it again – long, dragging pulls that scrape roughly against your walls before slamming all the way back in, forcing you to feel him in his entirety while he gets to feel your poor vagina try to clamp down around him. The sounds escaping you are wet and humiliating, not aided by the way you claw at the stones around you, and it doesn’t help when Astarion grabs your tail to yank you up, rubbing at the sensitive base of it, and you practically weep from the onslaught of sensations.

He is all grunts and groans behind you, the slapping of skin and the wetness of your cunt swallowing his cock echoes in your head and the underground hideout the two of yourselves are in. You get louder, voice bordering on a scream, when the hand not squeezing and rub the base of your tail decides to rub your sensitive clit. “Mmmmmnnnnooo, closssse, it’s too much!” you wail out; he is being so harsh on your poor body and merciless with your swollen cunt. The twisting in your abdomen gets tighter and tighter, your legs kicking out yet barely being able to move, and still Astarion keeps pounding into you, as though trying to force you to remember him for weeks to come.

“Come... ON!” Astarion hisses out, his own voice sounding worn out, and it takes another rough rub of your hard clit before you find yourself barrelling to orgasm, eyes wide when you feel that strong urge to pee, and your entire body flushed when you squirted, squeezing around him as you do. He crows a strange laugh behind you before he too orgasms, following yours, and you slump forward, feeling completely worn out and deeply tired. He pulls out of you slowly... and does not even bother to clean you up as he drags your underwear and trousers back up.

Your legs and vulva feel extremely sticky and you can already feel his spend dripping out of you and into your gusset, making it cling to your vaginal lips, and you flush. There is more shuffling behind you and Astarion moves your legs around, obviously cleaning up whatever mess you make from your intense squirt, and you are feeling too tired to try and berate him for leaving you all dirty.

“There,” Astarion says, somehow getting his second wind already, and you curse everyone (except for Gale) in your party for being more physically fit than you, “now when our resident little wizard comes and gets you, you can only think and feel me and what I helped you achieve, and you will have to explain your flushed little face to him when he helps you out.”

You try to kick him behind you, though the movement just reminds you starkly of the fact that you let Astarion have sex with you like this, and he just grabs your ankle and squeezes it playfully.

“I hate you.” you say.

“Sure you do, darling. Now be a good one and wait here, won’t you? We have quite some time to kill before anyone is to return to help you out.”

#andro fics #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #fics: bg3

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aglasspomegranate · 27 days ago

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Soulmate Time Traveler Au

Leather and Mike have lines in the game about something related to time. Mike says "You're mine. You've always been mine." And Leather says "Maybe I was waiting for you."

Between that and the song "Would you fall in love with me again" from Epic the musical. I got hit like a semi truck for a au.

Courtesy of the lines "I will fall in love with you. Over and over again. I don't care how, where or when. No matter how long it's been you're mine. You're always my husband and I've been waiting....waiting..." (Except the guys are Penelope and MC is Odysseus)

MC is using the darkness to try and weaken the darkness's hold on the guys but they keep running into them at various stages of their lives both before and after the curse was put on them, throughout their time as slashers.

"I'm from the future. I know something awful has been done to you, and your going to do things... terrible things....that you don't want to. Just know it's not your fault. What was done to you and your forced to do against your will is not your fault. And I do not blame you for it. I could never blame you. I'm going to break the curse on you. But I'm not ready yet...I'm not ..here yet. You'll understand everything eventually. Just wait for me, ok? Can do you that? For me?"

Mike 🐺

🐺 Mike remembers clearly and never forgot you got a second.

🐺 you met before the darkness muzzled him into not being able to speak freely.

"I'm actually from the future. We're....close then."

"Close? And who are you to me, exactly?"

"... I'm yours Mike."

"Mine?"

You smile gently, like you know something he doesn't...yet. "Yes Mike. Yours. I'll always be yours. If nothing else, remember that."

🐺It's why he's so dead set on you being "his" and being protective of you, even if you don't understand it early on in the present.

Leather 🐷

🐷 Leather was even more shy and wary of you in the past. Accusing you of being a witch more often than not.

🐷 you freak him out with knowledge about himself "you hate mice, you want a peaceful life, you love cuddles, you drank your grandma's sherry once at Christmas. jammy once stuffed tour stockings with dead pigeons but you didn't care much cause you made sugar cookies later with your family." And it convinces him enough that maybe you're are an ally if he told you all that.

🐷 he agrees to wait for you to break the curse, but over time slowly forgets what you look like as he loses hope you'll keep their promise and as he succumbs to the fog.

