#I need to hear Dutches heart shatter at the thought of how much he hurt his precious boy

[tiredcowboyy]

Therapy isnt enough I need some kind of fic or comic or smth where dutch realises how mean he was to arthur - like not just realising how much he fucked everyone over - specifically how he hurt his boy so much and even left him to die alone. The arthur that would do anything for him. I need his heart to physically shatter when he thinks of all the mean things he said like “oh but, arthur needs to rest” etc or “I never had a son” LIKE I NEED HIS WORLD TO FEEL LIKE ITS ENDING UGH

[norrisjpg]

scott street - ᴍᴠ¹

in which, the pressure of the 2024 formula 1 season becomes too much for the dutch driver, so instead of leaning on his best friend for support, he pushes her away.

contains: angst, swearing, crying, unresolved conflict, unhappy ending, shouting, mentions of childhood trauma, depression, jos verstappen mentioned (ew), a gilmore girls reference, not proof-read.

max verstappen x unnamed female character

...

...

she thought something was off, something wasn't right - and she was correct.

it was right after the belgian grand prix, after max had lost another win through no fault of his own, after mclaren had gained a few more points on his beloved oracle red bull racing.

she was there, she always had been, waiting for him after the race like she always did. although she had prepared herself, nothing could have prepared her for this.

he knew he needed her, but he was just so wound up, so tired of the shitty car, so done with the team that he couldn't even bring himself to look at her when he walked into his driver's room.

"hey, are you okay?" she asked softly, standing up with the dutchman entered the room, his usual sadness replaced with something else - he was fuming. "max?"

"i'm fine." he mumbled, discarding his helmet carelessly to the floor.

"do you want to talk about it?" her voice was somewhat comforting, but nowhere near enough to calm the pure rage bubbling in his chest.

"no." max sighed, refusing to turn around and look at his best friend.

she nodded, not that he could see her, but it was more of a nod to herself. okay, he doesn't want to talk, that's okay. but she also wondered if he knew it wasn't his fault, because he couldn't help a ten-place grid penalty brought on by his team, and he certainly couldn't help that the mercedes were exceptionally quick today and being held up by cars he was lapping wasn't helping him either - it just wasn't his fault.

of course, she knew he'd be annoyed about his race - but that wasn't the route of his emotions, his father was. max had obviously told her about the traumatic events of his childhood, long after they'd happened, although she was around when most of them took place.

however, she didn't bring it up.

"max?" she spoke quietly, her voice a little airy. "it's not your fault, you know that, yeah?"

"i know it's not my fucking fault." he spat back quickly.

"come on, max, please talk to me." she pried a little more. "it hurts to see you like this."

"oh, it hurts you?" he scoffed, finally turning around to look at her, anger ever-so-present in his pretty eyes. "how the fuck do you think it makes me feel? you always manage to make everything about you, don't you? just can't stand the attention being away from you for just one fucking second, can you?"

it took everything in her to not physically recoil at his words - he'd never ever been like this, and she wasn't going to lie, her heart shattered at his cold attitude toward her. she was only trying to help him and he was acting like this.

"nothing to say, huh?" he almost laughed, but there was nothing resembling a smile on his face. "you know what? just get out."

"sorry?" was all she could muster, an expression of hurt confusion on her face.

"you heard me, leave." he repeated it, squashing her hopes that he was just angry and didn't mean it, that he'd apologise and lay in her arms and just tell her how he really felt.

she got up, putting her phone back in her pocket, glancing over at him to see that he'd turned back to desk, fiddling with something on there.

hearing the door shut behind her was confirmation of what he'd just done - why the fuck did he do that?

head in his hands, he slumped down on the couch, already missing her presence. clearly, max hadn't meant any of that, but it was like word vomit. he felt as if he was floating outside of his body, watching him shove his best friend away, and he couldn't do anything about it.

outside, she stood there, motionless. what the fuck had just happened? gritting her teeth, delicate tears fell down her cheeks as she started to walk out of the red bull garage in aimless despair.

maybe if she hadn't said anything he wouldn't have lashed out of her? did she pry too much? why wouldn't he just talk to her?

"ah, good afternoon." a familiar voice came from behind her as she stood in the paddock, unsure of what to do with herself.

daniel ricciardo.

"oh, hi daniel." she thumbed away the salty tears and sniffled before she turned around - but it was no use, daniel caught on straight away.

