#I know I should not be so hung up on the horses. But my brain is cooked. I have been so sick. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

javier-pena · 11 months ago

Text

embers

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

Word Count: 9.5k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You're engaged to be married to a man you've never met. Arthur Morgan is supposed to escort you across the country to meet him. You should keep your distance, but the dangers of the road bring you closer and closer together with each passing mile.

Notes: So there's this post ... and It has been on my mind for months so I had to write this exact scenario with Arthur, naturally. Again, this is way longer than it was supposed to be, but working on this fic allowed me to daydream a lot, so I can't complain. As always, I wouldn't have been able to do it without Dani @alexturner, who pushed me in the right direction and came up with the ending (because I'm not good at writing those)!!

***

You’re not pretty. At least that’s what everyone told you from the moment you could understand those words. Your mother, the maid she hired to look after you, the boys working for your father, the marm, the people in town. Since you were little, you’ve been hearing it over and over again. “It’s such a shame she ain’t pretty, what’s she gonna do with brains?”

The thing is, you also don’t feel very smart. If you were, you’d have found a way to leave your godforsaken town for one of the big cities in the east as soon as you could read the timetable down by the train station. You would’ve found a way to get out of this marriage your father arranged for you. Ambrose Longabaugh was his name. Ambrose Longabaugh. From what you have heard, he shares your lot: anything but handsome, but at least he has money.

No one was sad to see you go, save for your little brother, who held you tight and made you promise to come back if you didn’t like your betrothed. You had promised, knowing you were lying. It didn’t matter if you liked him or not, he was the man you were going to marry. You weren’t getting out of this. Your father had made sure of that.

Mr. Morgan is riding ahead of you, sitting in the saddle with his shoulders slumped, a cigarette dangling between his lips. You can smell the smoke on the crisp fall air, even though you’re trying to keep your distance. It’s not that he scares you – not as much as other men do, not as much as your future husband does – but you don’t like him very much. Your father is paying him to take you out west where Ambrose Longabaugh will one day take over his father’s cattle business. And Mr. Morgan is doing it without complaint, hardly acknowledging your presence. He talks more to his horse than he talks to you.

You let your eyes wander across the mountains around you and sigh. The first time you had seen them, your mouth had hung open in awe. Now you feel trapped by them. You can’t go back, and there’s only one way forward. You sigh again. No, you’re neither pretty nor smart.

“Break?” Mr. Morgan asks from up front. It’s only the fifth word he has said to you today; the others were good morning and let’s go.

“Yes,” you agree, not because you need it but because it gives you something else to do.

You stop near a small river with a shallow bank where Mr. Morgan can refill your waterskins. While he’s busy, you stretch your legs and pick up a few rocks from the riverbed to toss them into the water. The rushing of the water fills your ears, drowning out both thoughts and sounds. You take a deep, calming breath and close your eyes.

When you open them again, Mr. Morgan has taken off his lambskin coat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. He’s washing his face and neck in the cold water of the river, a wet stain forming on his collar, drops running down his lean, muscular forearms that are still tan from working outdoors all summer. Your face heats up with an emotion you don’t quite understand, and you turn away from him, pretending to be interested in some moss-covered rocks. You’re not supposed to look.

He startles you when he touches your arm lightly, making you turn around. You hadn’t heard him coming over the sounds of the river. His coat is back on, but you can see his neck glistening in a few places still.

“You shouldn’t wander, ma’am,” he says. That’s four more words for today.

You look around. “Indians, right?” you ask with a small laugh.

His face remains serious. “No. White men. Gangs. They like to hide out here.”

You watch his Adam’s apple move as he swallows and your throat immediately mimics his. “Then why are we taking this road if it’s so dangerous?”

He shrugs. You realize he hasn’t let go of your arm yet. “It’s fast.”

“My father –”

“Your father planned this route.”

You swallow again. “I’ll be careful, sir. Thank you.” He lets go of your arm then, and you walk back to your horse, your face now heating up with an emotion you definitely recognize: embarrassment.

You make camp later that day where the trees are standing close together. While he builds a fire, you pick at a pine cone you found on the ground. Somewhere in the distance you hear a howl, but you’ve learned that if it’s not loud enough to make Mr. Morgan look up from his task, then it’s nothing to be worried about. And he stokes the fire, eyes fixed to the flames.

After dinner, he hands you a small bottle and when the sharp taste of whiskey makes you cough, he smirks. So you take another sip, holding his gaze. He looks away first, pulls a torn-up pack of cigarettes from his coat, and offers you one. You accept, surprised.

“Don’t let my father find out you’re corrupting me,” you tease.

He only makes, “Hm,” in response.

The smoke from the cigarette burns your throat, just like the whiskey, but this time you manage to suppress the cough. “Do you have family, Mr. Morgan?” you ask, watching how he uses a branch to stoke the fire.

“No,” is his simple reply.

Now it’s your turn to make, “Hm,” before you add, “No one you’re sweet on?”

You don’t really care about the answer, why would you? But when he gives you another, “No,” a careful one, it makes your heart pound faster. Until he turns the tables.

“What about you?”

“Oh,” you say, “I don’t know, I haven’t met my fiancé yet.” And you don’t want to be thinking about him right now.

Mr. Morgan looks at you, his head cocked to one side. “Come now,” he pushes, as if you’re being evasive on purpose. “That ain’t what I’m askin’.”

You sigh. “It’s not? I’m spoken for. I have no business thinking about other men.” You don’t mean to be so frank, but the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. And you can tell from the look on Mr. Morgan’s face that he still thinks you’re not honest with him.

“Hm,” he makes, and you dread what might be coming next.

“I’m going to bed,” you tell him, putting an end to your conversation. He opens his mouth to add something, but you don’t give him a change. You lie down and pull your thin blanket over your body, face hot with embarrassment. The last thing you see before falling asleep is Mr. Morgan staring at the flames, a quiet smile on his lips.

Later that night, you wake up to shouts. What pulls you from your sleep entirely is a gunshot that reverberates through the forest. “Mr. Morgan?” you shout, because he isn’t sitting next to the fire anymore and you can’t see him anywhere. Then you hear a sound that makes your blood run cold, a snarl, a growl, but animalistic, wild, unlike anything you’ve ever heard. You jump up from your bedroll, ready to run, but then you remember Mr. Morgan’s warning. It’s better to stay here, in the light of the dwindling fire, than to take your chances out there. “Mr. Morgan?” you try again, this time a hiss, as you frantically search the darkness beyond your camp. It gets so dark out here at night.

A shout is your answer, a deep, “Hey!” Short and fast. The horses whinny, and you’re only now realizing they’re stomping the ground, tearing up the soil with their hooves, the whites in their eyes visible, ears pressed tightly back. You try to swallow your panic, but it gets harder with every passing second.

Then something moves between the trees and Mr. Morgan stumbles back into the camp, a gun in one hand, a torch in the other. He has a wild look in his eyes too, just like the horses, but when they land on you, he relaxes, his face assuming its usual, stoic mask. “Mountain lion,” he says. “It’s gone.”

“What does that mean?” you ask, your voice trembling.

“Chased it off,” he explains. “It ain’t coming back here.”

“The horses …,” you start.

But he walks toward the fire, toward you. “You did good,” he says, dropping to his knees next to you, so close, too close. You can smell the gunpower on him, and the sweat; you’ve never been so close to a man before, not even your own father. “Here.” He hands you the whiskey again. “It’s gone, I promise.”

You wish your hands wouldn’t shake so much. He grabs yours with one to steady, his warm skin like fire against yours, unscrews the stopper with the other, not with impatience but oh so gently. You manage to take a sip on your own, but he watches you intently for any signs of distress.

“You’ll have to get used to it,” he says, stowing away the bottle. “This land out here … it’s wild.”

You nod. Now that the initial burst of panic is dulled, you feel tears sting your eyes.

“But you’ll manage.” His voice is so calming. “You’re a brave girl.”

*******

The hooves of your horse pound out a slow, steady beat against the hard ground. You’re tired, every muscle in your body is sore, but you push on without complaint, following Mr. Morgan up a winding mountain and back down on the other side. The days are so similar they’re bleeding into one – the mountain lion … did it attack three nights ago? Five? You don’t remember. All you know is that your heart picks up speed when he looks at you, that every evening your conversation around the fire becomes a little bit longer, that you wish you could go on like this forever, never to arrive at your destination.

Sometimes at night, when you can’t sleep but you pretend to, you can hear him sing, sometimes to himself, sometimes to the horses. Your heart almost flies out of your chest when he does it. He hasn’t touched you anymore since the night of the mountain lion attack, but you wish he would. Even though everything else about him confuses you, you wish you could feel his skin against yours again; such longing, it almost consumes you.

Is this what it’s supposed to feel like? Did your cousin feel like this when she ran off with that cowboy? Did your mother and father feel like this; is that why they got married? Are you supposed to feel like this when you meet your fiancé? Or is this something else entirely? Is there something wrong with you?

“Break?” he asks once the ground is beginning to even out.

“You know, you keep asking for breaks so much I’m starting to think you don’t want us to reach our destination,” you tease.

He just shrugs and stops his horse. You halt too and climb off, your legs steady when they hit the ground. It wasn’t like that in the beginning; the first few days he had to help you off your horse and you could barely stand. It’s astonishing what a difference a few weeks can make.

You stretch, then begin to walk up and down the path. It’s cold, sitting so still up on that horse, and you flex your fingers, trying to get some feeling back into them. Mr. Morgan, meanwhile, sits down on a tree stump to write in a leather-bound notebook. You’ve seen him use it before but you don’t quite know what it’s for. He’s probably tracking your progress or taking notes on the weather.

Careful to keep him in sight, you veer off into the underbrush, looking at the trees and the different kinds of plants growing on the ground. You pretend you can read the language of the forest, looking for tracks of animals or some mushrooms you might be able to eat. Just like you’ve seen Mr. Morgan do countless of times. When you do find something, you’re not sure what to make of it.

“Mr. Morgan?” Your voice is raised as you try to keep it steady.

You hear his footsteps immediately but you don’t dare to turn around, your eyes fixed on the sight before you. He stops next to you, and you can hear his steady breathing. The knot in your chest immediately dissolves.

“Hm,” he makes.

“What happened here?” you ask. Now the tremor in your voice is all too audible.

He hesitates just for a second, weighing his options, but then he says, “Some people were camping here, a family by the looks of it.”

“Where are they?” you ask, finally turning toward him. The cold, calculating look on his face sends a shiver down your spine.

“Ma’am …,” he says slowly.

“You can tell me. I can handle the truth.”

You look back at the burned-out wagon, the torn clothes hanging from tree branches, all that blood on a log next to a cold fire pit. You don’t need him to tell you. You just want him not to confirm your suspicions.

“They’re dead,” he answers. “Killed. For money.”

“All of them?” you ask.

He winces. “If there were women …”

“Can’t we help them?” You know you can’t, but you wish there was something you could do.

“Stay on the path next time,” he growls. “No more wanderin’ ‘round … ma’am.”

“Mr. Morgan …,” you try, but he’s already trudging back toward the horses.

You spend the rest of the day in silence, riding next to each other but avoiding each other’s gazes. You shouldn’t have called out to him; it was obvious what had happened in that camp. They were a group, and you’re just two people … your father couldn’t have known about the dangers of this journey, or he wouldn’t have made you go. He would’ve found another way. At least that’s what you’re telling yourself. Because you don’t want to even consider the other option and what it would mean. When the sun slowly disappears behind the mountains around you, dread settles onto your heart, the heavy kind you haven’t felt since you were a little girl, afraid of the dark.

Finally, Mr. Morgan stops his horse. “We camp here tonight. No fire.”

“It’s so dark,” you whisper.

“The darkness ain’t what’ll kill you,” he growls.

You can’t sleep; of course not. So you watch him all night, sitting up straight next to you, not so close that you could touch him, but close enough so you’ll always see he’s there. He doesn’t sleep either but he sits very still, keeping his eyes on the path, making sure nothing evil comes out of the dark. And you wish all you had to worry about were mountain lions.

*******

Two days later, Mr. Morgan’s face is pale and you’re frozen through. You haven’t had a warm meal since you found that destroyed camp, and Mr. Morgan has barely slept. You haven’t talked at all, apart from the necessities. And still you haven’t left those mountains and woods behind you. At least the daylight makes you feel less afraid.

“Is it far still?” you ask when the silence becomes unbearable.

“A week,” he answers, looking up at the sky, “if it doesn’t snow.”

The weather is the least of your worries. “And how long before we’re past the mountains?” You hate them now as much as they awed you at first.

“Three days maybe.”

Three more days without warm food. You straighten your back. “Have you come this way before?”

“Yes.”

“Has anything ever happened to you?” You don’t know if you’d prefer confirmation or denial.

“You’re safe with me, so don’t you worry about that.” There’s something in the way he says it that makes your grip tighten on the reins.

“I’m not worried,” you lie. “Just curious.”

“Hm,” he makes before going back to observing the surroundings with caution. “Bad people are everywhere. Not just here.”

“That’s a grim way to look at the world.” You try for a teasing tone, but it sounds like you’re reprimanding him instead.

“You ain’t seen much of it then,” he replies.

“More than you know.”

He looks at you curiously, just for a moment. “You –” he starts, but a shout ahead on the path interrupts him.

“Hey!”

You almost jump out of your skin and stop your horse reflexively. That’s your first mistake. The second one is to shout, “Arthur!” Because it costs him valuable seconds, that distraction. He turns around to look at you, and then suddenly two men are on him, pulling him out of the saddle. Two more appear next to you, a young, handsome one with a dark mustache and darker eyes, and a man your father’s age, but scrawny, with a mouth full of yellow teeth that he exposes to you in an ugly grin. You pull on the reins and your horse dances nervously, ears pressed tightly against its head. And then you hear a shot.

A fifth man stands in the middle of the path, a smoking gun held high over his head. His thick, gray beard quivers as he shouts, “Everybody stay calm and no one is gonna get hurt!”

You look at Mr. Morgan for guidance and see him struggle against the two men who are restraining him by holding his arms tightly pressed against his back. His pants are dirty from where he hit the ground when they pulled him off his horse.

“Get her down from there,” the man with the gray beard barks, and before you can do anything, thin but strong fingers have closed around your arm and you tumble out of the saddle with a shout.

The man who is holding you stinks of rotting things and nicotine. He twists one of your arms until it is pressed flush against your back and uses his other hand to hold your chin, so you’re forced to look straight ahead at the man with the mustache.

“Pretty little thing, ain’t she?” he snarls, and the other man licks his lips.

“We just want your valuables,” Graybeard says to Mr. Morgan.

“We ain’t got any,” he growls.

“I’m sure you don’t,” is the calm answer as Graybeard starts going through the saddlebags of Mr. Morgan’s horse.

You roll your shoulders but the man with the rotting teeth only tightens his hold on you. His companion takes a few careful steps toward you. A lump is forming in your throat as you begin to realize just how dangerous this situation is. You try to kick back, like a horse, but you miss your captor. It only earns you a cruel laugh and a pinch to your cheek.

Somewhere to your right, you hear a dull thud and a pained groan coming from Mr. Morgan. You try to look at him, but you can’t move, not because you’re being restrained but because fear has taken over your body and you can’t do anything but relinquish control.

“Check her horse,” Graybeard orders, but the man with the mustache doesn’t move. He’s only a few steps away from you now, his eyes hungrily roaming over your body. “Now!” Graybeard barks.

“There isn’t -,” you start, but the man who is restraining you clamps a hand over your mouth. You could vomit when you taste his skin.

“There’s this,” the man with the mustache says, holding up a cheap necklace your mother gave you as a parting gift.

“Take it,” Graybeard orders.

“What about her?” the rotting man asks and shakes you.

“Her too,” Graybeard answers with a nod. “Shoot the man.”

“No!” you shout, even though it makes the disgusting man get more of his fingers in between your lips.

The man with the mustache stuffs your mother’s necklace into the pocket of his jacket, then walks over to you. You can hear the blood rushing in your ears as he grips your skirt and begins to pull it upward so your boots and then your drawers are slowly exposed. A hot tear rolls down your cheek but it only makes him smile.

“I bet you’re lovely.” His voice is deep, almost as deep as Mr. Morgan’s, but hearing him speak only fills you with revulsion. “I bet you’re all tight …” He lightly strokes your cheek, then uses his free hand to unbutton his trousers.

“No!” you shout again, but it’s muffled, and your feeble attempts to free yourself are met with an evil snicker.

Then you hear a shot and all the life goes out of your body. It’s done. You’re alone now. And if you’re lucky, you’ll soon be dead too. Two more shots ring through the forest, each one as painful as if you’ve been hit by the bullets yourself. The man with the mustache doesn’t even flinch. His trousers hang open now, and you can see dark hairs peek out from between the fabric, before he cups one of your breasts hard and licks a broad stripe up your neck.

The other man moans, low, wetly, and it’s the most disgusting sound you’ve ever heard. He lets go of you, but it’s too late; you can’t run anymore. A wet, dull sound is followed by another moan, and you know exactly what he’s doing. You’ve heard people talk about it, even though you don’t quite know what it means when a man touches himself. All you know is that you feel bile rise at the thought of it.

The man with the mustache freezes and looks behind you, his eyes wide with shock. Maybe they have a different bargain, maybe he wants to keep you for himself and feels threatened. But then, so fast he’s only a blur, Mr. Morgan rushes past you, grabs the man by his collar, and pulls him off you, landing a punch against his jaw. You blink a few times as both men go down, not sure if what you’re seeing is real or if it’s a vision your panicked brain conjured up to calm you. The man with the mustache lands a kick between Mr. Morgan’s legs, gaining the upper hand. He pulls a knife from his boot while he straddles your companion to pin him down, but Mr. Morgan doesn’t hesitate. He grabs the man’s arm and bites down until he lets go of the knife. You catch a glimpse of Mr. Morgan’s eyes and where you expected him to be all feral rage, he’s cold and calculating. It sends a shiver down your spine and you stumble back a few paces until you step into something soft that squelches on impact. You don’t have to look down to know what it is.

