#I know he ain’t pull the trigger but I know he put eyes on him

[intoxicated-chan]

Daryl Dixon request! You and Daryl have just recently got together a few months ago! You and Daryl wander off from the group when you're on the road too look for food water ext, you both get a bit frisky and your sexual tension builds(maybe a bit of bickering), but it’s dangerous, so Daryl takes you against the tree your legs wrapped around him your back against the tree a gun in hand just in case a walker hears, but he’s also kissing you to muffle your moans 💕💕

𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫

Summary ➳ Daryl fucks you against the tree. (Idk what else to say) 

(A/n) ➳ I am not made to write smut! Most of one-shot is just fluff and only a couple hundred words is smut... I’m sorry.   

Word Count ➳ 1.4k 

Content Warnings ➳ Female reader, sexual content, mainly fluff, little smut, typical TWD violence, swearing, pet names (Sweetheart, darlin’), getting caught but not knowing? Unprotected sex, p-in-v, outdoor sex, creampie... 

“I ain’t gonna say it again.” You pushed Daryl as the two of you walked through the empty streets. “Move your damn ass.”  

“Stop yer damn whinin’.” Daryl retorted. “And I know yer ass ain’t talkin’ crap when ya nearly lost yerself in places like this and I had to find ya.” Finally, he picked up his pace, just like you wanted him to do for the past two hours, maybe more. 

You rolled your eyes, arms crossed and scoffed but quickly shut yourself up when you tripped on your own feet.  

“I heard that.” Daryl commented.  

“Piss off.”  

“Swearin’ ain’t gonna scare me away sweetheart.” He chuckled and stopped, loading his crossbow as he caught sight of a lone walker. “Yer stuck with me.” He murmured, aiming the crossbow with a finger on the trigger.  

“Sadly.” You playfully sighed, standing back as you let Daryl deal with the simple threat.  

How long has it been? Three- no, four? Yes, four months. You both had strayed from the group, a habit you both developed over the past few months, much to the group’s dismay. 

“Top that.” Daryl said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He walked to the dead walker, putting his foot on its head to pull the arrow out of its skull. “Now, ya sure we ain’t lost?” He asked, wiping the blood from the arrow.  

You shot him a grin, unfolding your arms and placed them on your lips. “Lost? Please, I could navigate these roads blindfolded.”  

Daryl raised an eyebrow. “Remembered that happened when I left ya with Rick.”  

“Please, don’t remind me.”  

“Then stop lyin’.” 

You shook your head. “Then do you have any idea where we’re headed, Dixon?” You asked, as you pulled at the straps of your bag, trying to relieve your shoulders.  

Daryl shot you a glance, his smirk turning into a genuine smile. “Jus’ followin’ the trail, darlin’.” He answered in his trademark gravelly voice. “Ain’t like we got a map or somethin’.”  

“Well, let’s hope your tracking skills are as good as you say they are.”  

He huffed but then laughed, his eyes moving to what’s in front of them for any sign of movement. “Trust me, (Y/n), ain’t no walker gonna sneak up on us while I’m around.”  

Your smile dropped by the sound of rusting in the bushes beside the road. Daryl aimed his crossbow while you unsheathed your knife. Slowly, they approached the source of the noise, ready to attack. 

But you gasped, a small rabbit darted out from the bush, scurrying away into the distance. Daryl lowered his crossbow.  

“Looks like dinner jus’ ran off.”  

You clicked your tongue, sheathing your knife as you reached into your bag. “Guess we’ll have to settle for canned beans again.” 

The two of you decided to make camp when you noted the sunset, and you knew it would be some time before you reached the group. Daryl gathered dry twigs and branches, making a small fire.  

Sitting side by side on makeshift logs, you both shared a meal of canned beans that were heated by the flames. The fire flickered over the silence, luckily, you both were comfortable.  

Though you side eyed Daryl when he refused the spoon, he found it easier to eat with his hands. Daryl looked at you as you ate, noticing the pistol he had given you for protection wasn’t on or near you. “Where’s the gun I gave ya?”  

You hesitated for a moment, scrapping the sides of the can with your spoon. “I... I couldn’t get it to work.” You admitted sheepishly. “It feels like it’s clogged.” 

Daryl sat his half-eaten can of beans to the side and licked his fingers clean. He reached down to your bag to retrieve the pistol, examining it near the fire. His brows furrowed in concentration as he tried to find the issue.  

As he worked, you couldn’t help but stare. The way his rugged features were softened by the firelight, the way his gruff hands moved with such precision... It made you rub your thighs together.  

He was always skilled with his fingers, making you crumble and become weak with just his hands.  

“-Good to go.” Daryl’s voice made you jump, catching the pistol in time before it hit the ground. “Test it out.”  

You looked around. “Here?”  

“There’s a silencer on it for a reason.” 

“And waste bullets?”  

“Ya gonna complain or try it?”  

Daryl pointed at a tree not far but barely visible. “Try it,” he stood, motioning for you to stand. But you just stared at him. “C’mon.”  

You stood and looked where he pointed, it was a tree with a giant rock to its left side. You gripped the pistol and aimed it.  

Daryl moved behind you. “Ya gotta straighten your posture.” He murmured, his voice low, his hot breath hitting your ear. “Like this.”  

Gently, he adjusted your stance, his hands lingering on your shoulders for a moment, longer than necessary. His hands, his voice, his breath... It all sent shivers down your spinel, a sensation that sent a rush down to your cunt.  

“Is this better?” You said, your voice barely audible. 

Daryl nodded, you couldn’t see but there was a faint smirk. “Much.”  

“Should I-” You stumbled when you felt his hands come on your hips, you felt your face starting to burn. “Daryl?’ 

He hushed you. “Don’ think.” He replied softly. “Go on, fire it.”  

“I can’t.” You retorted. “Walkers are nearby-” 

Daryl snatched the gun and pushed you against a tree, you didn’t see it coming. “Guess I gotta keep ya quiet.” He muttered, leaning in. “Think I didn’t notice ya starin’? Oglin’ me? So damn desperate.”  

“Ain’t my fault.” You said, shrugging, trying to act natural. “Looking like a goddamn meal.”  

“Wanna taste?” Again, he spoke in your ear, nearly making your knees buckle.  

“Please.”  

“Then shut up.”  

He used his free hand to pull you in a kiss, the hand that held a pistol remained by the side of your head. You immediately returned the kiss, your arms wrapped around his neck.  

God, he tasted so good. He smelled so good, some fucking how. Or maybe it was your nose playing with you, but you didn’t care. You needed more of him.  

You then jumped on him, using your own strength to keep you upright. It startled Daryl as he didn’t expect it.  

Daryl's hand squeezed your ass, gaining a moan from you.  He pulled back. “Gotta keep quiet for me.” He said. “Think ya can do that?” 

Yu didn’t understand a single word that came out of his beautiful mouth, but slammed your lips against his, becoming addicted to him.  

“Do me a favor.” Daryl hummed against your neck. “Unbuckle my pants for me.”  

Maggie froze in place, lifting his hand up to stop Carol. “Did you hear that?” She murmured, it sounded like a whimper or maybe a moan.  

“Sounds like a person.” Carol responded.  

“Might be survivors.”  

Nodding in agreement, Carol followed Maggie as she cautiously followed the source of the nose. Moving slowly and carefully, her guard was on high alert.  

But she didn’t expect to see Daryl with his pants around his knees with your legs around his waist. The strap of your tank top fell past your shoulders, exposing one of your breasts.  

It looked like his lips were glued to yours, he only took a couple of moments to catch his breath before they were back on you.  

Carol sighed and covered her eyes turning away, honestly, she wasn’t surprised. She just didn’t think you both go as far as to do it out in the open.  

“That doesn’t look comfortable.” Carol commented.  

“It isn’t.” Maggie replied. “Should we-” 

“Let them get it out of their systems.” Carol grabbed Maggie’s arm to walk away.  

Daryl had you up against the tree, your back throbbing from the uneven trunk digging into your skin. Your lips are most likely swollen by now, saliva dripping down your chin. 

There was something thrilling about being fucked out in the open with danger nearby. But there wasn’t a single ounce of fear with Daryl holding the pistol. 

He felt your fingernails digging into him as he fucked you, he was getting off on it. 

Your moans were always cut off, as well as your words. He took pleasure in seeing you getting frustrated.  

Daryl felt your walls tighten around him, desperately trying to hold him in, chasing an orgasm.  

And when Daryl comes, he does it inside. He manages to go deeper than before. You slumped against Daryl, eyes shut.  

“don’ go sleepin’ on me now.” Daryl now had you standing on your feet, his only hand keeping you up as he looked around. “We got a couple hours before day. I say we use ‘em.” 

© Intoxicated-Chan 2024, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without my permission. 

Taglist ➳ @celtic-crossbow , @mrdixon , @duffmckagansbandana , @raspberryslxt , @lor-geeked , @thegeorgiahuntsman , @snailss , @xmaeyonaiise , @suniloli , @ladylincoln , @of-storms-and-sadness , @annhells , @sexyxdylanxobrien , @TWDgal , @yoowhatthefuck , @oikawarz , @mylifeinthetardisforever , @let-love-bleeds-red , @virginsexgod69 , @scudslut , @theesexystallion , @yondus-girl , @raoudixs , @sleep-queen , @gyustarzzi2 , @stunt-lads , @Lettersfromyourlove ,  

[kissenturine]

boothill,, gunplay. thats the thought,, if ur comfortable writing that ofc ofc

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐃 boothill x m!reader — 1.4k words, not proofread, minors do not interact

TO NOTE: gun play, slight chocking, boothill puts his gun in reader's mouth, boothill kind of bends reader over, boothill also makes reader jerk off, uh boothill kinda mean-ish, he pretends to shoot reader, aftercare is not written but it is given! lmk if i missed anyy :3

KAI SAYS: hello guys,, shorter than usual bc ive landed myself in the er due to multiple reasons haha (chronic hives, low blood pressure, fainting spells, dehydration, etc) and i miiight not be able to post until like next weekend maybe (?) so so soso sorry for the inconvenience aaargh, writing this in the hospital too... not dying tho everything super minor so!!

The first time you ever saw Boothill pull a gun was at a training centre. He said something about wanting to work on his aim, and so he decided to head there, late at night. No one else was there—just the two of you.

Boothill pulls out his gun, flicking a few bullets into the spinning revolver with practiced ease before he pulls the trigger. A loud ‘bang’ fills the room, followed by the sound of his metal bullets clinking to the floor after the shot.

“Well color me stoked.” Boothill grins, showing off his sharp teeth. “Seems I ain’t that bad after all!”

“Well, you were always good with guns, anyway.” You respond, returning Boothill’s grin with a smile of your own. He was indeed good with guns, and it was undoubtedly attractive.

Boothill’s hands spin the revolver, watching the metal clink. It was much too fast for you to see, so you didn’t know which one ended up landing. Boothill is quick to draw his gun again, smirking as he pointed it at you—straight into your chest.

“Boothill?” You question. “What are you—”

You are cut off by the loud sound of his gun shooting. Your eyes shut and you winced instinctively, your body tensing up for the bullet that was about to hit your skin.

…Yet it never happened. 

Cracking one eye open, you peer at Boothill cautiously, only to find him gripping his metal abs, a roaring laugh rolling from his lips. “Oh, darlin’ you know I’d never shoot ya!” He laughs again, though this time it was softer. “C’mon, love, I’d never hurt ya.” He murmurs sweetly as he makes his way closer to you, his gun still in hand.

He presses the muzzle playfully against your chest, trailing it up and down your abdomen. Boothill’s smirk only widened as he slipped his gun—along with the hand holding it—under your shirt. He presses the muzzle right against your nipple, watching you shiver at the cool metal.

“Boothill.” You whisper firmly. “What’re you doing?”

He says nothing, only continuing to drag his gun against your skin, sending shivers of delight across your body.

Eventually, his gun finds its way to the hem of your pants. Boothill gives you a wicked smile before he uses his free hand to yank down your pants and boxers, exposing your half-hard cock. “Well, ain’t that a pretty sight.” He cooes, letting the muzzle of his gun rest against your tip.

“Jerk it for me, pretty boy.” Boothill says. You blink up at him, confusion filling your face.

“Huh…?” You question.

“I said.” Boothill groans, pressing the muzzle of his gun harder into your tip. “Jerk it for me, or else I’m gonna be shootin’ this pretty lil’ dick o’ yours.” Boothill wouldn’t really. You knew that. He said it himself. And yet… the fear that he would is still there, forcing small tears to well in your pretty eyes as you looked up at him desperately.

“O-Okay.” You comply, wrapping your hand around your shaft as you slowly start to glide your closed fist up and down.

“Good boy.” Boothill praises, and his voice makes your dick twitch against his gun.

You move your hand, squeezing as you get to your tip and rolling your thumb to spread your precum. You throw your head back, moaning loudly as Boothill rocked the muzzle of his gun in time with your hand.

“Look at ya.” He groans, his free hand going to squeeze at your throat. “Gettin’ off to my gun pointed at ya.” Boothill smirks, rolling the revolver again until the familiar ‘click’ sound resounds around the room. “Pretty thing, d’ya even know what this could do to you? Or are you too dumbed down already?”

“Stop teasin’” You whine, your hand's pace slowing as you turn your gaze away from Boothill’s. “Not that dumb yet…”

“Yet.” He repeats, removing his gun from your dick. “Think I can change that real quick, no?” A sharp laugh escapes Boothill’s lips as he suddenly hoists you up and off the barstool you sat on. He spins your body with only a smidge of grace as he lands you roughly on your stomach against the table, your ass now facing Boothill.

“Aeons, you’re so pretty…” He murmurs, his hands roughly groping the fat of your ass. “Can’t believe yer all mine…”

A whine slips from your lips, high and pathetic as your eyes flutter closed. “Yeah…” You whisper. “All yours…” You feel Boothill drag the muzzle along your back—sliding it under your shirt, before he pulls his arm up, tearing through the thin fabric. You shiver at the newfound cold, goosebumps prickling your exposed skin.

You hear the zipper of his pants as he pulls it down, pulling out his cock and tapping it against your clothed ass before he’s yanking down your shorts. Boothill traces a metal finger around your puckered rim, eyeing you carefully. “Such a cute ‘lil hole…” He whispers out breathlessly. “Can’t wait to fuckin’ destroy it.”

The instant Boothill stops speaking, you feel the tip of his metal cock push past your hole, stretching you out more than you could ever imagine—despite doing this with him before. “Boothill.” You moan out, eyes fluttering as you crane your neck to look at him—only to have your face pushed right back into the table by the shove of his gun against the back of your head,

“Stay still f’me, pretty.” Boothill groans, easing his cock into you. The more he pushes in, the more painful the stretch is… And yet, the more painful it is, the more pleasure your body seems to derive from it. Boothill is only halfway in when you feel like you’ve been stuffed to your limit. A pathetic sound escapes you and you feel his gun press down harder.

Boothill removes his gun from you, using it to force your head to the side. He leans down, spitting a thick glob of spit all over the muzzle, smirking as it gets his gun all messy. “Open.” He taps it against your lips, making sure to smear his spit all over. Boothill’s smirk only widens when you follow, opening your mouth and letting his muzzle sit between your pretty lips. “Atta boy.” He whispers, thrusting with full force his cock into your awaiting hole.

“Boothill…!” You moan out, though it’s muffled by his gun pressing against the flat of your tongue. Your thighs tense at the sudden pleasure. A gurgly whine leaves your throat. “I can’t—”

“You can,” Boothill growls, pressing his gun deeper into your throat. His thumb goes to spin the revolver, making sure it lands on a slot with a bullet before continuing, “and you will. Ya know why, cutie? ‘Cause you're my good boy, and good boys take what they’re given.”

He sets a brutal pace after, thrusting into you relentlessly. It doesn’t matter how you plead, all Boothill does is press his gun further down your throat—until you’re sure your lips will bleed from the stretch. Eventually, his tip knocks against your prostate, sending you over the edge. Your dick squirts a load, all over the table and floor, yet Boothill doesn’t falter.

“Look at you, cummin’ like a slut.” He groans, and his pace seems to increase. He’s suddenly going harder, faster, everything that makes your head spin with the added overstimulation.

You cry against the gun, tears welling in the corner of your eyes. Boothill seems to enjoy the sight, leaning down to kiss softly against the back of your neck, his free hand wrapping around your waist and fisting your spent cock.

“That’s it…” He coos. “You think ya can give me one more?” His hand increases, matching the rhythm of his thrusts as he knocks into your prostate again and again and again. “C-C’mon, need t’do it together.” You nod your head eagerly, drool slipping from between the corner of your lips and his gun.

Boothill thrusts harshly, finally sending you over the edge for the second time, and you feel his metal dick twitch in time with you. Your eyes roll back, ecstasy overwhelming you as Boothill pumps a thick, sticky load into your ass, painting your walls white.

“You’re so good f’me…” He coos into your ear, sliding his gun slowly out of your mouth. With a familiar click, the resounding sound of a gunshot echoes throughout the room as he shoots his last bullet into the table—right by your head. “You’re always so good an’ pretty with my gun…”

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @helloanime @kiekole (send ask without anon to be added)

© KISSENTURINE. do not translate, plagiarize, edit, or repost

[rimaiahwrites]

Know better

Connie catches you playing with his gun… short spanking, bratty behavior, softish dom!connie, sub!black!reader, aftercare, fluffy.

———

Your stomach growled as you stood up from the bed and went to the kitchen to grab something to eat, then went to sit in the living room with Connie, “hi my handsome boyy.” You grinned as you leaned in to kiss him on the lips. He ignored you, mumbling a quick “wassup” while aggressively clicking on the buttons of his controller.

You huffed loudly, Connie was paying you no attention today because he was too busy on the game with his homeboys, eren, jean and ony. You pouted and laid your chin on his shoulder “Bubba you’re not paying attention to me” you whined. His eyes still glued to the tv not hearing a word you just said but apparently all the boys talking through his headset did because you could their loud asses asking for you to say hi, so you grabbed the headset from Connie and placed it on your head. “Hi boys yes it is I the princess.” They all chuckled and each said their hi’s and hello’s.

“Where you been at girl?” Eren asked, the group hasn’t hung out in a minute because normally the kickbacks were at yall house but since Connie been working way more lately nobody has really had the time to hang out.

You huffed and looked over at Connie giving him the side eye, “nothing just at home dealing with your annoying ass brother he’s been ignoring me all day-�� before you really finish Connie snatch the headset from you. You flipped him off and grabbed your phone to go back up stairs. “She tripping y’all know she spoiled as fuck.” Stomping your back up stairs to your room to find something to do and just as you walked past the dresser Connie’s gun was just sitting there. Curiosity got the best of you and you grabbed the heavy weapon, it looked so big in your hand compared to the way it looked in Connie’s. You pulled your bonnet off and posed in front of the mirror with it in your hand, your finger off the trigger. You giggled.

Maybe I need one I look like a boss bitch for real. You thought.

“Y’all niggas tripping man gimme my shit!” You whispered yelled putting the gun up and pointing it at the mirror playing like you was a gangsta like mr. baldie down stairs. You kept playing around with his loaded gun saying all the things you hear him say to people whenever he has to pull his gun out, which was only twice because he always tries to be on his best behavior when he has you around, he didn’t really like you seeing him like that or to put you in a position to be harmed with the nonsense he deals with. you were his little princess and he wanted you kept in the dark about all the stuff he puts himself into.

So he definitely didn’t playing with his gun so imagine the shook on your face when his deep voice said loudly “what the hell is you doing?” snatching the gun out your hand and placed in his waist band. “Huh? Nothing I-I was just-“

“Just what? Playing with my loaded gun? Which you know you ain’t supposed to be doing you know the rules”

“I know i was Broad you wasn’t paying me any attention!” You pouted crossing your arms, he fake pouted back and bend down to your height, “oh so you think just because I wasn’t going you my full undivided attention for a couple hours you can break the rule and go against what I say?” Hissed as he sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at you very angrily like he was up to something, it made you very nervous so you stayed as far away from the bed as possible. “Co’ mere” he said lowly making the come here motion with his finger, you stood there hands behind your back playing with the end of Connie’s over sized shirt that laid at the back of your thighs.

“Now y/n.” He said sternly making you jump a little as you made your way over to him. He grabbed you and flipped you on your face, your face was planted on the bed and your ass laid across his legs. You gasped when he pulled your shirt- well his shirt up over your booty and pulled your pink lace panties down to expose your bare skin.

“Con please no.”

“You know you ain’t supposed to be playing wit’ daddy’s gun, you know better so what happens when you don’t follow the rules?”

“I get Punished, but-“ he chuckled and pulled his hoodie off.

“Ain’t no buts, you getting 20 and don’t lose count because if you do imma start over.” He said raising his hand high up and smacking you hard on the plump of your ass making you jump, you gasped loudly reaching back to grab his hand.