"what's wrong?" he furrowed his eyebrows, putting a hand on her shoulder.

she knew there was no point in lying, daniel would get it out of her eventually. "max kinda... blew up at me? told me that i make everything about me and then told me to leave- don't say anything to him though."

"you know i can't promise that, but are you okay?" he shook his head, mentally noting to bring that up with max in the near future.

"i'm not sure."

...

a pretty afternoon in monaco had brought about a lunch between max verstappen and daniel ricciardo. a whole week had passed since the incident, and neither had spoken to each other - both absolutely terrified of what the other would say.

max was scared that she'd push him away, the same way he did. she was scared that max didn't want her back.

the reality was, max needed help - he needed her back. since his outburst, things had gone downhill. the car wasn't looking as good as he'd hoped in the factory, one of his cats was ill, and someone had rear-ended his car somehow - it was as if the universe was screaming at him to just apologise to her, get in his car and go to her apartment, tell her he didn't mean any of it and then finally tell her how he really felt - but max verstappen had fallen deaf, clearly.

luckily, daniel ricciardo hadn't.

"max, what is going on with you?" he asked as the two sat on the bench, slightly hot from the round of padel they'd just played.

"what?" he scrunched his nose at the australian, glancing at him briefly.

"you." daniel repeated. "you're drinking way more than usual, i'm the only person you've seen other than for work purposes, and then you pushed your best friend away - god, why did you push her away?"

"how the fuck do you know about that?" max snapped, quickly apologising with a look afterward. "sorry, how do you know about that, though?"

"she was crying in the paddock after the race." he nodded, pursing his lips. "told me what you said."

"i didn't mean to, okay? i miss her. i know i shouldn't have said what i said, but i can't undo it. i just... i'm scared- what if this is it? what if she won't take me back this time?"

"max." daniel said firmly. "i promise you, that girl will always take you back - you could kill someone and she'd still stand by your side."

"what have i done, daniel?"

...

she was more okay than she thought she was going to be. monday evenings were always reserved for max - dinners, movie nights, whatever they decided to do, it was together.

this monday night was different though.

there wasn't the familiar dutch laughter bouncing around her apartment. there wasn't the delicious smell of home-cooked food lingering in the corridor. there wasn't the colour of freshly bought tulips adding to her plain white kitchen (max always gave her pretty flowers when he came over.) and there certainly wasn't the comforting smell of max's aftershave stuck on her cushions anymore.

it had been three weeks and no word from him.

maybe it was time to move on. maybe he wasn't coming back this time.

she decided early on that it was his decision to return - he was the one who pushed her away so why should she make an effort? in no way was she saying it was for the better, but she was... relatively okay. yes, of course there were things she missed about him - no one wanted to do anything on a monday evening apparently.

so, she spent her monday evenings alone, drowning herself in blankets and fast food, watching some movie that she would never even the end of of - because she fell asleep every time, without fail.

so she did move on.

max on the other hand? he was moving backwards - rapidly.

he thought he was borderline depressed. rotting in his apartment with his cats, occasionally venturing out of the house to buy food or see daniel and lando - but that was it. it was as if all the life had been sucked out of his existence - all the colour, all the light.

so, when he turned up to her apartment on a rainy monday evening, it was a knife to the heart, to the head, to the gut.

he walked into the lobby, planning on going straight up to her and confessing every single feeling he'd had since that dreadful day in belgium.

but, he was met with an unexpected sight. there she was, smiling, with a man.

she was laughing, with him. they were walking towards her apartment, about to head into the elevator. if they were on normal terms, max would have waltzed right up to her and asked who he was - but he didn't have that privilege anymore, remember?

so, he turned around, shocked and almost reduced to tears, and he left.

if only he knew, she would have run to him in a heartbeat.

but, maybe it was for the better.

...

coming next... novacane, ʟɴ⁴ motion sickness, ᴍᴠ¹ (part two)

[strangeradventuresofp]

symphony (arthur morgan x reader)

this story involves smut!! please do not read this if you are not over 18 years old

a/n: not entirely back to writing yet, but i did this and i sorta like it so lemme know what you think. also this is my first time ever writing smut that wasn’t for a roleplay so im super nervous about it. but anyway have a story with my favourite boy 

masterlist

It felt like your gut had been ripped open, like there were pins where your heart was before it cracked and shattered into thousands of fragments that would never be found. It was like someone had put a bullet in your skull and it was rattling around, hitting against every nerve and causing as much damage as it went along. 