Jay 🐑

🐑First met Jay as a little boy and agreed to be his first friend. He tried to tell Carol about you but she insists Jay has an imaginary friend because she can't find you no matter how much she hunts for you

🐑Jay starts to believe their imaginary too and as you pop in and out of his life, he begins to get upset at you. He's big now, he shouldn't have imaginary friends, especially ones who break promises

🐑 Jay forgets about his imaginary friend in the fog until the curse is lifted and he sees you in the woods when it all comes rushing back. "You were all my firsts...my first friend...my first crush...my first love."

Ghost 🦊

🦊 Ghost in no way believes You when you tell him as a young man at camp that the feelings he has deep inside, that deep seeded anger and resentment will be his downfall. He scoffs and waves you off. "No one gets time travel right in movies, and I'm supposed to believe you in life? Don't make me laugh, loser."

🦊 After he becomes Ghost and learns about the darkness. He believes. He wants to break the curse and be free, to get justice and is upset when you disappear on him without breaking the curse, despite warning him you weren't ready to do it yet.

🦊 he can't remember you fully in the fog but he can remember the chemistry between you two. The almost magnetic pull and how fun you are, but he also remembers being upset at the long stints in time of when he gets to see you.

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justagalwhowrites · 2 years ago

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Lavender - Ch. 37

Joel makes emotional adjustments to you and Ellie. A continuation of Lavender ch. 1-3 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut. Just smut. Smutty smutty smutty smut. Oral (m receiving); unprotected p in v sex (wraps it up fools); evidence of canon-typical violence. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ only

Length: 4.1k

“Joel,” Ellie drew his name out so it was stretched long and thin. “My fucking feet are about to fall off and that’s going to be an improvement. We have to stop.”

“Few more miles.”

Joel kept his eyes straight ahead and clenched his jaw. He knew the three of you had logged a lot of miles over the last few days. He sure as fuck was feeling it. His knees weren’t what they were 20 years ago but stopping had not been an option. He needed to get you all as far as he could from the men who’d tried to take you, been willing to hurt Ellie.

The three of you walked through the night and then all the next day after fleeing the camp, going in non-sensical ways through the woods. You’d insisted on taking first watch but Joel had hardly slept. He woke up what felt like every few minutes, squinting to find you in the dark, the stock of the rifle across your lap glinting in the moonlight. You slept curled around Ellie, holding her small body tightly to your own, her head tucked below your chin.

He woke you both before the sun was fully up, his legs still aching. But he had to keep you moving, had to put more miles between the three of you and things that would wish you and Ellie harm.

It had been a week of this now. They hadn’t seen another person - even any signs of another person - since Joel killed the man from the camp. Hadn’t crossed paths with any infected, either. The three of you had finally come upon a road that morning, having cut through woods for days. Joel was hoping that you’d come upon a town at some point, even a fucking tiny one. Somewhere he could orient himself, just a gas station with a damn map would do the job. He wasn’t sure where he’d led you after twisting through the forest for so long, hoping to cut such a confusing path no one could follow even if they were trying to.

He just wanted to get a few more miles. Then maybe the fear that had gripped him since you were pulled away from him and a gun was held to Ellie’s head would ease. Just a few more miles.

“Joel,” you said quietly, glancing at Ellie as she trudged along the side of the road. “No one is following us. This isn’t helping.”

He looked down at you, your eyes wide and soft. And it was a comfort for a moment. But then he remembered just how wide they got when you were ripped away from him, when you begged him to take Ellie away.

“Few more minutes,” he looked ahead again. “Then we’ll stop for the night. Next town we find we can stop for a few days, if it looks safe.”

“Few days?” Ellie perked up. “Fuck that sounds amazing. I’m going to sleep for like… a week. And actually give my feet a chance to go back to their normal shape, I feel like they’ve melted into these stupid boots…”

Joel pushed you for another mile and found a spot off the road to set up camp for the night.

“There’d better be a town like… three miles up the road,” Ellie muttered, her back against a tree as the sun set. “I am so fucking tired of walking. I never want to walk again.”

“Hate to break it to you, kid, but we’ve probably only covered maybe 400 miles of the 600 or so we need to hit to just get to the Wyoming border,” you said, eyes closed as you rested your head against a tree trunk. “And then we need to get toward the side of the state that Tommy was calling from. We’re maybe halfway there.”

“Fuck,” she muttered. You smiled a little.

“One of these days I’m going to get on you about your language again, Gremlin,” you said. “You’re becoming feral in the wild.”

Ellie scoffed.

“I was always feral.”

“More feral, then,” you conceded.

“Thank you,” Ellie smiled, content.