“Move your hands, now put them under your chin.” He popped your hands making you whine and quickly hide them away from him. He spanked you again, the tears began to come, you tried your best to keep the sobs in but his rough hands kept coming down on your bottom so hard making it sting.

What made it even worse was you weren’t used him being so mean, your daddy has barely raised his voice at you let alone spank you as a punishment, the most he has done was give you light soft spanks when you would act up when he was in your guts. You almost didn’t know if your were crying from the pain or your feelings being hurt.

“Papa please no more!” You cried

“Nah I already told, never touch my guns so why I come up here to see you playing with it?” He asked hitting you again. You almost couldn’t get your words out

“I-I didn’t put my finger on the trigger!” You screamed.

“That doesn’t matter I told you not to touch it at all, what if you accidentally shot it? Huh? What if you accidentally shot yourself?” he was so mad and you could tell by the way his grip on your waist was getting tighter and his hand was coming down harder making your ass jump, his hand felt hot and your ass you were sure was a bright red by now. Him even thinking about you hurting yourself with HIS gun made him feel a little sick, he didn’t play about you.

You were on the last five spanks and you just couldn’t take it anymore so without thinking of the consequences you reached back and grabbed his hand looking him in the eyes with your big brown teary eyes. “Papa please no more m’ so sorry won’t do it again..” you pouted, you felt like you were in a daze. Connie could see it in your eyes that you were deep in sub space, you looked so far gone. His heart melted and pulled you up to face him.

“Ok baby no more.”

He grabbed your chubby cheeks and kissed your lips softly.

“You won’t ever do that again mama?” You shook your head fast. “I p-promise, never ever again.” You sniffled. Putting your head in his neck breathing his scent in deeply. He smiled and leaned back against the pillows resting against your headboard, he rubbed your back trying to sooth your sniffles and hiccups. He looked down and saw that your bottom was a dark red and big hand prints covering it. He put his hands on it and you jumped a little and let out a whine. He cringed a little, his poor baby he thought even if it was for your own good.

“I just wanna keep you safe and I can’t do that if you don’t listen to what I tell you sweetheart you understand?” You nodded your head still keeping your head in between his neck and shoulder. After a few minutes of silence you spoke very softly keeping your voice very low. “Are you still mad at me?”

“Look at me,” he demanded holding your face in his big vainly hands. “I’m not mad anymore ok? And you did such a good job at taking your punishment mama, my big girl.” He mumbled kissing you all over your face and neck.

“You deserve a reward for taking it like a good girl, what do you want? A new Prada bag? Shoes? Ice cream? Anything you want.”

“Mm…” you said patting your chin in thought. “How about a new bag and ice cream?” And Connie agreed because you were his spoiled good girl…most of the time.

———

Might do a part2 cuz it’s not as long as I wanted but just wanted to get this out

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

reader pronouns: she/her

Daryl burst into the clinic like a mad bull. Maggie did her best to slow him down and explain. Down the hall, you easily heard the whole thing as you did your best to hold perfectly still as Denise stitched you up.

"The hell is she?!" Daryl roared.

"Just calm down. She's fine," Maggie was insisting. You could picture her with her hands out, trying to slow him down.

"Fine?! She got fuckin' shot! Dun tell me it's all fine," he growled back.

"Daryl—"

Heavy boot steps approached down the hallway. "You might as well tell him we're in here, let him in," you said to Denise.

"Kind of in the middle of something here," she replied, not taking her eyes off the delicate work she was doing on the wound near your hairline.

There was a moment's hesitation outside the door and then Daryl knocked loudly. "Hey—Denise? Can I—"

"Come in, Daryl," you responded loudly. He burst in and his eyes whirred over you. "Hi," you greeted him calmly.

He was clearly relieved to see you vertical. You couldn't move as Denise was still stitching the bullet graze on the side of your face. His face clouded over with a shadow as he peered at you.

"It's just a graze, Daryl."

A flame seemed to flicker in his eyes. "On yer head," he emphasized. "Which means ya were damn fuckin' close to bein' dead."

You winced as the needle pricked a particularly tender spot and Denise muttered an apology. Daryl began to pace in front of you.

"Who the hell would want to shoot ya in the head?" he demanded, his agitation almost growing with every passing second.

"A lot of people want to kill me. I take pride in that," you joked wryly.

"This ain't a fuckin' joke, Y/N!" he barked.

Luckily, Denise had just finished and she dabbed briefly at the wound with a bit of gauze and then put down her tools. "I'll just be—I'm gonna—" She pointed awkwardly at the door and rushed past Daryl and out into the hall.

A thick, heavy silence fell. His gaze was intense. You shrugged and gave him a look. "What do you want me to do, Daryl? It's not like I asked for this."

"I want ya to stay alive," he said forcefully. "And if that means ya dun go outside the walls anymore—"

You scoffed and slid down off the table you'd been sitting. "Don't. You of all people—don't even say it," you warned him dangerously.

Daryl gulped and some of the heat of his anger left him. He chewed on his bottom lip anxiously and paced another line in front of you. "Well—what then? Cuz we can't have ya gettin' fuckin' shot."

"What's the difference? This world is trying to kill all of us, every day, one way or another. The only difference with this is that I know the asshole who pulled the trigger."

Daryl nodded. "Alright. Then we pull the trigger on them first. Cuz I ain't gonna have ya dyin' on me."

"We?"

"Yeah. We. I don't give a shit what this is, ya ain't alone on it. I won't let ya be. I can't."

Prompt: "Who the hell would want to shoot you?" / "A lot of people want to kill me. I take pride in that."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Diabolical 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, extreme profanity, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Billy Butcher

Summary: your neighbours has some strange friends.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“Ah, cunt!” 

The man’s voice rolls under your door. His accent adds a certain slant to his words that makes them sound even harsher. You hover your mug in front of your lips, steam curling from the freshly brewed tea, as your eyes drift over in detest. 

You lower it and carry it with you to the door. You lean in to see through the peep hole. The same dark hair, the same long black jacket with the patch on one shoulder, and the same lumbering form. He thumps again on the door across the hall. 

“Hughie, open up, ya skinny cunt.” 

He uses that word again. Your lip curls and you huff. He keeps on. 

You slide back the chain and your adrenaline pumps into your chest. You flip the lock back slowly and pull the door in an inch. You peer through the space as the man checks his watch and grumbles. 

“Where are ya, Hughie?” He grumbles and shakes his head. “Big fucking stick bug, won’t answer ya phone, won’t come to the door...” 

“It’s not very nice language, is it?” You chide. You’re just as surprised as the man as he stands straight and freezes. He turns to you stiffly as you let the door open a little more. 

“Eh? And who are you, then?” He tilts his head this way and that as he growls. 

“I live here. Who are you?” You say defiantly. You sip your tea to keep your nerves under wrap. 

“Wouldn’t you like know, sweetheart?” He snickers. “Oi, you ain’t happened see the skinny one lives over here?” He jabs his thumb behind him. 

You stare at him. You shake your head again. His eyes narrow and flick up and down. 

“Too good for the likes of us, eh? You and your fancy porcelain? What’s that? Royal Daulton Cuntware?” 

You gasp and bat your lashes. “Excuse me, I haven’t been rude. I’ve only asked you to keep it down. Other people live here besides your friend and they don’t appreciate hearing your profanity every morning.” 

“Eh,” he gives a crooked smirk, “you listenin’ for me, sweetheart?” 

“I don’t know you, sir, and I shouldn’t like to.” 

“Ain’t ya so proper? Sirs and shouldn’ts and tea.” He taunts. 

You take a breath and back up, “I would only appreciate a little consideration, but thanks. Have a lovely day.” 

“Oi, go on and hide then, darling.” He tugs on his lapels and squares his shoulders. He chuckles again. 

You stop the door before you can shut it all the way. You bristle at his laughter. “I don’t think you’re funny.” 

He chortles again. He steps closer and you go rigid. You can’t measure up to a man like him. You still the tremour in your hand before your tea can slosh towards the brim. 

“Well, I think you’re right hilarious. Why don’t you go on? Tell me, eh, are you more offended by the shit on my boots or the onion on my breath?” 

You steel yourself as you grip the door tightly. “Don’t come any closer.” 

“Ah, I don’t got that sorta time. Whatcha think a brute like me would do then?” He stops and plants his feet wide. 

“You needn’t be so impolite--” 

“Needn’t--” he mimics. Before you can stop yourself, the tea splashes across his face and chest.  

You recoil as the porcelain drips in your hand and you gape at his stunned grimace. His blue eyes flash and you kick the door shut as you retreat. You put the chain in place and twist the lock. You press your back to the door and listen, heart pounding, and wait. 

His treads scuff on the floor and he sighs. The floor groans as he moves and you watch his shadow beneath your door. Yet, no banging comes at the door. 

“Ah, bollocks, that’ll stain.” His grumble follows him down the hall. 

You have no idea what you were thinking. A man like that is dangerous. You don’t need his name or anything else. You can tell just by looking at him.  

You’re not the sort to associate with the type. You didn’t think your neighbour was either. Then again, you only know Hughie because he dropped a sock in front of your door. He didn’t stay to chat as he snatched it and chased that pretty blonde inside. 

You turn and stand on your toes to see through the peephole. He’s gone but you don’t dare go out and make sure. You’ll do best not to show your face again. Just drink your tea and hide, like you always do. 

[lostberet]

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ MOB DAYCARE teaser | min yoongi (m)

𐙚 synopsis: After almost meeting Satan himself, Agust D is forced to take a hiatus from his underwork mob work. However, during his hiatus, he is stumbled upon a 4 year old. And so far, being a guardian is harder than being a mob leader.

༘⋆ genre: explicit (18+) ; angst , romance , violence, suspense , smut ; haegeum au , gang au , parenthood au .

༘⋆ disclaimer: Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, eventual smut, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

༘⋆ a/note: coming back with a new series even though I have not yet started HeartBurn, but I will soon!

NEXT

Have you told Agust D, the Panther mob clan leader he would be left to die 2 years ago, he would have laughed in your face before pointing a gun to your face and pulling the trigger. 

Have you told him he would be in a scenario in which he had to take a hiatus from his work a year ago, as he lay in the hospital, he would not believe you. He would not put a gun to your head, in fact, he would only shake his head. Because a year ago, he would have been almost sent to meet Satan himself. A year ago, he would have almost lost his life, a taste of death. And he didn’t like it.

Agust D stared blankly at the toddler sitting on the stairs outside his home. His mouth was dry as the burning sun stabbed his back. The man looked up at the sun, squinting. August D had been forced to leave work- his dirty work for a while. He had been taken to the mountains, far from the underground base to recover. Far from the city..

So far.. From the city.. So why was a toddler sitting on the stairs of his home? 

“Ay.. kid?” Agust questioned, his voice cracking from the dryness. The toddler only looked up at him, big eyes staring back at him, “where’s your mom? Dad?” 

The child only stared at Agust for a second. A second was enough for Agust to notice the sunburn cheeks of the child as well as the dried tears and dirty face on the child. As he stared hard at the child the kid’s bottom lip trembled before bursting into sobs, standing from where he sat and running towards the man. Startled by the sudden approach, Agust took a step back, catching his balance as the toddler hugged his leg, “mama!” 

The child cried as he gripped onto the older man harder, “ay! I ain’t your mama!” 

After an unsuccessful mission of leaving the child, Agust took him into his home. Setting him down in his beautiful living room with cartoons playing on the TV. With a frown on his face, Agust turned to look at his main group, “Whose fucking kid is this?” 

He received confused looks and frowns, “hyung..” The younger man started, clearing his throat, “there is no one living on this mountain..” Agust's face scar itches, causing him to wince, his head turning to meet the other, “so you’re saying this kid just got dropped off and left to die?” Agust grumbled, “Jungkook, please..”

“Jungkook is right, hyung,” Namjoon stated, looking up from his phone, “A possible failed kidnapping?” Agust- Yoongi stared back at Namjoon, “find this kid’s parents.” 

And as his team left his home, Yoongi looked back at the child, who stared at the TV, his small fingers in his mouth as he bit his nails. Biting the inside of his cheek, Yoongi called back to the group, “and bring some clothes for this kid, too.”

2024 © LOSTBERET, all rights reserved. please do not copy, plagiarize, translate, repost, or steal my work.

[justagalwhowrites]

The Savage and the Sanctuary - Prologue

Tommy offers Joel help one last time. The prologue to The Savage and the Sanctuary, a no outbreak TLOU story found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: Grief. Mentions of child death. No use of Y/N. Whole fic will be explicit so minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 1.3k

Fic Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3 | Next Chapter

“If you think I’m not going to fight for what’s mine, you’re insane!” 

Joel remembered the woman on the screen. She was young, beautiful, her perfectly made up face snarled in rage. He remembered her. He always remembered her. 

He remembered the scene, too. 

Sarah had loved this show. She was obsessed, one of her friends at school put her onto it and she watched it all in a matter of weeks on Netflix. 

Joel had hated this show. There were drugs and sex and Sarah was just 13 when she watched it but he’d been such a sucker for her that he let her. He’d always been a sucker for her. He always gave her whatever she asked for. 

Maybe that had been wrong.

Maybe if he’d stood his ground more, maybe if he’d been a better father instead of just giving his daughter whatever she wanted, she wouldn’t be dead. 

“Mr. Miller?” 

Joel looked away from the television, reminded that he was in the hospital and that it must be after 3 a.m. by now. The nurse stood in the doorway, an almost pitying look on her face. 

“Your brother is here to see you.” 

Joel just went back to watching the TV. The woman he remembered was still there, beautiful face streaked with tears.

“I can’t believe you,” she whispered. She was a good actress, he thought. Convincing. She sounded like she was in pain. He doubted someone like her even knew what that would really feel like, what that would really sound like. He did. He knew. 

“Joel.” 

He looked to the door, his brother standing there, the early morning beginnings of a beard on his chin, in athletic wear instead of the suit he saw him in so often these days. He looked back to the TV. 

“You can’t keep doing this, man,” Tommy said, coming in and standing beside him. The woman on the TV raised a gun. “You can’t keep beating the shit out of people you don’t like, I can’t keep trying to buy them off, Maria can’t keep talking you out of trouble with the cops… Hell, I only really talked Maria into it this time because it’s the anniversary of the day she… we know it’s hard but you’re this close to ending up in deep shit with an actual rap sheet, man.” 

She screamed and sobbed as she pulled the trigger. 

“Joel.” 

The woman panted for breath before lifting the gun to her temple. It cut to commercial. 

“Sarah loved that show,” Joel said, looking away from the TV to see Tommy close his eyes and shake his head with a sigh. 

“I know you’ve been strugglin’,” Tommy said, crossing his arms and looking at him again. “And I don’t blame you, alright? What you’ve been through… I’d be a wreck too. I know it ain’t the same but it killed me too, for a while, losing her that way. Can’t even imagine what it’s like for you. But Joel… it’s been three years now. You can’t keep destroying yourself like this, you just can’t. It’s killing me to watch you do it but I don’t got it in me to keep saving you. I cannot let you drag me down with you, not now, not with…” 

He clenched his jaw for a moment, looking back toward the door and back at Joel again. 

“Maria’s pregnant.” Joel’s heart clenched. “She’s my focus now. I want to be there for you, Joel. Lord knows I owe you after everything you did for me but I can’t do it at the expense of myself or my wife and my kid. You understand?” 

Joel nodded slowly, looking to his boots. There was a dark spot on the left toe, the leather never really clean from the blood. 

“Here,” Tommy held out a business card.

Joel frowned. 

“Think I know how to get ahold of my own brother.” 

“This ain’t for me,” Tommy said. “It’s my hiring manager. This is the last thing I’m doin’ for you, Joel. Come and work for me. I can help you that way, make sure you’re not out there on your own. You don’t got the formal training of the other guys but we can handle that. Christ knows you got the raw skill, just ask the asshole whose face you rearranged…” 

“He’s lucky that’s all I did,” Joel snapped. 

Tommy ignored him. 

“Once your hand heals up, we can get you started,” Tommy said, card still out. Joel took it, running his fingers over the embossed lettering. “I want to help you, Joel. I want to be there for you. This is the last way I can do that. Understand?” 

He just looked at the card, Miller Security in large letters, Military Grade Personal Protection in smaller ones below. The email address was for someone named Marlene. 

Joel had probably met her at some point but he didn’t remember her. Joel had been to a few company BBQs and happy hours for the private security company his brother had founded about six months after his daughter died. 

Tommy used to work alongside Joel, the two of them taking contracting work together. If wasn’t easy work but it was satisfying. Joel liked building things, liked working with his hands and seeing the physical manifestations of his labor. It wasn’t a bad life, in hindsight. Not since he’d blown it. 

After his daughter died, Joel couldn’t keep working. He tried, after a few weeks, to get back to it but he sometimes showed up drunk, sometimes didn’t show up at all. It wasn’t long before he was fired and word spread. Soon, he got shot down for every job he tried for. He’d screwed over not just himself but Tommy, too. 

That’s how Tommy came to create the security company to begin with. He had a few old special forces buddies move back to town looking for work and Tommy realized he had a lot of highly trained men with time on their hands at his fingertips. What better way to put them to use than to start a security company?

The business took off. Joel was proud of him. Or, as proud as he could be while the rot of guilt gnawed at him for letting down his then struggling brother so badly he needed to start his own fucking business to fix it. 

And now his brother - six years his junior, the kid he’d promised his mother he’d look after when she was on her death bed - was offering him a job after bailing him out at least a dozen times in three years. 

“I want to help, Joel,” Tommy said. “Please let me. Work with me, get back on your feet, have a support system. I want to help but you have to let yourself be helped. Please.” 

Joel tucked the card into the pocket of his shirt and looked at Tommy, a pleading look in his eyes. Eyes that reminded him of Sarah. 

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll email in the mornin’.” 

Tommy closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Thank you,” he said as a nurse came in around him. “I’ll be out here, give you a ride home…” 

“We’ll have him out quick,” the woman smiled kindly as Tommy turned to go. “I’m here to handle discharge. Can you confirm your name and birthday for me?” 

“Joel Miller,” he said. “September 26, 1982.” 

“Oh!” She looked up from the chart and smiled at Joel. “Happy birthday!” 

Next Chapter

A/N: Welcome to The Savage and the Sanctuary! I like to introduce my new fics as I'm finishing up an existing one. This likely won't get chapter one for a few weeks yet but you never know what might happen! I hope you're excited to go on this journey as Joel learns to find himself again after surviving the loss of Sarah. There's a lot of angst and excitement and smut ahead! Fingers crossed you enjoy the ride.

Love you!

Taglist: @christinamadsen

[stargirlfics]

Misbehavior

Joel Miller x Black F!Reader

Summary: It’s the first and last time you ever talk back to his face

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, post-outbreak, Joel and Ellie are settled in Jackson, established relationship, brat tamer!Joel vibes, smut: rough sex, unprotected vaginal sex, orgasm denial, hair pulling, spanking mentions, dirty talk

Word Count: 3.1k

Cannot stop thinking about Joel’s sick little smirk here! I want him to put me in my place so bad, hope you enjoy this one!

It’s the way Joel Miller looks riding his horse, a hunting knife on his hip and a rifle held expertly along with the reigns in his broad hands that makes your skin prickle and your breathing deepen. 

Spring is still yet thawing the cold woods ahead of you but you only feel heat staring at his sturdy shoulders, sturdy everything actually, that you knew to be a fact, smiling to yourself about it as your own horse trailed closeby just a few feet behind him. 

Being paired with him and being with him period felt right, natural, like somehow this was always where you were meant to be in this life. 

You trusted each other now, able to move in silence like this, with his steady and well adjusted trigger finger and your sharp eyes, pointing out tracks, watching for signs of life, listening for infected or raiders, the two of you undoubtedly working well together. 

In fact everyone in Jackson said so, especially Ellie, but if any of them knew just how much of a brat you’d been to him in the beginning they’d be surprised you were together at all. 

It’s not that you and him got off on the wrong foot, but keeping him just on the edge of aggravated kept you at a safe distance away from acting on your distracted, midday, late night thoughts about him. 

He was wary of strangers anyways and back then you were unknown to each other and gaining trust had taken time but eventually you stopped keeping each other at arm's length.

Started seeing each other around the stables more often, or rather you saw Ellie there and quickly learned that wherever she was, Joel wasn’t too far behind. 

You remembered showing her the way around the barn, where supplies were kept in case she ever needed anything, noticing her interest in the animals, encouraging it, indulging in her never ending questions because you only wanted to see her smile. 

In retrospect you think that’s why Joel tolerated your game of push and pull, why he warmed up to you in the end, because you were someone his kiddo approved of. 

Funny how things could change, how a relationship could form in between quiet glances and soft smiles, weathered walls falling at the brush of his hand against yours and that smooth drawl saying your name as if it were sacred. 

That was then and this was now, patrolling the perimeters together in the moonlight. 

A soft toned whistle that loosened from his lips caught your attention, spine straightening at the signal that was just for you and him. 