Your blood turned to ice in your veins at the sight of him. Never had you seen him look so weak. So helpless. How in his voice he seemed okay despite the state of his body – at least two open wounds, his shirt stained multiple shades of red that weaved in with brown from what had already dried. Hot tears stung in your eyes when they studied him. Despite the warped vision, it was obvious to anyone that he was in pain. How his face contorted and twisted whilst Miss Grimshaw washed over his wounds to get a better look. The grunts and curses that left his dried lips were unbearable to listen to. 

Once you tore your eyes away from him, you assessed the others in the scene. Dutch stood at the foot of the table, his arms crossed over his chest and his hands balled into fists so tight that his knuckles whitened and cracked. Every now and again he mumbled words of encouragement or instructions to tell Miss Grimshaw what to do, despite her knowing much more about how to patch someone up. 

Miss Grimshaw had taken charge immediately, as soon as he had been brought into camp by the others on the job. She removed his shirt swiftly, washing his wounds with a cloth and water. Her expert hands cauterised his wounds and though she winced at every sound of discomfort, she knew that she was helping, and so she continued.

Tilly was around helping Miss Grimshaw, running to get things that she needed presently or that she would need, or that she might need just in case. She fed him alcohol for the pain and listened close when she was asked to do something to help.

You? You simply stood there, frozen. Miss Grimshaw had asked you for something, but you neither moved nor even heard her request for your brain was travelling at a speed that caused you physical pain. The noises he made left an awful taste in your mouth, knowing that you couldn’t help despite wanting to more than anything in the world. 

It was about then that Hosea took your hands in his and gently pulled you away with a “Come on, sweet girl.” And though you protested, you let him take you, because you couldn’t do anything else. You couldn’t just stand and watch him as he was an inch away from death. It hurt. Hosea took you far enough away that you couldn’t hear the sounds of pain that each felt like a bullet to the chest.

He held you to him, wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Hosea.” Was the first thing that came out of your mouth once you had remembered how to use your voice. The man smiled a fatherly smile.

“Nothing to be sorry for. Nothing at all.” He assured, though you couldn’t seem to meet his eye. Gently, he squeezed your hand as a sign of reassurance. Though, reassurance for what, you couldn’t be entirely sure. “I know you wanted to help. It’s difficult when the people we love get hurt.”

You scoffed. “I… I don’t even know what bein’ in love feels like. But, I guess, maybe…” Trailing off, your mind began to wander just as the thoughts pulled a sigh from your lips. 

“Hosea, I don’t—”

“Do you think I don’t see the way you look at him?” Hosea asked with a raised eyebrow, clearly amused that you had tried to deny his claims. 

“Sweetheart, you look at him like you’re starving and he’s a hot meal.”

“I do?” Your voice sounded so small against the deafening silence. As much as you wanted to deny it, Hosea was right, and he knew it. It was terrifying. “I—I’ve never been in love before.” Startling thoughts began cascading down you. You and Arthur were close, real close. You told each other everything. You could be vulnerable around each other. You were there for each other. Was all of that about to be ruined because you were stupid enough to catch feelings?

“What do I do?” 

Hosea chuckled at that. “Get some rest, sweetheart. Try not worry about him, he’ll be fine. He always is.” While you appreciated his attempt of reassurance, you honestly didn’t feel much better at all. Instead, your brain was flooding with the thought of being in love with Arthur on top of the question of whether he was actually going to survive his injuries. 

You stayed just out of camp for a while longer, until you could hear the noise inside start to die down until it was obvious that everyone was asleep. You crept back in, being sure to not make too much noise, you didn’t want to wake anyone. No, not that, you didn’t want anyone to know that you were visiting him. Grabbing a chair, you pulled it up beside where Arthur’s was body was lay and took a seat. You looked over him, humming lightly, Miss Grimshaw really did a good job of patching him up. Your hands wrapped themselves around one of his, and you simply sat at his side until morning, being sure to move away at least two hours before everyone else woke up.

~~~

A few weeks later 

~~~

Chores. Although you helped out on jobs sometimes, since Arthur and Hosea taught you how to shoot properly, you enjoyed helping out around camp, too. It was the least you could do to help out Miss Grimshaw, considering she saved the man that you loved. Besides, most members of the camp were out either on jobs or shopping, or at saloon, so, you were spending your time washing clothes to help out.