She settled in for the night, stretching out in her sleeping bag and curling in on herself as your fingers laced with Joel’s, your breaths relaxed and steady. It was calming, in a way. You were solidly next to him. He could feel you, hear you, sense you. Ellie was safe and close, even in her disturbingly small and fragile way of being. The sharp, jagged shock of fear that had been choking him for the last week eased when you were both like this. Where he could see you, know you were safe.

He was used to it with you but it was new yet familiar with the girl.

Joel hadn’t spent time with children since the outbreak. He’d never really been a kid person. Sarah had been the exception to the rule - to every rule, really. After she was gone, it made sense to avoid kids entirely. It was too risky. Some of the jobs he’d done in the QZ told him that. Kids were a walking liability. They were delicate, too curious for their own fucking good, no sense of self preservation. Joel had surrounded himself with people who weren’t risky. People who could handle themselves, who wouldn’t destroy him if they got hurt.

It’s why he’d shoved you so far away from him, even while he was tied to you, like his veins ran from him to you and back again all the while. Ellie… she was becoming like that, too.

He was sure that it had started because of you. Watching you with the girl was too much like seeing you with Sarah. Ellie and Sarah were two very different people but you loved them the same way - unapologetically, fiercely, fully. In the way that they needed you to love them without expecting anything in return. Your safety became tied to hers.

But it had grown and changed in the few weeks Joel had known the girl. She was more like him than Sarah was in so many ways. She was more like him than she was like you. He saw so much of himself in her, in her rough edges and brash determination and deep drive to take care of things on her own. He wanted to protect her before she ended up just like him, before she became too hardened to the world to be able to love anything in it. And when the man had put a gun to her head…

The man wasn’t living then, not after that. Joel had already wanted him dead for trying to take you but you’d have tried to talk him out of it and he may have let you. But after he threatened Ellie? There was no forgiveness for that. Not when he’d threatened both of you.

“You should get some sleep,” Joel said quietly, squeezing your hand.

“I’m comfortable where I am,” you said softly, squeezing back.

“You’re gonna wake up in an hour and you’re not gonna be able to fall back asleep,” he said.

“So worried about your wife,” you smiled a little, your eyes still closed. Joel sighed. “What? I’m just saying, most men at least ask a lady first…”

“Yeah well,” he shrugged even though you couldn’t see it. “Maybe I will ask one day.”

“Waiting to see what options are on the table wherever Tommy’s living?” You asked, still smiling a bit.

“Figured if I ever asked I should do it right,” he said gruffly. “Been waitin’ for it long enough. Lie down before you end up sleep deprived.”

“Fine,” you signed, not bothering to go for a sleeping bag and putting your head on Joel’s lap. “Wake me up when it’s my turn to keep watch.”

He didn’t answer. He just rested a hand on your side, feeling your breathing shift as you fell asleep.

Ellie hadn’t been too far off in her wish for a close town. It only took three hours of walking the next day before houses started to crop up alongside the road, in little clusters. Then there was a church, a small subdivision made up of maybe 10 houses, a grocery store.

“Oh man, if they have Spaghetti-Os or Chef Boyardee…” Ellie said, walking faster than she had in days for the store.

“Hold on,” Joel grabbed her by the backpack and put her behind him, his gun and flashlight out. “We’ve never been here, gotta take a look around first before you go in and grab whatever you’d like…”

You took your gun out, too, and kept Ellie tucked safely in between you and Joel. But the store was empty, clearly had been for a while. The shelves had been somewhat picked over, but it didn’t look like many people had been here since the outbreak.

“We must be off the beaten path,” you said, tucking your gun into the waistband of your pants and starting to examine what food there was on the shelves.

“Dibs!” Ellie reached to the back of the shelf and pulled out a can of ravioli.

“All yours, gremlin,” you smiled.

“Fuck yeah.”

Stocked up on food, you went to the pharmacy and Joel pried the gate up enough for you to clamber over the counter and into the back.

“There was a leak back here,” you called. “But still have some usable stuff…”

You came back with a few bottles of medication and a notebook.

“What’s that?” Joel frowned.

“The emergency information booklet,” you said, setting on the counter and climbing back over. You opened the booklet and shined your flashlight down at it. “Here we go, we are in scenic Curtis, Nebraska.”

“Nebraska,” Ellie nodded slowly.

“Just one state away from Wyoming,” you said. “Just hope Curtis is on some maps. Speaking of, we should make sure we grab some maps…”

The three of you made your way through town, Joel in the lead, Ellie behind, you at the back. But there was no one.