Despite the loss of his knife, the man with the mustache is putting up a good fight. He lands a blow in Mr. Morgan’s face, then scrambles off him, grabs the knife, and pushes himself upward. Mr. Morgan moves faster than you’ve ever seen him move, jumping up while dodging the glinting blade of the knife.

“Stay down, big boy,” the man sneers.

Mr. Morgan shoves into him with such force the knife ends up in the dirt again, right next to the two men. But this time, Mr. Morgan has the upper hand, landing blow after blow in the face of the other, grunting with grim satisfaction when he draws blood, continuing even when the man retches up blood and spits it in Mr. Morgan’s face. He doesn’t stop until the man doesn’t move anymore and his face is nothing more than a bloody pulp, entirely unrecognizable. Only then does he grunt in pain and rolls off his opponent, lying on the forest floor, breathing labored and hard.

*******

You make camp that night as far away from that spot as you could travel before the light faded. Mr. Morgan gets a fire going while you sit on a log, trying to hide your trembling hands in your lap. You haven’t cried yet but you know it’s coming. He hasn’t said anything yet, and you’re not sure he will.

In the flickering light of the fire, you can see the cuts and bruises in his face, the sleeve of his shirt drenched in blood. And when you close your eyes, you can see the five dead men, their broken bodies left in the dirt for scavengers to feed on. He did that, all on his own.

You force yourself to stand up and walk over to him. He’s not the man who calmed you down after a mountain lion attack anymore; you’ve seen him beat a man to death today with his bare hands. No, he’s someone new now, someone you have to get to know first. And when you crouch down next to him, he looks at you with dark eyes like he’s never looked at you before and you feel all the air being pressed out of you.

“Let me take a look at your arm,” you say, pulling it toward you by his hand. The dried blood on his knuckles is rough against your skin.

He doesn’t protest, just watches as you carefully roll up his sleeve to expose a deep cut, undoubtedly left by the knife. It must have happened so fast you missed it. Even though it’s not bleeding as much as it used to, each pump of Mr. Morgan’ heart pushes some more blood out through the cut.

“You need stitches,” you tell him.

Before you can second-guess what you’re doing or change your mind, you’re next to your saddlebag, looking for the sewing kit your bother gave you. Only you’ve never used it for something like this before. You don’t even know if it’ll work, only ever having read about it in books, but it’s better than doing nothing. You also grab the bottle of whiskey from Mr. Morgan’s bag.

“Drink this,” you order, handing it to him once you’re next to him again.

He takes one big swallow, then another one, his throat working to get the liquid down. You pretend not to notice. Then he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand while you stare at the cut with much more focus than necessary. Taking back the bottle, you pour some of its content on the cut, drawing a low groan from Mr. Morgan that heats up your cheeks.

Your hands are shaking as you try to thread the needle. “Have you ever done this before?” Mr. Morgan asks, his face stoic as if he’s ready to accept his fate no matter the answer you give him.

“Technically, no,” you answer, finally pushing the thread through the eye.

“Huh,” he grunts.

“But I’m very good at mending stockings.” You offer him a feeble smile and he nods. “This might hurt a little bit,” you warn before pushing the needle through his skin. Holding his arm in place with your other hand, you can feel his muscles flex at the intrusion, and a short burst of breath tickles the top of your head. He doesn’t complain.

“Have you ever been stitched up before?” you ask him to distract him.

“No,” he replies through gritted teeth.

“Oh, good. Then you have to believe me when I tell you I’m doing a very good job.” What’s wrong with you?

He grunts again, but maybe, possibly that sound could be hiding a laugh.

“Still, when we arrive at our destination, you should have a doctor look at this,” you instruct.

“Eager to hear from a professional how good of a job you did?”

Your cheeks ignite and you drop the needle. “Shit.” He is laughing now, a low chuckle, as you try to locate a glint in the flickering light from the campfire. Luckily, you don’t have to look far – the needle fell straight down and is lying between Mr. Morgan’s boots. You wipe strands of hair from your face, then wipe the needle clean on your dress before getting back to work.

“No,” you answer his question, forcing your voice to sound steady. “Because I have no idea how to prevent an infection. Or if I’m even doing this correctly.”

Mr. Morgan leans down, his big hand closing around the bottle you discarded earlier, and he unscrews the cap with his thumb and forefinger. “Looks to me like you’re doin’ fine.” A big swig, then another one.

You glance up at him just to see his face looking unusually pale. “Does it hurt a lot?” you ask carefully.

“I’ve had worse,” he answers, but flinches when one of your stitches comes too close to the wound.

You blink fast a couple of times, trying to shake the image of him on top of that man, punching and punching until no trace of life was left. The memory of the sheer brutality makes your hands feel clammy. No, this wasn’t his first time getting hurt, just like it wasn’t his first time killing someone. And now the same hands rest peacefully in his lap, cut and bruised, yes, but a far cry from the deadly weapons you saw today.

“Thank you for what you did today,” finishing up with two final stitches, then quickly add, “There,” and pet his arm before he can acknowledge your words of gratitude.

He lifts his hand from his leg and flexes his fingers. “Thanks for this,” he replies, examining the stitches.

Your gaze lands on his knuckles that are covered in blood, his own and that of the men he killed. “Do you want me to take a look at your hands?” you ask, your throat tight all of a sudden.

“I’m used to that.” He stretches out one of his legs so it rests next to you, close enough that you feel the ghost of a presence next to your hip.

“I’ve never met a man who was used to so much violence.” Your eyes are still on his hands, bruised darkly.

“It was either them or us.” He shrugs.

Us. “I was sure they had killed you when I heard that first gunshot,” you tell him, lowering your gaze to your own hands that have some dirt on them, some streaks of Mr. Morgan’s blood, but that look so clean compared to his.

“And break the contract with your father?”

You laugh. “A father who selected this route knowing full well about the dangers we would face?” The silence that follows your question is filled only by the crackle of the campfire and by the sounds of creatures moving through the woods. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you,” you finally say.

“This ain’t the first time I had to save someone,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“And how did those other people repay you?” you ask, eager for his answer. Being indebted to him puts you on edge.

“Money,” is his short reply.

“I don’t have any,” you say, feeling a tug at your heartstrings. But maybe that doesn’t matter; maybe when you arrive, you could talk to your fiancé. He’ll want to reward the man who defended your honor and saved you from a horrible fate. Still, you wish there was something you could be doing for him right now. “There’s also other ways,” you say, very slowly.

“Hm,” he makes, a sound that has started to fill you with a certain warmth for reasons you can’t quite explain. Then he shifts, moves his legs a little further apart. And you’re there right between them, looking up into his face that betrays nothing except for the smallest glint in his eyes.

You’ve never even kissed a man, but you’re not stupid. You know what certain gestures and movements mean. You’ve watched your father’s hands when a woman walked past them, you’ve attended dances where everyone around you was getting drunk … growing up on a farm, you’ve seen things. But you also know that those things are wrong and they should only be happening between husband and wife behind closed doors, no matter what everyone else is doing.

It's getting harder to breathe, and you feel a tug low in your stomach, almost like an ache. You’ve never felt anything like this before and you can’t quite place it, but the way he looks at you, mouth slightly opened, his eyes deep and dark, only fuels that sensation. And when you think back to this afternoon, it becomes so strong it makes you shift on your knees.

“You’re a pretty little thing.”

It’s the second time today someone has said that about you. Whereas the first time made your skin crawl, the second time makes your cheeks heat up and your breath get stuck in your throat. You notice that Mr. Morgan unbuckles his belt, eyes locked to yours, and you make sure your gaze stays on his face. It’s only when he groans and his eyelids flutter shut that you look down and see he has his hand wrapped around himself, moving it up and down his length with sure strokes. Something in you is released at that sight.

“Here, let me,” you offer, shuffling closer on your knees until you’re trapped between his legs.

Before you can think better of it, you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock. It’s warmer than you expected, feels heavier than you thought when you move your hand up in the same move you saw him use. He groans again, louder this time, and removes his hand, resting it on your arm. You tremble.

Back home, you were taught that what a wife does in the bedroom is fulfilling the duty to her husband. It sounded neither pleasant nor enjoyable, and so far, you’ve managed to push the thoughts of what is awaiting you at your destination from your mind. But your mother couldn’t have meant this, because this doesn’t feel like duty at all. You stroke the tip of his cock with your thumb, he tightens the grip on your arm in return, and you feel a surge of pride well up. No, your mother couldn’t have been talking about this.

Eager to try more, you twist your wrist on the downstroke, then lower your head and kiss the tip of his cock. He growls this time, and his hand lands on the back of your head, pushing you down. You have no choice but to open your mouth further and take him in. The weight of him presses down against your tongue, the tip of him brushing the back of your throat makes you gag as tears shoot to your eyes. He grips your hair, pulls you off, then pushes you back down again, and you got it. It’s not so different from the hand.

Steadying him at the base with a tight grip, you pull off him again, but let your tongue run along the underside, the sharp taste of him filling every corner of your mouth. It will take some getting used to, but you’re determined to get this right, and from the way his hand trembles at the back of your head, you have a feeling you might be.

You close your eyes, focusing on taking him as deeply inside as possible because he seems to enjoy that. Sometimes, when you think there isn’t any room left, he pushes you onto his cock that little bit further and then groans contently, a sound that tightens parts of your body you didn’t know could tighten. You run your tongue over the tip of him, hum around him when your mouth is full of him, just to find out what kind of sounds you can draw from him. If this is what it’s like, you can’t imagine why anyone would call this a duty.

Mr. Morgan stiffens and pushes his hips upward so you take even more of him into your mouth. This time you can’t help the gagging sound pushing past him. But instead of forcing you to take more, he grips a handful of your hair and pulls you off. Your mouth feels strangely empty for a moment, even though his taste lingers, and you blink in confusion. Was that it?

You lick your lips and look up at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something. But he’s quiet, only placing his forefinger under your chin to tilt your head back a little more. For some reason, that gesture leaves you breathless. And you know why a second later when his lips lock onto yours and your breaths mingle, and you suddenly understand why people would kill for this. Why he killed for you.

You can’t help the moan that comes out of your mouth, don’t even realize at first that the sound is coming from you. His hand glides to the back of your head to grip you and hold you in place, and you push yourself toward him, one hand on his arm, the other on his thigh. He licks into your mouth and you try to mirror him, feeling a strange sense of pride when he opens up for you.

He pulls away, holding you in place by the hair at the nape of your neck. “Did you like havin’ me in your mouth?” he asks and his voice is so low you barely recognize it.

“Yes, Mr. Morgan,” you answer, and you also almost don’t recognize your own.

“Oh, you’re somethin’,” he says with a wicked smile, then stands and pulls you with him.

Your legs are trembling and your knees threaten to give way when he kisses you again, pressing his entire body to yours. Just when you think you could spend eternity like this, he closes his arms around your backside and lifts you up, so you don’t have any chance but to sling your legs around his middle. You squeal against his lips, but he just carries you past the campfire toward your bedroll. Beneath your palms, you can feel the muscles in his shoulders and arms flex and tighten with each step. Something in your stomach flutters as you remember he's strong enough to beat a man to death.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’re kissing his jaw and neck, biting down on a tendon that’s jutting out with the effort of keeping you in his arms. When he rumbles deep in his chest, you flick out your tongue to lick across the spot in apology, but he drops you to your feet. You both stand there for a second, looking at each other with heaving chests. His hands come up to grip the neckline of your dress, and he pulls, a tearing sound echoing through the trees. Your torn dress crumbles to the ground around you, exposing your undergarments, and even though your first instinct is to cover up you don’t because he pulls his shirt over his head to expose his naked chest beneath, and that sight is enough to distract you from any embarrassment you might be feeling.

His pants are next, and then he stands before you stark naked. You try to touch his stomach with a trembling hand, but he grabs your wrist and pushes you down to the ground. With precise movements, he pulls off your drawers, taking your shoes with them, then tears open your corset to expose your breasts. Your breath hitches when he cups one in his calloused hand and squeezes, making pleasure spike through your body.

You kiss him again, lean into his touch, and then you discover you can make him tighten his hold on you by licking over his bottom lip. You can make him press his hard length against you by moaning in pleasure. It feels so, so good to have this effect on him, to be able to do that to him without words. Never, in a million years, would you have expected that giving yourself to a man would feel like this, would make heat blossom at the base of your spine, would make you ache between your legs. You shove your fingers into his hair, deepening the kiss, and he sighs against your lips, a sound that makes your knees weak. How can all of this make you feel so good yet fill you with a hunger you don’t know how to satiate?

You run your nails over his scalp, testing to see what other sounds you can elicit from him, when he suddenly shifts both your bodies, pushing you to the ground while caging you in with his body. Your heart hammers in your chest so hard it’s almost painful, but even when your back is uncomfortably pressed against your thin bedroll, you still crane your neck to keep kissing him. God, why can’t you get enough of him?

With a sharp slap against your knee that sends another spike of pleasure through your body, he pushes your legs apart, then draws back to look at you. His lips are red and swollen, and both shadow and light are dancing across his face in quick succession. You reach up to touch his cheek, but he catches your wrist and pins it down next to your head with so much strength it steals the breath from your lungs.

“You’re the prettiest little lady I’ve ever seen,” he mumbles.

You feel your face heat up, but he doesn’t notice how flustered you are. With his free hand, he grabs himself, then lines himself up between your legs. You watch, eyes wide, breathing so fast your head is starting to swim. What comes next is a pressure that is not painful but not quite pleasurable either. And the more it pushes, the more it hurts.

“Stop,” you say, your voice not more than a whisper.

Either he doesn’t hear you or he’s ignoring you, but he continues to push up into you, and now it’s so painful you’ve lost all sense of pleasure entirely.

“Stop,” you try again, bracing your hands against his shoulders, trying to push him off you. He’s too strong for you. “Arthur, stop!” you bellow.

And he hears you. He immediately withdraws, and you scramble to sit up, pulling away from him as best as possible on the small bedroll.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, and the concern in his voice makes you look at him.

“Yes,” you answer, hugging your knees to your chest. You wish you weren’t so naked.

“Have you ever …?” He doesn’t need to finish the question for you to know what he means.

You shake your head.

A deep, red flush creeps up his chest and neck. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t –”

“It’s alright,” you interrupt him, his apology embarrassing rather than harming you. “You didn’t know.”

“The way you were kissin’ me …” He trails off again.

Your ears prick up at the compliment. “It all felt … good,” you stutter. “More than good. It’s just …”

“I can … we can slow down,” he offers. “If you still want …”

You look at him, kneeling before you, his skin glowing orange in the light from the fire. His dick is slowly softening between his legs, goosebumps are covering his arms, but he is showing you all of himself without shame. That bold display of his body makes your blood heat up again, but you hesitate. Touching his naked skin is one thing, giving yourself to him entirely is something you’ve been warned of your entire life. And yet … now that you’ve pushed through the initial shock, you slowly realize your body is demanding to feel him again.

You nod. “Yes. I still … I want you.”

Your cheeks are fever-hot, but the way his eyes light up is worth the embarrassment you feel. Arthur moves toward you, loosening the hold you have on yourself, and you relax, dropping your knees, letting him come even closer. He smirks, his eyes darting to your lips and then back up again before he leans in for a searing kiss, and it feels like the last few minutes didn’t happen at all. Without breaking the kiss, he reaches for your wrist, then slowly guides your hand between your own legs, while you tremble in anticipation. He doesn’t touch you, but when he presses your own fingers against all that heat and wetness, you moan deeply.

Arthur breaks the kiss first. “I want you to play with yourself,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear.

“I don’t …,” you start, suddenly unsure.

“Yeah, I know.” He kisses your neck. “You’re gonna figure it out though.”

You take a deep breath and nod, and when he captures your lips for another kiss, you move your fingers over yourself in a motion that makes pleasure shoot through your entire body. A shaky pant escapes you and lands on his mouth, turning his lips into a smirk even while he’s kissing you.

“There you go,” he whispers.

You find a rhythm and pace that makes you feel like you’re about to explode but that doesn’t light the final fuse, and he continues to kiss you for a while before drawing back to watch the hand between your thighs. Any shame you could have felt is replaced by pure lust when you see the arousal in his eyes; you shift to open your legs further, and he raises his eyes in surprise. You shift under his searing gaze and moan when you notice his hand closing around the base of his cock.

You’ve never felt like you’re feeling right now, completely in control but also like you’re surrendering yourself to him. It’s so addictive it makes you wonder how people don’t want to feel like this all the time. “It feels so good,” you groan, struggling to get the words out because your teeth are clenched.

“You’re so pretty,” is Arthur’s answer as he moves his hand up and down his length.

You can’t help but believe him. “I love you strong you are,” you return the compliment, and before you can think better of it, you raise your free hand and cup your breast, squeezing your nipple.

His eyes lock onto your chest. “Fuck.” Pleasure shoots through you from the tip of your toes to the top of your head. “You’re such a good girl,” he adds, and it makes your heart flutter so painfully you feel like it’s about to fly out of your chest.

“Say that again,” you demand, not recognizing yourself at all.

Arthur shifts closer until he’s right between your legs, fisting himself eagerly. You can smell the sweat and arousal on him, a scent so overpowering you wish you could bury your nose in his skin and inhale it forever. “My pretty, brave girl,” he says, and when you lower your gaze, too overwhelmed by what his words make you feel, he grips your chin and lifts your head. “Oh no, you’re gonna look at me.” You blink once but don’t lower your head again. “Yeah, that’s it.” He smirks. “Look at you … so eager to please me. You should see yourself right now … goddamn prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.”

You do lower your gaze then because it feels like too much. Your eyes land on his cock, on the tip that’s glistening wetly, and you lick your lips, remembering the feeling of him in your mouth.