Arthur, luckily, survived his injuries and although he was still recovering, he was back up and out on jobs again. Dutch did make sure not to put him on any dangerous (by his standard) jobs, despite Arthur protesting because he’s fine, it was just a couple of scratches and—Goddamn it, Dutch I don’t need supervision, I’m alright and—

“Careful you don’t rub a hole in that shirt.” A deep chuckle came from beside you. Your head snapped up immediately at the sound.

“Arthur!” You only then noticed how hard you had been squeezing the shirt in your hands and how hard you were scrubbing it against the washboard. Loosening your grip, you smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, I—Wait a minute, what the hell are you doing up and around? Dutch told you that you rest today.” A laugh left Arthur’s lips as he held his hands up in surrender. “You should be resting.” With that, you stood, ushering him back to his tent where he could lay down. He took a seat on his bed, looking up at her with a strange expression. Was he… Nervous?

He reached out for your hand, gently tugging you over to take a seat beside him. Instead of letting go of your hand, he held it, his gaze fixed on it. He delicately traced over the veins that peeked through your skin, too delicate, like if he held you any firmer that you would shatter before him. His eyebrows drew together, and you hummed slightly, searching his eyes.

“Arthur? Y’alright?” You asked softly, your eyes furrowing in concern. 

“I’m alright, darlin’, I just…” He took a deep breath. “Going through all that and, not knowing whether I was gonna die, it, uh, it made me realise a couple things. Shit, uh…” 

“It’s okay. Take your time.” You assured, a smile crossing your face. Arthur looked up at you, a troubled look in his eyes that gave you an awful feeling in your stomach. You breathed out through parted lips, ready to take in the bad news that he was about to tell you. His eyes flickered slightly, quickly looking down your lips before he swallowed thickly, looking back up at your eyes.

“It made me realise that, I’m terrified of losing you. And—And I think that I… Shit. I’m in love with you.” Arthur’s face burnt up entirely as he confessed, flushing red from head to toe. When you didn’t respond, only blinking blankly at him, he pulled his hands away from yours, looking away as he rubbed the nape of his neck anxiously. Your hand reached out to cup his cheek, tilting his face back to you where you planted a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. You could feel how his breath was pulled from his lungs as you did so and his eyes lit up, though his face still looked worried.

“I love you, Arthur Morgan. More than anything in the world.” And with that, his lips captured yours in such a way that had your own breath hitching at the sensation. Your lips danced against each other’s rhythmically, and your chests moved up and down in sync. 

You had always loved Arthur. From the moment that he had saved your life in the woods when you first met. This big, scary outlaw meant everything to you. This gang was the closest thing you had to family. No, it was your family. Things had always been different with Arthur, though. Things you had never given a second thought about until now. Longing glances from across camp, touches that were a little too long to simply be considered friendly. Putting his arm around you at the campfire so that you wouldn’t be cold, bringing each other stew so that the other wouldn’t starve. The way he spoke to you; how his voice changed to be much softer when he addressed you. The urgency in his voice when he thought that you were in danger. The way that he always worried about you, just how you worried about him. The way that he looked at you, just how you looked at him.

It all made sense now.

The kiss was incapsulating. In this moment where nothing else mattered, merely you and him. You each opened your mouths, delving your tongues in to dance with the other as your tastes swirled together. He tasted like honey and cigarette smoke, you tasted like wild berries and rum. His hand hovered over the curve of your waist for a few seconds, before he hesitantly placed it down, pulling you close to his chest. Your arms snaked up his chest and wound around his neck. Arthur hooked an arm around your waist, gently lifting and shifting you over to sit in his lap.

You broke the kiss, breathing heavier than usual as you looked at him. A sweet shade of rose covered the cheeks that you gently pecked before stroking with your thumbs whilst you cupped his face. 

“We don’t have to go any farther.” Arthur declared; his voice low despite there being no one around. You breathed for a moment, scared of all the new feelings that erupted throughout your body. Though, the fireworks in your stomach couldn’t be denied. So, you smiled.

“You—Your wounds…” You mentioned, and he chuckled softly.

“Darlin’, I’m fine. But we can stop if you ain’t comfortable.”

“I don’t want to stop.” 