It didn’t take long to find why. In the middle of the small downtown was a pile of bodies, the skeletons charred. Everyone had been wiped out early. Infected would have bypassed quickly with no one to spread it to and being so far from everything meant that it was likely no one had been here in years. Joel put his gun away.

“Fucking FEDRA,” Ellie muttered, bypassing the pile, barely looking at it. Joel waited for you, your eyes glued to the bodies, your arms crossed tightly over yourself. He pulled you against him and kissed your temple before continuing on.

It didn’t take long to find one of the few hotels in town, an extended stay place.

Joel pried the automatic door to the lobby open and quickly looked around, but it didn’t look like anyone had been here in a while either. There was a rack of brochures near the door and he grabbed a map. Ellie picked up an ad for a local attraction, frowning as she looked it over.

“Did people really go to shit like the Museum of American Dollhouses?” She asked, holding up the brochure.

“No,” Joel said. You laughed.

“Not really,” you amended. “But apparently enough people did.”

“Weird,” she put it back, looking around the lobby some more. She jumped the check in desk, ignoring your exasperated “Ellie” as she did. She rifled around, pulling out a pile of room keys.

“What are these?” She asked, turning one over in her fingers.

“They unlock the hotel room doors,” you said. “But only once they’re programmed to so they’ll be useless for us. Is there some kind of room list back there?”

She frowned, rifling around for a moment before finding a packet of paper and holding it up. You took it.

“OK,” you said, looking over it. “It looks like there are some two bedroom things on the ground floor, rooms 121, 123 and 125.” You looked at Joel. “There are doors.”

He half smiled at you and led the way to the rooms.

They were in relatively good shape, the beds still made from the day of the outbreak. The hotel had been fairly new when everything went to shit and it was too far from anything major to be bombed, so it had held up fairly well. No signs of leaks, windows were intact. Ellie staked her claim to a bedroom, throwing her arms out wide and falling back onto the bed.

“I’m never leaving again,” she said.

“You can’t eat ravioli in there,” you called at her from the small kitchenette.

“I will leave one time,” she said. “But then never again!”

Joel barricaded the main door once night fell, Ellie going to curl up in her room fairly early.

“Do me a favor and keep it down,” she said, gesturing between the two of you. “Because… gross.”

“Be extra loud,” you said, Joel’s arm around your shoulders as you sat against him on the couch. “Got it.”

“Ugh,” she closed the door. You giggled.

Joel looked down at you.

“You mentioned a door,” he said.

“I did,” you nodded. “Specifically that one, over there.”

Joel nodded for a moment.

“Think we should take a closer look at what’s behind it.”

“Really?” You looked up at him, mischievous. “Why’s that?”

“I swear if you don’t let me inside you…” he nipped at your ear.

You giggled.

“Let’s see what’s behind the door.”

Joel had never been happier about the existence of a piece of fucking wood. The second the door was closed, your arms went around his neck and your lips were on his own. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you tight to him, your breasts pressing against him, your hips already trying to grind against him. He groaned, slipping his tongue into your mouth, tangling with yours, sliding over your teeth, trying to get to as much of you as he could reach.

He always fucking wanted you. That was a damn near constant in his life, had been for more than 20 years. Even for the years he thought you were dead - easily the bleakest of his life - when he dreamed of you, it almost always involved fucking you. The feeling of being inside of you, becoming a part of you in the way that he constantly ached to be, the deep satisfaction of having you as close as anyone could get. Even when he just dreamed about talking with you, it was almost always soaked in sex. Naked with you in his bed, tangled in his sheets, your limbs twisted with his own, your hair wound around his fingers. The best conversations of his life had been with you, naked and vulnerable and shut off from the world. He’d longed for that more than he did your body.

But the want he had for you now was different. It was its own snarling, groping thing inside of him, always reaching for you. It had been screaming for satisfaction since you were pulled away from him more than a week ago. He needed to feel you around him. Needed to be deep inside of you, so deep that there was no question in his mind that you were safe and whole and his. He needed to be so close to you that fucking no one could take you away from him.

Joel pulled your shirt over your head and immediately unhooked your bra, taking that off you, too. You tugged as his shirt and he helped you pull it over his head as he pressed you backwards, until your legs were against the bed. He kissed from your mouth, over your jaw to your throat, your skin salty from sweat and dirt and he wanted to devour you.