“Hm?” came your distracted hum, huffed in response while you picked up speed so your horses were walking almost side by side then. 

“I heard you went out on patrol completely on your own the other night, yeah? While knowin raiders have been close, ain’t that right? So I’m only going to say this once…start explaining.” 

His voice is clipped, a quiet, contained anger in them reminding you of his sharper edges, the ones you’d only caught glimpses of, heard whispers of, that visceral part of him that only raged to protect the people he loved most. 

Joel would never hurt you, if you were certain of anything it was that, but there were times where you wanted to feel even just a fraction of his wrathful touch, to be reminded of what he’s capable of, knowing he could make it hurt in the best way.

It’s the thought along with the shiver rolling through your limbs that makes your pace falter, as you scramble for words and then for air next when all you were met with was dark eyes cutting a pointed glance your way. 

“Fuck…ok yes, I did but it was only because there was already a group of us nearby, it felt safe. They sent someone back to get a message to me that they found tracks, a stag, just needed my help finding him. Then one of Tommy’s guys escorted me back, it was fine.”  

“Doesn’t mean you should have gone on your own, I  don’t give a damn how safe it was.” 

“Hey! I’ve been hunting and going on patrols by myself long before you showed up,” you shot back at his harsh retort, suddenly feeling defensive. “I know these woods like the back of my hand, I could be blindfolded and still come back with more game than you, old man.”

He scoffed at your insult, another heavy glare coming right after. 

“I don’t doubt that for a second, darlin. Just wish you would have told me is all I’m sayin.” 

There’s weight in his words, a deeper meaning you pick up immediately and you know he’s right and there’s no denying that you’d be chewing him out ten times worse if he’d done the same, the risk of losing each other an easy nerve to strike after all that’s happened. 

A beat of silence punctates the air before you’re speaking again, tone much softer, apologetic. 

“I hear you. I should have at least told you and I’m sorry I didn’t, I wasn't really thinking in the moment. Thank you, by the way, for caring about me enough to say something.” 

You hoped he could hear the guilt laced in your words, and the gratefulness of them too, still getting used to someone so wired to protect which never failed to make your heart flip. Nobody told you it could feel like this. 

“S’alright, of course I care. I don’t wanna downplay how skilled you are either, I just hate thinking of something happenin and not being there you know.” 

That had you smiling a little, pulse fluttering at the reminder of your feelings for each other, the gravity behind what he was saying. 

Gently you let your leg nudge his, both your horses slowing as you came to the edge of the perimeter you were watching.

“I promise it won’t happen again.” 

The softening edge of Joel’s eyes were visible now as he looked at you, giving you a firm but approving nod. 

Silence settles between you again, only lighter this time with feelings eased and things smoothed over though for you, there was a leftover kind of excitement stirring in your tummy. 

Your ears were still ringing with the gruffness of his voice, an antsy energy in your limbs at how stern he had been. Heated distraction lodged itself front and center in your mind, thoughts of Joel handling you just as harshly as his glares had been making you squirm in your saddle. 

A low chuckle interrupts the tiny sparks of a dirty daydream you didn’t even realize you’d fallen into until now. 

“What’s so funny?” you feign innocence. 

“Nothin, just think it’s cute when you get that look on your face, only happens when you’re hungry…or when you wanna be fucked.” 

Again, you were left scrambling for words for the second time tonight, heart hammering in your chest at the way the last few words slid from his lips, dripping with some unspoken invitation. 

“I-don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Disagreeing is pointless when you know he can see it written across your face but you refute anyways, adding a bit of attitude to your tone. 

Joel huffs another laugh, clicking his tongue while he encouraged his horse to move again, back in the direction you’d come. 

“Hm, you were so ready to agree with me just a minute ago, now you’re back to sassin me?” 

“Maybe I am. What’s so wrong about that?” you shrug and roll your eyes for good measure. 

He was opening up all the right doors and you were almost too eager to walk through them, craving the part of Joel you knew could get mean.

“I’m really gonna have to do something about that mouth of yours, huh,” he sighed, amusement curling around the edges of his lips. 

Butterflies danced in your core as you smirked back at him, finding your footing quick, “Oh I should hope so, I’ll be waiting.” 

It’s what you leave him with as you surge forward, not straying too far from his line of sight, but enough so that he has some distance to cover. 

Joel gives you a few seconds, lets you think you’re gaining some kind of upper hand before he sets out after you, a tick in his jaw and a hungry itch in his hands. 

–

It’s only a day later that you realize how screwed you are, facing down the stark reality of this little game you started. 

He had cornered you, finding you in the hall leading to his bedroom, a dark glint in his eyes when he tells you it’s an empty house tonight, just you, him and unfinished business. 

The tip of his boot moves to give your heel a light tap then, prompting you to move. 

“Want you in bed, sweetheart. Now.” 

There’s a suspended moment before you’re sealing your fate, pushing the pendulum fully in his direction.

“I don’t really feel like listening to you though, so I guess you’ll just have to make me…if you can even handle it,” you tip your chin up, trying not to be intimidated by the way he’s crowding your space. 

Your skin tingles, never having talked back to him so flat out before. 

Then you realize he’s already got you where he wants, strong hands snaking around your middle until he’s got one on your hip and the other reaching for a fistful of your hair, gripping firmly before he’s moving you forward, pushing you through the doorway. 

A sharp gasp bubbles up from your chest and he’s laughing darkly.  

There’s no use in resisting or struggling but you do anyway, finding a thrill in how easy it is for him to keep you locked in his grip, liking the aggressive pinch of his fingers as he moves your limbs for you, bringing you over to the bed, forcing you to bend over it.

Shaky hands reach for purchase against the sheets as Joel slides his palms over your ass, humming to himself. 

“I keep thinkin bout spanking this pretty ass of yours raw but you’d probably enjoy that too much wouldn’t you?” 

All you can do is whine, too worked up to think of anything witty to say which is probably for the best. 

No time was wasted, nothing held back, no teasing to be had, the two of you desperate now, needy. 

The heated skin of your thighs meets cool air as Joel strips you down, yanking at your clothes carelessly, so what if the fabric tears in his hands, he just needs you bare and underneath him already. 

You work on your top half, wriggling out of your t-shirt, tossing your bra to the floor, moonlight setting the brown of your skin aglow; Joel would have called you an angel if he didn’t know just how wicked your sweet self could really be. 

It’s not long before your cheek is pressed to the bed, hips high in the air, the dripping mess that you are on display as he fits himself behind you. 

He grins, undoing the buckle of his belt with one hand while the other braces against your hip, pressing down, deepening the arch in your back. 

Fuck. 

The arousal swirls achingly across your body, thighs clenching as you watch, his worn flannel falling the ground next to your jeans, your eyes feasting on the expanse of his shoulders, down over his chest, down to where he was drawing himself out, already stiff, flushed and aching to be buried deep. 

“Remember how to tell me if you wanna stop?” His question is one you’re expecting, nodding with a soft whine when he moves to grind his cock against where you’re wet and eager, your hand reaching back to tap a sequence against his skin. 

He seemed to approve of your demonstration, his free hand coating the rest of his length in your slick with a few dirty strokes of his fist before pressing against you, the tip catching and your walls yielding, letting him sink inside. 

“Oh..Joel!” your moan is strained, punctuated with a gasp as you stretch around him, tenderly accomodating to his size. 

There isn’t much time to adjust before he’s rolling his hips and pulling back, pushing an exhale from your lungs when he thrusts back in, nudging deep. 

“Goddamnit, sweetheart. Look at you.” 

There’s so much reverence in his voice, big brown eyes sparking wide with pleasure, so much so you think he just might have forgotten about your earlier insolence. 

But then he’s pulling his hips back and snapping them forward roughly, setting a steady pace that has you panting and crying out, peering over your shoulder at him as he starts to pound into you. 

It’s a sight that makes you clench around him, your ass bouncing back against his hips, the muscles in his forearms, his biceps, tensing from the effort. 

You feel your mind going hazy but a sharp smack to your thigh catches your attention and you realize there’s nowhere for you to run as Joel curves over you.

“Uh uh, it’s not gonna be that easy. You wanted to be a brat so bad, now I’m gonna fuck you like one.”

The hand that had been on your hip smoothes up your back, gripping the back of your neck with a firm squeeze before letting his full weight drive his hips down hard. 

Your teeth bite at his covers, loud pleas and moans barely muffled as he finds that spot, the one that always makes tears well in your eyes. 

Joel relishes in how your body trembles when he keeps himself angled there, watching you choke out apologies and pleas for more all in the same breath, his handprints bound to leave bruises on your skin from the way he’s holding you.

He knows you’re already sensitive, and your body already spent from keeping yourself upright through his thrusts, ones that still weren’t faltering, but he also knew you liked that it hurt so good too. 

“Joel, please I’m gonna-” you begin to sob, feeling the pressure in your core deepen only for it to dissipate as you’re eased off his length a minute later. 

You let your body sink, collapsing onto your tummy with a defeated cry, turning around to face the man who so rudely denied you an orgasm, whatever valid reasonings he had be damned. 

Stepping out of his boots and jeans fully now, you open up to him completely, no longer shy about wanting this so bad, encouraged by how much he seemed to be having fun too, more arousal dripping from your swollen folds at the intensity, the security in knowing he’d take care of you. 

You’d pissed him off with all your sass but you knew he’d never push you past your limits and it’s why you give in so easily now. 

Coherent thoughts fade from your head when Joel finally pulls you down towards the edge of the bed by your ankles and moves between your legs to guide himself back inside you easily, rough hands shoving your thighs back towards your chest so he can split you open and watch as he does. 

Any sense of time or day melts away, your only focus being Joel, only able to feel him, what he’s doing to you, whimpering out curses and moans as he bounces you on his cock, thick fingers reaching down to find your clit. 

The bliss and the pressure build again, making everything hazy once more, eyes fluttering with each thrust now cause you’re too fucked out to concentrate on anything but how good he feels. 

But Joel is watching, studying the pretty faces and sounds you make, one of his hands quick to find its way into your hair again, grabbing a fistful and pulling firmly and slowly, tilting your head up so you can’t do anything but look at him.  

“No, no you focus, right here. Right here, darlin.” he grits out and clinging to his forearms is all you can do to keep yourself steady. 

His other hand leaves your clit to grip at your jaw for a moment, strong legs spearing his hips into you over and over all the while, the wet gush of your pussy taking everything he gives you makes heat settle in your cheeks and spread across your chest. 

Wrecked moans are swallowed by messy kisses, the prickly stubble of his beard against your neck driving you crazy. 

Everything about him makes you clench, your thighs threatening to tighten around his waist the more he gives you. 

But you wanted him to be mean and he hadn’t forgotten, delivering a few searing smacks across your inner thighs, a warning that told you to be good and keep them spread. 

“That’s it, now she’s learning ain’t she. Just needed me to fuck those disrespectful thoughts out of your head, huh.” 

“Yes, yes, fuck yes! Need it so bad!” your wanton cries make his teeth clench while your toes point and curl. 

Everything in you burns molten, succumbing to Joel’s coarser treatment, his fingers, his lips, his cock knowing all your sensitive points and playing to them expertly. 

There’s no reprieve, no break in how soundly he fucks you, the bedframe creaking noisily from the movement, both of you sweaty and breathless but loathe to stop, so much desire washing over you at the frenzied passion in the eyes of the only man that could touch you like this. 

It was everything you had been daydreaming and craving, sobbing into your palm by the time Joel finally let you have what you wanted. 

You came hard, the pleasure drawn out for so long the climax of it shattered you, leaving you feeling soft and weightless against the mattress as he chases his own release, finding it swiftly after you. 

-

It’s much later that you’re tucked against him, a dreamy and well satisfied tilt to your lips as you sink into his touch, those deadly, brilliant hands of his caressing soft circles into your skin, against the places he knows he gripped with force tonight. 

He checks in with you now and then, making sure the comedown doesn’t hit you too hard, only soft words and praise for you now, a few sweet kisses left along your shoulder as you drift in and out of sleep together, exhausted and content beyond words. 

In the quiet of his room you giggle that you swear you’ll never be such a brat to him again but even you can’t deny that if this was what the consequences were, you just might have to talk back to him more often. 

Joel knows it too, gleaming eyes narrowing as he warns that your wicked little mouth is next in line for a lesson if you so dared. 

Oh..well maybe you’d be catching an attitude again much sooner than you thought. 

---

A/N: Eeep it is here! This one took me some time to write just cause I feel like I get in my head about writing Joel correctly a lot of the time and with this including rougher sex it was a little bit of a struggle to write at times but I like how it turned out in the end and I hope this was steamy and fun and hot and that it feels real to the character too! Thank you so much for reading!

Let me know what you think, pls thirst with me!

some tags, no pressure! @eupheme @wyn-n-tonic @ozarkthedog @moreofem @fagen @black-fairy3 @persona-enthusiast @fluffyprettykitty @earlgreychiffon @tarrenterror25 @federalchickensoup @jolly-polly @inklore @babiiface95 @targaryenvampireslayer @chezamanda @simplykenni @allaboardthereadingrailroad

[myveryownfanfiction]

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @illiana-mystery, @ghostlypie

warnings: swearing, menstruation, hunting a vampire nest, violence

“I said no.” Dean said, voice firm as we stood in the hotel room. I crossed my arms over my chest and stared him down. “That’s final (Y/N).” Sam glanced between us, hands frozen over the keyboard of his laptop.

“dean, it’s not fair and you know it!” I shot back. Deans jaw clenched and I raised an eyebrow.

“I’m gonna…” Sam said before slipping out of his chair and exiting the room. Dean sighed and rubbed his forehead.

“it’s a vamp nest (Y/N). They can smell blood.” He took a step forward and put his hands on my arm. “You’re bleeding ain’t you?” His eyes glanced down and I scoffed. “It’s blood isn’t it? And blood is blood!” I scoffed again and pushed him away.

“I’m coming dean.” I said. “Whether you like it or not. It’s a vamp nest dean. As you keep reminding me. And a big one. We’re gonna need the three of us.” Dean sighed.

“fine.” He said, throwing his hands up. “But I’m keeping an eye on you. One even gets close I’m shooting at will.”

“who’s will? And what did he do to get shot?” I teased as I went about gearing up. Dean started muttering under his breath and I sighed. Closing my eyes, I shook my head. I walked over to where he was standing and wrapped my arms around him. I kissed his shoulder and dean relaxed. “I know you’re worried. But I’ll be fine. Promise. This isn’t the first time I’ve been on a hunt while on my period. It won’t be the last. And you forget that I’ve had a long career before meeting you and Sammy. This isn’t my first time ganking vamps on my period.” Dean turned to me with shock on his face. I nodded and gave him a tight smile.

“(Y/N).” He said, holding tightly to my arms. “You haven’t…” I nodded and leaned my head against his.

“anything to survive. And wipe them out.” I leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Right?” Dean sighed and kissed my forehead.

“alright. You can come. But I have to be happy about it.” He said. I nodded and headed out to baby. The drive over was tense and quiet. Sam kept looking between dean and i, probably wondering what was going on. When we got there, we got out and checked ourselves over.

“everyone ready?” I asked. Sam nodded. Dean gave me a look before nodding.

“yeah. Let’s go.” He said. We pulled our guns and went in. It was quiet, making dean and I nervous. We shared a look and nodded. We fanned out and I took a deep breath to steady my nerves. I kept dean in my sight line as I headed towards the wall. I heard a shot to my left where Sam was and another vamp jumped out in front of me, teeth bared.

“Hi.” I deadpanned, pulling the trigger. The vamp fell back and another emerged.

“you shouldn’t have come here. We can smell you.” The vampire said. I raised an arm, keeping my gun level.

“didn’t realize I smelled that bad.” I said. “Hey dee? Do I smell?” There was a shot to my right and dean appeared next to me.

“no.” He said. “Thought you showered this morning.” I nodded.

“these suckers say they can smell me.” I said. Dean shook his head.

“told you not to come.” He said as the vamps started to swarm up. Dean and I ducked around each other, firing off shots as we went. I ran out of bullets and put my gun in my waistband. “You out?” Dean asked as I ducked under his arm and grabbed the knife from his boot.

“yeah.” I said, slashing a vamp in the neck. “But it’s fine. I got this.” I rolled away as a vamp got a little too close. I pinned the last one to the wall with the knife from my belt and slashed its neck, catching my knife on its way down. A shot rang out and I jumped. Turning around, I saw a vamp fall to the floor in front of me. Gulping, I looked back up at dean. His chest was heaving as he stared at me.

“like I said. I wasn’t going to take my eyes off you.” He whispered as I ran over to hug him. Dean wrapped his arms around me tightly, the fact that the vamp had gotten that close scaring the both of us. “But I will say I’m disappointed now.” I pulled back and frowned.

“what?” I asked. “Why?” Dean leaned in and kissed me hard, moving my hand down to his jeans. I giggled when my fingers made contact with his bulge.

“you were so hot doing that and I can’t even have you.” He whined. I laughed and pulled him in for a kiss again, tucking his knife into his belt.

“don’t worry dee. It’s only going to be a few more days.” I assured him as he picked me up. Carrying me out to the impala, he leaned his head against mine.

“a few more days too long.” Dean groaned. I laughed as dean put me in the passenger seat. “Sammy! Let’s go!” He honked the horn as Sam came out of the nest, tossing a lighter behind him to burn it to the ground.

[radioisodoped]

The sun had just barely come up when you started packing up your things, a couple rays of light streaming into the room and warming your back as you stuff whatever you can manage into your bag. The next settlement is a two-day hike away, but you’ve got plenty of supplies. You’ll manage. Once the spoils of yesterday’s scavenge are safely put away, you make your way to the stairs. The wooden steps creak as you make your way down, idly considering which road out of town would be best.

Stepping down onto the landing, you see his boots first. One leg casually crossed over the other on the dust-covered table. He’s already got his hand cannon pointed right at you, gloved finger steady on the trigger.

“Come chat, sugar. I didn’t come all this way for nothin’.” he drawls, smoke billowing out from under his tipped hat. A bloom of anger grows in your stomach when you see he’s gone through at least half the pack of cigarettes you had stashed away. Half your whiskey too, you knew you were missing something. Bastard. All of that was worth at least a small handful of caps.

You glance to the front door, your barricade still in place. A low whistle interrupts your thoughts.

“Where’s your hospitality? C’mon now, come and say hello.”

He punctuates it by motioning to the table with his gun. Bastard. You walk over, dropping your bag at his feet. Casual house calls aren’t something you associate with him. Before you can ask what he needs, he interrupts you. “Sit down, sweetheart. You’re makin’ me nervous.”

You doubt it. His hand couldn’t be steadier as you pull out a chair for yourself.

You get halfway through asking what he’s doing here before he interrupts again. “I’m still waitin’ on a ‘hello, how are ya’. Where are your manners?”

The games are getting old. You ignore his question and level your best unimpressed look at him.

“Are you here to kill me?”

He huffs out a laugh but doesn’t offer a response. You try not to let it phase you, reaching across his legs to grab the bottle of whiskey before you speak again. “If you are, I’d appreciate a heads up. Maybe even some last words, if you’re feeling particularly generous.”

He laughs again, shaking his head. “You and me both know I ain’t the generous sort. Though, that has nothin’ to do with whether you’ll die today.”

You take a swig from the bottle, watching out of the corner of your eye as he sets his gun down on the table. You’d never let him know it, but you’re a little relieved.

Another swig for courage and his gun out of hand, you feel yourself loosening up. The pretty little .44 holstered on your thigh could take the leg off a brahmin. You flirt with the notion of wrapping your hand around it and shooting him right through the ribs. Oh, you’d die. That’s an absolute certainty. He'd have bits of your head sprayed all over the room before you could get a second shot in. It’d almost be worth it to fuck up his day, though.

You watch him take a drag off of one of your cigarettes and a different thought forces its way to the front. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve earned your way out of a sticky situation

It won't be the last, either. You'll make sure of it. With death still on the table, you loosen your grip on the bottle and let it hang loosely from your fingers so the rim is just barely brushing over your bottom lip.

He tips his Stetson up and you can finally see his eyes, watch the slow drag of his gaze from your fingers to your mouth. You part your lips just enough that the tip of your tongue can pick up a drop of booze that's settled in the mouth of the bottle.

He smiles, half amused. You'll take it. With a small shake of his head, he speaks again. "I'm not here to kill ya, sweetheart, but I am here on business."

"Color me shocked." you mumble, "And here I thought you just missed my pretty face."

"Why can't it be both?"

You make a noise halfway between a scoff and a laugh, setting down the bottle. "Careful, Casanova. Keep that up and I might start thinking you like me."

Burnt lips split into a sleazy grin, cigarette hanging loosely between his teeth. He leans back in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight. "'Course I like you. Don't you remember when we first met?"

Your face heats. That memory had kept you warm on plenty of lonely nights. You'd guess with the way he's looking at you, he's just as fond of it. A little teasing wouldn't hurt, and you're not in the mood to inflate his ego any more than it already is.