A smile spread over Arthur’s lips at your words and he hummed in response. “Tell me if you wanna stop, okay?” He asked, cupping your cheek, to which you nodded before leaning in to kiss his lips once again. You couldn’t get enough of him. He tasted so good. Whilst your lips worked against his, his practised hands ran over your body and his fingers began to work at the buttons on your shirt, threading them back through the hole before pushing it off of your shoulders. His hands moved up to knead softly at your breasts, rolling your nipples between his calloused fingers which earned a mewl from your throat. 

He pulled away from your lips, jaw falling slack when his eyes fell over your now bare top half. He hummed as his excitement grew, moving your head to the side with his thumb before burying his face in your neck which he peppered with open mouthed kisses and gentle nips that began to purple the flushed skin, branding you to him. With your noises of approval and your fingers unthreading the buttons of his blue shirt egging him on, he began to suck the skin at your clavicle to which a breathy moan was pulled from your throat. 

Shrugging his shirt from his shoulders, you moved your legs on either side of his hips, straddling him. Your fingers gently caressed each of his scars that you felt. He was beautiful. As he continued to leave his mark on you, your hands reached up to tangle in his locks, tugging ever so slightly, but a growl left him, nevertheless.

“Do it again.” Arthur pleaded, his lips brushing against your skin to cause goose bumps. A low groan fell out of his kiss swollen lips when you repeated the action. His large hands cupped your ass, pulling you closer against him, his arousal rubbing against you through layers of fabric that separated you from feeling all of him. You needed to feel all of him. You moaned at the contact, fumbling messily with his jeans while you kissed him, but he pulled away. 

He picked you up, laying you down before he shed himself of the remainder of his clothing. While his back was turned, you did the same. When Arthur turned around, he bit his lip at the sight of you, flushed, sprawled out for him on his bed. He licked his lips hungrily, cock twitching before he lay above you, pressing a bruising kiss to your lips which you held while his hand dug lower. His fingers spread you open, teasing by gently brushing against your clit. He smirked at your wetness.

“Arthur—” You whined. “Please.” He took your endorsement, groaning in delight at the sounds you made when he quickened his pace, curling his fingers inside you. The hot coil began to grow in your stomach, and he watched as you writhed beneath him, moaning deliciously at how good he was making you feel. His cock was painfully hard and ached for release, but he wouldn’t stop until he had brought you over the edge at least once before he fucked you. 

“This for me?” Your hips bucked up in a silent plea for more friction and he chuckled slightly into your mouth before pushing a digit inside you. With a sharp inhale beforehand, you moaned in approval, causing him to add a second finger, pumping in and out of you at a slow pace. 

“So good for me, darlin’.” Arthur’s voice was husky when he spoke, his words wrapped in lust and desire, eyes dark with adoration. His free hand reached up to toy with your nipples, pinching gently, teasingly to bring you closer to your release. 

It wasn’t until your hips bucked uncontrollably and a strangled cry left your plump lips that Arthur pulled his fingers out of you, the hot coil snapping in such a wonderful way that left you aching for more. His mouth opened and closed around his fingers, coated with your juices. When the taste hit his mouth, a low groan rumbled in his chest, and the mushroom head of his member leaked with arousal. 

Arthur didn’t touch himself once until he had brought you over the edge one more time with his tongue alone, and when that hot coil broke in your stomach once again, he lapped up the remainder of your juices, making sure to not waste a single drop by licking along the insides of your thighs for any excess. His cock throbbed painfully from the influx of lust, his hand stroking himself up and down a couple of times before he pushed himself into you. The sound you made from him entering you alone nearly made Arthur cum there and then, but he was determined to make you feel good. After pushing in about halfway, he pulled back out completely, groaning at the sight of your slick on his cock. You whined at the lack of contact, reaching to touch him but he swatted your hand away.

“I don’t think so.” He said with a chuckle before pushing into you entirely. You cried out, digging your nails into his shoulders, loving how he stretched you. “Mm—” Arthur’s hips thrusted against yours once as he moaned at how you clenched around him. “Such a good girl for me.” He set a fast pace, each thrust increasing in power and might, and soon enough an animalistic desire consumed him, his hips clashing against yours. Your names left each other’s lips among curses and beautiful sounds of pure pleasure. Series’ of moans spilled out from your reddened lips.