“Want you,” you said, your nails digging into the exposed skin of his back. “Fuck, want you inside me…”

“Far past wantin’ you,” he said, his lips on your collarbone. He unbuttoned your jeans and tugged them, along with your underwear, down your body. He nudged you down on the bed and your hands flew to his jeans, opening them, tugging the fabric over his aching cock and down until it was in a pile in the floor. You gripped his shaft, running your thumb over his already dripping head before spreading it down over him. You looked up at him through your eyelashes before you leaned forward and took him in your mouth. Just the tip of him at first, your tongue wrapping around him, making him moan as you pressed it into him.

“Fuck, Baby,” he groaned, slipping a hand into your hair. “Fuck, your mouth…”

You moaned, taking more of him into you, sucking him, your tongue pressing into the thick vein that ran along the bottom of his cock until his head was at the back of your throat, your lips wrapped around the base of him. You moaned around him, the vibrations in your throat going straight to his tip, damn near knocking him off his feet as he stood between your legs. You started bobbing up and down his thick shaft, sliding him almost all the way out of your wet, hot, soft mouth so just the tip of him remained between your lips before taking him all the way into your throat again.

You moved a bit faster with every stroke, taking him harder into you each time, his head making you choke as he filled you. Your hands held his thighs, trying to pull him as deep as you possibly could, making his knees go weak.

“Don’t want to cum in your mouth,” he managed, through gritted teeth, trying to think of something - anything - besides just how warm and wet your tongue was. “Fuck Baby, need inside you, need…”

You took him deep in your mouth and moaned, more forcefully this time, sending the vibrations from your throat straight to his cock. He groaned, pulling your head back from him forcefully. You panted for breath and wiped your mouth on the back of your wrist.

“Tryin’ to make me cum before I get to fuck you?” He asked, leaning over you. You crawled back on the bed and he followed, grabbing your ankle and holding you still.

“Not on purpose,” you smiled a little, sitting up on your elbows.

“Find that hard to believe,” he spread your legs and settled between them, his fingers running over your slit. You were fucking dripping wet.

“This all from sucking me off?” He breathed. You nodded. “Fucking hell…”

He kissed you, rubbing your wetness over his shaft, pressing you down into the mattress. He pressed himself against your tight, grasping hole and held your hips in place before he thrust into you in one sharp motion. Your back arched as he met your back wall, your channel already starting to flutter around him.

“Fuck Baby,” he groaned into your mouth, giving your tight heat a moment to get adjusted to his intrusion.

It didn’t matter how many times he’d had you, he’d never get tired of fucking you. It would never get old. You felt to goddamn good, your body molding to him, gripping him tight but soft, your whole being stretching over him. He could feel your body making room for him inside of you, your walls pushed apart while your hips pressed up into him, desperate for it.

He’d never felt anything like being inside you, the overwhelming physical sensation of it alone would be enough to ruin him for anyone else. Nothing felt as good as you, fucking nothing, your tight core gripping him so well it almost hurt. He filled you so perfectly it was the closest he came to believing in God. He was made to do this with you, there was no other way to understand it, explain it. His body was built to fit into yours, to wrap around yours while you were around him.

That would have been enough. It would have been more than enough. But looking in your eyes when he was inside you, the feeling that he’d never been this close to another person and never would be again, never wanted to be this close to anyone but you. The idea that he could see inside you, to all the parts of you he coveted most, that he could know you in a way no one else could and that you could see him in that way, too.

It was a fucking miracle he didn’t cum the second he was inside you.

“Joel,” you breathed, your lips brushing against his own as you spoke. “Fuck… I need…” You closed your eyes for a moment, he could see your throat work as you swallowed. “I need you to move, I need… fuck, too much…”

He kissed you softly as he pulled back from you slowly, dragging his swollen head along your inner walls, feeling every tender ridge of you before thrusting back in, earning him a delicious little groan. He kissed down your jaw to the side of your neck as he increased his pace, your hips rising to meet his as your body tightened around him. You pressed your face into his shoulder with a whimper as his cock drove all the way to the back of you, pressing against the mouth of your womb.

“Fuck,” you panted, kissing his shoulder. “About to… Joel I’m going to cum, I can’t… Fuck!”

You came. Hard. Your walls rippling over him with such force it made his hips stutter over you, desperate little whimpers slipping from your lips as your body milked him.

“Taking me so fucking well,” he managed as he fucked you through your orgasm. You moaned, sounding on the verge of tears below him, his hips slamming against yours with almost bruising strength. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good, so fucking good…”

It seemed like you wanted to say something but couldn’t manage it. He thrust all the way inside you, his own orgasm so fucking close but not ready to leave your body yet. He pushed back from you, his cock still buried in you to the root as he looked to where he became a part of you. You were stretched tight over him, your lower lips swollen.