“You want me inside of you, don’t you?” Arthur asks, and you nod. His rough, calloused hand closes around your throat and you can’t help it – you move your own hand faster, a crescendo building in the pit of your stomach. “Use your words, pretty girl. I know you can.”

You swallow hard, knowing he can feel your throat move against his grip. “Yes, I want you inside of me.” Your face doesn’t heat up this time as you realize you’re not only saying that to please him. It’s exactly what you want.

He rewards you with a deep kiss, then mumbles against your lips. “Are you ready?”

You hesitate. “I’m not …”

But Arthur doesn’t let you finish. “Let’s find out together.” He leans back. “Finger yourself.” The way his eyes darken when he says it isn’t lost on you.

You shift and move your hand lower, his eyes fixed to your movements. He has stopped moving, his hand grabbing his cock, holding it between his legs. You feel yourself flutter against your fingers in anticipation at the same time as he licks his lips. And then you push the tip of your finger inside of you, past the initial resistance, deeper and deeper until you can’t go any further.

“Breathe,” he instructs and you exhale sharply. “Did that hurt?”

You shake your head before remembering he likes to hear your voice. “No.”

“How does it feel?” he wants to know.

Carefully, you pull your finger out until only the tip remains inside of you, then you push it back in. “Good,” you manage. “Really good.”

“You’re sweet when you can barely talk,” he says with a smirk and the muscles inside you clamp down on your finger. You moan and close your eyes, unable to keep them open. “You like that, don’t you?” You hear him shift closer. “You like hearing my voice. Bet you’d like me to talk you through it, too.”

Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you feel something building inside you. It’s like a wave that will drown everything out. You lean back further and further until your back connects to the ground, until you can raise your hips to meet your finger, trying to get it as deep inside you as possible.

Then his hand is covering yours and he pushes you to the ground, stilling you. When you open your eyes, you’re met with his, dark with lust, and you’re rewarded with the sight of his chest, flushed so deeply red it looks almost purple. His cock is leaking onto his fingers. “Not yet, sweet girl,” he says in a voice that sounds familiar to the one he uses to calm down his horse. “You’re doing so well, but wait until …”

Arthur removes his hand from yours, but then you feel the tip of his finger right where yours is disappearing inside yourself. You steel yourself for the pain you’re about to feel, but when his finger joins yours, stretching you open, all you feel is pleasure so intense it makes it hard for you to stay conscious.

“Fuck,” you groan, a short outburst, almost like a bark.

“You can say that again.” Arthur’s voice is so husky it’s almost impossible to understand. He cups your hand with his, and then moves the both of you in tandem, pulling back out and pushing back in. You tentatively meet his thrusts by rolling your hips and he growls. “Look at you, spread open just for me.”

You don’t know why his words make you feel like they do, but the muscles between your legs are working hard to keep both your fingers buried as deeply as possible. That earns you a smirk from him and you smile back in return.

“I think you’re ready.” He grips your hand tightly and pulls the both of you out, making you sob. To calm you, he cups your cheek and presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna fill you right back up again.” All you can do is nod.

He positions himself above you, stroking himself a few times, then lining himself up. It’s easier for you to relax this time because you know what to expect, but when he breaches that resisting wall of muscles, you still feel a burn and hiss.

“Shhhh,” he makes and kisses your forehead. “You’re doing so good.”

And then he’s inside of you, stretching you open as much as you can take. His eyes flutter shut and he groans, shifting to adjust himself. “You feel perfect.”

“You’re … you’re big,” you manage, drawing a chuckle from him.

He shifts again, then pulls back out before slamming back into you, making you see stars. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he apologizes immediately.

“No,” you press out through gritted teeth. “Do that again.”

He does, and you grip his arm, burying your nails in his muscle, slinging your other arm around his back. There’s a strange taste in your mouth and you only slowly realize it’s blood from biting down on your bottom lip. He kisses you, licks over the wound, pulls a sharp moan from you. And then he slams into you so hard you scream, clawing at his skin, leaving bloody streaks down his arm and back. The pain only seems to spur him on and when you pant, “Harder,” he doesn’t hesitate.

You clench around his cock in return and he whispers, “I like you like this.” You feel yourself clench again and he groans. “You’re perfect,” he repeats. You kiss his neck, then bite it, until he pushes you back down. “I bet you’ve never had an orgasm before, have you?” You shake your head and he mimics that motion, tapping your bottom lip with his thumb. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“No,” you manage to say, your voice hoarse.

He rocks into you, not as hard and fast as before, but it makes you pant helplessly nonetheless. “Yeah, I thought so,” he mumbles more to himself than to you.

“Please,” you whisper.

He smirks down at you, then shifts his knees ever so slightly to change the angle. Suddenly, he’s brushing against something deep inside of you that makes a sob erupt from deep in your chest.

“Do you even know what you’re asking for?” he teases, but there is a strain in his voice now, as if he’s struggling to hold onto something.

“Please,” you repeat louder, unable to fully grasp the meaning of his question.

Arthur’s thumb is back on your lip and then he pushes it inside your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the tip eagerly, then suck on it, grazing your teeth over his skin. His breathing turns ragged, and the warmth of pride erupts in your chest. With a wet sound, he pulls his thumb out from between your lips and pushes his hand between your bodies until it comes to rest on that small spot you were toying with earlier. You howl and twitch and your whole body erupts. You spill over, you lose sense of where and who you are, you’re shaken by forces beyond your control. All the while, Arthur pounds into you, strokes you inside and out, and you think you hear him say, “That’s it, just let go. You’re so fucking beautiful – just let go.”

As soon as you feel like you can breathe again, he pulls out of you, leaving you aching and empty and cold. Through hooded eyes, you watch as he moves his hand up and down his cock fast until he spills all over his hand and the edge of your bedroll, gaze not directed downwards, but staring at you with insatiable hunger in his eyes. And you return that gaze just as hungrily, wondering what it would feel like to taste his release on your tongue.

Arthur stands unsteadily and retrieves his coat from the other side of the campfire. You feel the cold of the night now and hug your knees to your chest, still trying to make sense of the world. “Now, no more of that,” he says when he gets back, draping his coat over you, the weight of it making your limbs grow soft. He lies down next to you, pressing his front to your back, one arm possessively slung over your chest, the other shoved under your head for you to use as a pillow.

*******

The morning sun is warm on your face as you ride through a slowly thinning forest. The plains and your destination cannot be far from here. Your thoughts are though; they’re still somewhere behind you, stuck at a campfire, busy chasing the feeling of the man next to you between your legs.

When you reach a fork in the path, you stop your horse and look off to your right, back into the forest and the mountains. “What’s back there?” you ask.

Arthur stops his horse next to yours and looks down the path. “Never been over that way,” he answers.

“Do you want to find out?” Your voice is firm, but you don’t look at Arthur.

He’s quiet at first. “Your father –”

“– already paid you,” you finish the sentence.

Arthur nods. “Alright,” he says, then looks back at the path you just put behind you, then off to your right again. “Let’s find out what’s over there.”

***

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 fanfiction #embers

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changbunnies · 1 year ago

Text

Sugar (18+)

♡ Pairing: Cowboy/Outlaw!Changbin x Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: wild west au, cowboy/outlaw au, porn with plot

♡ Word Count: 7.5k (i got carried away lmao)

♡ Summary: Despite how terrible of an idea it is, Y/N can't seem to stop herself from continuously going back to the outlaw she let defile her. This is a sequel, and you can read part 1 here !

♡ Warnings: changbin is still mean and condescending in a "nice" sort of way. not as dubcon as part 1 but it is still a major theme, references to guns and gun fights+ bounty hunters + death + murder, discussions about morality + having a morally gray sense of right and wrong, discussions on purity and being impure / tainted / a "whore" (remember that this is a historical setting, and those views don't hold up! your worth as a person is not measured by purity and sex), their relationship is probs toxic lmao

♡ Smut Warnings: references to part 1 and other past dubcon situations, petnames (darlin, sugar, sweetheart, good girl, baby. reader is also refered to as a toy but not outwardly called one), power play, oral (f+m receiving), fingering (f receiving), orgasm denial, dacryphilia, unprotected piv, creampie

♡ Notes: a sequel to Outlaw that no one asked for but i was compelled to write :') as usual, if you’re interested you can check out my fic rec and feedback blog @stray-dreams !

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

no first paragraph before read more because it goes straight into a dubcon discussion and i don't want anyone who would be bothered to accidentally see it! <3 just click the read more and enjoy !

You really should know better. You should know it’s a bad idea to keep going back to the outlaw who violated you, who treated you like a toy, who’s sense of morality was gray at best and entirely nonexistent at worst. How foolish must you be to continually make the same mistake over and over again? To return to the man who treats you as an object suited to his needs and entertainment?

Yes, you really should know better. And yet, here you are again, with the object of your fury and desire standing before you with that signature smirk and amused glint in his eye. Because despite everything, you find yourself addicted to him. You seek him out, again and again, unable to resist no matter how much the rational part of your brain screams at you not to.

The first time you met him again following that fateful first encounter was by coincidence. Changbin had strolled into your town as the sun hung low in the horizon, tying his horse to one of the many hitching posts outside your family’s saloon before entering. You didn’t notice him right away, much too busy serving drinks to the men on the opposite end of the bar from where he sat, but once your gaze finally reached his..

You froze completely, eyes wide and breath halted. His brow raised when yours eyes met, a delighted glint in his eye as his famous smirk overtook his features. Your mind and heart were racing, grappling between what you should do and how you will look if you make a scene out of him being here. He didn’t intend to stumble upon you here when deciding to settle in town for the night, but by God, was he glad this was the place he chose.

He had noticed you first evidently, and was just waiting for the moment when you’d notice him too. And it was amusing seeing you so disconcerted by his presence, your strong persona faltering the minute he entered your space.

He knew where your safe space was now, knew where you called home and where to come find you if he ever so chose to. You, the timid rabbit ensnared in a trap, and Changbin, the deadly hawk ready to devour.

You had to get it together, had to proceed as normal if you didn’t want someone else taking notice of your odd behavior and asking questions. If you were in your right mind, you could probably think of an appropriate excuse to why you were pushed off kilter, but Changbin left you anything but in your right mind.

“What can I get you tonight, sir?” You said after taking a brief moment to steady yourself. The entire exchange of looks the two of you shared likely lasted mere seconds in reality, but it felt like an eternity. He smiled, a mischievous one that did your racing heart no favors, before he answered, “A bourbon, if ya please.”

The night continued as normal for a time following that, with Changbin acting as a surprisingly well behaved bar patron. Though, the only reason he was well behaved was because his eyes were fixed on you. He watched in delight as you wrangled in rowdy patrons and ducked advances from drunken men left and right.

It was fun for him; watching you in your element like that, navigating the clamorous saloon with ease and redirecting trouble with a well practiced stern sweetness. Even your rejections to your patrons were sweet, almost sickeningly so; batted eyelashes, rehearsed apologies and excuses, with empty promises of a ‘next time.’

Eventually it came time for the saloon to close, with locals shuffling through the streets back to their homes while guests from out of town had to decide whether or not they’d be paying for a room to sleep off the drink in. And it’s during that time that Changbin finally caught you alone, the door to one of the saloon’s secluded storage cupboards left ajar after you entered the room.

You were just following your nightly routine, checking what stock you had left and taking note of what you’d need to get more of before the week’s end, when you heard the subtle squeak of boots behind you. “Hey there, darlin’,” he smiled as he closed the door behind himself, stepping closer to you after the lock clicked.

“Changbin–” your voice came out in a stern whisper, unconsciously taking a step back as he moved closer, though there wasn’t far for you to go in the small space, “Get out.”

“Now, now,” he tuts, feigning disappoint as he takes another step forward, further closing the gap between you, “is that any way to treat a payin’ guest?”

“Regardless of that, you still aren’t allowed in here,” you scowled, but his grin didn’t falter; if anything, it grew larger, gratified by the brave front you were putting on. If it were with anyone else, your bravery wouldn’t be a front at all, because you certainly are a brave woman– just not with Changbin.

With him, you’re weak, your spark diminishing the instant his eyes fall on you. And you’ll fight it, of course you will, but when all is said and done, you will give in. Because that’s just the effect he has on you.

“If you’d rather we do this out in the hall, I’m fine with that,” he challenged you, knowing very well that’s the last thing you’d want. His hand reached up to your neck, pushing your hair behind your shoulder and exposing your neck. “It’s a shame the marks have faded,” he said, voice low as his fingers traced your skin, “what do ya say we bring ‘em back, hmm?”

“Absolutely not,” you hissed, your hands landing on his shoulders as you tried to push him away from you. He stood firm despite your pushing, letting out a low chuckle as his fingers moved from your neck to your shoulder, and down the length of your torso. And to be fair, you weren’t actually using your full strength; you were holding back, and he could tell.

He’s familiar with how a woman who's desperate to get away will react– screaming, hitting, clawing; none of which is what you’re doing. And maybe that would make sense if you were the sort of person who’s fight or flight instinct was to freeze instead, but you're not. You’re brave, you fight, you don’t let men get the better of you.

So why is it that when it’s Changbin putting you in this situation, you easily relinquish control? Why were your attempts to put up a fight so feeble, as if you want to let him overpower you? The answer to that question is clear– the biting words and scornful looks doing little to hide the glimmer that hides underneath.

You want him. And if you weren’t ready to admit that to yourself yet, he’d help you see it.

He brought his face close to yours, foreheads just barely touching, the scent of bourbon strong on his breath. The saloon had grown quiet with the closing of the bar and guests retiring to their rooms, and it made you wonder if Changbin could hear how hard your heart was beating. Your eyes were looking to the side, avoiding his piercing gaze.

Eyes that looked straight through you, eyes that uncovered your deepest, darkest desires with ease, eyes that left no room for secrets or lies. Those were the kind of eyes Changbin had, and he used the power they held to his advantage with you. You can’t hide from him; his eyes strip you bare, leaving you as transparent as glass.

Whether you admitted to your desires or not, he’d be the winner. If you gave in right away, confess that he filled you with an impulsive need you previously thought impossible, he’d take pride in the fact that he made you that way. And if you fought, if you denied and rejected, you’d grant him satisfaction when you inevitably crumbled to his touch. Either option left you the loser, because he knows he’s right, and there’s no escaping it.

A one-sided stalemate, where the victor was already predetermined. Your fate unavoidable, Changbin’s hold on your senses undeniable. He has you, and that's why you couldn't look at him. Because no matter how hard you denied it, the truth would be apparent. Much to your dismay, he sees you for who you are– try as you might, there would be no hiding it.

“Look at me, sugar,” he said as his hand hiked up your dress. He wanted to see the expression you held, wanted to see how far your self determination had fallen. Whether it was a look of submission this early on, or a look of pure contempt, it wouldn’t matter; because either way, there’s fun for him to have with you.

“What do you want from me?” you asked with eyes squeezed shut, voice beginning to tremble as his hand rubbed between your thighs. You’re not even sure why you asked, entirely; you knew this was nothing but a game for him, an addictive cat and mouse. He’s in it for the pleasure, for the thrill of making you crumble to his whims– it was as simple and clear as that.

“Oh, darlin,” he cooed as he leaned his head further down, lips brushing against your ear, “you already know what I want.” Fuck. He could see goosebumps erupting on your skin, noticed the way you instinctively tried to close your legs together, though his hand instantly stopped the act from happening. Fun, he thought. Toying with you is so fun.

“I want you,” Changbin continued, bringing his other hand to your face and forcing you to look back at him. “I want you pinned down underneath me. I want to hold you by the throat while I fuck you. I want to watch you become stupid from my cock.”

Oh, God. Your face was on fire, heart bursting out of your chest, hopelessly ensnared by him; caught in a trap you had no hope of escaping from unscathed.

“I’m not going to let you do that,” you managed to say without stuttering, a feeble attempt to stand your ground, though the proverbial floor to stand on no longer existed. But with his hand nestled between your legs, you couldn’t hide the way your body reacted to his words; couldn’t hide the way arousal pooled in your underwear. Once again, your body has betrayed you.

“Is that right?” he grinned as he spoke, the amusement in his voice clear. He knew you’d let him have you, but the fact that you were denying it makes things much more exciting. “I don’t think that’s true, sugar,” Changbin said, now directly rubbing over your soaked underwear, “I think you’ll let me do anything I want.. I think ya want me just as bad as I want you.”

He was right, of course. Maybe you’d hide it for a time, but you won’t be able to resist for long. He’s frustratingly smug and assured, but it’s not without reason. Your self respect, your dignity, your purity– what had become of it? In blatant terms, it’d been ruined– forever marred by his touch, the damage to your body and mind irreparable.

And whatever you could reclaim from what was left has been forever tarnished by your own actions. Tainted by your desire for the man in front of you, your thirst forever unquenchable, the very sanctity of your being in the hands of a criminal.

And in the end, he fucked you right there, in the small, tucked away storage cupboard, with your back against the wall, and legs around his waist. His strength held you up, his arms hooked under your own and supporting all of your weight, your desperate noises muffled only by clamping your hands over your mouth.

He made regular visits to the town after that, becoming a loyal regular of the saloon, charming staff and other patrons alike with his wit and allure. It was infuriating watching him play the role of a simple wanderer looking for work, his true nature and motives known only to you.

No one else seemed to know what lied underneath the charming front. The worst kind of man, a manipulator through and through, a deviant who beckoned you to his room in the late hours of the night, the proprietor to a secret affair not yet uncovered by those around you.

However, he couldn’t hide his identity forever; his past actions eventually caught up to him when a gang of bounty hunters began to sweep the area with wanted posters in hand, eager to collect the reward for the head of Seo Changbin. He left town in a blaze of smoke and gunfire, shooting back at anyone who dared follow him.

You were relieved at first, knowing that Changbin couldn’t return without instigating a fierce gun fight for his life. But as the weeks passed, a gnawing feeling began to eat away at your chest. The bounty hunters moved on, carried by the promise of wealth further west, and yet Changbin hadn’t returned to town. And that was a good thing– or at least, it was supposed to be.