"Which time was that?" you ask, leaning back and pulling your eyebrows together to mock a thoughtful look. "The one where you left me on my knees without returning the favor, or the second time you left without getting me off?"

His smile doesn't drop, but you see a muscle in his burned cheek twitch. You hit a nerve. Good. You haven't forgotten how he neglected all of yours.

"Last time wasn't my fault. You knew better than to get handsy somewhere we might get caught." he drawls, most of the humor gone from his tone. He had a point- that was a mess. And mostly your fault. You still had the scar to remember it. He tilts his head, continuing on. "That first time, though? I didn't owe you shit. Besides, with the way you're still running your mouth... Well, clearly I didn't use it hard enough for you to learn anything. Seems to me you got the better deal out of that bargain."

Not one to be outdone, you stand. His eyes follow your every move, watching as you walk over. He barely has time to drop his boots back onto the ground before you straddle his lap, his spurs clinking as he settles. He's already hard when you grind down against him, steadying yourself by gripping his jacket. He does nothing to help, just leans back and reaches for your leg. You arch your back, welcoming the touch, but he just unbuckles your thigh holster, throwing your .44 on the table beside his own gun.

You roll your eyes, rocking your hips again. "Paranoid old man. If I was going to shoot you, I'd have done it while you were eyefucking me."

He laughs, pulling the cigarette from his mouth and stubbing it out on the table while he responds. "You should've. Would've made me want you even more."

"Do you get this hard for everyone you're going to kill?"

He spreads his thighs beneath you, his hands landing on your hips to keep you flush with his bulge as he readjusts. "'Course not, darling. Just brats like you.”

You’ve never wanted someone inside you more in your life. You ache with it. You reach down to fight with his belt buckle and he snickers. “Slow down and enjoy it, sweetheart. Fuck, you’re the kind of person who’d complain if you were bein’ hung with a gold rope.”

“Yeah, well, at least I know the rope can get the job done.”

You don’t have time to bask in the jab before you're sliding off his lap, surprised to find him suddenly standing. His hand wraps around your throat before he wrestles you down onto the rickety table. The whole thing shakes under your back, threatening to break under the strain of your struggle.

“You got a big fuckin’ mouth on you.” He sneers, leaning down close and narrowing his eyes. “I oughta not let you get off again just to prove a point.”

“All that would do is prove me right. You aren’t good for shit outside of killing-“

The slap shocks you. You’re suddenly looking at the wall, the taste of blood coating your tongue. A beat. Then another. You wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him close until his cock is pressed right up against where you need him. He laughs under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief. “You crazy, insatiable bitch.”

He pulls his hand back, unbuckling his belt with a practiced motion that stokes the fire in your stomach. He slips his cock out unceremoniously, glove dragging over ridged skin. “You better be ready, sweetheart. I ain’t wastin’ any more time gettin’ you worked up. I told you I didn’t come for fun.”

Clothes are ripped and forced out of the way, his cock head pressing against your hole. He finally pushes in and you bite your lip, throwing your head back to stare at the stained ceiling as you moan out. “Yeah, but you’ll come for me, right?”

He hums, grabbing at your hips to pull you the rest of the way down his cock. “I always do.”

You choke on a moan, nails digging into the wood beneath you when he bottoms out. The whole table rocks as he thrusts into you, slow at first but gaining momentum quickly. This house was one of the safer places to be, but he wouldn’t afford you the luxury of a gentle fuck.

You know he could, if he wanted to. The grip on your hips isn’t painful, despite the punishing pace he’s set. There's something soft, reverent, in the way his hands drift over your clothes. Not like the way he touched you every other time you've had the privilege of his hands on you.

You're starting to think he really does like you.

The revelation unsettles you a bit. Not in a bad way, necessarily. You just didn't think he was capable of it. You watch the muscles in his neck tense as he holds back noises. You've bitten your lip raw for the same reason.

It's been a while for you. You'd had people since him, sure... but it wasn't the same. Never as satisfying as this. Maybe it's wishful thinking, but you think he might agree. He grunts and leans on one arm beside your head, chasing his own release. You want to make some smart quip, reminding him to slow down and enjoy it, sweetheart, but you think better of it. Your jaw still aches from the slap.

It's not long before he's unloading inside you with a groan, his eyes fluttering shut as his hips twitch against you. An unnatural heat reminds you to look for some radaway once he's gone, but you're distracted by his hand slipping between your bodies. Embarrassingly, it doesn't take much. Rusty or not, he knows how to use his fingers. The fabric of his glove drags along just right and you keen, back arching as you come around his cock.

He lets you ride the high, only pulling away when you go limp and start to pant. He pulls out, leaving you looking like a mess as he readjusts himself. He could still kill you. He might, honestly. You couldn't give less of a fuck if you tried. He holsters his gun as your eyes shut, enjoying the afterglow. Of course, he doesn't let you rest long.

“That was an awful nice treat, but we got things to do. Up and at ‘em, darlin'." He slaps the side of your thigh with a smile, jolting you out of your reverie. "We’re goin’ on a field trip.”

[bobbyseyesmile]

Attitude | Part 3

Summary: Y/N has to think about what she wants: a rather safe life with Shane but she‘ll lose her sanity and might explore parts of her own mind she must sacrifice or will she put a bullet, between his perfect brown eyes, as the rational side of her brain tries to advise her.

A/N: soo uhm, i‘m sorry (no i‘m not lol) this is filth. HAVE FUN also thanks to my lovely @angel-litter who inspired me to write a third part

Characters: Dark!ShaneWalsh x Reader

WARNINGS: age gap (reader is 18+) / explicit sexual content, swearing - I can’t stress enough that this is a dark fic: Shane is a mean motherfucker and just takes what he wants. Don’t like, don’t read. You’ve been warned.

Trigger warning: dub-con | 18+

🔞 MINORS DNI below the cut! 🔞

➻ Part 2 [M]

The sun was setting over the horizon, casting long shadows over the prison walls. The world was quiet, save for the distant groans of walkers and the occasional rustle of leaves.

The group had settled for the evening, a small fire crackling in the front yard, warming the people who stood guard for the night. Shane Walsh sat on the outskirts, cleaning his gun with practiced ease. He glanced up, his eyes narrowing as you approached.

"Something you need, princess?" Shane drawled, his voice tinged with mockery.

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. "Just checking to make sure you’re not planning to run off again. Wouldn’t want the group’s supposed protector to abandon us."

Shane smirked, his eyes glinting with mischief. He knew exactly what you were getting at: On last week’s supply run he disappeared for hours, nobody knew where he went and Rick got nervous as the hours passed by. When the sun began to set Shane casually walked towards the prison, not even batting an eye that almost everyone was looking for him.

Everyone but you. You kept telling yourself to stay away from him, not getting pulled into the dark abyss that surrounded Shane Walsh. He was a hothead and dangerous as he preferred to work alone instead of teams.

Your father worried a lot about the future; your mom’s pregnancy wasn’t helping at all. Thankfully you found the prison and its large protective walls that kept you save; as long as everyone was willing to do their part.

Except Shane fucking Walsh.

Shane’s eyes shamelessly wandered over your body, relishing the memories when you were a whimpering hot mess. His whimpering and hot mess. The older man knew exactly what chokehold he had over you and he so wished to make that chokehold a reality.

“Don’t worry about grown men business, little girl. Get your sexy ass back to the others, I’m sure your daddy needs you to count all the peas in the kitchen.”

Rage boiled inside your stomach and you stepped closer, heart pounding in your chest as its been months since you’ve been this close to him. “You know, Shane, it’s a wonder you keep others and yourself safe with that big ego of yours. Must be hard to fit through the doorways.”

It wasn’t your best comeback but something in his eyes flickered; a tiny hint of anger that washed over his face, giving you a feeling of satisfaction.

Shane chuckled, leaning back and taking in the sight in front of him. "My ego ain’t the only thing big but you already know that, don’t you baby?”

Heat rose to your cheeks, but you refused to back down. "Don't flatter yourself. You're just a big fish in a small pond."

"Oh, is that so?" Shane stood up, his towering presence making your heart race even more. He stepped closer, bodies almost touching. "You seem pretty interested in this big fish even though you try so hard to stay away from me."

You gulped and put a hand on his chest to keep some distance between, afraid someone might be watching you. “Sh-shut up, Shane.” His large hand wrapped around your wrist, giving it a harsh tug to close the distance between your bodies. You let out a small whimper; music to his ears and it made him contemplate the idea of fucking you right here right now.

“Careful, lamb, or I might need to remind you of your past lessons… but you’re not entirely hating the idea of that, do you?”

Your pulse quickened at his words, a mixture of anger and desire swirling within you. You turned your face to escape his intense stare, but Shane was relentless. His grip on your chin was firm, forcing you to face him again.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you. You wan’t me on your side, ya listen? Don’t push me away or ya won’t like the outcome.”

His voice was low and dangerous, each word sending shivers down your spine. Your breath hitched as you met his gaze, the raw power and emotion in his eyes both thrilling and terrifying.

“Shane-“ you whimpered “You’re hurting me.”

His dark eyes glistening with excitement. “Good. I know you like it.”

You swallowed hard, heart pounding in your chest. You hated how he made you feel, how he could so easily break through your defenses. But beneath the anger, there was something else—something that scared you even more than Shane’s crazy look. You were falling for him. Falling hard.

Shane's hand moved from your chin to your neck, his thumb brushing against your pulse point. "You feel that?" he asked, his voice softer now, almost tender. "That's your heart racing because of me.” His thumb continued to caress the soft skin until he positioned it under your chin, chocking you in a harsh grip.

“And I bet that’s your sweet lil' pussy, all flustered and dripping, begging for my cock. Ain’t that right, girl?”

As fast as his grip appeared on your neck it also disappeared as your father turned around the corner.

“There you are, sweetheart!” he spoke, voice soft and filled with love as he laid eyes on you. “Your mom needs you in the infirmary. Hershel’s already with her.”

Rick’s eyes wandered between you. “Everything alright here?”

“Well, I found Y/N wandering all alone out here. She should be inside after curfew.” Shane clicked his tongue as you threw him a spiteful glance. A smirk played around his lips as your father agreed.

“He’s right, Y/N. You know the rules; only the designated guards are allowed outside after 10 pm.”

“But, dad-“

“Zip it, honey. Go help your mother, she’s having another nauseous episode.”

“Great…” you whispered under your breath but softened your gaze when you noticed your father’s look. He was tired. “Okay, I’ll look after her.”

“That’s my baby girl.” he gave you a kiss on your forehead before starting to walk away. Shane waited for him to disappear around the corner before giving your ass a harsh slap.

“Ouch! What the fu-“

“Think of me when you bury your fingers in that sweet cunt tonight. As you do every night.” He whispered in your ear before giving you a slight push. “Now go.”

Almost two weeks passed and you managed to stay out of Shanes way, he was more impulsive than ever. Running around, barking commands and undermining your father as the leader of the group. You despised it, truly hated him and his behaviour but still you lied awake at night, thinking about his fingers and the way they would feel inside y-

“Y/N? Are you listening?”

You teared your mind away from the sinful fantasies it fabricated and turned your head towards your father. The group was sitting around a big table, eating dinner and discussing plans for the oncoming days.

“Huh?” you raised your eyebrows and saw as Shane frowned at you.

“Hell naw, she’s not even listening. Damn, Rick! She’s not fucking ready!” Your father sighed, rubbing his forehead in annoyment.

“No! I listened, I’m ready!” you quickly lied and Shanes eye twitched. He knew you were lying but of course Rick didn’t notice it.

“Really?” he asked and you quickly nodded, a tad to enthusiastic.

“Fine. Then it’s settled; you and Shane go on the supply run for this week.” You nodded once again, way less excited now and looked at Shane who had his arms crossed in front of his broad chest. “You listen to everything he says, is that clear, Y/N?”

Shane smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, she will, Rick. She will.”

The next day the afternoon sun was setting, casting a dim, ominous light over the abandoned neighborhood. You and Shane moved cautiously through the empty streets, listening for any signs of movement.

"Stay close," Shane ordered, his voice gruff.

"I can take care of myself," you shot back but he ignored your sassiness as leaves rustled in distance.

As you approached an old, dilapidated house, the distant groans of walkers grew louder.

"Great," you muttered. "Just what we needed."

"Inside," Shane barked, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards the house.

Shane pushed you through the door, slamming it shut behind you. He quickly pushed a heavy piece of furniture against it, barricading you in. The walkers outside pounded against the walls, their growls echoing through the house.

You anxiously paced the room, nerves on edge. "This is just perfect. We’re trapped."

Shane ignored you, his focus on securing the surroundings. "We’ll be fine. Just stay quiet."

You stopped and glared at him. "You always think you know best, don’t you?"

Shane turned to face you, his eyes cold and hard. "Someone has to keep their head on straight. You’re too busy playing daddies little girl."

"Playing what?!" your voice rose. "I'm trying to survive, just like you!"

Shane stepped closer, his presence intimidating. "You think you can survive without me? You’d be dead if it wasn’t for me."

Your heart pounded, a mix of fear and anger flooding your veins. "I don’t need you, Shane. I can handle myself." He laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. "You keep telling yourself that, princess. But we both know the truth: your little crush isn’t that little anymore. You’re pathetic trying to deny it.”

You took a step back, but Shane followed, his eyes dark with a dangerous intensity. "Why are you doing this?" you demanded but your voice gave away. "Why do you have to be so… mean?"

"Mean?" Shane’s voice was low and menacing. "You think this is mean? You haven’t seen anything yet. I’ve been holding back, but maybe it’s time you learned just how serious I am."

Your breath hitched as Shane backed you against the wall, his body towering over you. "Shane, stop," you said, voice trembling.

"Stop? Why would I stop? You need to understand something, Y/N. You’re mine. You belong to me. And I’m not letting anyone, or anything, take you away."

Shane studied your eyes; they were filled with a mix of fear and defiance. "You don’t own me, Shane. I’m not yours to control."

He leaned in, his face inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. "You think you have a choice? You think you can just walk away? You can’t, I won’t let you, ever.”

His lips crashed onto your own, fierce and demanding, his hands roaming possessively over your body. You tried to push him away, your brain telling you to get away from him but the wetness between your legs mocked you. Your own body betrayed you.

Shane’s hands gripping your waist, pulling you against his hard chest, his touch a mixture of possessiveness and arousal. You let out a moan as his knee pushed against your clothed sex, roughly rubbing you through your jeans. You needed more, more of him.

“Shane-“

“Shut up.” He spit back, his fingers ripping the button off your pants. “All I want to hear are those pretty moans, you understand?” You wanted to protest but the look in his eyes made you change your mind so you just nodded. “Good girl.”

You sighed when his fingers finally touched you, he stroked them over the drenched material of your panties. “Of course.” he mocked and shoved a finger inside your entrance.

He set a fast and rough rhythm but you didn’t mind, all that mattered was the pure bliss that slowly spread through your system. “M-more.” you begged and it made him snort.

“Needy little whore. You can’t handle more but I’ll give it to you anyways.” A second finger entered you, spreading the tight walls to his liking.

Shane watched your face, your hooded eyes and slightly parted lips with a small whimper escaping here and there. But he needed you to understand that you were his, there was no escape from him. He needed you to scream his name.

“Fuck, darling, your little cunt is tight. This I will enjoy-“ You opened your eyes and glanced at his hardened cock, his tip red and angry and glistening with precum. Shane knew you were a virgin and it almost made him lose his mind as he imagined taking your innocence away for the first time. He saw the fear in your eyes and he loved it.

He lifted you up, slowly pushing inside you, watching all the emotions washing over your face and you never looked more beautiful to him.

“I c-can’t-“ you whimpered and he came to a stop, waiting for your eyes to open. When you did you saw his eyes soften, almost tenderly. But just a moment later you noticed the smirk around his lips. “You will.”

His cock suddenly entered you with such a force it squeezed all air out of your lungs, leaving you gasping between his chest and the wall he had caged you in. The sharp pain made your brain panic but your body, oh your body welcomed him with such ease it was almost embarrassing.

“Shit, you’re so fucking tight-“ he groaned and his fingers dug into the soft skin at your hips. It would leave marks, you were sure, but couldn’t care less.

The pain slowly faded into a completely unique and new feeling, a feeling deep inside you. Something your fingers never managed to even scratch the surface of it. You bit your lips till you tasted blood, his length filling you up at a relentlessly pace. Shanes hand circled around your delicate neck, the grip of his fingers began to tighten leaving you chocking around them. The lack of air left your brain in a hazy state.

You weren’t even sure how it was possible for him to be this deep inside you; his length made it seem impossible but your body proved you wrong as your hungry cunt swallowed him whole. Shane felt his release approaching the more he watched your face and listening to your sloppy moans.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your mouth hung open for a silent cry but nothing came out as your orgasm washed over you in intense waves; your blood rushing in your ears as you came all over his dick.

Shane roughly claimed your lips once again, dominating the kiss as it left you literally breathless. His grip on your waist increased, threatening to break you in half as he fucked you through both of your highs. He gave one final thrust before he came hot and heavy, painting your insides white.

The euphoria from your first time quickly vanished as you felt the warm liquid dripping down your legs. Shane noticed the panic in your eyes and let out a hoarse chuckle.

“Thought I was joking when I said I’ll never let ya go, huh? You’re fucking mine forever, princess.”

The rational part inside you was ready to run, to grab the nearest object and bash it over his head but the other part, the part that was hopelessly in love with this psychopath of a man, stayed still.

Accepting your new fate as you felt his lips on your ear:

“And I’ll kill everyone that comes between us.”

[notjustjavierpena]

Reunion - Part II: Clamp

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: This started out as a collection of a few requests. Then it became feely instead. Then a second chapter to Reunion. Read the first part here.

Summary: Homemade nipple clamps, toast for breakfast and a sudden confession. 

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, dad’s best friend joel miller, daddy kink, innocence kink to some extent, homemade nipple clamps, nipple play, PIV sex, rough sex, dirty talk, possessive sex, reader has post-sex feelings, joel does too. 

Word count: 3.1k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49869355/chapters/125892349

Clamp

Joel’s stomach growls loudly underneath you as you are cuddling in bed. He tries to deny it when you start fussing, but the way the noise repeats itself, traveling all the way up to your ear as you rest your head on his chest, makes him capitulate quickly. You get out from underneath the covers.

“Come on, I’m hungry but…” he says with a tinge of the stubbornness of a teenager as if eating is only an inconvenience and not a way of staying alive as well as healthy. He’d go hungry to touch you, and it’s almost sweet but you’d rather feed and hydrate him so he can go again sooner. 

You can feel it as he watches your ass when you move to the dresser in his room. There are a few pieces of clothing sticking out, and you yank at what you correctly assume is a t-shirt. Pulling it over your head, you are encapsulated in the smell of Joel’s fabric softener, a hint of his cologne too that doesn’t seem to want to come out completely. 

“I’m going to make some toast,” you say just as stubbornly, bending over to tie your hair up in a messy bun despite knowing you are not wearing any underwear. Joel groans behind you. 

“Ain’t playin’ fair,” he mutters bitterly, “Look at you. No panties and my shirt? Diabolical.”

You hear shuffling behind you but you actively ignore the footsteps coming up behind you. Instead, you secure a few stray hairs with the hairpins that you took out last night, trying to look busy when hands settle on your hips. 

“Turn around,” he tells you. You smile to yourself. 

With a few seconds delay, he adds a threatening ‘young lady’. You put on a pout and then face him, “Just wanna feed you, Daddy. Look at you. You’re already skin and bone.”

“Wouldn’t hurt,” he argues.

You shake your head, allow him to kiss you longingly for a little bit, “No, I like your tummy. You’re soft. Like you soft.” 

“Soft,” he repeats with a scoff, “I ain’t soft.”

And then, “And I always get what I want.”

Suddenly, his hands reach up to find the hairpins at the back of your head. He pulls one out, makes you furrow your brows as it tugs a little at the sensitive baby hairs there. 

“Ow, what are you doing?” You ask as he removes the second one. He holds them in his large palm, big enough to hide them completely from view. 

“Do you trust me?” He questions. He looks into your eyes expectantly, waiting for confirmation before he continues. You nod. He doesn’t go on.

“I mean yes,” you quickly add.

“Good girl,” he smiles at how well you are learning. Then he reaches for the bottom of his shirt that you are wearing, pinching the hem with his thumb and forefinger now that he has the pins in his palm. He yanks the shirt up until it rests above your breasts, “Hold this up f’me.”

You do as he says. The fabric skimming over your chest and the anticipation that is hanging in the air has made your nipples hard, standing in peaks and waiting for what is about to happen. You know exactly where this is going yet it still hits you when one of the pins clamp down on your sensitive nipple. 

You half-moan in beautiful pain, half-chuckle in surprise. It stings and pinches, but despite never having done this before, your body reacts a whole lot more by pulsing between your legs than by triggering your fight-or-flight response. 