“Look so fucking pretty with me inside you,” he breathed, looping an arm below your leg and pulling your calf up to his shoulder. He pressed a kiss into the muscle there, making you moan, and he leaned over you with your leg still tight against his chest. You groaned a little as your body adjusted and he held himself inside you. But he knew you felt the angle difference, your eyes searching his own as the moonlight filtered in through the window. Your pussy tightened even more around him.

“Joel,” your voice was raw, achey. “I love you… want you… need you deep, need to feel you as close as I can…”

“I know Baby,” he said, pressing his hips down, able to go even deeper from this angle, your back arching, your whole body tensed like a band ready to snap. “Fuck, you’re incredible, fucking incredible…”

He started fucking down into you then, pulling out only as far as necessary to thrust all the way back into you as your pussy gripped him tight.

“Want to cum with you,” he panted, his arms caging your head as he took you, the moonlight casting shadows on your face. “How…”

“I’m close,” you managed, panting for breath. “Fuck, just… my neck and keep…”

He pressed his cock into you harder, faster and pressed his mouth against your throat, finding the spot he knew where you were most sensitive at the same time as his cock pushed as far into you as something could go and you came around him, your pussy throbbing over his shaft sending him over the edge. He sank as far into you as he could reach, the whole of him buried deep inside you as he came, emptying himself into you until he went slack on top of you, his cock still buried within you.

Joel rolled onto his side, taking you with him, the leg that had been pressed to his chest hitching over his hip as he started to soften inside you. He took your face in his hand, his fingertips dipping into your hair. You pressed your lips into his palm as you caught your breath, your eyes searching his own.

He smiled a little.

“What?” You whispered.

“I fucking love doors.”

A/N: I know, no cliffhanger this time, just our lil' family being a lil' family (and Joel and Doc fucking each other's brains out. As you do.)

I do have a taglist. Please comment below if you'd like to be added! I try to add everyone I see but if I've missed you, please comment again. If you're on the list below but not getting alerts, it's because Tumblr is being mean and won't functionally let me tag everyone. I've left everyone on the list hoping that will magically change but alas, here we are.

Thank you for being here and for reading this and following along! I'm not sure when we'll get another chapter quite like this one - probably not for a hot minute? It's going to get real plot heavy as we get to Jackson so may as well enjoy it while we can!

Love you all!

Taglist: @paleidiot @ayamenimthiriel @ginger-swag-rapunzel @drewharrisonwriter @flugazi @pedropascalsbbg @taoyuji @starstruckmusiciansartghost @splendsay @bigboiseason123 @jpbplvr @ashleyandring @mrsyixingunicorn10 @sloanexx @ninaminaromina @lady-bellyn @hufflepuffriver @sarap-77 @storyarcscribe @mellymbee @jasminedragoon @lemonmeli @reds-ramblings @arizonadaydreamer @mumma-moonchild@blackroseguzzi@candypeaches16@kittenlittle24@wrappedinfiction@oatmeaiboy@pedritosdarling@winchestergypsy90@imnotdatboii @lalalalemonade11 @maknimuk1@mrsdarcyinlovewithbuckybarnes@pedrosaidsheispunk@commanderawkward@n7cje@elliesgirlll@tsunamistorm123@spookyxsam@leeeesahhh @anoverwhelmingdin @untamedheart81 @pedropascalfan221 @pedr0swh0r3

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #smut fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut

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us3rnam3-r3dact3d · 5 months ago

Text

when i call, you run home (a bird in your teeth)

Ao3 | 2.1k Words | David’s POV

He and Ash always had to wander off, had to find fun for themselves, even if it meant doing something stupid. His dad always said that it was natural for boys their age to get into trouble, that he had done the same thing when he was young. As long as they were safe, he didn’t mind.

A teenaged Ash nearly steps in a bear trap. David saves him by stepping in it himself. Gabe and Marie come to the rescue.

TW: blood and injury, healing, distress

When David came back to himself he did it slowly, blinking past the ache in his head as he struggled to open his sluggish eyes. He felt heavy and tired, like he’d ran a marathon. He tried to stretch and figure out exactly where he was, but his body was weighed down and heavy.

“Ash…” he said softly, more growl than word as he struggled to open his eyes and see what was hurting him. He was starting to get the distinct impression that something was very wrong, but the panic that should rise in him and the subsequent adrenaline that should run its course and give him a push never came. It was like he was tapped out, like any energy he had for panic or action was gone already. When had he run himself down so fiercely? What was happening?

His eyes managed to crack, but he was surprised to find that it was still dark. Not as dark, though. There was moonlight. A nearly full moon beating down on him. On them.