Did you.. miss him? No, that was impossible. Completely unfeasible, utterly out of the realm of possibility. That’s what you told yourself, but the gnawing feeling didn’t recede in the slightest; if anything, it grew stronger with each passing day.

Did you really want to see Changbin again? No, it had to be the hormones talking– surely you weren’t actually hoping to see him again. He twisted your beliefs and made you confused, that’s all; you could recover from this with time.

But you’d been thinking a lot lately about what made Changbin different from the bounty hunters that hunted him, and you came to the conclusion that they weren’t much different in the end; they went wherever money and women called to them, a penchant for violence ingrained in the very essence of their actions.

The only difference between them and Changbin was that he didn’t live under false pretenses or a faux sense of morality; he knew exactly who he was, and he didn’t pretend to be anything different in front of you.

And can you call a bounty hunter morally superior when at the end of the day they are still taking a life in exchange for money? Can you really say that one sin justifies another? Is it okay to kill someone if that person was in the wrong first? You didn’t think about these things until you met Changbin, and if you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t know where you stood anymore on whether or not someone like him deserved to die.

You found yourself questioning the people you used to applaud, and wondering if you were really as good of a person as you thought you were. Maybe these complicated feelings always lied within you, and all it took to bring them out was meeting the right person.

No, it was all Changbin’s fault that you’ve begun to feel this way. He warped your thoughts and desires, he made you doubt what you once held firm to, he’s bad for you.

But even so, knowing he’s bad for you, knowing that he makes you act irrationally, knowing that he triggers your deepest impulses, you are here again. Back in the place you first met him, the place you once called home, surrounded by the ghosts of your past, of the person you were before you met him.

“So we meet again, darlin’,” he said when your figure first emerged in his doorway, tense frame instantly relaxing when met with the sight of you, hand falling from its readied position on his gun holster.

You are no threat to him, hungry for his touch as you are. Any threat from you would ring hollow, because for better or worse, he knows you. And you're certainly capable of a lot of things, but fighting against your basest desires doesn’t seem to be one of them.

You stepped inside fully, trying to have a nonchalant air about you, though you’re sure Changbin was able to see through it. He always reads you easily, always takes notice of even the most minute of changes in your body language. You’re sure that even now, he can sense the subtle shy anxiety that wells under the surface. But regardless, you’re here now, having come too far to retreat at the last minute.

And you know that he knows what it is you want, knows why you are here, but should you still be honest? Debase yourself by admitting your most carnal of desires? But at this point, what were you if not tarnished?

Your worth can’t go any lower than it already has– you were already brought to your lowest point, so what was the harm in indulgence? If you were already ruined, why shouldn’t you disregard all you’ve ever been taught, all you ever thought you knew, and let him devastate you?

But no, you can’t do that. It would be too easy, and if there’s anything you’ve learned about Changbin, it’s that he doesn’t like easy. He wants you to stand your ground, he wants you to argue and fight against everything he says and does. He wants your eyes angry, for your voice to tremble with indignation, because it’ll make it that much better when he dismantles you.

He wants to be the object of your ire, for your resentment to build to the point of eruption, only for it to be eclipsed by how good it feels when he fucks you. Whether or not you truly hate him is up for debate at this point, and ultimately doesn’t matter much. What does matter is the fun you grant him, the cat and mouse game culminating into a moment that can only be described as pure bliss.

“I know, I know. Ya want me to fuck you, don’t ya darlin’?” He smiles as he says it, anticipating what your reaction will ultimately be. A glare maybe, with your face hot and red, or mousy as you finally admit openly how bad you want him.

While the looks of animosity are his favorite, he likes the shy looks too; the timid expression on your face when he catches you off guard, a quick glimmer of embarrassment or sheepishness before you can conjure your antipathy to replace it.

“No. I want to fuck you. And you’ll let me,” you say, hoping to come across as confident and stern, “You’ll do whatever I want you to do.”

“Oh? Is that right?” Changbin lets out a laugh, head tilting as he grants you another amused look. That’s certainly a surprise, but he’s not opposed to it. He can easily do that– give you a taste of control, that is. It’s an interesting proposition; a fun one.

He can let you believe you’re the one in charge, that you have the power to make the rules and that he’ll follow them. And maybe he will follow them– to an extent, of course.

He’ll give you his ‘yes, ma’am’s’ and ‘whatever ya say, darlin’ ‘s, play the role of the obedient man cursed to follow your whims, hit you with tongue-in-cheek remarks and let you ‘tame’ him with harsh looks and biting words when he steps out of line. All so that in the end, when he easily takes all the control away from you, it’ll be that much sweeter.

It’s a fun game you’re offering him, so he’ll play the hell out of it. “Sure, sweetheart. You’ve been a good girl for me, I can give ya a reward,” Changbin smirks as he says it, clearly not taking you seriously in the slightest. But that’s okay, because you didn’t expect him to; you knew any attempt to wrestle control would be met with an amused smirk, you knew that none of your harsh words would do anything but fuel his delight.

The reason you’re doing this isn’t to try and gain some sense of control that you know you won’t be granted, and you don’t intend to make him genuinely submit to you; it’s just part of the game between you, and you’re doing your part to make it the most enjoyable it can be. Because if you’re addicted to Changbin, if you can’t escape the way his touch makes you feel, if you can’t get past the need and craving for him, then you need to make him just as addicted to you.

Just as your thoughts are consumed by him, you want his to be consumed by you. Think of only you, crave only you, make it so that no one else in the world can compare. You want to be the first person, the only person, he goes to when he wants to fuck. You want to be the drug in his veins, you want to eat away at his self-control the same way he eats away at yours.

Changbin could easily fight against your touches, stand firm in place and overpower you if he so chooses, but he’s letting you push him to his knees. “Oh, this is what you want?” he asks with his usual smirk, his hands already moving under your dress to squeeze at your thighs. “Ya could’ve just asked, sweetheart. I’ll do it if you ask me nicely.”

You roll your eyes, letting a scoff escape your lips. The only way he’d listen to a request from you is if he relentlessly teased and embarrassed you first. You can easily picture the way he’d grin at you, and the condescending tone and words he’d use to make your fists tremble and skin flush. Yes, even if you asked nicely, begged sweetly, or even desperately, he’d use it to ruin you.

“I’m not asking,” you say as you pull your dress up and over your head, tossing it to the floor beside you, because if Changbin is going to be between your legs, you want a full view of it. Rather than act though, he stays completely still, looking up at you with a lifted brow and not at all subtle smirk, as if to challenge you. A look that says ‘aren’t you going to make me?’

You bring your hand to his hair, tugging roughly as you pull him closer to your center, commanding him to get started. “So pushy, are you always this needy?” he teases with a laugh, but adheres to your demand nonetheless, wasting no time in letting his tongue out to lap at you, his hands now squeezing your thighs rougher than before.

Your previous affairs were a secret you held close to your chest, as you knew you’d be branded a “whore” if it was known you’ve had sex whilst unwed. That being said, you’d only done the act with those you had serious interest in. Sweet men, who treated you like an angel, with the utmost care and consideration. Careful touches and soft kisses that were carried through all interactions with you.

When they ate you out, they did so sweetly, with slow kitten licks and gentle caresses to your thighs. And it was nice, you even thought you liked it at the time, but you know that’s not what you want now. Everything about Changbin is different from every other man you’ve been with, and you want this moment to be different too. You want him to devour you, to make a mess of you, to make you feel a pleasure so foreign and intense that it consumes you.

And that’s exactly what he grants you– a pleasure so explosive you have to bite your lip to hold back the noises that threaten to leave you. The drag of his tongue can only be described as euphoric, and when his lips wrap around your clit and suck, you can’t help but let out a loud, shuddering gasp. You want to keep watching him, but you can’t– your eyes refuse to stay open, the pleasure much too intense to do anything else.

He can tell you’re close when your thighs start twitching, quick breathy pants and whines leaving you freely. And that’s when he gets an evil idea– an idea that will make you desperate and whiny, one that will rip any semblance of control out from your hands and place it back into his. A strong suck on your clit, a few quick flicks of his tongue, your body trembling as your mind screams close, close, close–

And in an instant the feeling is gone, all the built up pleasure receding into nothing. A frustrated whine leaves your lips, looking down to see Changbin staring back at you with that stupid fucking smile he has every time he successfully drives you crazy. “F-Fuck, you fucking asshole, you–” you prattle off insults, though the act does nothing but add to the satisfaction he feels; this is exactly the reaction he was hoping for.

You move your hand to the back of his head, pushing him back to where you want him and demanding that he keep going. And to your surprise, he does, though not without a muffled snicker first. And if your mind wasn’t so clouded by the desire to cum, you might have realized what his intentions were by going back in without a fight, but you didn’t have the mental capacity for that any longer. All you knew is that you wanted, needed, to release all over his tongue.

Changbin goes through the same motions as before, expertly building you up to your release, getting you so, so close, before pulling away again right before you can. Another frustrated, high pitched whine leaves you, hips stuttering in an effort to feel something, anything to bring your release to you. You look down at him again, eyes glossy from the tears welling in them, and fuck, that look really does it for him. The pretty look of aggravation mixed with desperation makes his cock impossibly hard.

You try to push him to your pussy again, but this time he resists, staying firmly in place and watching the way your expression twists into one of near anguish with an amused satisfaction. “Changbin–” your voice doesn’t come out anywhere near as stern and commanding as you wish it to; instead, his name leaves you as an urgent, desperate mewl.

“Aww, poor thing. Ya gonna cry?” he mocks you, head tilted and an infuriating grin plastered on his face. Fuck. You knew it wouldn’t be long until Changbin flipped the script and put you back at his mercy, but this soon?

And he didn’t know whether you were genuinely vying for control or not, if you went into this with the intent to fight until the bitter end or if you were resolved to relinquish it after some time; what he did know is that he loved seeing you like this. Broken almost, resolve crumbled like a sand castle hit by a wave, so weak and ruined, all because of him.

“Want me to keep going?” he asks in a tone that is almost sickeningly sweet, another twisted smile of satisfaction on his face. You nod frantically, a shameless display of your need, and he smirks, answering your reaction with a condescending, “Why should I?” Another whine, hot tears rolling down your cheeks as indignation and desperation eat away at you.

Changbin coos when he sees the tears fall, another “poor thing” leaving him. Funny how he’s the one on his knees, yet is the one entirely in control. You beg wantonly now, countless utterances of “please” and “I need it”, all sense of restraint and shame seeming to have evaporated the moment your tears began to fall. The display makes his cock throb in his trousers, erotic beyond words, utterly enthralling and so pretty.

“Shh, that’s enough darlin’,” he says as he takes one of your legs and guides it over his shoulder, fully ready to support your weight and keep you standing for what he plans to do next.

You keen when his tongue finally makes contact with you again, body shuddering as your head lolls back. One arm snakes around the leg not propped up on him, squeezing at the flesh within his reach, while the other moves between your thighs, fingers prodding at your entrance for just a moment before sliding easily inside.

He gives you no time to adjust to the thickness of his fingers, setting a fast pace with them from the very start. Your eyes roll back, a cacophony of lewd noises filling the space as your high quickly builds back up for the third time.

Between the earlier denied orgasms, the relentless pace he’s setting now with his fingers and the way his lips feel wrapped around your clit, you’re already dangerously close. Your fingers tangle in his hair, both as a means to ground yourself and to keep him as close to you as possible; and it only takes a few more thrusts of his fingers and flicks of his tongue to send you over the edge.

You cum hard, Changbin’s body and hold on your leg being the only thing keeping you upright as the waves of pleasure course through you. Your eyes are squeezed shut, your entire body shaking, with the only noise you’re capable of making being sharp gasps as your release spills on his tongue and fingers.

You sink to the floor when he moves back and lets you go, legs akin to jello and no longer able to support your weight after having what was easily the most intense orgasm of your life. Your eyes are still closed, breathing labored as you try to bring your mind back down to earth. Changbin meanwhile rises to his feet, being the one to look down at you now.

It’s a pretty sight; your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, tear stains on your cheeks and body flushed. But it could still be prettier, and he knows exactly how he wants to achieve that look. “Open your eyes, sweetheart,” you hear Changbin’s voice call to you from above, and when you do you’re met with quite the sight.

His cock is in one of his hands, trousers having fallen to the floor around his ankles. You must have been too lost in your haze to hear him unzip his pants, or to hear the sound of his belt buckle hitting the floor. You look up at his face next, taking in the expectant gaze he’s shooting at you.

You’re half tempted to say no, to make a big show out of protesting and coax him to put you back in your place, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want his cock in your mouth right now. It’s not often you’re granted the pleasure of sucking him off, as he usually he goes straight into fucking you after he’s done with his merciless teasing– so you’ll play the good girl role, just this once.

You shift to be fully on your knees, opening your mouth wide for him and letting your hands rest on his thighs. He brings a hand to the back of your head, pushing you the rest of the way when you hesitate, ensuring you take the entirety of his length in your mouth in one go. You gag when the tip touches your throat, but Changbin’s hand holds you in place, preventing you from instinctively retreating.

The way you're looking up at him through your lashes, eyes glossy with fresh, unshed tears and nose touching his pubic bone– it’s enough to drive him wild. But he won’t lose it just yet; he’ll grant you a small kindness by giving you a few moments to adjust, to familiarize yourself with the feeling of his cock down your throat and learn how to breathe through it. He can’t let his favorite toy completely suffocate on him, after all.

He sets a brutal pace once he’s sure you’re adjusted, sparing your poor throat no mercy. You can barely even hear the low groans he lets out over the salacious sounds leaving your mouth and throat. It’s a struggle not to choke and sputter every time he thrusts back into your mouth, and each failed attempt causes the tears on your lashes to spill over.

The saliva that has pooled in your mouth escapes out of the sides, sliding down your chin and dripping onto your chest. You can’t help but squirm as he holds your head in place, your nails digging into his thighs as you try your hardest to ignore the growing ache in your jaw and effectively breathe through your nose. You can feel his cock twitch against your tongue as his pace becomes the slightest bit more sporadic, and for a moment you think he intends to cum down your throat, but he doesn’t.

He pulls out instead, a subtle smirk on his face as he watches you take big, gulping breaths to allow air back into your lungs. You wipe your face clean with the back of your hand before you look up at him, knowing he’s far from done with you. He takes you in his arms, helping you rise to your feet (though you doubt he’s helping you due to any sort of caring, and is only doing it to get you where he wants you faster.)

“Come with me, darlin’,” he says as he leads you to the bed with him, paying no mind to the unsteadiness in your legs as you try to keep up with his pace. Changbin sits first, pulling you onto his lap immediately after. You already know what he wants, but you can’t– your knees ache from the time spent on the hard floor, and the usual strength in your legs has all but evaporated.

“Bin–” you start to whine, complaints lingering on your lips, but he tuts before you can even begin to speak them. “What’s wrong, sugar? Didn’t ya say you wanted to fuck me?”

Fucking asshole, throwing your words back at you and looking at you with that devilish smile. He should know you weren’t even that serious about it! He’s just being cruel. “I can’t, I–”

“You can,” he interrupts, guiding you to align yourself with him, “You will.” His hands are holding your hips, another expectant look on his face as he waits for you to sink down on him. “You’re so fucking mean–” you cry, body trembling as you lower yourself onto his cock. He just grins, knowing very well that if you truly hated how mean he was, you wouldn’t have crawled your way back to him.

Your pace isn’t all that fast given the ache in your knees, but contrary to what you’d expect, Changbin doesn’t scold you. Instead, he cups your face under the chin, directing you to look at him. “So sweet, aren’t ya sugar?” he smiles, thumb rubbing your cheek while his other hand stays firmly on your hip, “such a brat sometimes, but you do whatever you're told in the end, don’t ya? Such a good girl when ya want to be, huh?”

You should be ashamed of the way his words fill your stomach with butterflies, but you truly can’t help it. He knows what he’s doing too; knows how to drive you absolutely crazy, knows how to be mean in just the right way, so that when a praise hits your ears it affects you all the more.

However, despite your best effort, you can’t get your legs to cooperate with you any further. Your legs feel so heavy, and having your hands firmly placed on Changbin’s chest for support does nothing to ease the unsteady trembling. It’s a subtle sort of humiliation– making you do something he knows is near impossible in your current state.

The tears are welling in your eyes again and threatening to spill, frustration in your gut and exhaustion completely taking over your body. Your legs throb from the exertion and fatigue, your energy beyond spent, you can’t keep going. Your pace slows to a near stop, and you look at him pleadingly, teary eyed and pouty, a silent beg for his help.

He knew you wouldn’t be able to do it for long, but he made you do it anyway, because this is what he really wanted. He wanted to watch you turn into a pathetic, whining mess, he wanted to relish the look of anguish on your face. He has to be cruel to you, because the end result is always so addicting.

“Tell me what you need, baby. Need my help? Need me to fuck you?” he smiles sweetly as he asks, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. You nod quickly, leaning into his touch that shouldn’t at all be comforting but somehow is in your near-delirious state. “Use your voice, sweetheart. I gotta hear you say it.”

God, he loves when you get to this point– where all anger and shame has been replaced by the overwhelming desire and need you feel for him. You’re babbling out pleas over and over, and he takes a moment to savor the sound of it before shushing you. “Hush now, darlin’, I’ll give ya what you want.”

He flips your positions easily, you landing on your back against the mattress and Changbin now hovering over you. You stare up at him as he sinks back into you, the sight of him making your heart race. It’s infuriating how handsome he is, especially in moments like this, where sweat lingers on his brow and his jaw clenches.

Changbin is good at acting unaffected by you, always able to make it seem like he’s not at all enthralled or addicted, always making your need for him appear one-sided. But the truth is he needs you just as bad as you need him, because in you he has finally found his perfect match. You wanted him to crave you solely, to look for you and only you, not knowing that he already was.