Joel studies your face but you don’t give him any indication that you want to stop. He tugs a little on the pin to make sure it is secure and elicits a little sound from you. You’ve noticed his boxers are already starting to tent. 

“Next one,” he informs as if performing a mediocre task, his voice having dropped an octave. He sounds breathier, aroused. You don’t jump half as much when your other nipple is painfully pinched too, but the feeling of them burning together is so intense that slick has started to smear your inner thighs. 

“Now,” he yanks your shirt down, makes your arms fall to your sides and your toes curl as a pin nearly catches in the fabric, “Go make me some toast. See if you still think I’m soft then.”

“But…” you try. 

“Go on,” he says and crawls back into bed before you can play dirty and touch him on the front of his underwear. 

*

Making breakfast has never been harder. 

You are in a world of hellish lust as you enter the bedroom again, holding a plate with buttered toast in your hands. There is a slice for you too, but it’ll take a whole lot longer for you to eat your way through it than it will take Joel to wolf down his own two pieces. 

He sits on the bed in silence, chewing quietly and occasionally brushing a few crumbs off the top of his chest. You hope that he doesn’t see the way you try to rock down on the foot you have tucked underneath yourself because he’d laugh straight into your face. 

“Don’t start without me.”

You sit up straight at being called out and the shirt tugs at your tits. You hiss loudly, “Please.”

“In a moment, just gotta get clean first. Sit against the headboard, ‘n take off your shirt,” he leaves the bed to go wash his hands. He is painfully hard at this point. You nearly break the plate when you move to place it on the nightstand. 

“What’re ya doin’?” He calls over the tap running from the master bathroom. 

“Not getting fucked,” you quip. 

“Watch it,” he replies back as if unaffected. God, he is so much better at this than you.

You are completely naked as he reenters the bedroom. You’ve stuffed a pillow behind your back, halfway to lying down with your ass scooted downwards on the bed a little. Your pussy is flushed pink and glistening, presented, and your nipples are a good amount of shades darker from the blood flow having settled there. The burn is exquisite, but it’s the sight of Joel’s eyes going dark that makes you whine.

“Jesus,” he laughs quietly as he crawls between your legs. Even the weight of him on the bed makes a sound slip from your mouth, “Ain’t ya just an obedient little thing?” 

You blink up at him almost teary-eyed. He takes pity on you. 

“Let’s get these off,” he promises, kneeling to free his hands from having to support himself. He removes one homemade clamp, making you whimper in relief at the ceiling. The blood flow makes your heart pound, slamming painfully against your ribs whilst you anticipate the second clamp being removed.

Joel flicks your abused nipple instead. Your head snaps down to his grin, betrayal visible on your face. Your cunt reacts immediately, feeling too empty and fluttering as it tries sucking in something that isn’t there. 

Joel looks down between your legs. He smiles affectionately, creating an obscene contrast to what he is doing to you. He coos softly at your facial expression, it having turned pained and horny, “Shh… I’ll kiss it better, baby.”

He finally removes the second hairpin. There’s a second where he lets you cry weakly at the new sensation, but then he tugs at both of your nipples to the point where you don’t even have the brain power to say a sound. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan.

“Good,” he praises, relenting but only to rub the sensitive nubs with his thumbs in clockwise motions, “Don’t think about anything. Just think about this, princess. Feel good?”

It does. You nod. The gentleness behind the touches is soothing you more than you thought it could, the pads of Joel’s fingers bringing your heartbeat down a notch. He traces your areola, breathing a little more erratically at seeing your pussy jump without being touched. 

He tugs again, soothes again until your nipples are red and swollen underneath his fingertips. The clamps have done a number on you because you start to think you might be able to come like this, a growing pressure starting between your legs. 

But Joel isn’t going to let you. He straightens until he is upright again, swallowing thickly as he focuses his attention on your neglected cunt. He runs a warm hand down over your mound, your hips twitching in response to finally being touched. Joel’s breath hitches in his throat as he stares down at his shiny palm, “Why didn’t you say anything? Look at her. She’s weepin’.”

“Just needs you,” your doe-eyes are on full blast. 

“Mhm,” he agrees, lazily running two fingers through your slick folds until you sigh, “You took a lot last night. Think you can handle it?” 

“Want you to keep me sore, Daddy,” you push into his touch again. He swears under his breath, teasingly dipping his digits into your cunt but making no suggestion that he will follow through on what they’re doing. You bat your eyelashes, “Please.”

It does not take much more convincing. He calls you princess again but this time it is with a frustrated sigh. He yanks his boxers down over his hips to let his cock spring free, kicks his underwear all the way off, and lets them fall to the floor of the bedroom in record time. 

He is fully erect. Hard and beautiful. The head of his dick has turned a dark red from having been seeking your attentive touch since he watched you put up your hair. The tip impatiently weeps precome for you. You consider a blowjob for half a second because your mouth waters at the idea of tasting his salt and musk. 

Later, you think, some other time. 

He strokes himself a few times until the bead at the head spills down over the length of him. Your eyes never leave his cock, especially not when he slides it through your glistening folds to coat himself in your arousal. 

“Could come just like this,” you tell him and finally dare to look up into his eyes. He smiles back at you and it tugs at your heartstrings. You reach out to hold his elbows and lift your legs to wrap them around his waist. 

In one smooth motion, he positions himself and rocks into you without stopping until he has bottomed out. The girth of him never ceases to amaze you. It’s the same each time; he stretches your walls painfully until you whimper and tells you that big girls can take it. Ain’t you a big girl? You nod with your bottom lip between your teeth, chewing on it to suppress the pathetic little noise that’s bubbling up in your chest. 

It works for a moment but only until Joel tells you to breathe. The noise finally comes out and it becomes wanton when he starts fucking into you. He pounds you like yesterday and you can barely contain yourself anymore, whining and groaning as he gives it to you with the intention of making you sore all over. Your walls are already sensitive, and you hate to think that you haven’t actually been out of your state of arousal since you knocked on his door. It’s embarrassing. It’s infatuation. 

You let out a high-pitched squeak as he bucks up his hips, nudging at the front of your walls and searching for that little spot inside you that belongs to him by now. He finds it expertly, fits inside of you like you were made for each other. 

“There!” You plea whilst arching your back, “Daddy, it’s right—“

“I know where it fuckin’ is,” he leans down to kiss you, breaths coming out through his nose as he shoves his tongue into your mouth. You dig your nails into the back of his arms, making an attempt to move with him and oh God, you kiss him so deeply. 

“Say I’m the best you’ve ever had,” he growls when he pulls back for a breath that he can barely catch, sweat threatening to drip down from his brow. He has one hand on the headboard, making the bed rattle underneath the both of you, and the other lays over your heart. He applies just the slightest pressure to your chest. 

“You’re— baby, please,” you can barely find the words, gasping out into the room. The only thing you can think of is how important it feels to hold onto him as he drives into your cunt, scared that if you let go you’ll melt into the mattress and never see him again. You never want that to happen. You want to drown in everything he is. 

“Say it,” he gives you a particularly hard thrust, managing to put the hand on the headboard behind your head before you bang it into the wood. You don’t even think you would have noticed it if it had happened since you are so delirious already from being so fucked out. 

“Best— best I’ve ever had,” you stutter out between loud moans, the pleasurable tightening in your belly soon reaching a crescendo, “I’m close, oh f— I’m so close.”

“Careful, princess,” he notes as you almost swear at him, “Don’t make— shit, don’t give me a reason to stop.”

He wouldn’t, you think, he is as lost in you as you are in him. 

“Never,” you pant, noises climbing in pitch, “I’m gonna be so good for you, Daddy. Gonna come— oh God, please, gonna come on your cock!”

“Yeah,” his thighs flex, your legs squeeze harder around him, “Oh fuuuck, I can feel you— come on my dick, sweetheart. You can do it.” 

The tightening releases into sweet clenches. Your vision blanks for just a moment, your brain unable to focus on any other of your five senses except touch, and Joel touches you deep inside as his hips stutter and your walls milk everything he has to give. 

He fucks you through it, bucks his hips upwards to prod at your g-spot whilst you shiver and moan from the heat of your climax. It may be even more intense than yesterday despite how many highs he pulled from you. 

Everything stills. Time passes while you pant. The windows must be foggy by now. Joel slips out with a soft groan and kisses away the pained moan you let out when emptiness hits.

You are sure you are experiencing heat stroke as you try catching your breath. There are small beads of sweat scattered all over your chest and stomach, some collecting in the dip of your belly button. You feel like you are floating in the Sunday afternoon silence. A bird chirps outside of the window, and you catch yourself wondering why you haven’t heard it until now. He is too important, you think, so important that you filter out anything that isn’t him until he leaves you in this state of clarity. You love him.

Joel is staring down at you and you can see yourself in the reflection of his brown eyes. He glows just like you, filled to the brim with dopamine. His skin burns as you rub his arms where you have been digging your nails into them moments before. You wonder if he feels the same as you; like someone who is seconds from evaporating, bursting, something, unable to move, in love. 

You pull him down into yourself. He sticks to you in a way that would normally have you scrunching up your nose, but you don’t care about it right now because his cheek is pressed to yours. You giggle softly with post-orgasmic excitement. 

But then a thought reluctantly worms its way into your head. Why isn’t he saying something? You know why you aren’t, but why isn’t he? 

“Joel,” you say in confusion as he suddenly starts to break free from your embrace. He moves to sit up next to you, eyes the plate on the nightstand, and practically launches himself up from the bed so he can take it to the kitchen. 

You crawl across the bed without thinking as if you have the speed to catch his wrist before he is out the door, “Joel. Fuck, Joel!”

That catches his attention. Joel turns in the doorway. He sets the plate down on his dresser instead, “You know I fuckin’ hate that.”

“Well shit,” you continue and he visibly flinches. 

“Don’t say anything,” you don’t think you have ever warned him as he repeatedly does with you, “Don’t say anything, just come here.” 

You hold out your hands, still on your knees at the edge of the bed. You grab at the air, and after a brief pause, Joel gives in. He steps forward until you can hold onto his wrists, “Remember that time you wiped away my tears? The first time we… doesn’t matter. Point is I was sad and you were there.”

Joel avoids replying. He swallows thickly, jaw muscles tensing. 

“I just mean that you can talk to me,” you finish your speech which is barely a speech with a beating heart. There are so many butterflies in your stomach that they are making you slightly nauseous. You look at him expectantly, watching his eyes skim over your face, scanning for what you assume is genuineness. You won’t ask why he needs reassurance that you are telling him the truth. 

“I’m falling for you,” he breathes out. 

Of all things, you do not expect this. 

“Ditto,” you say back, eyes widening when you realize that it’s the word you have managed to blurt out. 

“Ditto?” Joel furrows his brow. 

You slap his arm, “Shut it. You know what ditto means.”

But then he bursts out laughing and your heart swells. He leans down over you, naked and vulnerable right there in front of you, and kisses you gently. 

He inhales deeply afterward, then asks the question that you want an answer to as well: “What in the world are we going to do?”

*

It comes out of nowhere a few weeks later when you’re home again. 

“You know Joel?” Your dad asks as if you have never noticed him in the many years he’s been your father’s best friend. You try not to freeze. 

“Yes, I obviously know Mr. Miller, Dad. What about him?” You sip your coffee, eyeing the crossword on the back of the newspaper that your father is holding up in front of himself. 

“Think he’s seein’ some new lady,” he replies but there’s no tone to his voice. 

You tense in your seat, setting down your mug to avoid dropping it if the news is about to break, “Why do you think that?”

“Don’t matter why, but she’s good for him, I can tell,” your father is still oblivious, “Just smiles more.”

“Ah, well good for him,” you pause briefly, “Can I get the crossword puzzle?”

“Sure, honey.”

As he rustles the paper to pull out the page, you stand with the excuse of getting a pen, but when you have your back to your father, you grin to yourself and don’t mind the butterflies that seem to have moved into your body.

Joel is right. 

What in the world are you going to do?

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[jhoneybees]

Unknown.

Hi!!! So this fic is for the amazing @lustnhim, I absolutely love her writing so much it's not funny. Hope you like it!!🫶

Characters: Late 70s Elvis X Goth!reader

Warnings/triggers: Angst!, Mentions of God, paranoia about the unknown, life existence

Tags: @another-identityofmine @atleastpleasetelephone @i-r-i-n-a-a @theelvisprincess @thelonelyheart @polksaladava

_____________________________________________

Elvis shouldn't be thinking like this, thinking about what would actually happen when he dies. It’s 3 in the morning and he should be sleeping but he can’t help thinking that his Mama always told him, raised him to believe that one day he’ll go up to heaven and see his loved ones again.

But what if that’s not the truth?

Swallowing hard, Elvis fidgets with the silk bed sheets. Breathing through his nose as he thinks, lifting his hand to rest on the top of his belly, tapping it quietly. He turns his head over to the bible sitting on his nightstand, deciding to pick it up.

He flicks through the pages, trying to find the right bookmark he had left before taking a minute to breathe. “Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me. In my father’s house there are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I prepared a place for you? -John 14:1-3”

Maybe he will get to meet his Mama again, he thinks to himself… but…what if he doesn’t-

“Baby?”

He lifts his head up, carefully gripping onto the edges of his bible. Elvis smiles small seeing you standing there in a black nightie with your luscious and long black hair draping beautifully over the front of your body, quietly sipping on a glass of water. “Hi, honey.”

“Everything, alright?” You ask, walking over to his side of the bed. Sitting down next to him reaching a hand out to touch his hand, you begin to intertwine your fingers with his as he puts his bible down.

“Yeah…Everything’s alright.” Elvis keeping his eyes lowered, he glances over at the book in his lap. Quietly, pulling the blanket up to cover his belly, he tries to distract his mind by watching your thumb caress his skin.

“It doesn’t seem like it. You tilt your head, quirking an eyebrow as you watch his face.

He looks up at you. “W-What do you mean? Ever’thing’s fine.” His sad and anxious eyes telling you a different story.

“Teddy bear…” You give him a knowing look.

He lowers his head back down at your hands, closing his eyes when you call him that name.

He listens to the sound of your glass of water being placed on the nightstand, breathing out as you move his bible to straddle his lap. Elvis glides his big hands up the sides of your thighs and your fingers go up to run through his slightly disheveled hair from tossing and turning in bed.

“Tell me.”

Elvis gazes into your eyes, looking at them silently. “Honey, I-”

“What’s troubling my Papa bear?” Gently rubbing the silky fabric of your nightie in between his index finger and thumb, he takes a deep breath as he takes his time to collect his thoughts.

“...W-What if I don’t get ta see my Mama again?”

You hum, quietly. “What if you don’t see your mama again?”

He thinks for a moment then nods. “Yeah… when I die…m-maybe there isn’t a heaven.” automatically wrapping his arms around your waist as you shuffle closer, your lower abdomen and his belly brushing up against each other.

“Are you afraid?” bringing your other hand up, you pick off a piece of lint from his hair.

“W-Well…yes! I-I’ve been told all m-my life that God has a home f’me up there for when I die but…what if that ain’t true?” He huffs, averting his eyes away from your calm stare.

“We’ll just have to wait, don’t we?” You respond, pushing his chin up with a long black manicured nail and pecking his nose with your soft lips. “We’ll just have to see.”

Elvis shakes his head, his gaze drifting away from yours again. You sigh. “Papa, it’s okay to think this way…”

Smiling softly as he looks back. You continue your train of thought. “We might end up going to this magical place called heaven…or we might end up just staring at dirt for eternity, we don’t know…” Staring softly into his indescribable blue eyes.

“But what we do know is that…” His heart melts as your delicate hand cups his cheek. “The life we have now is special and we have to keep remembering that…because there is no point in worrying about the unknown, is there?”

He grumbles. “N-No…”

“No there isn’t.” You smile. “All we can do at the moment is just live this life, okay? I have you and you have me.”

“Yer not gonna leave me, right?” He asks with furrowing eyebrows, grabbing the silk of your clothes in his fists. Watching as you giggle and shake your head.

“I’m all yours in this life.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Quiet One 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a quiet life, but your peace is fractured by a chaotic man.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, short!shy!reader

Note: have a good day.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

“So, what do you think?” Lloyd asks as he turns to you, outstretching his arms as he gestures to the endless hangers. “All yours. You got your pick.” 

You stand just inside the door of the walk-in closet. The space would take up at least half your apartment alone. You cross your arms as you glance along the rows of coloured fabric hung from the walls, organized in a perfect ombre effect of shades. On the far wall, there are shelves full of shoes and accessories, along with a vanity in the centre. 

“I know you’re a simple gal,” he grins, “but you don’t have to be anymore. Whatever you want, ain’t no mountain high enough and all that.” 

You nod and blow out between your lips. It all still feel surreal like a nightmare. You swallow and tamp down your discomfort. You didn’t hate the life you had. Your small apartment, manageable and tame. You prefer predictability, even if some might say it’s boring. 

“Erm, I dunno,” you slowly trail over to the other side of the closet. 

“Well, you could pick some shoes first. That might inspire you,” he suggests as he approaches you, “you don’t need to be too fancy, you know, you always look nice.” 

“Mm,” you nod,” thanks that’s...” 

You let the sentence hang. This is really freaking you out. Your chest feels tight and your head is buzzing. You shudder out a breath. 

“What... what am I choosing for?” You croak. 

“I told you, jellybean,” he puts his arm around you and pulls you against his side, “it’s a surprise.”  

He reaches to grab a hanger and holds it out at arm’s length. A blush-coloured satin dress with a bit of frill at the bottom of the skirt. It’s nothing you would choose yourself. 

“Sure, that’s nice,” you say, just to appease him. What else can you do? 

“Hm,” he hums, “you don’t like it?” 

“I didn’t say...” 

“You don’t sound very excited,” he pouts as he turns to you, his hand lingering on your hip, “none of it? I got it all for you.” 

“I’ll wear it,” you sniff, “I’m sorry, I’m just... I’m... adjusting.” 

You don’t know how else to explain it.  

He pushes his lower lip out and narrows his eyes, “sure, sure, makes sense.” He drags his hand off your hip and steps back, keeping the dress up as he angles it before you, as if he’s imagining you in it. “This is gonna look so hot, baby.” 

You do your best to stay placid. It’s harder as you heart pounds furiously. You can’t even begin to guess what he has planned but with everything he’s done and said, you know exactly what his intent is.  

“You should get washed up, huh? Then get dolled up. Like I said, won’t need much of that,” he winks, “you could walk in ass-naked and I’m sure you’d stun.” 

You can’t help how your mouth slants at his remark. 

“Alright, jellybean, let’s get you in the tub,” he lays the dress over the velvet bench and spins back, startling you as he grabs both hips and jerks you towards him with a growl, “can I watch? I promise, I’ll try not to touch. Yet.” 

You clasp onto his wrists with a yelp. He curls his lips eagerly and you repress your horror. You don’t want to antagonise. You don’t want him to get any worse than he is. 

“Um, did you want... to?” You murmur. 

“Fucking of course,” he urges you against him, “the things I want to do...” he smirks, “I’m quaking in my boots.” 

He bows to smother you with a kiss. His mustache pokes at your uper lip and up your nose as he hums and slides his tongue across your lips. You squeeze your mouth tightly shut but he pokes through, nearly choking you as he invades. You press your hands to his chest as he locks you into his embrace. 

Finally, he part and you gasp for breath. He snickers as you puff against him. Your skin is crawling as you wriggle in his hold. 

“Yum,” he purrs. 

He lets his arms fall away and quickly snags your hand. You let him drag you around to the door, your feet hollow as they move without a thought. Resistance is plainly not a choice. 

He takes you back into the adjoining bedroom, the one you awoke in, and through another door way against the perpendicular wall. He steps to the side as he tugs you forward and releases you. Your take in the sleek black walls and black tub, the silver shower head in a monochrome booth, and the ebon marble veined with sparkling white. 

“I get it, it’s going to take a lot of getting used to,” he boasts, “this is our home, sweet cheeks. Remember that. You treat it like your very own... it is. Just like me, all yours.” 

You pad slowly inside, if only to keep a distance from your captor. You won’t forget what he is. He can give you all the luxurious things but you remember the days of starvation, of terror. He can’t see himself for what he is but you do. 

“Face masks, body scrub, bath bomb, shower gel, bonnet, robe,” he points at the fluffy purple robe still around you, “slippers,” he flicks his finger towards the mat beside the door, “lotions, creams, everything you can dream of. Oh damn, I can call a nail tech if you want a fresh mani--” 

“Uh, no thanks,” ball up your fists, hiding your short-trimmed nails, “that’s not... that’s okay.” 

“Only the best for you, kitty cat,” he says. 

He strides forward and you flinch out of his way. He goes to the tub and cranks it on, water splashing out from the high faucet. He flips the silver lever to put the stopper in place and backs up. 

“Voila, all for you,” he declares, “I’ll just...” he looks around and backs up to sit on the fluffy cushioned stools near the wall, “sit and watch. If you need help getting your back, I got you.” 