Arthur kissed you, hard. You could feel the swelling of your lips. The bristles of his unkempt stubble tickled your skin. When your tongues met, you groaned at the taste, your taste. Your nails sunk further into his skin and he groaned at the sensation, his spare hand reached down to focus your sensitive bundle of nerves with the pad of his thumb. His cock throbbed against your walls as the familiar feeling began to grow in your stomach once again. He pounded into you with a near primal hunger, your plea for him and your beautiful sounds being the only thing to fill his ears. Arthur made his own share of delicious noises, both of your voices ruined with pleasure though it sounded like the most stunning symphony.

You felt your third climax nearing, the white-hot coil repeating but so much stronger than before. With your legs wrapped around his waist and his hands on you, he made you feel wanted. He made you feel loved. It was nearing closer, and closer and you covered your face to which Arthur removed your hands from your face, pinning them above your head with one hand while the other returned to its spot at your clit.

“Nuh-uh, darlin’. Hafta see you.”

Soon enough, your release washed over you like a wave of pleasure. A ravishing sound forced itself from you, your legs trembled, your body shaking violently from the pleasure. Arthur felt your climax all over him, his body entirely racked with pleasure. As you clenched around him, he pushed in once more and pulled out, releasing with a husky shout that you would dream of for weeks on end. His juices lay atop the bedsheets and he sighed happily, pulling you in for a soft, loving kiss.

Arthur reached over into his pile of clothes to find a dark piece of cloth, his bandana. He soaked in some water from a bucket outside his tent and gently dragged it over you skin, revelling in how incessantly beautiful you were. At first, when he reached your folds, you whined from the overstimulation, but soon relaxed at the feeling.

Once you were cleaned up, he lay beside you, cradling you in his strong arms. You pecked his lips before resting your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Your eyes fluttered closed and Arthur hummed contently. “I love you, darlin’.”

lmk if you want to be added to any of my taglists!!<3

“I love you too, Arthur.”

[ragingbookdragon]

Aloha, PT. 3 of this piece comin' at you with supersonic speed

**********************************************************************

She balanced the tin of cupcakes in one hand and opened the door with the other, already more than nervous as she stepped into GCPD. Some of the officers smiled and nodded at her while others merely watched as she walked up to the desk and cleared her throat.

“Excuse me,” she interrupted. “Is Commissioner Gordon here? I’d like to speak with him.”

The man’s eyes went from the cupcake tin to her face and he asked. “Can I ask what for?”

“Oh, yes, I just need to speak with him about something…involving Batman’s, uh…helpers?” she winced. “It’ll be quick, I promise.”

He cocked a brow, but shrugged and grabbed the phone, pushing a button. “Sir, you’ve got someone here to see you…no sir, she just said it dealt with Batman and the others…understood sir.” He hung the phone up. “He’ll over soon.”

“Thank you,” she smiled, and waited for the detective to arrive. When he did, she held her hand out, “Commissioner Gordon?”

He shook her hand. “Good evening, young lady. What can I do for you?”

“Well, I’m (Y/N) and um…it’s a bit complicated actually.”

“We live in a city with men and women who dress up in costumes and fight insane clowns.” He snorted. “We do complicated around here.”

(Y/N) huffed a laugh and nodded. “That’s fair, Commissioner Gordon.” She raised the tray of cupcakes in her hand. “This is going to be really weird, but I was wondering if I could use the spotlight to…call one of them.”

Gordon’s eyes drifted from the cupcakes to her, then back to the desserts. “You wanna use the Bat-Signal to get one of them…so you can give them cupcakes?”

Her mouth opened and closed, then she admitted, “Okay, that sounded a lot better in my head.” She sighed. “It’s not crazy, I swear but—”

“Why don’t you follow me to my office, and we can talk about this, hmm?” he asked, and she nodded.

“That sounds great, sir.” She followed close behind him to a closed-off room and took a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk, waiting for him to sit in his chair.

“So,” he started when he sat down. “Start from the beginning of why you wanna give Batman cupcakes.”

(Y/N)’s cheeks warmed, and she murmured, “Nightwing. I want to give them to Nightwing, actually.” He cocked a brow but said nothing and she cleared her throat. “So, the other week, Nightwing helped me out with something and to repay the debt, I made these.”

“What’d he help you with?” Gordon questioned and she played with the hem of her sweater.