He didn’t seek you out all those times after your lucky re-encounter because it was easy or convenient; it’s because it was you, specifically. He’s no stranger to brothels and bordellos, nor to the coy advances of working women. There are countless women in the world, countless establishments he could spend his coin at to satiate himself, but they weren’t you. All he wants and all he needs, the very picture of perfection, you.

He leans down, capturing your lips in a sensual kiss as he starts to thrust in earnest, and the act makes your stomach twist. He’s kissed you before of course, but only ever with the intent to tease or humiliate you, and never while his cock was inside you. And you don’t know why, but it feels good. He can tell you like it too, by the way you clench around him, and from the way a pleasured noise he’s never heard before leaves your throat.

He keeps his lips attached to yours, tongues sloppily rubbing together. His fingers dig into your hips as he fucks into you, his tight hold leaving indentations behind in your skin. Changbin curses under his breath when he pulls away, both of your highs quickly approaching. You’re squeezing him so tight, and the feeling of your nails digging into his skin is intoxicating.

“Fuck, ‘m so close-” he groans, pace quickly becoming more sporadic. And this is normally the point he’d pull out, letting his cum spill between your thighs or onto your chest and stomach, but.. He looks at you, and all he can think about is how you’re his. He wants no one else to have you, no one else to touch you, no one to even look at you the way he does.

So instead, he pulls you in even closer, your chest firmly pressed into his as he presses his lips to your ear. “Gonna cum in you darlin’. You’d like that, right? Want me to fill you up?” You gasp at his words, one that transitions into a moan as your arms and legs wrap snuggly around him. It’s a bad fucking idea, but you want it so bad.

Whatever the consequences are, you’re too far gone to care about them. You want him to claim you in all ways; his teeth, his nails, his cum– it didn’t matter, so long as you were his in the end. “Y-Yes, please, I want it,” your answer comes out between shuddering inhales, desperate and eager for Changbin to release inside you.

It only takes a few more thrusts for him to spill inside you, the sensation of his cum shooting in you both foreign but good beyond what you ever could’ve imagined. His hips don’t stop moving even as he cums, and the continued thrusts paired with the feeling of being filled up for the first time sends you over the edge too, body convulsing in his hold as pure pleasure fills your senses.

You’re both breathless when you finally come down from your high, body going limp as you release Changbin from your hold. He pulls out slowly, and fuck, the sight of his cum dripping out of your hole is utterly intoxicating; he’s definitely going to become addicted to it. He lies next to you when he’s done admiring the view, looking at your face next with a subtle smile.

“What do ya think about being my lady? Hmm, baby?” he asks as he pulls you in, pressing your body into his as his arm wraps around your waist. You blink as you process it, a sort of warmth overtaking your body as the question settles in you.

“...Are you serious?” you can’t help but ask, unsure if this is going to transition into some sort of tease if you say yes, or if the question is genuine.

“Dead serious, darlin’,” Changbin answers easily, his smile the most earnest you’ve ever seen it to be. Not at all condescending, no trace of a humiliating remark waiting to be said; he’s simply asking you a question, with nothing more beyond it.

And he wouldn’t say it’s love that drives him to make you his, because genuine love is a foreign thing to a man like him, but this is likely the closest he’ll ever get. He just wants to know you’ll always be there, that you’d follow him anywhere he goes, that no matter where life takes the two of you, you’ll belong to him and he’ll belong to you.

And fuck, it’s a really bad idea. You really, really shouldn’t– you should know better. So why are you entertaining the idea? Why does the thought of spending your days with someone so objectively terrible make you so happy?

He’s really fucking ruined you, it seems. He’s a terrible man who does terrible things, he’s a criminal, he’s a manipulator– your immediate answer should be a resounding “no.” But the truth of the matter is that Changbin makes you feel like no one else; infuriated but desired, broken but simultaneously put together.

You’ve come to enjoy the dynamic you have with him; you now understand the fun in the back and forth, the pleasure to be had in the banter and fight, how impossible it is to let someone who matches your energy go. And a life with him would surely be a life of turmoil, of danger and of risk, but it would also be one of pleasure and unforeseen excitement.

Your life was good before meeting him, but it was also dull and predictable. You were likely to spend your whole life in the same place, forever at the beck and call of your parents, or a man that while sweet, wouldn’t excite or please you the way Changbin does. If you say yes, your life will change forever.

No, that’s not quite true; your life already has been forever altered by meeting him. You’re already his, and this is nothing more than a formality. Because why else would you be here right now, if you weren’t already his? For better or worse, you belong to him, body and soul, and you’ve come to realize that nothing will change it.

“Teach me how to use a gun and I’m all yours,” you finally say, and Changbin laughs, clearly pleased with the answer you came to. “You got it, darlin’. Just promise ya won’t shoot me by the time we’re done.”

“No promises. I’d be careful if I were you,” you smile, tone light and playful. “Is that a threat, sugar?” he meets your smile with one of his own, tilting his head to the side as he always does when he’s amused.

“Sure is. Don’t pretend you don’t deserve it,” you answer, and he laughs again, pulling you into a kiss afterwards. Body to body, limbs tangled together as you smile at each other, he thinks about what a perfect partner in crime you’ll be from here on out.

#skz x reader #changbin x reader #skz smut #changbin smut #skz imagines #skz scenarios #mdni + divider graphic credit: @cafekitsune

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trulytiredhermit · 1 year ago

Note

Your Reader AU has my brain going brrr...though im mostly focused on the crack-ish ones.

This gave me an idea (maybe for a fanfic ill wrote muuuuuch later!) like what if Reader is aware of the Links trying to court them and the second they realize that the Chain likes them romantically, they immediately go cold. What if Reader has a long, long history of bad experience with romance and they're just tired and deadeyed. And when they start noticing the Links going yandere, they just laugh, saying "oh look, something new this time!"

the chain try their best but they're just constantly confirming Reader's worst fears.

*Aw thank you!! And yes the crack-ish ones are the funniest, I love crack AUs lol.

But OOOOF

Hitting 'em where it hurts!

I just KNOW the Chain would take this hard! Because they would have needed to become close to Reader, spent precious time with them and perhaps even shared personal thoughts and fears over their time together.

And then Reader all of a sudden is giving them the cold shoulder and completely shuts down their advances?

Angst town my friend, angst town.

Like Reader just constantly friendzoning them and hoping they get the hint, or dropping off facts about how they have a few bad experiences with past lovers and hoping that gets the hint across.

What it actually does is make the Chain start a hate list with those exes on it in which they may or may not take action upon them.*

But I also think the Chain just wouldn't get it, like they would misread all of Reader's hints that they aren't interested as something else. Their minds just couldn't accept the fact that Reader couldn't be theirs.

Also tag me if you end up writing that fanfic!! I'd love to read it sometime, but no pressure!*

You thought they had finally gotten the hint.

Wild laughed merrily as he recounted a funny story about the time he had tricked a man out of his sand and snow boots, shoving another bowl of warm soup into your still warm hands from just finishing your first bowl.

You passed it back saying you were full already.

Thought they finally decided to back off and leave your friendships the way it was, as just friends.

Time paired you up with him again, giving a curt response about how the inn was short on rooms, sometimes it was that the group just needed to save rupees, and people needed to group up.

You told him you'd just room with Wind then since the young teen wanted to hear another story about your own teenage years full of youthful fun and mischief.

But no.

Sky and Four presented you with an earring they had made together: it was a metallic earing with a red feather hung off the end, crafted just so that the feather was long enough to lightly tickle you cheek and sometimes your neck from time to time.

You haven't worn it once.

They hadn't taken the hint. They've ignored the warning signs. Practically driven over them with a stampeding horse, or a Hinox.

Twilight wrapped his wolf pelt around your form for the tenth time today, reminding you of how cold it was and how he didn't want for you to get sick.

You shrugged it to Wind, reminding Twilight you were fine just like the other nine times he had tried giving you his pelt before.

Just what more did you have to do, what more signals did you need to give them for them to get the hint?!

Hyrule had been hovering over you like a frantic cucco all afternoon, constantly offering to heal you and making sure you were okay after your little trip from a branch on the dirt road.

Once again you showed him the small scratch you had gotten, the one that was already scabbing over, telling him that you were fine, and he should save his energy for an injury that mattered.

You didn't want to sit them all down, outright tell them that you knew what they were all doing and how you wanted it to just stop. So you gave little hints here and there about past relationships that ended not so nicely, about how you were a little wary of dating again.

Wars shooed away a stranger that couldn't get the hint you weren't interested in his advances, wrapping his strong arm around your waist and glaring at the poor sap.

Though your thanks died upon your tongue when the war hero kept his arm there even after the man had left only letting go after you had pried yourself away from his side.

But did they get the fact that you weren't interested with them either? No.

Legend scolded you again, demanding you hand over your favorite shirt that had been slightly damaged by a stray arrow from a bokoblin during a skirmish, so he could fix it up.

Begrudgingly you handed it over, also wanting it to be fixed since it was always so comfy to wear. But you kept an eye on Legend's progress with it and swooped the shirt up with a curt thankyou as soon as he was done with it.

You wouldn't fall for his lies about how he had messed up a stitch or that he wasn't done with the article of clothing like he had done the many other times before.

You knew they were heroes and that maybe they had gotten so used to fixing things or that they just had the sheer will to preserve through all of your shutdowns and mis-directions since they were apparently the bearers of the triforce of courage, but it was getting ridiculous now.

Perhaps you needed to have a straight talk with them, needed to tell them that you weren't interested and that you wanted to just remain friends with them.

After all it's not like you could just up and leave them, as if they would ever allow it. Hyrule, no matter which one you traveled across, was dangerous and you didn't exactly have the survival expertise to even make it a day on your own.

So you just had to deal with the group's antics with the slim hope that they would cool it down after you had a talk with them.

#trulytiredhermit #linked universe #yandere lu x reader #linked universe x reader #neutralvoiceartist #this was fun to write!! I just had to make a little thing to go with it because it made my brain conjure up a ton of situations lol

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infernalenginesheart · 1 year ago

Text

Return to Avernus

My tav Odile X Karlach (newer relationship, conflict)

Odile knows they should talk with Karlach about what is to come, but it seems there would never be a "good time". Now or never, apparently.

Content warnings: swearing - Dammon said a return to Avernus was the only way to ensure Karlach's engine wouldn't blow.-

At least a week had passed since Karlach had been "fixed". Fixed was such an odd way to describe it, Odile had already found her rather perfect before, but the inability to touch was something to be remedied. That's better- remedied.

But Dammon's words kept rattling around their brain, not much better than an illithid tadpole, if they had any say in it. How the fuck were they supposed to bring this up to Karlach? Had the two of them not just confessed their love to each other? Had Karlach not just touched someone and had someone touch her in return-? It wasn't that easy. Nor could it ever be.

Karlach stood on the balcony of the Last Light Inn, her arms resting on the railing. The party has just returned from helping Thaniel and Oliver return to each other, but time for rest had not yet risen in the party's conversation.

Odile approached from the side, like one would a horse as if not to spook it, though Karlach surely had heard them taking their sword off their back and leaning it on a barrel. Wind seemed to curl around the edges of Karlach profile, her expression stoic.

"You're never one for such a serious expression," Odile smiled lightly, leaning on the railing. The red tiefling let out a soft sigh.

"I know what you want to talk about." Odile's hand gently trailed up their lover's arm, picking at leave stuck in her cape.

"I have half the mind to pretend I'm not sure what you mean," Odile cleared their throat, shifting their weight uncomfortably. They turned to face over the railing, shoulder to shoulder with Karlach.

The lake beyond the Inn was black, expansive, the waves breathing in the evening air. The breeze wafted back over them, Karlach's cape fluttering against Odile's. Karlach's tail sliced at the air in a short, swift motion.

Quiet hung between them for more than a moment. Odile was terrified to look over at Karlach.

"We could just... not talk about it at all," she whispered.

"Karlach...."

"We could pretend we didn't hear him say a thing, just carry on the two of us like we had been."

"Karlach..."

"Don't say my name like you pity me," Karlach's voice rose, just the slightest. Odile felt their heart jump at the burst of energy, moving from such quiet and stillness.

"I'm sorry, I would never- I don't mean-"

"I know. I'm sorry, soldier."

Karlach moved back to the railing as her outburst had carried her back, away, but her forearms came back to the railing this time. Her hunched stance was closer to Odile's relaxed height, the other tiefling hesitating before their body seemed to sway towards their lover. Their chin rested on her shoulder, their arms snaking around one of hers, so strong and sturdy.

"I can't go back, Odile," Karlach shook her head, looking down at her hands.

"I would rather die tomorrow having gotten the freedom I've had than go back. I can't- I won't- I-pfft," Karlach gave up on words, blowing air between thinned lips.

Odile's grip loosened.

It was understandable, not wanting to go back. More than understandable. They knew that, understood that. "W...H...Mm," Odile cut themself off before giving up.

"You're going to protest that? Say I should go back?" Karlach was the one to withdraw again, standing up, torso finally facing towards Odile.

"I don't want... to write it off compl-"

"Don't want to write it off? Fuck, Odile! Did you not listen to anything I told you about where I'm from before or-or-or was I not convincing enough?" Fire grew in her chest. The flames kicked up beneath her armor, her eyes wild.

"Karlach- forgive me. Forgive me for I am selfish at heart, and considering you could drop dead at any second- making that not as much of a possibility is selfish but can you blame me?"

Karlach's chest heaved with furious breath's at first, but they grew jagged. Unstable, shaking. The hot, angry tears followed easily, her fists balled up at her sides.

"You... I want to be selfish, too," Karlach was fighting hard against the tears and her breaths, trying so hard. "And I'm going to be."

"Karlach-"

But it wasn't worth it. Karlach had already grabbed her greatsword and gone back inside.

As night took the party back to camp, Odile knew they couldn't leave it alone, or they would toss and turn on their bedroll till morning arrived. It would eat them up from the inside.

Karlach lay in her tent, strange considering she was always outside of it, it seemed. Odile could see her outline from inside, the soft glow of candlelight outlining her silhouette.

They knew Karlach would hear them outside, the grass under their feet.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Karlach, I won't be able to sleep if we don't talk about it."

"Not my problem," she tried to say with bite, but it was a weak attempt, her voice not convincing. Odile pushed aside the entrance to her tent, seeing the large woman curled up on the ground with Clive. Odile sat behind her, their legs crossed, hands in their lap, like a child in school.

They wanted so badly to reach out, to touch her.

"I think... everyone is inherently selfish. I will claim that more than most. I am selfish to keep my loved ones so close. And I am horribly, viciously selfish to want my lover to remain on this existence with me. I am selfish to ask that. But Karlach- I can take your face in my hands," their voice fell to a hush as they used the gentle pads of their fingertips to move Karlach's chin towards them, forcing her to roll over to them, "and I can watch your eyes from between my hands till sleep takes me. And forgive me for wanting to do that until the end of time."

Karlach sat up finally, facing Odile. "You are selfish."

Odile dropped their hand, looking to the floor of the tent, strewn with pillows. "But I need you to channel that selfishness into finding a way to fix me that doesn't involve me going back there. To that place."

"I can touch the ones I love for the first time in ten years, Odile. And I want to hug you until the end of time, I really do, but I can't do it if that is the price I have to pay."

"I would come wi-"

"Odile..." Karlach cut them off, their hands cupping Odile's face.

"I don't have a death wish. I want to... be with you until I can't."

"But what if that isn't much longer," Odile felt their own breath hitch.

"We will get there when we get there! But I just want to focus on you and me, and touching you, the way I've wanted to touch you now that I can. Shit, Odile, I just want to focus on that."

"I need you to promise me first."

"Yes, soldier?"

Odile took Karlach's face in their hands, now mirrors of each other. "If I cannot find another way to fix you, to keep you here, promise me you'll go with me to Avernus."

"You will find another way, you selfish asshole," Karlach chuckled, but brought her forehead to theirs.

"You will find another way."

"I need a promise, you big stubborn woman."

"Fuck off, Odile. I told you I'm not going back." Karlach straightened back up, her hands dropping. Odile's hands, surprised, now hovered near Karlach.

Odile's hands finally moved to their lap again. "You better hope I can find another way to save you, Karlach, or I'll kill you myself," they cracked a joke through watery eyes.

It seemed enough for them both, to lie to each other like that. To create a false plan. At least Odile's plan wasn't entirely false- they would try to find an alternative for Karlach, of course they would. But if going to Avernus was it, that was what they would do.

As Odile lay with their face buried in the muscular back of their lover, arms wrapped tightly around her, the sounds of the night filling their ears, they felt the urge to pray.

For Karlach's sake, for their own- for the solution to be anywhere but where Dammon had said it would be.

"I am going to fix you," they whispered, such a soft whisper it was like a ghost over their lips, lips that pressed into Karlach's warm shoulder blade.

For I cannot imagine who I will become if I cannot.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 tav #bg3 #baldurs gate karlach #karlach #bg3 fanfiction #karlach fanfiction #tav x karlach

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mrsvalentinefucker1 · 1 year ago

Text

It meant something

Cw: Angst, Cheating

You’ve taken an interest in horseback riding since you were a child, you’ve had many trainers over the years and more to come. You’ve moved trainers and landed with a unique personality. Your trainers name was Johnathan Joestar but everyone seemed to just call him “Johnny” or “Jojo” for short.. you two grew fond of one another. He’s been training you for almost 3 years and every time you’re with him your heart starts racing and you start to lack conscious thinking. Saying the most random things. He’d laugh them off but you still would feel embarrassed

One day during your lesson he decide you two need to take a quick break before moving on to the next thing.

“Hey y/n. Would you like some lemonade? My wife made a glass.”

You’ve never liked Rina. Not one bit…but you took the lemonade just to be kind

“Oh sure. Thank you Mr. Joestar”

Rina came over to you after she went to Johnny and handed you your lemonade

“Thank you Mrs. Rina”

She nodded and walked away

Im your mind you wanted to throw that glass right at her and ruin the dress her husband bought her.. but of course you didn’t.