He wiggles his fingers and gives a lecherous grin. You withhold a shudder and face the basin, the water battering the bottom. You step forward and peer down into the shallows. You clutch the front of the robe and peek over in his direction but not at him. 

He waits, silently. You sway, squeezing the fluffy fabric as you peer back at the water. You don’t know if you can do it. Not with him right there. 

“Whatsa matter, baby, you need help?” He shifts and you jolt.  

“N-no, I just...” you look down at yourself and frown. 

“Ah, you’re shy. I totally get it,” he coos, “you don’t gotta be though. Your beautiful, so you should be proud. Show it off, honey.” He clucks and shakes his head, “you know that’s the thing these days, all you girls, you’re so insecure, but you trust me, sweet lips, you got nothing to be insecure about.” 

Your stomach flips. You feel hazy. You try to shrug it off and drop your hands to the belt of the rob. You untie it. You’re really going to do this. Why? 

Because you’re afraid? Weak? Yep. 

You shed the rob and look around. You hang it on the hook behind the door and return to the tub. It’s getting deeper and deeper. You touch the bottom of your shirt and scrunch it up in your fists. Just do it quickly and get in. He can only see so much from over there. 

You pull your shirt off, nothing underneath. You push your pants down quickly, your underwear rolling down inside. The skin feels cooler then and tingles across your naked skin as you latch onto the tub and swing yourself over the edge. You barely get a foot under you before you submerge your body in the water. 

You sit up, legs bent, stiff on the porcelain as the water continues to rise. It’s not quite at your chest yet. If you let it fill all the way, it might touch your chin. As you watch the depth climb, you don’t notice him until he closes. You slide to the back of the tub as Lloyd cranks off the faucet. 

You notice how his eyes stray to you. Your legs stay bent in front of you, blocking most of everything. You shrink down, hunching your shoulders as he searches through the ripples. He tilts his head and cracks his neck as he exhales and backs away. 

“Take your time, baby,” he purrs as he rubs his chest. 

He sits again and you lower your head. You’ve never been this bare in front of anyone, rarely even yourself. You’re just not comfortable without some short of shield around you. Your eyes tinge with the threat of tears. You feel like you’ve been hit across the face. This is real. Really real. 

Your eyes flick up and you reach for the purple scrubby on the little black shelf. You just have to get through it. That’s what you’ve always done. 

👄

You stare into the open case. You’re not entirely unfamiliar with the concept of make-up. When you were a teen, you had a phase, and you’ve been to enough job interviews to wield a mascara wand. Still, the amount seems excess. 

There’s almost every sort of product in every shade. Some sort of tap you don’t know what to do with, highlighter, and finishing spray. It’s too much. Your look is either a bare face or nothing at all. More often the former. 

You fidget with a tube of lipstick, clicking the lid up and down. This is all so strange. What are you getting ready for? And why? This isn’t your home, this isn’t your life, and yet it’s all so perfectly planned. 

“Honey bunnnnnn,” Lloyd’s timbre has you dropping the stick. He strides in, flustered, holding up two ties. He’s half dressed. A pair of red velvet pants and amber satin button up. It’s not a look you would go for. “What do ya think? Which tie? Paisley or the stripes?” 

You shrug and shake your head. 

He clicks his tongue, “genius, baby, genius. No tie. You’re right. Just the jacket.” 

Your mouth falls open and you nod, “sure, yeah.” 

You look back at the vanity and huff. Your face is untouched. You sit in your robe in the walk-in closet, mulling over your misery. Self-pity is as inescapable as these walls. 

“What’s up, cheeks?” He asks, “you need some help? I’m thinking you could give a bit more colour to lips but keep the rest very subtle.” 

He crosses the floor and hovers behind you. You stir around in the case and take out two bottles of foundation. You’ve never really used that either but the shades are pretty close. He lays the ties down on the vanity, brushing your back as he does, and pulls back to grip your shoulders. 

“I tried to guess as best I could. Don’t know much about all that but the lady in the store was a blessing,” he massages your shoulders as he talks. You’re tense as steel. “But you know, you got perfect skin so...” 

“Mm,” you put the foundation back and peruse the little shelf alongside the mirror. You reach for the moisturizer. Your skin feels raw.  

“I like it, au natural. Touch of cream, little lash...” 

“I’ll figure it out,” you grumble. He’s kind of annoying. No, he’s really annoying. All of this is annoying. 

“Right, yep, I will get out of your way,” he bends and kisses the crown of your head, “lots of time.” 

He strolls out and you scowl at the mirror. Something about him is getting to you. You’re not an angry person. You’re a nice person. You don’t go out of your way to be around others but when you are, you strive to be pleasant. Or at least, out of the way. 

You spread the cream over your face, watching your reflection as if it’s someone else. Where did he come from? Why? This is some cruel trick because you only ever wanted to mind your business. 

You cap the bottle and put the moisturizer back. You fish out a mascara stick and brush it on your lashes then find a neutral lip colour to put on. Nothing special, just like you. Hopefully he sees that soon enough. 

You pack away the case and push it to the back of the vanity. You get up and go to the velvet bench where the dress lays. He’s plucked out a few things to go with it. A gold necklace with small diamonds speckled along it and a pair of beige heels.  

You peek at the door before you untie the robe. You shiver as your fingers brush your stomach. You close your eyes as you recall how he wrapped you up in a towel after your bath. His touches were more than deliberate but his intrusive gaze made you squirm more. 

You pull on the lingerie tucked under the dress. A thong. You’ve never worn one of those, and a satin and lace bra with no padding. Even as you pull the dress up your figure, you feel like you’re on display. You reach back, bending your arm until your elbow throbs as you push the zipper up. 

“Need some help?” Lloyd’s voice makes you wince. 

You sniff, “sure.” 

You hold up the bodice as he approaches. You refuse to look back at him as he nears. He tickles along your spine with a single finger before he tugs on the zipper. He pulls it up little by little, until the fabric is snug around you. His fingertips drift down your back and he spreads his hands across your ass. You gasp. 

Before you can step away, his hands glide around and he grabs you by the hips. He pulls you against him and rocks with you. He inhales your scent from above and sighs. 

“Jellybean...” he almost sings, “are you...untouched?” 

You lock up and grab at his hands, trying to free yourself. 

“Is that why you’re so shy?” He snickers and spins you around, hands going to your waits, “I’m honoured to be your first.” 

You gape at him, horrified. His intent hasn’t been hard to guess but said aloud, it is all too imminent. 

[glossykissies]

Butcher's hatred for vought only worsening after meeting hybrid!puppy reader bc of what they did to her makes me so sad :( he's just an old angry man who gives off ultimate protective daddy vibes

ok trigger warning for this arc bc it goes into her abuse but

yes bc i feel like it takes a while for her to understand that the abuse she faced wasn’t okay / normal and it’s not just butcher that feels that way it’s everyone. like whenever she messes up infront of the boys she just puts her head down and braces, and when hughies like “wait, what are you doing?” pup is all

“oh, well, back at the lab if i messed up they’d punch me in the stomach real hard so i don’t do it again?” :(((((

and m.m has to take her aside and explain that she’s not gonna be physically assaulted for messing up, especially not over something so tiny? “no one is laying a hand on you in here, you hear me? if they do? they’ll have to answer to me.” he adds the last part with a playful smile, trying to keep the tone light — but upon turning to you, his face falls, seeing the tears on your cheeks.

“really?”

“what— yeah. we may be a bunch of ruthless motherfuckers but beating on someone as defenceless as you — no offence, well that’s where i draw the line. look, you’re safe here kid.” he turns his full body to you, large frame crouched a little subconsciously to seem less intimidating. “don’t mean you won’t get yelled at by butcher from time to time, but i’m tryna get a handle on that.” he pats your back with a smile, shuffling to get up but you throw your arms around him.

“thank you, m.m.”

his brow creases, knowing that sort of thing shouldn’t warrant a thank you.

“we’re takin’ this one step at a time.” he hums.

kimiko also serves as great comfort, knowing what it’s like to face abuse and be confused when faced with kindness. sometimes she finds you sitting alone, not your usual energetic self and she comes and sits with you — typing things out on her phone to communicate with you.

are you having a bad day?

“yeah. i don’t miss the lab, but sometimes i wish i didn’t have the responsibility of being a full… person. at least when people treated me like a dog i didn’t have to think too hard.” you sigh and she nods, taking a moment to type.

i understand. i don’t miss my past, but some days i kind of wish i could go back just so i could hang out with my brother one more time.

“yeah. i get that.”

after a pause, she types some more.

did you have any brothers or sisters?

“no. it was just me. i always wished i had a sister to play with though.”

kimiko smiles, happily typing something into her phone before proudly turning it around.

well guess what? we’re sisters now. you can be my little sister. i always wanted one of those.

you beam, tail thudding the side of the chair you’re curled on as it starts to wag and your mood is infectious, the girl throwing her arm around you into a side hug.

butchers hate does infact worsen and it causes him to act up, get more violent than before — violently destroying anyone with a finger dipped into the vought pie. you always assumed it was because of his own past, but one day you witnessed him beating on someone who had something to do with the hybrid operation. cowering in the doorway, you try to keep your frightened whimpers at bay at hear him berating the bloody man through grit teeth.

“what you did to ‘er? what your fuckin’ people did to that girl? she’ll never be the bloody same and that’s all because of you. you’re gonna rot in hell, cunt.” before delivering the final blow to his skull.

you’re shaking, and only when he’s pulled himself off the corpse he sees you— having watched the entire thing. he softens slightly, eyes flickering with shame as he presses his lips together but you slowly approach, wide eyed.

“dont be scared pup, i ain’t… i just couldn’t let ‘im get away with it. can’t let scum like that keep walkin’ this earth.” he thinks you might bolt, like he’s seen you do on other occasions— but this time you approach, wrapping your arms around him, nuzzling into him, ears twitching, tail wrapping around his thigh.

[twola]

Passerine : Chapter 1

PAIRING: High Honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader

When a run-in with an O’Driscoll leads you to a fate worse than death, it’s up to Arthur to pick up the pieces.

Warnings: This fic has graphic descriptions of non-consensual sex, violence against women, the trauma thereafter, and somewhat unhealthy coping mechanisms. If any of that content makes you feel uncomfortable or triggers you, this may not be the fic for you.​

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“Don’t look so glum there, cowboy. I’ll be sure to put your money to good use.”

Arthur Morgan glares from across the table, pushing the pile of coins in your direction. 

“The hell are you gonna do with that money?” He spits, but cannot help the grin that begins at the side of his mouth.

You toss your braided hair over your shoulder. “As I damn well please, Mister Morgan. I think I’ll take myself to town.”

Pushing the dominoes into the center of the table, you stand and relieve Arthur of his money.

“Maybe I'll find me a nice stable boy and treat him to dinner.” You tease, knowing just how to rib the man in front of you.

He snorts, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one at the table, “Ain't you just a proper lady, wine and dine the boy before robbin’ him blind.”

“Claro, Arthur, sounds like you have some experience with that.” Javier chuckles from his seat across the campfire. You look over at Javier and wink, laughing under your breath. 

Arthur rolls his eyes, taking a drag from his cigarette. You laugh as you deposit the coins into the pocket of your dress. 

“The pleasure was all mine, Mister Morgan.” You curtsy in an exaggerated manner before stepping away from the table and taking your leave.

Arthur shoots up as you walk away, heading toward where the horses are hitched across the camp. A pleased smile crosses your face as you hear his heavy footsteps behind you.

“C’mon now, you ain’t really gonna go blow that money in Valentine of all places,” Arthur complains, taking a drag of his cigarette as he follows you.

“Cattle town is gonna be the best place to pick up a strapping young stablehand, Mister Morgan. Besides, didn’t you and Lenny just blow through an embarrassing amount of money in Valentine two weeks ago?” You spin on your heel and press your pointer finger into his chest accusingly.

“That was - that’s… that’s different.” He sputters, almost dropping the cigarette from his mouth. A tinge of red stains his cheeks as his eyes dart away from you.

“Mhmm. Sure…” You roll the second word in a drawl imitating the man’s rough voice, the ‘u’ sounding more like an ‘o’ and ‘a’ smashed together.

He scowls in response.

“Are you seriously going to Valentine for that?”

You laugh, reaching your horse.

“I’m gonna go check out a lead I heard from one of the workin’ girls in town.” You pull on the strap of the horse’s saddle, tightening the holster where your repeater is tucked into. 

“Y’want company?” Arthur asks, dropping his cigarette on the ground and snuffing it out under his boot. God, this man is about as obvious as they come.

“Nah, I’m a big girl. ‘Sides, I’m just lookin’. I’ll be sure to find ya when it’s ready to hit though.” You pull yourself up into the saddle of your gelding, a young silver-coated trotter. 

“I’ll be back to take more of your money, I promise, Mister Morgan.” You laugh as you settle yourself in the saddle, looking down at him as he rolls his eyes at you. “Don’t miss me too much, cowboy .” You lower your voice to sweet registers as you lean over your saddle closer to him.

The very hint of a blush blooms on his cheeks again before he looks back to the ground.

This dance, the give and take, the teasing, it’s all burning in your gut deliciously. Somewhere along the way of robbing, thievery, and general skullduggery that the gang lived by, you and Arthur began this flirtation.

You’d be blind not to notice him - especially when he’s been apt to chop wood shirtless around camp. Karen may or may not have smacked you upside the head after catching you staring.

And you - you know you’re not any vixen - you certainly don't have Karen’s bosom, but you’ve noted Arthur’s stare at times, lingering for longer than is socially appropriate.

Also, there’s Mary Beth and Tilly teasing you that Arthur looks at you like a lost puppy. Karen drolls on that whatever this is between you is getting obnoxious and you two should just get in bed together and get it over with.

Maybe if Blackwater hadn’t happened the way it did, you’d have done that by now. It's been a while since you’ve been on your back for anyone , and certainly, since joining this gang a year back, you’ve been trying your damnedest to prove your worthiness as a thief, without sleeping your way around the camp.

But Arthur… Arthur; the stalwart enforcer, the muscle, the fearless, at times ruthless second in command… Somehow, underneath that bloody and hard exterior is a quiet, unsure, and unconfident man. 

You're in the painfully obvious stage of…. whatever this is between you, where the attraction is undeniable, the tension is palpable. Perhaps it was when Arthur insisted on teaching you how to shoot when a coach robbery in Colorado went south. Perhaps it was the way he curled his arms over your back to help you aim the repeater. Perhaps it was the way his rough, low voice whispered in your ear to keep both eyes open when aiming…

Speaking of which, his rough, low voice interrupts your thoughts.

“You be careful now, Miss.”

“Always am, Mister.”

Arthur nods and gives you a two-fingered salute as you urge your horse into a trot away from the camp, passing Karen on your way while on guard duty. She waves, and you toss some crude joke at her, to which she laughs back, fading out of view as your horse makes it past the brush and woods to the main road.  The gang had settled at Horseshoe Overlook several weeks ago after the mess of Blackwater and the terrible time in Colter. Things were slowly returning to normal - jobs were starting up again, there was money to be made.

The golden late afternoon sun falls behind the mountains as you steer your horse through the Heartlands, skirting east of Valentine and into the heavily wooded Cumberland Forest.

Some harlot with loose lips was talking up a client she had, some feckless man from the East who set up in a cabin north of Cornwall’s oil fields. Sounded like he had money, by the way the girl was talking in the saloon. All you had to do was a little scoping out, recruit some of the men for the job, and reap the benefits. You could see the pleased look on Dutch’s face when you bring back the haul, having orchestrated an entire robbery and provided for the gang. You would finally feel worthy .

The low light of dusk descended on the forest by the time you reach your destination. You hitch your horse just off the road, grabbing your binoculars and slinging your repeater over your back before quietly trapezing through the high grass and trees toward the clearing where the cabin stood. Luckily for you, the side you approached from sloped down a rocky hill, and there was a ledge perfect for spying upon the cabin and its occupants.

You sidle up to the ledge and stoop to your knees, then to your belly as you pull a pair of binoculars from your dress pocket. 

There we are.

Sprawled out on the ledge, peering through your binoculars with a repeater strapped across your back, you grin. A light is lit within the cabin, shadows of its occupant moving around. Hell, from the one window you can see in, things look clean and new. A sitting duck. You decide to stay another half hour to see if you can delineate any other people in the cabin.

None such exist. You snort, giggling to yourself with glee - this was going to be great. Tomorrow you would recruit Arthur and Javier, maybe John if he was feeling up to it, storm into this cabin, and rob this city slicker blind. Foolproof .

“You think you can just move in on my spot, huh, missy?”

A cold shiver goes down your spine as you whip your binoculars to the ground in front of you. Sprawled out on the grass of the ledge, it was near impossible to reach your repeater at this angle.

Not that it would have helped anyway.

The butt of a rifle meets the back of your head and all goes black. 

-

You awaken with a piercing pain in the back of your skull. It takes you moments for your vision to come into focus, but when it finally does, you find yourself indoors, the stench of stale cigarettes nearly overbearing.

Blinking, your eyes become less cloudy as you realize that you’re bound. Your hands are tied tightly behind your back, the fibers of rope rough against your wrists. You lay atop a bed of some sort, though calling it that would be generous. You struggle against your bindings, groaning against the fabric tied tightly against your mouth, gagging you. 

A door opens across from you, and as you strain to get your bearings in the dark, the light from a lantern floods the room. Decrepit, falling apart, dirty - a wardrobe with a door hanging off and random items thrown in. Bottles litter the floor. 

A chair with a rifle- no wait - a repeater slung over the back of it, hanging by a strap.

Your repeater.

“Now, what do we have here, little miss?”

Your eyes dart back to the stranger walking into the room, the man places the lantern down on a side table. 

“I got to thinkin’- who could this little lady be that’s scopin’ out my lead?”

He leans on the bed, uncomfortably close. You squirm as far as you can from him on the bed, your teeth clenching down on the gag in your mouth.

“Yer one of Dutch’s girls, ain'tcha? Colm’ll love this.”

O’Driscoll.

Of course. Dutch had said Colm was operating in the area. Hell - it wasn't two weeks ago that a bunch of the men cleared out a safe house full of them; the green-scarved assholes. Stupid, stupid. Why didn't you take up Arthur’s offer to come with you?

You narrow your eyes at the man and finally notice the green bandana at his collar, tucked into his dirty flannel shirt. He pulls an old, beat-up cabbie hat from his head and tosses it to the ground. His dark hair is disheveled, as is his beard.

“I’ll be bringin’ you back to our camp. Colm will want to be speakin’ wit ya. Y’know, he can be quite a convincin’ man.”

You continue to try and scoot yourself away from the man, a dirty, rough-looking scoundrel - just what you pictured when an O’Driscoll came to mind. Unfortunately, the bed where you’ve been deposited is against the wall, and you've quickly run out of real estate to put between you.

“The boys are hittin’ that house now, ain't gonna lose it to any stinkin’ Van der Lindes.” He spits with derision over Dutch’s name.

He turns and spits on the floor before moving closer to you. You try to buck and withdraw further to prevent him from touching you, but between his encroaching figure and the wall, you are trapped.

“But while we’re waitin, might as well have some fun.” He grabs your leg to stop you from moving. He yanks, hard, pulling you across the bed toward him. You yell into the gag. He pulls your boots off and tosses them across the room, they skitter across the floor. His hands dive under your skirt, finding your knees, and where your stockings end at your thigh. They are peeled from your legs as you try to squirm from his grasp.

Tears run down your face as you struggle, the screams reduced to animalistic cries with the fabric between your teeth. You pull on the ropes binding your wrist but are unable to make any headway other than rubbing the skin of your wrists raw behind your back.

“Y’know, pretty little thing like you, maybe I should make you my wife.”

The man looks over you, giving you a toothy grin. He leans over and takes your shirt in two hands and pulls, buttons fly and fabric tears as you struggle against him, yelling against the gag in your mouth. The shirt is pulled from your body in torn pieces before he starts to pull at the fastening of your skirt. You buck your knee up and hit him on the chin. Smarting from the blow, he works his jaw a bit before slamming his fist across your face.

You’re left dazed, vision going temporarily black. You feel your skirt loosen around your waist. There is a tearing of cloth, ripping, and as you’re reeling from the blow to your head, you feel your bloomers torn from your hips. Your threadbare chemise is all that shields your body from this man.

The terrible clicking sound of a belt being undone pierces the stillness.

“Now, now, you haven’t been too nice to me tonight, miss. Think it’s time ta teach you some manners. I know ol’ Van der Linde prolly doesn’t teach you shit.”

He climbs onto the bed, looming on his knees above you. You try to wriggle your arms free, but the rope behind your back is tight against your wrists. You meet his eyes as a cold sweat overtakes you. 

He laughs, the bastard. Standing on his knees above you, he undoes the buttons of his trousers one by one. He yanks his shirt up his abdomen before peeling his trousers down to his knees, one hand stroking his hardening cock.