Asher was laying a few feet off from him, pushing himself up on shaky arms.

“What the fuck, man, you can’t just push a guy like that-” he looked at David like he was about to pounce, but the color drained from his face as his expression went slack. “Don’t move.” He said, his voice barely above a whisper.

David jerked immediately, rushed to assess what was wrong just as Asher reached him and pressed down on his shoulders. He craned his neck to take stock of his body. His torso was intact. His hands were shaky but still there. He couldn’t feel his right foot.

“Shit…” Asher hissed. His eyes were wide and he stank of fear and panic. David reached up and knotted his hand in the sleeve of Asher’s t-shirt. “I can’t-” Ash’s hands hovered over his right foot, and when he finally jerked into action, David felt it.

A sharp, raw ache pulsed through his leg as Asher tried to pry the bear trap off of his leg. He must have screamed. That was the only thing that made sense to him. He couldn’t hear it, though, over the ringing in his ears.

Asher was holding on to him, gripping his shoulders and repeating apologies over and over again like a mantra, like a spell that could make it all better. David’s hand was still clutched in his shirt as tears dripped down across his face. Fuck, he hated it when Asher cried.

“I’m sorry-” Ash said again, his voice cracking like it had been for the past three months, which David had taken every opportunity to bully him about. It was mutual, of course, since Asher had been doing the same since David’s voice had dropped. He couldn’t shake the instinct to poke fun, even as pain radiated up his leg. “Why did you do that?” Asher huffed. “Why do you always-”

David thunked his head back into the ground. He remembered. It took a second, but he remembered. He and Ash always had to wander off, had to find fun for themselves, even if it meant doing something stupid. His dad always said that it was natural for boys their age to get into trouble, that he had done the same thing when he was young. As long as they were safe, he didn’t mind.

The woods always felt safe. Safer than some places in Dahlia. It must have been the wildness in them, the wolf under their skin itching for wilderness. It was why the pack went camping so much. His dad always said to watch their feet. There were snakes and traps hidden in the grass.

Asher never really listened he’d been scolded enough times to have learned his lesson, but it still didn’t seem to get through his stupid skull. He’d almost stepped on a copperhead last summer because his head was always in the clouds, so David still watched the ground for the both of them just in case. When he saw the bear trap, gleaming in the soft moonlight, right where Asher was about to step down, he moved without even thinking. He planted his foot down between Asher’s and pushed. He just hadn’t realized that he put his foot directly into the trap until it triggered and snapped together so hard he felt something snap.

“Ash,” He said again, his voice strained and shaking. “My dad, get-”

“No,” Ash said immediately. “I won’t leave you I’ll… I can carry you, it’ll…”

No, that wouldn’t work. They were a good ways away from camp, so far that their scuffle wouldn’t be within ear shot. He needed help fast. He was bleeding, and chances for infection would only increase the longer they waited. If Asher moved him, jostled him in just the right way, he could dislodge the trap, fracture his leg further, hit a blood vessel…

“Won’t work.” He gritted out. “You gotta be fast. Get my dad. Please, Ash-” He gripped his fist tighter, let the small pain of his nails biting into his palm to distract him. “Watch where you’re stepping.”

Asher hesitated for a moment longer, still gripping onto David’s shoulders until he huffed and bolted up. David watched him go, watched his heaving back disappear into the brush before he let his head fall back. It was only when he was sure Asher was gone that he let himself feel the fear racing through him. His chest was tight, his leg pounding and oozing and aching. His hand fell to the ratty fabric of his blue jeans. He was losing blood. He needed to deal with that. He needed to keep a clear head and deal with this.

His dad had shown him how to make a tourniquet out of the leather belt he’d bought him for his thirteenth birthday. He’d wrapped it around one of the throw pillows in their living room and shown David how to tighten it before securing the tension. He had warned him that it would hurt, but that it could save somebody’s life.

David did it just like his dad had shown him, his fingers slick and shaking as he wrapped that same belt around his calf. It was best to protect any joints he could. He wasn’t a morbid person, he didn’t jump to the worst case scenario, but looking at where he was now, alone in the dark, away from his pack and miles out from civilization, he was likely to go a little while without treatment. If he lost his ankle, he would keep his knee.

When David synched the belt around his calf, felt that pain his dad was talking about, the teeth shattering pain ripping through him, he must have passed out. When his head cleared and he could blink past the spots in his vision to see the nearly-full moon above him, he heard a sound from the forest.

“David!” It was distant, but it was his dad’s voice. As soon as he heard it, a sob escaped him. He hadn’t realized he was close to crying, but he was. He felt tears brimming in his eyes as he pressed his head back into the soft grass. He raised one shaking hand high above him, saw the blood dripping down his fingers as he did.