“Y/n!” You snapped your head towards Johnnys direction “When you’re done, go over to there and practice your jumping. You’ve been a bit off lately”

“Yes sir.” You finished your drink and handed the glass to your instructor, then making your way to the poles.

This was torture. Watching Johnny love another women. You wanted to quit riding near him all together, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Your anger made you a scary rider. You were riding with your feelings and not your brain or intuition. Who knows what kind of things could happen from that..

Soon you finished your lessons for the day and lead johnnys horse back towards her stall

Johnny noticed this

“Y/n. What’s the hurry? Got somewhere to be?”

You snapped back “yes actually. My home.”

He felt hurt but didn’t let it show. He grabbed you gently by the shoulder

“Well hey! we’re having dinner pretty soon, im sure you have enough time to sit down and eat huh?” He chuckled a bit “my wife’s making an amazing dish that her mother taught her!”

“I’m fine. I’m making dinner at my house when I get back.” You pulled away from his grasp.

“Oh.. well alright y/n. There’s always a place in my home for you.” He began to walk away as did you

That afternoon before you got home you decide it would be a good idea to go shopping for some new riding outfits, maybe that would show Johnny that you were, in fact, better than Rina.

You made your way to the local clothing store and picked out a few pairs of pants and some shirts to match. Then the back of the store caught your eye. Lingerie. You saw it and thought of him. He made your heart flutter and your thighs rub against one another. Johnny was the man you’ve been searching for, he lit a fire in you when you saw him. You picked out a set with a matching robe for some extra spice. Dark blue and white.. with pink accents. It was perfect. You didn’t have a reason to wear it anytime soon but it was still good in case.

You made your way home, watching the stars go by and the moon disappear behind the clouds

“Ma’am, you’ve got a call. Do you want me to answer it?” The man who worked for your family asked

“Who is it?”

“A Mrs. Rina Joestar”

You sighed. “I’ll get it.”

You answered the phone

“Hello?”

“Hey y/n! It’s me Rina! Care to come over for dinner after your lessons tomorrow?”

“I-I guess so.. Is johnny going to be ok with me coming over?”

“He doesn’t mind I promise!” It went quiet,

“I guess I’ll come over. What time should I be there?”

“Don’t worry about getting here, johnny will pick you up. Just be ready by 6”

“Ok then. Goodnight Rina.”

“Goodnight y/n”

Then you hung up

‘That was so weird’ you thought as you headed to the shower to get ready for bed, you took your shower, brushed your teeth and set out your clothes for tomorrows lesson and the night with Johnny and Rina, then an idea stuck, the lingerie.. you were going to wear it under your clothes. If things happened then things happened. You wouldn’t mind.

You couldn’t sleep all night because of the anticipation you were feeling.

‘Does he know?’ ‘Does he like me back?’ Raced through your mind all night.

The next morning was even more nerve racking. You did your morning chores of feeding your own horses and getting dressed to go do your lessons in the clothes you bought the night before.

When you were getting ready you saw the lingerie and not a thought crossed your mind, you stuffed it into your bag with your extra clothes for lessons. You knew it wasn’t right but you couldn’t help it..

You made your way over to johnnys for said lessons

“Good morning y/n” Johnnys other employees greeted you.

“Good morning” you shouted back as you walked away to gather slow dancer. That was Johnnys favorite horse, they’ve been through everything together. She was wise and she was easy to control, that’s why you both liked her.

“Oh hello Y/n!” Johnny greeted you as you walk in the stables

“Hi Johnny. What’s going on?”

“Just getting slow dancer ready for you. Sometimes people just need a hand, I don’t you to stress too much” he laughed

You laughed a little with him.

Johnny took Slow dancer out to the pins where you practiced.

“Thank you, Johnathan.” You smiled and took the reins from him as you got onto the horse

“Not a problem” he smiled back

You cantered around a little to warm up you and the horse, soon developing into a gallop as you began to ride around on her.

The day flew by fast, training was over, time to get ready and go home to get dressed. You were about to get off Slow dancer, but Johnny helped you. He reached his hand out for yours

“Augh thank you johnny. My arms hurt so bad from yesterday” you chuckled

“Of course, I’ve always got you y/n.” He chuckled back

“Well, I’ve got to go home and get ready for tonight.”

Johnny went silent and the spoke “well y/n, you’re already here, why not stay? You can get ready here.. I wouldn’t mind and I’m sure Rina wouldn’t either”

“Well what about my clothes?”

“While I was buying Rina a dress I went ahead and bought you one too, I didn’t know your measurements but you and Rina look pretty similar in size so I bought one a little smaller than that.”

“Oh wow, thanks Johnny. I- I really appreciate it!”

“No problem y/n, now go get ready.”

You walked off to the separate area where his home sat. His house was beautiful, everything was so clean you’d expect no one lived here at all. You met Rina in the hall on your way to the bathroom.

“Oh hello y/n! Weren’t you supposed to be getting ready? What are you doing up here?”

“Johnathan told me I could get ready here, is that ok with you?”

“Oh of course bathrooms that way” she pointed to the bathroom

You thanked her and headed to the bathroom

You were getting undressed to take your shower and did had to admit you were taking a long time since you were trying to figure everything out still.

No sooner than when you took off your panties, Johnny walked in.

“I- oh My god! Y/n I’m sorry! I- I thought you had already left I’m so sorry! I- I’ll leave!”

Your face and his burned hotter than the sun

Your mind was in scrambles, you made an irrational decision based on desire and desire alone.

You pulled him in.

“Johnny..I’ve wanted you for so long. I- I can’t bear this anymore. Please..” you leaned into his neck “please take me~” your breath was hot on his neck. He felt chills go down his spine

“But- y-y/n im married.. you know that.”

“I know jojo.. it will only be one time, im sure you’re the one for me. I need you” You slipped on your knees and Undid his pants. Cock springing out as you did so.

You took him into your hand and pumped him a few times before taking him into your mouth completely. Kissing the head as you did so. His body was on fire but but heart was aching with guilt..

“Y- f-fuck y/n.. what if Rina finds out..”

“She won’t jojo. Just relax..” you continued you suck his cock, he pushed your head down a little feeling you gag around his cock. He moaned your name in response.

He began to fuck your throat and moan lowly. After a few more pumps he came down your throat with a sigh.

“F-fuck..”

you wiped your mouth.

“Ok jojo. I’m going to get in the shower now.” You blew a kiss to him. He zipped his pants back up and left, still shocked from his orgasm.

a few more minutes of you showering, and you decide it was time to get out and get dressed. You did lite makeup and your hair. Then it was time for the lingerie, your heart was racing.. you put it on and put your dress on over it. The dress hugged you wonderfully.. Johnny didn’t mention this but he bought you a pair of heels that went with the dress. When you were ready you went down to the dining room, Johnnys face still tinted with a light blush..

“Oh y/n there you are! You took so long honey!” Rina joked around

You rolled your eyes at it but smiled and laughed.

“That dress looks wonderful on you.” Johnny gushed, Rina praised In agreement.

“Thank you so much, it’s one of my favorites now” you giggled

“My pleasure..” Johnnys eyes wondered your body ”.. Rina helped me pick it out. I wasn’t so sure what kind of color would fit a women like you” he flashed a toothy grin

You smiled in response

“Well I love it more than before.” You smiled at Rina and laughed about it with them for a little bit.

Rina eventually brought the food in and made the plates for you three.

“This is delicious, Mrs. Joestar”

“Oh dear it’s just something I whipped up” she did a giggle.

You started a conversation with Johnny and Rina.

“So Rina,” she looked at you “how long have you and Johnny been married?” You slipped your foot out of your heel and pushed on johnnys cock. His face went red as he tried to finish what food he had out in his mouth

“5 years now! I know this sounds cheesy so forgive me, but I loved him as soon as I met him. I knew he was the one for me as soon as we met on the boat to Europe after the steel ball run race” you pushed on johnnys hardening cock and looked at him “Aww that is so sweet.” punctuating the sentence with a rub of his cock under the table. He trembled as he held back a moan.

“Johnny? You ok~? You look a little red..” You hissed at him

“Y-yea im fine. Just tired..”

“Oh it is kind of late isn’t it..” Rina spoke once more “much to late for you to go home by yourself! Y/n stay the night won’t you.” You agreed. Rina then got up and began to pick if the dishes as take them to the sink.. leaving you and Johnny alone together, foot still on his cock; rubbing it.

“Y/n.. I- I can’t do this here.. please let’s go somewhere else..” he whispered

“Oh johnny. Have you no shame.. your wife loves you and this is how you repay her..” you got up from your chair and pulled him by the collar into the guest bedroom.

Stripping him if his clothing and stripping yours off aswell.

“Wow.. you’re so beautiful, darling..” he spoke

You moved towards him and hovered him.

His hands roamed over your body, feeling your lingerie.

“Just for me?”

“Mhm” you nodded

“Oh jeez.. that’s so sweet y/n..” he kissed you and you kissed him back harder.

His cock poked your panties now and all you wanted to do was take all of him into you and let him use you however he wanted…

You pulled your panties to the side and lined his cock up with your entrance. He moaned at the sudden warmth

“I want you Johnny. Please use me however you want…” your voice was soft . Johnny gulped as he put his rough hands onto your hips and helped guid you down onto his cock. He hissed out a string of slurred curse words, as well as your name

“You feel- mm- good Johnny..” you moaned into your arm as you finished sliding down all of his length

“You do too baby~” Johnny played with one of your exposed nipples.

You tried to move but he wouldn’t let you he held you in place. You walls warming his cock for him

“Be a good girl and warm my cock for me..” he kissed your hand and you shivered..

He twisted and pinched your nipples , occasionally sucking them.

“I want you Johnny.. can you please just fuck me already.. I need it.”

Hes smirked

“Oh you do? How bad then darling?” He bucked his hips into you

“A- s-so bad Jojo p-please!”

He smacked his hand onto your mouth.

“Quiet begging so loud now, y/n. I would hate for us to get caught.” He smirked

“How about i Fuck you full of my seed? Does that sound good to you princess?”

You nodded

“Alright then..” he flipped you over onto your back and began to thrust into you, your juices making wet noises together

“Ah- j-j-Johnny! You fee-feel so good!!”

He held your throat, quieting you down.

“You feel amazing y/n.. I want to cum in you.. I love you”

Your heart began to flutter.. he loved you?

He loved you! He didn’t love Rina, only you! This was the best moment of your life

“Im going to cum soon darling..”

“Please, fill me.. I want to be full with your cum!”

He came inside of you after a few more pumps

He reached down to run your clit and help you finish. You clenched around his cock and moaned into your hands as your orgasm washed over you..

the door clicked open, it was Rina..

“Johnny.. y/n…?” She began to tear up “what going on here..” she dropped the blankets that she was holding. Wiping her tears away

“Rina. Wait!” Johnny put his pants back on and chased after her

“I- Rina baby! Im sorry it- it didn’t mean anything!”

“No johnathan Joestar. It meant something… I can feel it.” She took her ring off and threw it at him

“How could you..” she walked away

He ran to the door and watched her walk away from the house they shared.

Soon walking back in to your comforting embrace.

————

Buy me a Kofi! ☕️

Definitely not required but they do help:)

#jjba #jjba fanfic #jjba headcanons #jjba part 7 #johnny joestar x reader #johnny jojo #jjba part 8 #jojolion #rina higashikata #jjba steel ball run #steel ball run #jjba sbr #jjba x reader

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imeverywoman420 · 2 years ago

Note

Have you ever known another who was with Emil? How would you take that? You seem like you could be honestly happy for her sometimes

i know he has hoes (most likely in different area codes). Hes gorgeous tall and hung like a horse. I will never be happy for another woman getting to ride the pony I want. But i am civil and nice and we live in a fucked up society where ponies choose their riders i will not kill her. Thats her pony i guess. Wven tho sometimes its like i wish i could wear ur skin like a halopween costume THATS MY ISSUE!!!!!!! Qnd i do not have the right to take another womans skin like a thief in the night just for some penis

DO PEOPLE RIDE PONIES THATS JUSTNHORSES RIGHT???? idk anyways i think you should be able to go to court and provide evidence and facts and logic for why a man should be your bf and he has no rights. I would have at least 5 boycrienfs

im standing up not sitting down rn so the blood is going to my feet not my brain idk what any of this says sorryyyy

#Ask #shinee lucifer is BLASTING in my ears my airpods on full colume

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frecklenog · 1 year ago

Text

finally watching house of wax 1953 ,, thots under tha cut

YAYYY WAX WOMAN W KNIFE

HI MR PRICE HIII HIIIII

the subtitles dont work o no :(

“that should be they now” pronoun user ..

soo curios whether these r real wax sculptures.. some of them are. obvious. but others i straight up expect to move. the craftsmanship is incredible

HI JOANIE !!!!!!!!

also curious about the clothes. are they real cloth or are there sculpted parts too. is it just a full body underneath or is it just the skin that’s visible. tho admittedly i don’t know much abt wax sculptures despite having the ‘05 movie as a longstanding hyperfixation 🥴

HIS NAME IS FUCKING JARED????

oh okay he just turned booth’s head. so that’s probably not connected to like. more wax skin.

if jared is the one doing the killing i support him. jared did nothing wrong this mf is setting his art on fire for insurance fraud. he should murder

marie :(

ok the burning clothes r answering my questions LMAO

JARED GET UPPPP

JARED

jared you fucking suck at fighting. knock it off w the water bucket and KILL THIS FOOL

ono. explodegeon.

OLD TIMEY FIRE DEPARTMENT YAYYYYYYYY HORSES YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY 🐴🐴🐴

OH THIS BITCH.

“had i been there i might have saved him” kys you fuck

“they always want a corpse :)” i love this strange woman

ohhhh all these mary poppins ass dresses J’ADORE

i hope jared is waiting in this fucker’s house with a club

OH MY GOD YAYYYYYYYY

he’s got a little bit of a “freddy kreuger cosplaying nosferatu” thing goin on. tbh

hiding..

someone get this man a cane or smth. my god. SOMETHING

LMFAOOOOO GOODBYE BITCH

“yes. but he hung himself instead 🥰” SHE IS SO BIZZARE

“you got all the brains and all i got is the boobs!”

CATHY’S SO SWEET 🥺🥺🥺

her laugh is. a little much. cute here and there but with the amount she does it it gets grating. but it’s very much of the time ain’t it. cinderella and snow white and alice in wonderland ass giggle

oh hey jared i almost forgot this was house of wax

SUE ???????

i mean tbf. what on EARTH is jared doing here. but maybe he would explain if he could get some dialogue

not that i don’t love silly chase scenes. i just wanna know Why yfeel

jared please leave sue alone

SUE YOUR SHOES?

oh weaponshoes. punch shoes.

ok i was here for killing matt or whatever his name was but cathy didn’t deserve that :/// cmon jared

I DIDNT THINK THOSE AUTOMOBILES WENT FAST ENOUGH TO HURT ANYBODY AHSJSGSJGXJAGSJSBAN

dont call dead women “honey” like that that’s weird.

I DONT THINK EMBALMING FLUID MAKES PEOPLE SIT UP LIKE THAT.

someone sit up again that was funny

YAYYYYY HI JARED

he is just scrimbling around……..

boy what on earth are you doing

is he going to defenestrate her bo- HE IS OH MY GODDDD

who is helping him. what

JARED DONT STEAL BODIES?????

“no human being can look like that” you wouldn’t say that about a scarred vet you chunk of shit i oughta kick you in the both of your balls

who is this very attractive man in the apron……….

JARED OH MY GOD. HI JARED !!!!!!!! how.

igor is so pretty and so fucking talented. would. in a heartbeat i would.

jared’s wheelchair fucking rules. vincent should’ve used a wheelchair i think.

i wonder if this is really how any of this process goes. it makes more sense than vinnie’s godawful shower

MATT FALLING OUT OF THE BOX AJSHSJHSNZHSJSB

daaamn this movie has an intermission. not even an hour in

HELLO PADDLEBALL MAN

OH MY GOD IT MOOOOOOOOVESSSSSSSSS

the 3d nonsense is so funny omg

THE LADIES PEEKING THE WAX DICK SKDHJDBSNDB

WAX CHOPPPPP

oh millie :(

WHY DO YOU CARRY SMELLING SALTS. JARED. IS THAT TYPICAL 50S BEHAVIOR. (genuinely unsure)

just a dead ass body on display lmao get fucked matt

the chamber of what.

OH MY GOD CATHY.

jared this is why we don’t just put wax on human bodies. you get found out by the friends of the deceased. also the rotting

jared please dont kill sue i like sue. i liked cathy :((

jared seems like a chill dude. aside from the.

waves my hand vaguely. You Know

please got JUST SCULPT HER. JARED. JUST SCULPT HER. STOP CHEATING

something is deeply wrong w the paddleball man. sir this is post-hayes code why do you have balls in your mouth

JARED. JUST ASK HER TO MODEL. CHRIST.

honestly tho WHAT is the explanation for his face. please. pl

THOSE DRESSES LOOK SOOOOO FUN TO SPIN AROUND IN !!!!!!!! 🥰🕯️

“you never saw a show like this in provincetown” MASSACHUSETTS MENTIONED 🐞🐞🐞🐞🐞 (there r no chickadee/elm/mass flag emojis)

PTOWN ALSO MENTIONED 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

girl put your ass away i’m here to watch vincent price be Odd and Peculiar

“cathy had the habit of wearing an earring in her right ear. she had the lobe of her right ear only pierced for that” cathy was out there in 1953 using flags for gay men to spot each other not established for another two decades

sometimes i watch dancers in old movies like this and i try to spot my grandma maggiepat. that’s not really related to the movie but i do wonder. i know she was in the red shoes…

“why should joan of arc have her right ear pierced?” “why not? they wore them then.” “two, not one.” WHY DID CATHY ONLY WEAR ONE THEN !!!!!! someone who knows about 50s culture help me

ohh his name is henry jared. whatever.

the long highwaisted skirts….. :)) 🕯️

sue. sue get down from there

igor is SOOO HANDSOME god okay i’ll be normal sorry 😔

jared. no. bad. knock that off. spraying him with a squirt bottle

god he’s INCREDIBLY charming tho. mad props to mr price

oh my god LEON..

sue should Not be in here alone at night. girl this is a horror movie and you are TRESPASSING

oh hello skeleton

unidentified fucking thing just drifting creepily around the room 🆗🆒

WIG…………….

hiiii mr price

ok jared can walk like. fine. who ACTUALLY fucking killed cathy whose physicality was that

HE WOULD NOT BE ABLE TO MOVE A WAX FACE …….