You scream again but gagged as you are, your efforts are in vain.

Hands return to your thighs. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying hard to close your legs, but strong fingers move up to your thighs again and shove your knees apart. Fabric is pushed, higher, higher. The hem of your chemise is hiked over your hips, baring your naked skin to your captor. He lets the fabric go and it pools around your ribcage. 

Tears burst from your eyes as you begin to hyperventilate behind the gag. 

“Pretty miss.”

You feel the blunt head of his cock push against your opening, insistently demanding entry. A sob wracks your body as the man above you grunts, pressing hard against you. A piercing pain flashes through your hips, and the opening of your cunt burns as he breaches you, the head of his cock forcing his way in. You’re not prepared for anything like this, and the drag of his skin against yours is a pain like you’ve never felt before.

He groans in pleasure, pushing further into you, and tears continue to spill from your eyes as the pain worsens. He presses his whole body down on yours, your arms screaming in pain as they are forced into an unnatural angle beneath both your body and his.

You thought the burning would never end, the scraping of your inner walls, but the man finally bottoms out, and with a pleasurable moan, he thrusts himself fully inside you, his pubic bone hard against your own. 

He rolls his hips, pulling out slightly, and pushing back in. In some small mercy, your body has betrayed you, and your cunt becomes wet enough that the pain becomes less and less excruciating. The energy, the fight, the fire you had, it all seems to have left you, with each heinous thrust of your captor into you, your body becomes more and more limp. Your soul crushed with each squelching noise and moan from the man atop you.

He continues on, and you turn your head, staring at the wall. It’s all you can do, focus on the crack in the beam supporting the structure. Your body moves back and forth on the bed as he rolls his hips against yours, thrusting in and out, in and out. He looms over you, his arms bracketing in your head, hips mashed together, warm skin on warm skin. If it weren’t so painful, so raw, so violating , it would remind you of lovers past, tangled up in bedsheets and limbs.

But this feels like it’s never going to end. It feels like hours that he takes you, each push of his body into yours is a little less of you left.

“Fuck , you’re tight, woman.” He grits out, thrusting harder into you, more erratically, “So g-good.”

Thankfully, he finally pulls out of you, stroking himself to completion, and spatters his spend over your mound.

He grunts as he rolls off of you, stumbling off the bed and pulling his pants back up. He redoes his belt without looking at you.

“You’ll be a popular one ‘mongst the boys, with a tight little cunny like that.”

You stare at the wall, unable to think, unable to move. Your chemise lays limply on your stomach and your legs hang open, your muscles scream against the abuse.

“Maybe later I’ll fuck ye in the ass, surely yer even tighter there.” The man reaches over and grabs a handful of your behind from the side as if to stake his claim.

You just close your eyes. He removes his hand from your skin as he mumbles something. The door opens and closes to the bedroom of this small cabin. You're left alone, your cunt aching, arms protesting, voice hoarse. 

What seems like hours later, you hear a loud commotion outside the door. A violent crack pierced the night. You pray that it’s not more men coming to violate you further, tears flowing from your eyes again. You’re unable to find the strength to do anything. You can’t endure this endlessly. Maybe they will have mercy on you and kill you.

The door bursts open.

You are barely able to raise your head, but you make eye contact with the room’s new occupant. It is not your captor, nor any of his green-scarved comrades.

No, it is a lumbering man with honeyed hair and a black hat you’d recognize anywhere.

“Jesus Christ.”

Close, but Arthur Morgan is the closest you could get to a savior right now.

He slams the door behind him.

You cannot do anything but stare, your limbs don’t work, and your muscles protest. Even your neck gives out, and your head lays back on the bed, a strangled noise coming from your throat.

That’s how Arthur finds you. Bound and gagged, sprawled out on a dirty bed. Stripped to a chemise, hiked up over your hips. Your legs open, another man’s drying spend splattered in the dark hair shrouding your cunt. All you can do is stare at the ceiling with cold and broken eyes.

Arthur rushes over to you, throwing his rifle to the floor. It clatters in the silence of the room. He grabs the hem of your chemise, pulling it down over your thighs to give you some semblance of modesty, before grabbing his knife and cutting the fabric tied around your jaw.

You take a shuddering breath, and turn your eyes to the ceiling, unable to look at him. He leans over you and takes his knife to the ropes binding your wrists. They snap, and you somehow find the strength to whip your arms to your front and curl your knees into your chest, trying to make yourself small.

Arthur slowly, carefully places his hand on your shoulder, and you shiver under his touch, a sob escaping your mouth. 

“Darlin’.”

Your head, tucked into your knees, raises, and your eyes, full of tears, find his. He stares down at you with such gentleness, but in those blue eyes, a sadness, a fear glimmers.

Your face crumbles as you sob again. Arthur quickly sheds his brown leather jacket and lays it over your shoulders. He sits down on the bed next to you. 

“C’mon, let’s get you back to camp.”

“N-no.” You stutter. The thought of anyone else seeing you like this was terrifying.  You can’t take the stares of the others. You couldn’t take the fawning of the other women, the clucking of Susan as a mother hen when one of her girls gets hurt. Hosea’s pitying expression. Dutch’s righteous anger. You couldn’t take the pity, the tutting, the attention.

“I don’t- I don’t want to go back there tonight.”

You don’t want to go back there dressed only in a chemise, horseless, with tear-stained cheeks. It would be obvious to everyone what happened.

“Alright. Okay. We’ll figure it out. But we gotta get out of here. Ain’t no tellin’ when anyone else’ll be back.” Arthur looks over his shoulder at the door to the bedroom. 

He moves from the bed, taking his rifle and slinging it over his shoulder. You pull his jacket around your shoulders tighter. He moves about the room, surveying out a dirty window before grabbing your repeater from the chair and swinging it over his shoulder as well.

“Stay there. I’ll be right back.”

He unholsters his revolver from his belt, pushing the door open and shutting it quickly behind him. 

You swipe at your eyes in the silence with the back of your palm. You barely have enough time to collect yourself before  Arthur swings the door open and you jolt. He reholsters his revolver and moves toward the bed. 

“C’mon, got the horse out front. Let’s get outta here.”

Without letting you stand; or even question him, he swings his arms around your frame, hoisting you from the bed as if you were nothing. One arm hooks under your knees, the other behind your back.  You allow it. Normally, you would scoff at being treated like some damsel.

But things weren’t normal now.

Arthur’s heavy steps echo through the cabin as he moves quickly, out the door of the bedroom and through the main room, which was in just as much of a state of disarray. In moments he’s passed through the front door, onto the porch for a step, and into the glen where a ramshackle camp had been set up.

The moon shines bright in the sky. It must be close to midnight.

You peer over Arthur’s shoulder as he moves away from the structure. A crumbled body lays on the porch, contorted in an unnatural position. The bloodied face of your captor stares back at you, a bullet hole between his eyes. You close your eyes and turn away, leaning your head onto Arthur’s collarbone.

His arms tighten around you as you release an audible, shuddering breath.

-

Arthur swings the mare to the north of Valentine, westward to avoid any other bandits in Cumberland, skirting the cliffs along the Dakota.

The blue waters of the river gently rush by as Arthur slows his mare to a walk, her heavy breathing loud in the night as she’s worked up a lathing sweat on her coat. 

You’re astride the saddle, Arthur’s jacket wrapped around your frame, fit securely against him, where he holds you tightly with one arm across your stomach and one hand fisted in the reins as he sits behind you.

He allows the horse to splash several steps into the waters before she stops to lean her head down to the river.

You look at the water for a moment as the mare drinks her fill.

“Can- can we stop here?”

He pulls on the reins, urging his mare back toward the bank of the river. She whinnies with discontent. “What d’ya need?”

The arm around your stomach tightens its hold briefly.

“I… I want to wash off.” You say softly, almost too soft for him to hear it. But he does, his mouth pulled into a straight, serious line.

“Course.” He says, voice gruff.  Arthur swings his leg back over the horse’s rump, his spurs jingle as his boots hit the ground. He gently places his hands on your waist, slowly, assuredly pulling you from the horse.

“D’ya need-”

“No. I’m fine.” You interject, not able to meet his eyes. You shrug off his jacket and press it toward him, he takes it as you turn away, walking barefoot toward the riverbank. You slowly edge around stones along the shoreline, trying to save your feet from any sharp edges.

You slowly wade into the water, not bothering to strip yourself of the chemise you’re wearing. Arthur turns away, stepping back from the riverbank.

You wade out several steps until the water laps at your knees. You gather the soaking wet hem of your chemise and pull it above your hips with one hand, the other one cupping water and bringing it up to your cunt, rinsing away the viscous reminder of your violation. 

You openly sob, shaking, as you drop the hem of your chemise and start to sink further into the water. You vaguely hear splashing behind you and before you know it, you’re lifted out of the water.

Arthur walks you back to dry land, his arms looped protectively behind your back and under your knees. He places you gently on an overturned log next to the tree where he’d hitched the horse.

“Sweetheart, you’re gonna freeze in just your underthings like that.” Arthur places his leather jacket around your shoulders again. You can’t stop crying, your voice cracking over shuddering breaths.

“P-please don’t take me back to c-camp.” You stutter, shivering, voice cracking as tears spill down your cheeks unbidden.

Arthur sighs, taking his hat off his head to wipe his forehead. He places it back on his head before looking around. 

“How about I get you a room in Valentine for the night? I’ll buy you a new dress ‘nd then we can figure it out.”

You nod, swiping the back of your hand over your cheeks in a sad attempt to dry your eyes. Another shuddering breath escapes you.

He patiently helps you climb onto the horse’s saddle, settling himself in behind you and leading the mare away from the riverbank. The moon hangs high in the sky as the hour churns later, closer to midnight as you reach the road eastward to Valentine. Over the hours, the sky darkens, clouds moving to obscure the light of the moon as thunder rumbles in the distance, a storm rolling in from the mountains.

Arthur curses under his breath as the wind blows in the scent of rain. Still another hour to Valentine, even pushing the horse at an uncomfortable pace. He pulls you closer to his body as fat drops of rain begin to fall.

By the time you reach Valentine, the roads are choked with mud and a soaking rain pours from the sky. You shiver under Arthur’s coat as he urges the mare around the back of the Saints Hotel. He slides off the saddle of the horse, looking up at you. 

“I’ll go get a room. You can meet me at the back door over there.” He says before pulling you down off the horse by your waist, putting you on the ground gently. You shuffle his coat to cover your head as he hitches the horse to a post.

Your feet squelch in the mud as you make your way to the back wooden stairs, waiting for Arthur to return. It's only a few moments before he does, rounding the corner in the night like a man on a mission.

“Here”, he presses a key into your hand, “second door on up the steps. I’m gonna go down to the general store ‘fore it closes to get some clothes and food.”

Arthur pulls a revolver out of his belt, pressing that in your hand as well. “Don’t open the door for anyone but me.” 

You nod gravely, pulling his jacket tighter around you. As the rain falls, you slowly make your way up the stairs, and Arthur watches you enter the hotel before turning down the muddy street toward the store.

You pad quietly down the hall, reaching the door Arthur had mentioned and inserting the key into the lock. The door swings open and you quickly shut it behind you.

You place Arthur’s jacket over a chair, tucking the revolver into a pocket, and rub your arms as you move closer to the fireplace. Fortunately, with the weather, the hotel staff had kept the fire lit. The room was small, the wallpaper fading, but for Valentine, it was the best one could get. You survey the room before landing in the mirror, finally looking at yourself.

The mirror reflects a ghastly sight, and your dirty, threadbare chemise does little to shield you. Your hair is half out of its braid, plastered to your skin. Your feet are covered in mud, shoeless as you are. Red-rimmed eyes betray you in the reflection.

You grit your teeth and yank the chemise off of you, throwing it in the fireplace with a groan of frustration. The fabric, though wet in areas, quickly caught aflame.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, breathing heavily. Searching your reflection, you look for something , some mark, some scar, some kind of wound that showed what you had been through. Your kind, outlaws, wore scars like badges of honor. Javier’s dance with the gallows painted on his neck. John’s bout with wolves across his face. Bullet wounds and stab marks are a testament to the survival of this kind of life.

You sigh, tears escaping your eyes again. As you look over your nude form, you grit your teeth. There was nothing, other than some chafing on your wrists from ropes and fading redness on your cheek.

Your hand starts to shake as you lift it from where it hangs at your side. A shaky breath, a barely concealed sob, the popping of the fire, that’s all the sound that exists in this room. Your shaking fingers move to the cradle of your hips, to the hair over your mound. Your index finger presses inward, parting the seam of your core as you wince. You’re swollen, and as you trace up to the opening of your cunt, you gasp aloud in pain, pulling your finger back from your irritated skin.

Your gasp melts into a full-blown sob as you sink to the floor in front of the fireplace.  You weep, pulling your knees into your chest, trying to block out the memory of the man’s hands on you, his length inside you.

Trying to block out the look on Arthur’s face when he found you.

-

You wrapped yourself in a blanket and sat in front of the fire. Three quick raps on the door pull you from your fugue joltingly.

“Hey, it’s me.”

You stumble up, pulling the blanket closer around yourself, and unlock the door. You back away from it as it swings open, Arthur stepping in with his arms full of wrapped packages. He moves past you and deposits them on the bed, before turning back toward the door.

“I’ll let you dress. There’s plenty of food here. I’m going to take the horse just outside of town and camp there.”

Fear creeps into you. “B-but…”

Arthur turns and looks at you.

“P-please don’t go.” Your eyes water over again as you clutch the blanket closer to yourself.

“Are y’ sure?” He asks, pulling his hat off and shaking the excess water from it.

“I’d like you here.” You whisper.

“Whatever you need. I’ll do whatever you need.” He replies quietly, eyes trained on yours for a moment, sincerity in those blue-green pools.

He steps toward the fireplace, moving to kick off his boots and leave them by the door.

“I’ll… I won’t look.” He mutters, pulling a chair from next to the door and placing it in front of the fireplace, taking a seat and rubbing at his forehead tiredly.

You shuffle back toward the bed and unwrap the package Arthur placed there - a simple grey dress, long-sleeved with petticoats and a new chemise lay folded underneath the brown paper. You drop the blanket and let it puddle on the floor, dressing yourself in the clothes quickly.

“T-thank you. I’ll have to pay you for these.” You murmur softly, tying the last fastening on the skirt before turning around and facing him.

He nods his head in the negative, but continues staring at the fire. “No y’ don’t. It’s fine.”

You look around the room forlornly, but finally, exhaustion begins to set in. You sit on the bed and the wooden frame creaks under your weight.

“Y’okay?” Arthur does finally turn around and look at you, concern alight in his eyes.

It takes you a moment to respond.

The twinge in your hips, the hoarseness of your voice. The chafed skin of your wrists, the overextension of your muscles. The memory, weighing you down like an anchor.

You’re so tired.

“No.”

You can barely recognize your own voice. He certainly can’t. You don’t wait for a response as you move to lie down in the bed, turning away from him.

Arthur watches you settle in, pulling the worn blanket over yourself. Sighing to himself, he turns back to the fire, pulling his hat off and running his hand through his hair.

He shoulda killed that man slowly.

-

You awaken in bits, blinking into existence. Slowly accumulating to your surroundings, you press yourself up into a sitting position, finding yourself on the bed in a hotel room. Arthur is across the room, sleeping in a chair, his legs propped up on a chest, his hat over his face. The fireplace smolders with the last bit of embers from the night. Sunlight filters in through the dusty lace curtains.

Swinging your legs down to the floor, you wince slightly as the bed’s frame creaks loudly. Arthur jolts in his chair, his hat falling to the ground.

“Sorry…sorry-” you whisper, knowing how miserable it is to be woken suddenly.

“`S fine,” Arthur mutters, covering his mouth with his palm as he yawns.

You rub your upper arms quickly to warm yourself up, staring at the empty fireplace.

“Y’ want to go back to camp?” Arthur’s voice pierces the stillness that had settled in the room.

“Y-yes. I think so,” you pause, “Arthur…”

“Mm?” He doesn’t look up from pulling on his boots.

“Please don’t…. Don’t tell anyone.”

He stops, looking up at you. “Course,” nodding gruffly, a serious expression on his face. He places his hat on his head and throws his brown jacket over his shoulders. He moves toward the fireplace, grabbing the rifle and repeater balanced against the frame, and slinging them both over his shoulder.

“A-Arthur…” you pipe up again, your voice small, “I don’t, I don't have shoes.”

Arthur raises his eyebrows before cursing under his breath after looking at your feet, partially obscured by your skirts. “ Shit , lemme… Lemme go down to the store and get some.”

“I have more at camp. You don't have to. We’re goin’ straight there, right?”

He nods, and you make toward the door, “Just… check out and I’ll meet you around back.”

“Alright, I‘ll just be a minute.” He gruffly nods, grabbing the key to the door and heading out. You hear his heavy footsteps make their way down the hall and the stairs.

You sigh, straightening your skirts, and look yourself over in the mirror for a moment. Was it obvious? Did you look different? Would people know?

It would not do to dwell. You move to the door, open it, and quietly relatch it before quickly moving down the hall and out the back door, rounding the raised deck to the old staircase behind the hotel. The wooden stairs creak under you, as you carefully pad down to the enclosed yard behind the hotel.  You cringe when you look at the wet, muddy ground between you and Arthur’s horse, several feet away, hitched to a post outside the hotel’s property.

Arthur rounds the corner from the front and looks at you standing on the last stair. You frown, “I’ll be right there.”

The outlaw doesn't take that answer. Rolling his eyes, he stalks toward you, his boots squelching in the mud.

“Wait, Arthur-”

He picks you up like a sack of potatoes, over his shoulder, your behind high in the air as he turns toward his mare several feet away.

You screech indignantly, “Put me down, you big oaf!”

“I'm sure your ladyship doesn't want to be in the mud with us low-lives.” He snorts, reaching his mare after passing through the soggy ground.

“I swear , Arthur-”

Arthur heaves you forward, and you grunt in surprise as you land on the rump of the horse, his hands sliding to your waist to steady you. Your hands fly to his shoulders for more support.

For a moment, everything was as it was. The back and forth, the playful name-calling. The blush rises on your cheeks as you feel his fingers curl ever so slightly against your waist.

And then you wince briefly, a shot of pain through your hips, and Arthur pulls back his hands as if they burned you. 

“ Shit , I didn’t-” he stutters, eyebrows raised and eyes wide.

“Wasn’t you. Wasn’t you.” You reply quietly, your hands leaving his shoulders.

He frowns, his eyes moving from you to the ground, where the horse’s hooves stamp lightly; the mare irritated by Arthur’s jolting.

Arthur runs his hand down the mare’s neck, leaning in to whisper something in her ear, calming her. He takes another look at you, his mouth drawn in a tight line.

“Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

-

The return to camp is blessedly uneventful. You even manage to slip in without anyone noticing your bare feet. You are able to sneak into your small tent and at least throw an old pair of boots on before anyone notices you’ve returned.

Charles speaks to you first, having found your gelding making his way back to camp. You’re able to craft a story about being bucked outside of Valentine, and how it was fortunate for you to be marooned so close to town, where you hung around knowing someone with the gang was liable to swing by. It was believable, especially with Charles knowing that your horse could still be temperamental. He doesn’t push with any further questioning.

People don’t bother you. You’re able to settle into normalcy, or at least feign it. 

The nights turn cold, and much like the spring blizzard that trapped the gang in the Grizzlies, cold winds blow down from the mountains. A day is spent hanging extra canvas on everyone’s tents to guard against the chill on the overlook.

And you find yourself staring at the pitch of your small tent in the small hours of the morning, as the campfires have burned down to embers and even the hardest drinkers have gone to bed.

You can’t sleep. Your bedroll against the ground gives you little solace as you sigh, rolling over for the umpteenth time. It’s not necessarily insomnia keeping you awake.

It’s fear. It’s been days since you returned to camp atop Arthur’s horse, and you’ve gotten sleep in fits and bursts, but one harrowing nightmare about green bandanas and a laughing voice and hands all over you has shaken your already winnowing psyche.

You roll fully to your stomach, pressing yourself up to your hands and knees. Tossing the woolen blanket you were under aside, you grab a dress from the pile of clothing and shrug it on over your chemise before crawling out of the tent.

Wrapping your arms around yourself against the cold, you quietly shuffle across the campsite toward a large wagon not far from the edge of the overlook.

Sighing, you run your hand through your hair to calm your nerves. The worst he could do would be to throw you out, right?

That would be pretty terrible, you muse as you snuck between the canvas flaps of the large tent.

“A-Arthur.” You whisper.

The outlaw shoots up in his cot, about to reach for his knife on the table next to him before he realizes it’s you.

“What is it, what’s wrong?” He grunts, his voice rough with sleep.

“I just- just… can I stay with you?”

“Sure- sure. Here,” he pulls the blanket off of him, making to stand up from his cot, “I’ll sleep on the ground.”