“I’m here!” He called back. “I’m here!” They needed to locate him. He was in the underbrush and it was dark. Asher wouldn’t remember his exact location in his hurry.

“David!” His dad’s voice was closer. David could hear the huff of a few others and tried desperately to stop crying. He didn’t want to cry in front of the pack.

His shaking hand was empty one second and full the next. His dad’s hands were big and calloused and they closed over his so gently as he skidded to a halt next to him.

“Hey,” He said softly. “Hey, bud. I’ve gotcha. I’ve gotcha.”

“I know that.” David huffed. Gabe laughed, but David could see the worry in him, the etch of it across his face. He hated when his dad worried. It was so rare that when it happened, it threw him completely off.

“Stay still, David.” He hadn’t even noticed Milo’s mom until she spoke, but he nodded anyway, knotted grass in his fingers as she started to examine his leg. “You did so well. The tourniquet, staying still. Good work, kiddo.”

Gabe moved and rested his knees on either side of David’s head. Keeping his neck stable and ready to brace him, David realized. One of those big hands came to brush through David’s hair. It has gotten long over the summer and was falling in his face.

“Where’s Ash?” He asked softly. Gabe smiled down at him.

“He took a tumble, so he stayed back. Milo’s with him. He’s taken care of.” David squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. He knew that there was a risk sending Asher off alone, but he hadn’t really allowed himself to think about that until now. He felt Milo’s mom start to situate his leg.

“We’re going to have to release the trap.” She said softly. “It’s… not going to be pleasant.”

“We’ve got this.” Gabe replied. “We can handle it, right bud?” David nodded again, pressed his face into Gabe’s leg.

“Just do it.” He said softly. “Get it over with.”

Some silent understanding passed between the adults above him. They were still for a moment, and then Gabe was bent over him, pushing his weight down on top of David and holding him. He had one second to panic before pain ripped through him. He felt the jaws of the thing tear back out of his leg. It was white hot and all encompassing and impossible. He felt his body try to shift to get away from the pain, but he still didn’t have much control over his wolf. He bit down on his lip to stop the cry that tried to worm its way out of his chest. His mouth filled up with copper. His dad was bent over him, his forehead pressed into David’s sternum as he muttered little encouragements, soft praise, gentle apologies.

Marie’s magic had never been comfortable, but as it ran its course through him, David felt it’s every movement. His skin started stitching back together where the teeth of the trap had cut into him. He whimpered softly as the bleeding slowed, as the bruises eased back from the surface; red into purple into yellow and green.

He didn’t scream until she got to his bone. It was broken in a few places, and he felt every scrape of bone on bone as it shifted back into place. He shouted long and loud, back arching, pushing against his dad’s hold to… do what exactly? Run away from the pain? He felt so foolish as he choked down another cry, tears pricking his eyes. Gabe sat up, one big hand coming to rest against David’s forehead.

“I know!” He said, his face twisted up in a growl or a sob or something horrible like that. “I know, honey, I know. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

His dad didn’t call him things like that. Not since he was very little.

Slowly, David’s vision cleared, his voice cracking off and failing as he curled inwards towards his dad. Marie let go of his leg. It still pulsed with distant pain, but he could feel that it was whole again. Gabe gathered him up, lifted him from the grassy ground and into his lap, his arms, cradled him like a baby against his chest.

“Dad,” he said softly, his face pressed into his dad’s leather jacket.

“I know. I know, honey. I’ve got you.”

Eventually, his dad stood with David still wrapped up in his arms. Gabe was so strong, it amazed him sometimes. He wasn’t a small kid, even if Asher was taller than him. Even so, his dad held him like he didn’t weigh a pound.

“You’re gonna have to put me down before we get back to camp.” David said after a while. He knew that there was a sizable portion of the pack in the woods surrounding them, shifted and moving in the darkness. He could feel them in his core, that new, foreign fullness in his chest. His threads strummed a strange music, pressed up against his dad, covered on all sides by the pack. Even so, this felt private, unobserved in the darkness. He didn’t want anybody else to see it. Embarrassment creeped into the edges of his exhaustion. “Ash’ll never let me live this down.”

“Ash was screaming that he’d gotten you killed.” Gabe chuckled. David twisted up his face.

“He’s so dramatic.” He huffed. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah.” Gabe replied. “Still not putting you down.”

#redacted asmr #my redacted content #redacted david shaw #redacted asher #redacted gabe #redacted marie #redacted audio fic #redacted audio

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