JARED SHES STILL ALIVE. JARED. JARED.

why was leon convinced by that guy pouring liquor djgsjdbs

idc what happens i could fix igor. me and him and vincent sinclair. fuck timelines

hdkdhjdgd THIS FUCKING GUYY

i’d let igor do this to me. who said that.

HES SO RESOURCEFUL AND INTELLIGENT

girl what is scratching the wax gonna do. be serious

LET IGOR BEHEAD THIS GUY

HE IS DEAF AND MUTE LEAVE HIM ALONE STOP SLAPPING HIM I WILL BECOME VIOLENCE

why are you using the pointy end of that thing to bust thru this door. surely there are more effective ways to go about this

goodbye pig

“every time i shave i can still feel that guillotine blade” it never made contact with you. or you would be dead. dont try to be funny

why did shane sneeze.

NOOOOOOO IGOR :((((((((

#shut up emrys #:candle:

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in-my-feels-probably · 2 years ago

Text

Empyrean - Chapter Four

Chapter 4

Elham found her way to the carriage Wylan was driving, slipping her way into the back. Jesper had his pistols raised as she entered, staring at her in surprise as she pulled herself up and in through the latch on the roof, grunting as she landed on her stomach.

“There’s a door, you know. What the hell are you doing?”

Elham clambered to her feet, ignoring his question. She opened the sliding window to the front of the carriage, smiling when she came face to face with a confused Wylan. He looked between Elham and Jesper, snapping the reigns of the horse as they lurched forward.

“What are you doing here?” He asked in a hushed whisper. “I thought you were supposed to follow Inej.”

Elham nodded, scooting over so Jesper could see out the window as well. “I did. I would’ve stayed with her the whole time, but it seems like Kaz is more than capable of doing this without me.”

“Lovers squabble?” Jesper asked, groaning as he earned an elbow to the rib cage.

Elham fought the flush creeping to her cheeks, keeping her eyes forward. “That’s not funny! Besides, I figured Wylan could use the help. Babysitting you is a full time job, you know?”

Her remark earned her an elbow to the ribs, making her hiss in pain. She rubbed her side as she pouted. Wylan watched the pair in bewilderment, racking his focus back and forth between them and the road.

“So, how do you know Kaz?” Jesper asked Wylan, changing the subject.

“I can’t honestly say that I know Kaz. He asked me to make a few phosphorus bombs for him. I didn’t want to.”

“That’s better than how I met him,” Elham shrugged. “He found me standing over the body of the first man I ever killed. A Dime Lion, when I was fourteen.”

“What?” Jesper asked incredulously.

Elham shushed him, patting his arm. “I’ll tell you later. Wylan, why didn’t you want to make the bombs? You’re really talented, you know.”

Wylan gave her an uneasy glance over his shoulder, not exactly comfortable with the information she just so casually revealed about her past. His nerves lessened as Elham gave him a grin, one far too comforting–and somehow, inviting–considering how dangerous of a person she could really be. He found himself effortlessly talking to her, his thoughts spilling out, like he didn’t have any control over them.

Elham tended to have that effect on people.

“Because I knew that he’d use them for something like this. Did it work?”

Jesper gave Elham a knowing glance, turning back to Wylan with a breathy laugh. “Oh, it worked. Not many people can go up against General Kirigan and live to tell about it.”

“One of the single most terrifying experiences of my life, by the way. You saved our asses, Wylan,” she smiled.

“I suppose you did save them, didn’t you? Where’d Kaz find you, anyway?” Jesper asked.

“I was apprenticing at the tannery, so I guess he knew that I was good with chemicals.”

“Tannery? That sounds familiar. Have we met before?”

Wylan hesitated, making Elham raise a brow. Before she could question him, he quickly motioned for her and Jesper to duck back inside the carriage.

“Stadwatch! Wait…alright, you’re clear.”

Jesper took that as his cue to sit back against the window, but Elham hung back. She watched the pair through narrowed eyes, racking her brain. She swore she had seen Wylan before, it was on the tip of her tongue. She vaguely listened in on their conversation as she sat in thought.

“Look,” Wylan said solemnly. “I know that you’re not thrilled about being paired with me, but you should know that you can trust me.”

“To be clear, I trust you because Kaz trusts you.”

“And you trust Kaz?”

“Listen, I’m not about to dissect my long standing working relationship with Kaz Brekker with a total stranger.”

“I think we all trust him as much as anyone is capable of trusting Kaz,” Elham said, finally pushing herself up into the window next to Jesper. “Which isn’t much. It’s more so blind faith, than anything.”

“I think you have more faith in him than any of us, El,” Jesper said gently.

She sighed, nodding. “You’re probably right. You’ll have to keep reminding me of that, though. This day just keeps getting shittier, doesn’t it? Apparently, he’s deemed it fit to try and see just how much he can test my faith before I falter. He’s absolutely infuriating.”

“Love will do that to you, won’t it? It’s maddening.”

Elham scoffed, shrugging off the arm Jesper tried to wrap around her. “What would you know about it?”

“I don’t appreciate your tone, darling. I’ll let that one slide, because I know Kaz was probably a dickhead to you today, even more than usual,” he said, grinning down at her when she didn’t push away his second attempt to wrap an arm around her. “But I think I know quite a lot about love. You’re maddening, you know. But I love you, don’t I?”

Elham smiled to herself, grabbing Jespers hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “I love you too, idiot. Now, stop it with the lovey dovey shit. We’re working.”

Jesper chuckled, letting go of her to face forward again. Elham watched through the window as they turned the corner. They had been following the carriage in front of them for quite a while, and nothing suspicious had happened yet. It was wishful thinking on her part, because as soon as they rounded the corner, Wylan called for the horses to halt.

“He’s…he’s gone. He’s gone.”

“How’s that possible?” Elham groaned.

One day, she thought. Can something go right for just one day?

“This isn’t right,” Jesper sighed.

Suddenly, shots were fired at the carriage, disconnecting the chains from the horses. With a startled whinny, they ran off, leaving the carriage completely immobile.

“Shit!” Elham shouted, ducking back into the carriage.

She immediately reached for Wylan’s shoulder, beginning to tug him toward her. Jesper had the same idea, banding an arm around Wylan’s chest to help her pull. Together, they managed to drag Wylan into the back of the carriage before anyone outside could get to him. Shots were being fired off left and right, stray bullets entering the carriage.

They dove for the floor, clambering to get to the latch at the bottom of the carriage. Wrenching open the compartment, they quickly one by one jumped through to land on the cobblestone below. Elham landed with a huff, scuffing her knees through her pants. She stifled a groan, pressing a hand against both Wylan and Jesper’s backs to push them flat to the ground.

“Get down,” she frantically whispered, hovering over them.

“Elham–”

“Shut up, Jesper! Cover Wylan. I’ll distract them.”

“No the fuck you will not–”

“Jesper! If we make it out of this alive, I swear, if you don’t pull out those pistols and cover Wylan right now, I am so going to kill you. Please, just trust me!” Elham pleaded, unsheathing the dagger strapped to her thigh.

He groaned, rolling to hover over Wylan. “Fine! Be careful! I’m right behind you.”

Elham nodded, rolling out from under the carriage. The second she made it out, she made a dash for the wheel. Quickly, she climbed up the wheel and swung herself up onto the top of the carriage. She pressed herself flat so no one could see her, scrambling to draw the dagger close to her. With a deep breath, she hopped up to her knees, throwing the knife towards the closest man she could find. He let out a gurgle as it lodged itself into his chest, looking down in shock. He stumbled to his knees, grasping at the hilt as he sucked in air. The other men watched in shock, hesitating to fire any more shots.

Taking it as her opportunity, Elham pushed herself to her feet as she let a flame spark in her palm. She spotted a barrel off to the side of the carriage where some of the men had ducked behind. Please be whiskey, please be whiskey, please be whiskey, she thought to herself as she sent a ball of fire hurtling towards the barrel.

The barrel immediately erupted into flames, sending a white powder exploding into the air.

“Flour,” Elham nearly laughed, watching the men be forced to scatter as a cloud of flour rained down on them like embers. “Jesper! Move!”

She turned to motion for Jesper and Wylan to run, gasping when the realization struck her like a freight train. In the position they were currently in–Jesper hovering over Wylan–it was hard to forget it. Jesper seemed to be having this realization, too.

“Wait, we have met before, haven’t we?” She heard him ask as she stifled a laugh.

“Yes, but–” Wylan started.

“I fucking knew it!” Elham yelled, finally putting the pieces together. “I walked in on you two! Granted, you were still dressed, thank the Saints. I clearly didn’t spoil your fun.”

More shots rang out before she had time to revel in her realization, and she immediately ducked and backed away from the carriage. Jesper nodded at her, silently telling her that he had a plan. Elham nodded back, waiting for him to duck out from under the carriage and join the fight before she took a minute to herself to refocus. She couldn’t stifle her laughter any longer as she reached for her sword, grabbing the hilt.

Elham’s laughter died in her throat as she felt a foreign hand touch hers, and she felt her sword being ripped from her sheath.

She turned around as soon as she felt its absence, watching it be thrown across the square. It clanged against the cobblestone. More men came running from a side alley, a number she wasn’t sure she and Jesper could take on alone. Recoiling from the shock, she raised her hands to spark a flame. Before she could release it, she felt another pair of foreign hands clamp around her wrists. Her arms were immediately wrenched behind her back, and a boot was lodged into the backs of her knees, sending her buckling to the ground. She let out a gasp as her knees scuffed against the cobblestone again, fighting to free herself from the man’s grip.

“Jesper!” She cried out, only to be silenced by a kick to the stomach.

Elham could vaguely hear Jesper calling her name from across the square, and the sound of bullets being fired in rapid succession. She fought as she gasped for breath, her lungs filling with cold air. The man behind her kept her arms pinned with a bruising grip on her wrists, using his knees to pin her legs down.

The other man came to crouch in front of her. “Brekker’s Valkyrie isn’t so tough without her little sword is she? What happened while you were gone, huh? Did you learn a new party trick? Those flames are really something.”

Elham struggled hard, trying to lunge at him. He sent a swift kick into her stomach, knocking the wind out of her. She could hear how ragged her breathing was, realizing that he may have just cracked a rib with his boot.

“I’ll kill you both for this,” Elham spat, her voice hoarse as she continued gasping for air. “I’ll kill you if you don’t stop. You know I will.”

The man behind her laughed, squeezing her wrists as he bent down to whisper in her ear. “I doubt that, sweetheart. We’ve got you all trapped. Brekker’s Valkyrie, his Sharpshooter, his Wraith…we’ve even got Brekker.”

No, she thought in horror. No, not them. Please, not them. Not him. Elham desperately tried to wrench her wrists from the man’s hold, but he had too much leverage on her. The man crouched in front of her smiled, taunting her as she fought.

“Don’t worry, little fawn. We aren’t here to kill you. Our boss owns you, remember? Property of the Menagerie.”

Elham reeled her head back, rolling forward to smash it into the man’s face. She heard a sickening crunch as he howled in pain, bringing a hand up to brace his already bleeding nose. She smirked up at him, letting out a laugh.

“That's all you got? You’re gonna let a little girl make you bleed? Pathetic.”

He growled as he wiped under his nose, pulling out and flipping open a pocket knife. “I’ll show you blood, you little bitch!”

Elham let out a sharp gasp as she felt the tip of the blade drag along the curve of her jaw, little red beads of blood coming to the surface of her skin. More shots rang out–much closer this time–and suddenly, the man behind her slumped. As soon as she felt him go slack, she pulled her wrists from his grip, sending a punch cracking across the jaw of the man in front of her. He staggered back, and Elham quickly pulled herself to her feet. She was too angry to spark a flame, although she wasn’t sure it would have done much good anyway. Her wrists were throbbing, a mottled purple bruise already forming on each. Elham wiped her sleeve across her jaw, smearing the blood.

The sight of it made her see red.

Elham cracked punch after punch across the man’s face, ignoring the shooting pain each hit sent up her arm. She could hear Jesper coming up behind her, his pistol cocking, but she called out to him as she grabbed the disoriented man’s collar, forcing him to his knees.

“El–”

“Don’t!” She snarled, knocking the man flat out on his back. “This one’s mine.”

Elham stalked across the square as she went to retrieve her sword, pulling her dagger from the dead man’s chest on the way back. She wiped it off on the leg of her pants, strapping it back to her thigh. She gripped the hilt of her sword tight, not stopping her advance until she was standing with a foot on either side of the man, kicking away his knife.

“Please,” he choked out, attempting to shield his face.

Elham let out a dark chuckle, scoffing. Please? He and his band of crooks just threatened her entire family, and now he had the nerve to say please? To beg for his miserable excuse of a life? Elham gripped the hilt of her sword till her knuckles went white.

“I made you a promise,” She spat, towering over him. “What did I say? I promised I would kill you if you didn’t stop, and you were stupid enough not to listen.”

“Please,” he mumbled again, tears threatening to fall. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry. Please!”

Elham hesitated, if only for a moment, glancing up at Jesper, who was standing off to the side of her. He didn’t stop her as he watched, Wylan stood in shock behind him. He gave her a knowing look as he nodded his head, and she knew in an instant what he was trying to tell her.

He deserves it. Do what you need to do, El. I’m right here.

The man couldn’t hold back his tears any longer, resorting to begging. “Please! I’m sorry, I’ll do anything, just stop! I’m sorry!”

Wylan turned his head, unable to watch any longer. Elham’s chest quickly rose and fell as she took deep breaths, her grip never faltering. Jesper watched in disgust as he looked down at the man, sneering as his apologies echoed across the square.

“You will be.”

Without another word, Elham drove her sword through the man’s chest. His pleading halted as he exhaled, his spine curling up off of the cobblestone. His eyes widened, his body going rigid. Elham pulled her sword out, and he slumped back to the ground, his head rolled to the side. The pleading had stopped. It was silent.

Elham let out a short breath, sheathing her sword with a shaky hand. She stumbled back, a pained sound ripping its way from her throat. She turned to Jesper wide eyed, her eyes clouding. Her voice was barely a whisper.

“Are you…are you alright? Are you both alright?”

Jesper’s face fell as his eyes softened, opening his arms for her. “Come here, love.”

Elham couldn’t stop the tears from falling, rushing into his arms. She buried her face into his chest, clutching at the back of his shirt with a tight grip. He wrapped careful arms around her, resting his cheek on top of her head. He gently rocked her back and forth, murmuring reassurances in her ear. They stood like that for a minute, taking the time to breathe.

“I’m getting blood on your coat. I’m sorry,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

Jespet let out a soft chuckle, gently pulling her back by her shoulders. He cupped her jaw with one hand, using his coat sleeve to wipe away the blood that had dried along her jaw. He smiled down at her, smoothing a hand over her hair.

“I don’t care. It’s just a coat. I was bound to get blood on it, anyway. I’m just sorry it had to be yours.”

Elham breathed out a laugh, nodding. “Me too.”

She took a calming breath, wiping the stray tears from her cheeks. She smoothed a hand over her clothes, doing the same to Jesper, before turning to Wylan. Wylan was looking around in a daze at the bodies scattered on the ground, holding a hand up to shield his face from the heat of the barrel that was still on fire. Elham quietly approached him, laying a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

He whirled around to face her, his eyes widening as he took her in, speaking quickly. “I’m sorry.”

“What? Why?” She asked, confusion clear on her face.

“For looking away like that. I don’t want you to think–”

Elham quickly held up a hand, stopping him. “You don’t have to apologize, Wylan. I know you’re not used to shit like this, and it’s been a rough few days for you. No one is blaming you for being afraid.”

“I wasn’t afraid,” he quickly said, stuttering when she raised a brow. “I mean…I was. But not of you. I want you to know that. I didn’t look away because I was afraid of you, or of what you did. You had every right. It was just…a lot, you know? I don’t know how you’ve all been doing this for so long.”

“We’ve kind of had to,” she shrugged, turning to look at Jesper.

He nodded. “It’s not as bad as it seems. Really, it’s not. You caught us on a bad week.”

Elham let out a laugh at that, a real laugh. One that brought a smile to Jesper and Wylan’s faces, despite the circumstances. Elham hunched over as she continued to laugh, groaning when she straightened back up. She clutched at her side, although she was still chuckling.

“Isn’t that the fucking truth?”

Wylan let out a nervous sigh. ”How do we find out the others aren’t in trouble?”

“They are,” Elham confirmed. “The man said so, and I don’t think he was lying. But there’s nothing we can do about it in this condition. We just have to trust that they made it out on their own. Right?”

“To Black Veil, then? That’s where Kaz said to reconvene, once it was all over. If they’re alright, it’s where they’ll be. And if they’re not, we’ll get patched up and go find them,” Jesper said, offering a plan.

“The cemetery?” Wylan asked.

Elham nodded, agreeing. “Yes, the cemetery. Alright, let’s hurry. I don’t fancy getting arrested. Again, that is.”

Jesper took that as his cue to start walking, Elham and Wylan not far behind him. They walked in silence for a while, before Wylan couldn’t hold back his question.

“Are you sure that’s where Kaz said? Black Veil is the plague cemetery, no one ever goes there.”

Jesper nodded. “Which means we’ll be safe here.”