“N-no,” you step forward, placing your hand on his shoulder, preventing him from standing, “I-…”

You sit on the cot next to him, wringing your hands together. “It’s just… y’ make me feel safe, Arthur.”

Silence falls between you.

“I’m sorry, I should go. I shouldn’t have woken you up.”

He places a large hand over yours, stopping you from standing. He lays back down, lifting the blanket to allow you to slot yourself next to him. 

“C’mere.”

You slowly ease yourself down next to his form, a tight squeeze on the cot. As you press against him, he pulls the blanket over both of you, leaving his arm to lay over you.

It makes you feel secure. You settle in, placing one of your hands on his chest. You don’t remember falling asleep.

-

Arthur awakens with a crick in his neck. Why the hell was he sleeping on his side? Blinking awake, it only takes him a moment to realize that you’re pulled tightly against him, your head tucked under his chin, your hand lightly over his chest.

You were so full of fire and energy and life before.  Now, you're curled into him with a fear that kept you up at night.

He swears he’s gonna kill every O’Driscoll he ever comes across.

-

You fall into a sense of normalcy. Days go by, you sew and do laundry on the cliff, you help Pearson with meals, and clean up after supper. You put on a cheery face and laugh and mask everything that you’re feeling inside, and by the time night falls, you are spent, bodily and emotionally.

The camp grows quiet in the night and you sneak to Arthur’s tent, into his waiting arms. After the first two days of waking him to ask to stay, he took to waiting until you crept in, pulling you into his embrace and somehow trying to make both of you comfortable on his cot, which was a lost cause half the time.

But you sleep. You actually sleep. Unlike the first few days of staring at the pitch of your tent, you get well-needed rest in this space.

Arthur’s turned the lantern down low, and sits in his cot clad in his union suit, sketching in his journal when you enter the tent, your long coat tight around your shoulders.

He quickly tosses the journal aside and stands up, moving toward you to help you slide the coat from your frame.

“Y’didnt need to s-stop.” You stutter, your teeth chattering. 

“Was just waitin’ for you anyways.” He replies, placing your coat over the chest at the end of his cot. He pulls you toward the bed as he sits down, first moving to get himself comfortable, pulling the woolen blanket that was piled at the end of the bed over his frame. He lifts the blanket, motioning for you to crawl in. 

It's a practiced movement at this point, for the past several nights, you and he have worked through awkward arms and elbows, sleeping positions that do not work, to what does.

You curl in next to him; your head laying on the curve of his shoulder.

“How did you know to find me?” You whisper, hand firmly on his chest. Your eyes can't meet his.

Arthur frowns. “I knew I shoulda just come wit’ you. I shoulda trusted my gut.”

One of his large hands moves to tuck an unruly strand of hair behind your ear. Finally, you're able to meet his eyes, those azure pools you would happily drown yourself in.

“Went to Valentine. Saw some O’Driscolls hauntin’ about. Figured I would go ruin their day. Heard ‘em talking about a new spot they had up in Cumberland.”

You swallow. You know how the story ends from here.

“ ‘M sorry, sweetheart. I shoulda been there for you.” His hand moves from behind your ear to cup your cheek, “I didn’t keep you safe.”

“Ain’t your fault.” You quietly reply back. Before he can retort back, you bury yourself in closer to him, pressing your forehead into the hollow of his neck.  

“I promise, I’ll never let anythin’ happen to you again. I swear.” His rough voice whispers into your ear as he winds his arms tighter around you.

It’s a nice thought. Here, in his small cot, wrapped up in his large frame, you certainly do feel safe. But you know, you’re criminals, outlaws, robbers. There’s no way to keep that promise.

But you’ll allow it for now, at least.

-

He catches you staring out over the cliff, off into the distance, and the winding Dakota valley. It's still a cold and chilly place, and this morning, after you’ve crept away from his tent and redressed in your own.

Pushing a steaming cup of coffee into your hands, he tries to follow where your gaze goes, down the valley toward the cliffs on the other side of the river, in West Elizabeth.

“How would you feel ‘bout gettin’ outta camp? Just for a night.” Arthur postures. You don't look at him, taking a sip of coffee.

“Where?” Your voice is small after you swallow.

“Somewhere o’er there?” he motions toward the area you’re looking at, across the state line, “Just thought y’might need to get away.”

You look up at him, he’s always been a full head taller than you. “Alright, Arthur. When can we go?”

“Now, if you wanna. Already told Dutch I was gonna look up a lead over near the train station.”

Before you know it, you’re atop your gelding following Arthur down the trail toward the river, your repeater strapped to your back as if things were normal, you were heading out on a job. But you and he know, things have been anything but normal.

You travel for most of the day, down and up valleys and under the shadow of Mount Shann. There isn't much conversation, the plodding of the horse’s hooves taking up most of the air around.

As the afternoon sun begins to wane, Arthur brings his mare to a stop, “Let’s settle in here for the night.” he nods toward an open glen not far off the trail, obviously used as a campsite in the past, the charred remains of a fire in the middle of the clearing.

You bring your gelding toward the glen, and wordlessly, you two unpack and begin to set up a small camp. Arthur sets up a small tent while you gather kindling for the campfire.

By the time you return with a handful of kindling, Arthur is clearing out the ashes from the last fire. You place the branches on the ground next to him, and he takes pieces and arranges them before pulling a matchbook from his satchel, which he has tossed against a large overturned log.

In the silence, he gets the fire started and moves from a crouch to sit on the log, an arm’s length away from the growing flames.

You stand opposite him, unmoved since you returned to the camp.

“Can I ask you something?” You say, eyes still on the fire he’s stoking. It's the first you've spoken since leaving Horseshoe.

“Course,” he grunts, adding another piece of wood to the flames.

“Will you… touch me?”

A long exhale.

“Darlin’, I don’t know if that’s the best idea.”

“Oh- I… I’m sorry. I…” 

He couldn’t want you, not anymore. The way he saw you. Of course he doesn’t want to touch you after seeing you like that. You’re damaged goods .

You hang your head in defeat, cheeks blazing red. A sense of shame crawled over you as your vision clouded over with unshed tears. Before all this, the teasing back and forth, the heated glances, the good-natured ribbing… it was all gone. 

“Darlin’….I don’t want to hurt you. You…you’re hurtin’ sweetheart, I don’t want to be the one hurtin’ you more.”

“I don’t want him to be the last person who touched me!”

You clap a hand over your mouth, surprised at your outburst.

“ ‘M sorry, I-I’ll go now-”

“Darlin’. It ain’t- I ain’t… surely, you can have a better man than me touch you.  I ain’t a good man.”

“But I want it to be you, Arthur. I- I feel safe with you. You’re… you’re… I… I choose you.”

He looks at you with a pained expression.

“Please, Arthur. I…want to forget. I want to forget … his hands on me….” You shudder, “I want this to be my choice.”

Silence.

“…And I want you to choose me too.” Your voice drops into a low murmur as you stare at the ground. You’ve bared the last thing you’re hiding from him. He’s now seen and heard everything. He’s seen you at your worst, your lowest. 

“Darlin’ girl. You’ve always been my choice.” 

From his spot sitting on the overturned log, he reaches for your hand, dwarfing it in his own. His rough and calloused fingers close around yours.

“I never want to be the one hurtin’ you. I don’t know if you’re ready for this.” His thumb runs over your knuckles gently. You finally meet his eyes.

“ Please.”

Something in Arthur breaks, it cracks like a piece of porcelain. He gently places his hands on your waist, pulling you toward him. “Tell me what it is you want.”

“ You, Arthur.”

“C’mere,” he says, guiding you down to his lap, where you perch on his thigh, “we’re gonna go slow. You tell me right away if you wanna stop.”

Your hand moves to his jaw, and you lean in and press your lips against his. One of his hands finds the back of your head, the other splayed out on your lower back, as he gently presses his tongue against your lips, urging them to open to him.

You open your lips with a contented sigh and allow him to pull you even closer into his embrace, his tongue pressing against yours insistently. You don't know how many times you had envisioned this, before the O’Driscoll, when things were a bit simpler.

His hand slowly moves from your lower back to your behind, and he tests the waters by giving it a gentle squeeze. You yelp happily into his mouth, your hips moving over his thigh of their own accord, shifting in his lap. He gives a grunt of approval and squeezes your rear again.

Your hands find purchase around his shoulders, digging into the leather of his jacket. In one roll of your hips over his lap, your thigh juts up against his growing erection, hard and hot under you. In response, he bucks his hips up, to press against your thighs, chasing some kind of relief for his burgeoning cock.

You moan, loudly, into his mouth. He pulls away from your lips, breathing heavily. You’re also panting, your eyes meeting.

A question lays unasked between you, the inches between your wet lips and his, the twitching of his fingers against your rear, the hardness of his cock under your thighs. The dampness blooming between your legs.

You push yourself up against his shoulders, standing from his lap. He looks at you, questioning, his hands moving up to your waist.

“Please.” You say, stepping back from him and his arms fall to rest on his knees. You move toward the tent he had set up and look back at him anxiously as you lower yourself to your knees in front of the opening.

He shoots up from his seat, assuaging your fears.

You scoot back into the tent and lay yourself on the bedroll, watching intently as Arthur shrugs off his jacket and leaves it on the ground just next to the campfire. His gun belt clatters to the ground, clinking as it falls. He drops his hat at the mouth of the tent as he sinks to his knees to enter.

Arthur moves into the tent, his large stature overtaking most of the room in the small tent. He pauses, on his knees, and doesn’t move any further. 

“Y’ sure you want this?” He asks, his voice low, but sincerity shines through.

You balance yourself on one elbow and reach with your other arm toward him, beckoning him to crawl over you. You kick your boots off and toss them to the side of the tent. He takes his off as well, spurs clinking as they fall to the ground.

Almost hesitantly, he leans over you, his arms bracketing in your shoulders and his knees on either side of yours. You meet him halfway, pressing your lips to his while throwing your arm around his neck, guiding him down over you. You lay out on the bedroll as he trails his lips from yours, leaving kisses down your jaw.

He suckles gently at your earlobe, and you moan in response. One of his callused hands cups your breast through your shirt, kneading it gently. Your hand flies to his hair, carding through it as you begin to pant.

Arthur looks at you, waiting, patient, and you open your knees slowly, letting him trail his hand up your thigh. He watches for any sign of discomfort, any hesitance, any fear, or pain.

He finds none, and presses forward, trailing his hands up, up to dust your inner thighs. You give a pleased sigh as he moves toward your center, bucking your hips slightly when he presses against your clothed core. Your bloomers quickly become even more damp under his ministrations. 

You push at his suspenders, peeling them down his arms as his hands work to untangle themselves from your skirts.

Arthur sits up, pulling at the buttons of his black shirt and shrugging it off, reaching his union suit underneath. 

You let out a breath, watching him unbutton the waffle-knit long underwear, with each button, more and more of his skin is bared to your stare. Pale underneath his clothes, his chest is scarred and marked and covered in wiry dark hair.

By the time he has undone all of the buttons on his union suit to his waist and peeled his arms from the fabric, he notices that you have made no move to disrobe.

“Y’alright?”

You slowly nod, averting your eyes from his frame.

“You wanna stop?” Arthur reaches out to you, placing a finger under your chin, gently tipping your chin up to bring your eyes back to his.

“How could you want me after that?”

“Oh, sweetheart….”

You pull away from him, whipping your head toward the tent’s opening. You place a hand over your forehead and release a ragged breath.

“I wanted you when I taught you how to shoot. I wanted you when you kicked my ass at dominoes. I wanted you each and ev’ry time you shared my tent. I want you now, ain’t nothin’ gonna change that.” Arthur places his hands on his knees as he moves to sit next to the bedroll. 

“Y’sure?” You ask, your previous confidence waning. 

Arthur chuckles, motioning to his crotch. “You want me to prove it to ya?”

You blink - indeed, his cock swells against his work pants as he shucks his boots off. You’re staring, again, at the bulge in his pants, held back by a measly few buttons.

You look up to his eyes again, and there’s such kindness, such truth, such gentleness, that your fears and reservations are assuaged. You reach for the buttons of your blouse, threading them through their eyes as he returns to stand on his knees in front of you; undoing the buttons of his trousers, opening the fly.

“Lemme show you how much I want you, woman.” His voice is low, cut like rough-hewn stone, and the reverberations go straight to your cunt.

You shed your shirt, tossing it in a corner of the tent out of reach. You begin to unlace your skirt as you hear the rustling of fabrics together and glance up to see Arthur rid himself of his pants, leaving only his half-undone union suit on his body. The fabric clings to every inch of him, every carved muscle and tendon, every bit of sinew binding this man together. His cock strains against the cotton. 

Your skirt is tossed toward the corner of the tent where your shirt is crumpled.

“C’n I help ya?” He whispers, chest heaving.

“Yeah…yeah.”

He reaches forward as you lean back, his hands finding your waist and working on the fastenings of your petticoats. They slide from your waist and you move your hips to let him pull them from your body.

You pull your chemise over your head, baring your breasts to him, clad only in your bloomers. You see him swallow, his eyes scanning your frame. He removes his hands from you and starts to undo the last three buttons of his union suit. You recline, watching him, letting him take the initiative to bare himself completely.

He threads the buttons through their eyelets and pushes the fabric down from his waist. His eyes are on you, gauging your reaction, as he pushes the suit down, down over his hips, shoving the cotton down his thighs.

His large cock springs upward, framed by chestnut curls, his balls hanging heavy between his thighs. You look back up at his face, and your thumbs hook into the waistband of your bloomers and start sliding them down your thighs. You are both rid of the clothing in moments.

“God, yer beautiful,” Arthur murmurs, his hands tightly at his side, holding himself back.

“Touch me. ” You whisper, laying down on his bedroll.  Arthur leans forward, crawling on top of you, placing one forearm next to your head to balance himself. His other hand traces your jaw before he lowers his head to catch your lips.

It’s gentle, surprising you. Arthur Morgan is a man made of violence and brute strength. You’ve seen him tear men apart and beat them stupid. You’ve seen him kill and maim and shoot and stab, but now, here with you, his hand traces down your neck, your chest, across your breasts, down, down to the cradle of your hips. All as he slots his lips against yours, gently, so gently opening them so that his tongue can press against yours, a low rumble echoing from his chest.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, moaning weakly into his mouth as his fingers snake between your thighs, gently pushing them apart. A single finger presses into the seam of your body, and you cry out in pleasure as he moves that finger up and down it. He grunts as he coats his fingers in your wetness, your eagerness for him.

It goes on for minutes, hours, years? You don’t know. But it’s so different, to be lost in pleasure instead of pain. Arthur presses into you and you touch him, wrapping your hand around his cock and pumping it slowly. Whispered, urgent words pour from your mouths, interspersed with moans of pleasure.

Settling between your hips, he braces his arms on either side of your head, and you feel the hot length of him press against your inner thigh. Wanting you. Needing you.

He leans in to kiss your brow. “Still alright?”

You nod, pressing your lips on his jaw quickly. He groans in response, pressing his hips forward.

The head of his cock nudges against your opening. Your eyes widen, and immediately, his hand finds your face, cupping your cheek gently. “We can stop, we don’t gotta do this.”

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, “I wanna be yours, Arthur.”

“You can be mine and we don’t have to do this, sweet girl.”

“You still wanna do this…right?”

“More than anythin’.” He confesses, “but we do what you want. There’s plenty of time.”

“Please. Please , I want you, Arthur.”

He presses forward, gently as possible. He doesn’t force. He doesn’t buck. He leans heavily on one elbow and draws one hand down your frame, fingers tracing across a pebbled nipple, your soft belly, and the cradle of your hips. He raises his hips only slightly, snaking his hand right to where your bodies meet, to where you’re stretched taut around him. He finds the bundle of nerves of your pleasure, rubbing it in circles. You gasp, a high keening moan he has to immediately smother with his lips. He continues his ministrations, and your eyes flutter closed, your hands moving to his back, nails leaving crescent-shaped marks on his skin.

He groans, pulling back from your lips to breathe before laying his forehead against yours. Taking a breath, he pushes his hips down on you, fully sheathing his cock in your core. It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t burn. It’s not anything like before. You’re left with the sensation of being filled, warm, and secure underneath him. 

“Y’okay?” He whispers, pressing his lips to your cheek briefly. One of his hands runs through your hair, brushing it back from your forehead. 

“ Yes,” you breathe back, “you’re so good…”

He smiles, and you’re smitten by the way the wrinkles at the edge of his eyes move. Arthur rolls his hips, sliding his cock inside you, and thrusting back, a long, slow stroke. You both moan as Arthur presses his face into the balled-up blanket next to your head, trying to suffocate the whine he is unable to keep to himself. One of your hands works up his neck to the nape, carding your fingers through the hair there. 

His arms move to brace on either side of your head, and you cross your ankles over his hips as he raises his head above yours again. His jaw hangs open as he rolls his hips, moving both of your bodies atop the bedroll. You arch your back, throwing your head back on the blanket, baring your neck to him, where he leans in and places open-mouthed kisses on your skin. 

Your breath becomes faster, high-pitched whines escaping your throat as he continuously rolls his hips into yours.

“A-Arthur…” you stutter, half whisper, half pleading.

He pushes himself up, looming over you with his hands planted firmly on the bedroll, on either side of your shoulders. He takes you in, your pupils blown, a red flush creeping down your neck and chest. Your breath devolves into panting.

“Oh sweet thing, gonna come for me?” 

You squeeze your eyes shut as your hands move to clench his forearms. “Y-yes, yes - I’m gonna-”

A gasp tumbles from your lips when you feel him shift above you, a calloused thumb finding its way back to the hooded skin over your bundle of nerves, pressing in light circles on it as he continues thrusting into you at a clipped pace.

“I, oh god- keep goin’- don’t stop.” You cry, trying to keep the volume down as tears collect at the corners of your eyes. The stimulation of Arthur’s hand on your pleasure and the incessant roll of his hips sends you reeling.

“Tha’s it, come for me, darlin’…”

You thrust your hips upward, arching the small of your back as the wave hits you. Arthur covers your mouth with his own to stifle the keening cry you emit as every muscle fiber in your body clenches at once.

The glide of his cock as he rocks into you becomes even smoother as your slick covers it, warm and wet and cloying against his balls and all over your thighs. 

Arthur groans into your mouth, pressing himself against you fully, crushing you into his chest, the entire length of his frame against yours.

He grunts out the syllables of your name as his thrusts become more erratic. He wants to spend inside you, so much , but that was a step too far, an irresponsible chasing of pleasure, an intimacy he has not earned with you. But the idea is planted in his mind, and as he courts that precipice, he can only think about how it would feel. Thrusting deep inside your warm body, feeling the constriction of your inner walls against his length. Maybe he’d be lucky enough and you’d come too, the spasming of your core drawing him over that edge, pouring himself into you.  

“T-tell me where-” he grits out into your ear, panting.

You doom him with your reply. A death sentence, his life finally catching up with him. A merciless finality in high-pitched whispers.

“M-make me yours, Arthur-” you whine breathily.

He can feel the coil tightening low in his gut as he continues to thrust, grunting with exertion, trying not to plunge over that cliff just yet. 

“Mine.” He grits out, pushing his hips deep into yours, and finally the rope snaps. Arthur doesn’t just fall off the precipice, he swan dives, “G-god, girl- fuck - you’re m-mine. ”

You whine, loudly , and he feels you flutter around him and he grinds himself hard against your pubic bone, releasing deep inside you, the warm spatter of him milked out by every clench of your cunt. An embarrassingly needy moan escapes him as he drapes himself over you, utterly and completely spent.

Arthur pants in your ear for a few moments, trying to catch his breath. A wet sheen of sweat has developed on your bodies, but now as the movement dies down and you both float down from your highs, you shiver slightly under him.

Arthur immediately pushes himself up, pulling his softening cock from you with a grunt, and repositioning himself to lay at your side. He draws a blanket over your nude forms, settling you in across his chest, his arm winding around your shoulder. You hum, satisfied, satiated, warm, and happy .

“You feelin’ okay, sweetheart?”

“Better now.” You sigh into his chest, your ear pressed over his heart, thrumming steadily in his chest.

“Didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You smile and nod your head against him, “Not at all.”

He places a kiss on the crown of your head.

“Good. I’d like to do that more often, if you’ll have me.”

You press your hand over his pectoral, lifting yourself to fully look at him, your hair a messy curtain over both of you. 

“I am yours now, Mister Morgan. Said it yourself.” You whisper with a grin.

Arthur’s other hand lightly traces up the ridges of your spine, “Means I’m yours too, beautiful girl.”

The blooming soreness in your hips doesn’t burn, it doesn't hurt. Arthur's large hands press against your skin, warm and secure. His frame dwarves yours, but in his arms, you feel safe. Dare say it, loved.

For this moment, at least, the world does not exist outside the tent. For this moment, at least, you can chase the demons out of your mind and slowly start to heal from the experience.

You know you’ll have Arthur next to you.

You smile, tucking your head into the curve of his neck.

“I like the sound of that.”