“I vote we change the subject,” Elham said, casting a nervous glance over at Wylan. “Wylan looks like he’s going to keel over.”

“You really aren’t good with death, are you?” Jesper asked.

“Death?” Wylan reiterated, shaking his head. “Death, in theory, is alright. The plague? Definitely not.”

Elham chuckled. “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine. But seriously, you look close to passing out. We’re changing the subject.”

“What do you have in mind?” Jesper asked, glancing back over his shoulder at her.

Elham let a devilish grin creep onto her face, excitement bubbling in her chest. “How about the fact that you two have definitely met before, and I definitely walked in on you both–”

“That’s what you call changing the subject? For fucks sake, Elham, he still looks like he’s going to pass out!”

Elham tried and failed to stifle her laughter, hooking her arm with Wylan’s, partially in an attempt to keep him upright. “Let’s be adults about this, boys. Come on, then. Tell me the story. We’ve got a long walk ahead of us. Plenty of time to get it all out there. Who’s first?”

–

Elham, Jesper, and Wylan made it to the cemetery quicker than anticipated. Partially because Stadwatch would be out patrolling and they didn’t want to be seen, and partially because Wylan had started speedwalking the second Jesper took it upon himself to tell Elham all about their little encounter.

Elham huffed, nearly out of breath as they finally made it to the meeting point. It was dark, the moon casting the only light nearby over them as they waited.

“Wylan, I don’t think your embarrassment was worth the stitch in my side I have right now. You’re lucky the others haven’t made it back yet so we can have a break. I’m sitting down.”

Just as Elham began lowering herself to the ground, she heard rustling across the cemetery. She craned her neck around Jesper to see Kaz, Nina, and Inej headed towards them. She stood back up with a groan, swearing under her breath as she followed Jesper’s lead.

“Assuming you got ambushed, too?”

“Oh, yeah. So many of them, I lost count,” Nina huffed.

Kaz walked past everyone, forcing them to follow. “I got what I needed, and Wylan’s bombs took care of the rest.”

“Why didn’t we have any bombs, Wylan? It would have been convenient,” Elham whined, stalking behind the rest of the group.

Jesper looked over his shoulder, unimpressed. “You are a bomb, El. You blew up a barrel of flour with your bare hands.”

“Still,” she mumbled, rounding the corner with the rest of the group.

Kaz opened a door, and they stepped up and into a corridor down one of the hidden tomb entrances. “Get her inside.”

Elham furrowed her brows in confusion, her eyes widening when she realized Inej was up front being supported by Nina. She quickly forgot about all her own injuries and complaints, rushing to help Nina carry Inej inside. She hooked her arm around Inej's waist, taking some of her weight onto herself.

“Lean into me, love,” she said quietly, letting Inej grip one of her hands. “I’m sorry I wasn’t with you.”

“It’s not your fault,” Inej said, squeezing Elham’s hand.

With her free hand, Elham sparked a flame into her palm. It was dark inside, and they could hardly see where they were going without the little bit of light from her palm, and the moonlight creeping in through the windows. She and Nina led Inej further in, helping her sit down when they got their bearings.

“I’ll be right back,” Elham said, letting Nina take over.

She sparked another flame, letting it burn as she hurried back out to the entrance. Kaz, Wylan, and Jesper were still huddled there. A look of worry flashed across Jesper’s face as he saw Elham approaching.

“Is she alright? Will she be alright?”

“She’ll be fine,” Kaz answered promptly, not letting anyone ponder the alternative.

Jesper’s voice was soft, and defeated. “Will any of us be fine? This won’t end well, Kaz.”

Kaz let his eyes flit to Elham, if only for a second, before turning back to Jesper. “No, it won’t…but I’ll be the one who ends it.”

He spared her one more glance, before heading inside. Jesper let out a deep sigh as Kaz left, turning to Wylan and Elham. Elham just shook her head, frustrated and tired. Deciding it wasn’t worth talking about, he rested his hand on the small of her back.

“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

–

A/N - Hi! This is the end of episode 2! So sorry for the wait, I’ve been really busy. Give me like two ish weeks, I’ll have a lot more time to write. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this, let me know what you think so far! I’ve started the next chapter, it should be up soon :)

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leighsartworks216 · 2 years ago

Text

The Viper (Part 10)

Jaskier x gn!reader

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine - Part Eleven - Part Twelve

I was going to keep writing and adding more to this chapter but it's just so long that I have to break it up lol

Warnings: swearing, a LOT of talking about old scars and old injuries, lots of cute moments, like zero plot, romantic tension (?)

Word Count: 2867

Masterlist

Tag List Form

The distant trill of birdsongs flooded the morning air. A cool mist hung low to the ground, concealing a world further beyond the trees.

Your eyes opened slowly. Your limbs felt detached and distant. Your body was warm and comfortable.

At first, it was hard to place where you were. You could hear a low growl right next to your ear, but instead of seeing an animal, your vision was filled with blue ruffles. It shifted slowly. It rose up… and then fell back down, in a repeated motion. It smelled very faintly of vanilla.

Carefully, you moved away from the growling blue frills, until your brain finally processed what was happening.

The blue fabric was Jaskier’s doublet. He didn’t remove it, as a means of preserving heat. And the growling was not an animal, that was true. Rather, it was the sound of the bard’s snores. Your head had been on his chest, right next to the sound.

But why?

You don’t recall falling asleep like that. The only contact you recall sharing with him was his arm draped over you. Now it seemed both of them were circling you, holding you close. Not only that, beneath the thin blanket, your legs were woven together, booted feet knocking against each other.

You imagined for a brief moment what it would be like if he awoke at this very moment. Blue eyes fluttering open, droopy and dull from sleep, landing on your face, staring back into your own slitted pupils. It felt like all too much. Fortunately, his face remained still, eyelids shut and fluttering with a dream he would most likely share with you later over breakfast.

With careful, slow movements, you worked to untangle your legs and the arms around you. It was difficult to completely remove yourself from his grasp, as he would keep trying to hold on tighter and tighter to you, fingers loosely gripping the fabric of your cloak and undershirt. Once you were fully free, his arms wrapped around his own body, you escaped out of the tent.

“Do Witchers believe in anything?” Jaskier asked. He rode behind you atop Bayard as you urged the horse to a trot, arms holding on to you as the animal jostled its riders. Without mud clogging up the roads (or Bayard’s hooves), it was the perfect time to make up lost ground. “Like, Melitele or something?”

You hummed, thoughtful. “Nothing so… religious, as far as I’m aware.” You glanced over your shoulder. He looked at you with curiosity, urging you to go on. “Perhaps the closest we get is in our devout search - or research, rather - of the Wild Hunt.”

You could imagine the furrow in his brow as he questioned you further. “The Wild Hunt? Like, those stories about phantom riders that fly across the sky, abducting people?”

“It’s a bit more nuanced than that, but yes. I don’t know much about the other Witcher schools, but the Viper school was built to study the Hunt. Well, that and a disagreement as to who and what a Witcher should take contracts for. All my time growing up there, between lessons on beasts and potions, we would study the Wild Hunt, until we could recite all of the scrolls collected there backward and forward.”

“How many schools are there?” He tried to look over your shoulder and meet your eyes. “There’s Wolves and Vipers - are there more?”

You hummed, nodding. “Quite a few more, actually.” He watched as you thought about the other schools, mentally ticking them all off an imaginary list. “The Wolves have the most Witchers left, as far as I know. But there’s a Cat school, a Griffin school, Crane, Bear, and, uhm… Manticore.”

“There’s… seven schools?!”

“Well, some disbanded, or their Witchers have died out… As far as I know, I’m the last Viper left.”

Jaskier was quiet behind you. The last time the topic of schools came up, you got this distant look in your eye. He still wasn’t quite able to place what the look was. Perhaps a mix of grief and nostalgia, of longing and loss. He wished he could take those feelings away.

“But you don’t know for sure,” he tried. He scanned your face as best he could from the awkward angle he placed himself in, searching for any emotion aside from the careful neutrality you usually faced the world with. “Some might have escaped, or maybe they’re hiding-”

“It’s not worth dwelling on, Jaskier.” You sighed. It was sad. “If they did escape the destruction of Gorthur Gvaed, they would have to hide and fight their way out of Nilfgaard. And even in the North, a constant mark would be placed for their head.”

His face morphed with confusion. “There are people out to get you up here?” It was hard for him to believe. Witchers performed a vital task normal villagers weren’t willing to: slay monsters. They protected civilizations from the fiercest of beasts. And people wanted to kill them? Destroy the only source of protection from Drowners, Ghouls, and Kikimore?

“There will always be people against us,” you explained. “To them, we’re just… soulless monsters.”

“But you fight the monsters! How…?”

“It’s just how the world is, Jaskier.”

He huffed, leaning back. “Well, that’s just completely unfair.”

During the silence that persisted for the rest of the ride, you swore you could hear him muttering under his breath and humming tunes you hadn’t heard before.

“Oh ho ho! Yes!” Jaskier barely waited for Bayard to be at a complete stop before he was sliding off and rushing to the creek. He almost ripped the expensive fabric of his doublet as he scrambled to take it off, draping it carelessly over a tree branch before he began wading into the water.

Almost instantly, his whole body tensed up, his arms flapping in the air as he finally comprehended the temperature of the water. “Fuck! It’s freezing!”

Despite the exclamation, Jaskier continued to wade into the running water. He hissed and breathed quickly to fight through the cold until he was waist deep. A violent shiver ran through his body, but he continued to remove his undershirt, exposing his hairy chest to the autumn breeze.

“You’re going to catch a cold,” you chided from the riverbank. Nimble fingers worked on tying Bayard’s lead to a tree, considering it could be a while before Jaskier decided to get out of the water.

He chuckled, the sound of water splashing followed his movements as he cupped water in his hands and poured it over his body, scrubbing the muck and grime and stench off as best he could without his fancy soaps or oils. “Better than smelling like a stable that hasn’t been mucked out for weeks,” he countered.

You sighed, but argued no further. Besides, you were making good enough time; a little detour like this shouldn’t affect the journey much. In a couple of days, you’d be in Tretogor. Perhaps you’d even reach Oxenfurt before it began to snow.

“C’mon, wash up!” his voice lilted from the water. With a playful grimace, he added, “You don’t smell too good yourself, you know.”

He had a point, despite the teasing. The last time you bathed was when your shoulder was recovering. Now it was fully healed, and you were covered in dirt, mud, and most likely monster blood. A quick bath wouldn’t hurt.

You undid the straps of your leather armor, pulling off the protection piece by piece. They dropped to the ground unceremoniously in a pile next to Bayard. Even he snuffed at the smell coming from you.

You pulled off your boots and socks (something Jaskier neglected to think about before recklessly trudging forward), and began the slow walk into the cold water.

“Melitele’s tits!” Your whole body tensed as the freezing water touched you, finding its way through the fibers of your clothes to caress against your skin. Goosebumps rushed up your arms and down your back with a shiver; you almost couldn’t feel how cold your legs were. You groaned and tugged at your shirt. “Quick wash, and then we’re building a fire.”

Before you could even see Jaskier nodding in agreement, you were turning your back to him and pulling your shirt off over your head. The wordsmith was struck silent by the sight before him.

He’d seen some of your scars before, though it felt rude to linger on them too long while you were injured and out of it. But this…

A long, jagged scar ran from your shoulder blade to your mid-back. Claw marks from a large animal, now scabbed over, traced just under your ribs, but they began on your stomach where Jaskier couldn’t see. Marred skin over old sword wounds. Raised, improperly-healed scratches. Injuries, new and old, littered your back. It was… horrifying, but not in the way that Jaskier was disgusted by the wounds. Rather, he was scared to imagine how close to death some of them brought you, or what fights you got into over the long span of your life.

You must have felt the burning gaze on your back, or maybe you just noticed the dead silence, because when you looked over your shoulder, you didn’t seem the least surprised or shocked he was staring.

Your yellow eyes, or maybe the movement of looking at him, shocked Jaskier back into reality. He cleared his throat and looked away, down to his shirt that he clumsily began washing. He whistled. “These stains,” he began. “I didn’t think mud could stain something like this. I mean, wow! They’re really stuck in there!”

“You’re allowed to look,” you assured him through a chuckle. “Ask about them, if you’d like - I’ve nothing to hide.” A cool breeze blew through the trees, kissing your exposed skin with shivers. All your muscles tensed, waiting for the wind to leave before you could relax them again. “After we make a fire.”

Jaskier reached out and just brushed one of the marks littering your back before quickly pulling away, as if burned by the rough texture of the scabbed-over injury.

“It’s okay,” you were quick to assure him. “I don’t mind.”

Hesitantly, calloused fingertips touched your skin again. They were rough and warm, and gentle. You almost couldn’t feel the way his hands moved to feel every last bump and scrape, every old injury that healed over.

A fire crackled and snapped nearby, eating away at the wood you fed it. Bayard snorted softly as he pulled up what little living grass remained and munched on it. The log beneath you, that originally sat several feet away before you moved it further into the clearing, was rough on your behind, with bark and nubby limbs pressing into you. But his hands… It was difficult to fathom how they could be so soft for someone who traveled - lived, even - on the roads of the Continent.

Jaskier had a similar thought. As his eyes and fingers traced every scar, brushed against marred, ugly skin that didn’t heal as it should have, he wondered how you weren’t rough and ragged, too. You had just about as many scars and scabs as Geralt, yet you were soft and patient and kind. How did you remain so soft, even as the monsters and beasts, human or otherwise, tore you apart over and over again?

“What about this one?” His fingers outlined a particularly nasty mark - the scar that ran from your shoulder blade down your spine. He would begin at one end and follow its shape the entire length, carefully feeling each ridge and bump, before going back over it again.

You thought for a moment, and hummed. “A training exercise, I think.” Truth be told, it was hard to remember.

Your whole life was filled with being battered and broken; when you healed and got hurt again, it was difficult to remember exactly what caused what. Had that scratch on your shoulder been from a Drowner? Or perhaps that scab on your leg was from a Dwarf. Melitele knows at this point.

“Hm, yeah… We were sparring, practicing with our daggers for the first time. Real daggers, not the wooden ones we’d been using. I got cocky, I think. I tried spinning around to dodge a move, or maybe I was just trying to be fancy with an attack, and Jefer took the opening to attack. But, we weren’t used to having real blades that could slash and cut; we were used to wood that bruised or splintered at worst.” He could see a faint smile on your lips. “While I was being bandaged up, my teacher gave me an ear full.”

He chuckled lightly. “A quick way to learn, I suppose.”

You murmured a quiet agreement, but said nothing more.

Jaskier turned back to the canvas before him. He traced tiny scratches that were more superficial than anything. Fingertips drew along the outline of blotchy skin, seemingly burned.

“And this?” He ran his finger along the rim of the skin again, following a vaguely circular pattern. “Were you burned?”

“Ah, sort of? I turned my back to a dying rotfiend. It exploded next to a torch. And when rotfiends die, they release a toxic gas.” You gestured with your hands. “The fire lit the gas, it exploded again, and the blood from the beast landed on my armor and burnt all the way through.”

“It burnt through leather?!” Jaskier found his eyes searching for your armor, as if he could still see the hole left behind.

“Yup. Exceptionally easy, too. I couldn’t take care of the burn right away, either, as I was dealing with the rest of the rotfiend’s nest.”

He frowned at the thought. Had you screamed in agony while you worked to dispatch the rest of the monsters? Or did you grit your teeth and bear it, as he was accustomed to Geralt doing?

Your face fell into something akin to a pout. “I had to buy a whole new set of armor. Used up all the coin I got for the contract, and then some.”

His eyes and fingers roamed once more, searching for another interesting wound and another interesting story. He traced along the old training injury once again, still entranced by it. However, he quickly caught sight of another scar. The claw-marks that wrapped around your side, following the curve of your lowest rib. Without thinking, he followed it, his whole hand almost holding you as it followed the curve. When he brushed against your side and you jolted slightly, he pulled back.

“That’s from a werewolf.” Your voice was quieter than before. After a moment of arguing with yourself, it seemed, you turned to show him the full reach of the lacerations.

They began at your back, came along your side, before tapering off near your navel. The marks were sharp and clear, but it was also obvious how the claws had torn apart your flesh. Jagged, irregular edges, stitched back together long ago in such a way the skin simply didn’t line up. He could just imagine your side, torn apart, skin loose and hanging.

“A werewolf?” he pressed.

You began tracing the mark yourself. Jaskier was mesmerized by the way you followed them to your side, before running along all three long scars in the motion the werewolf would have taken to make them.

“It’s a bit of a blur, really,” you admitted. “I… promised to protect this young girl through her first transformation. She was scared and desperate… But when the time came, she was much larger than any other werewolf I’d dealt with, and I was caught off guard… I think… she swatted at me, hit me into a wall. But I don’t truly remember much after that.”

“And what about her?” He was enraptured. Geralt wasn’t much of a talker, much less a story teller. But you were explaining everything perfectly, and he was caught up in each tale, adjectives and poetic verbiage circling his mind. “Did she run off or…?”

You frowned, thinking. “I don’t know.”

Your fingers traced back and forth, over and over the claw-marks. Jaskier rested a hand over yours, stopping the repetitive motion with a soft smile. “Thank you for telling me.”

This close, you could see the way his irises were darkest blue on the outer rim, and how they faded toward his pupil into a greenish-hazel. Whereas before they seemed entirely one shade of brilliant blue, now you knew they held honey and ferns within them.

Jaskier was just as mesmerized with your eyes. They were yellow, sure, but they had flecks of gold scattered throughout. The edges were brown, like a warm ale. They reminded him of the sunsets during fall, as gold sunlight coated the Continent. Or of fire, crackling in a hearth, just contained enough to be somewhat safe. Embers reaching out for more tinder to consume.

And then it was over. You smiled and pulled your shirt back on. Your eyes no longer studied his, but looked to the sky. The sun was already beginning to fall, casting long shadows and spewing its last, golden rays for the day.

---

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