“Uh, he…he, um, helped me with a um…a really embarrassing rejection.” She waved her hand. “And I sobbed like a baby on his shoulder and I just wanna give him these in return and tell him sorry for taking up his valuable time.” (Y/N)’s cheeks felt like they were on fire and she begged, “Please let me use the signal to call and I’ll leave. Promise, sir.”

Gordon watched her for a moment then he chuckled and rose from his desk. “I’ve been doing this for about forty years, and nothing has ever been this funny in my entire life.” She sighed, thinking a ‘no’ was coming and he stood beside her. “Come with me to the elevator and we’ll go up.”

(Y/N) blinked in disbelief. “Wait, what? You’re going to let me?”

“Of all the things I’ve ever had someone come in and ask for? Delivering cupcakes is a new one. And I pride myself on getting the new ones.” He smiled. “Come on.”

Not wanting to blow her chance, she hurried after him with a big smile on her face and soon she was standing next to the giant spotlight, watching it silhouette against the night sky. She waited for a moment, then asked, “So how long does this usually take?”

He grunted. “Takes longer when you ask how long it takes.”

“That makes sense,” she laughed, and someone cleared their throat behind them. Both her and Gordon startled, though his reaction was less noticeable than hers, whereas she jumped a foot in the air.

“Red Hood,” Gordon greeted, holding out a hand to shake. “Good to see you, son.”

“Good to see you as well, Commissioner Gordon.” Red Hood replied. “Big-Bat in charge sent me here to see what was going on. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Gordon said, motioning to (Y/N). “You’ve got a visitor.”

The vigilante turned to her as if finally noticing her presence and he asked, “What’s wrong?”

(Y/N) held out the cupcake tin to him. “I was wondering if you could give these to Nightwing.”

Red Hood glanced down at the cupcakes. “Why’d you make cupcakes for that jerk-off?”

She was shocked to hear such an insult and she bit out, “Well maybe because I wanted to, jerk-off.” He was probably scowling at her from behind that mask, but she wasn’t going to back down. “Nightwing did me a favor last week and I always repay my debts.” (Y/N) held out the tin again. “Will you please give these to him and tell him thank you for his pep-talk?”

Red Hood took the tin from her, asking quietly, “What’d he help you with?”

“Oh my God, why does everyone wanna know?” she griped, then exhaled through her nose. “Fine, I got rejected by a guy I’m in love with, and I boohooed like a baby on a park bench with Nightwing holding my hand like a parent to a child and being super sympathetic.” (Y/N) glared, though she appeared flustered. “Are you happy now, Red Hood?”

“Be a lot happier if you weren’t giving my brother cupcakes,” he muttered under his breath and looked at her. “Do you want the Tupperware back?”

She nodded. “Just tell him that I’ll be back at the bench on Friday this week to pick it up. Same time as the other week.”

“I’ll tell him,” Red Hood said with a rather annoyed tone and started back towards the other side of the building.

“Red Hood!” she called out and he paused, glancing back at her. “Look…I know you’re busy with other things. So…thank you for doing this. Really, I appreciate it.”

He shook his head, murmuring softly, “Don’t worry about it, (Y/N).” And he was gone.

Gordon walked over to her and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Miss (Y/N)? Are you alright?”

She blinked and nodded, though she felt a great deal of confusion as she said, “He knew my name?”

***

Jason watched his brothers dig into the cupcakes, groaning about how good they were. He didn’t even need to eat the one he had in his hand because he knew. He knew she made the best baked goods he’d ever had, especially these ones which were her specialty. Double Dutch Chocolate Cupcakes with little pink, shimmering pearls. She put them on because she thought they were cute.

He glanced down at the cupcake in his hands, asking, “How do you know, (Y/N), Dick?”

The eldest brother paused midchew and stared at him with a dumbfounded expression. “Huh?”

“Cupcakes,” Jason said, gesturing to them. “She made them as a thanks to you. For last week.” He looked at his brother. “What for?”

Dick swallowed the bite he’d been chewing and nonchalantly replied, “Oh, nothing big. Just being friendly.” He shrugged. “How do you know her?”

Jason scowled. “Don’t do that shit. We both know how I know her.”

“Oh, right! The rejection after the flowers and book!” Dick exclaimed, taking another bite. “So, why’d you say no anyway? She seems like great girl.”

“She is,” he agreed. “The greatest.”

Tim elbowed Dick in the ribs, murmuring, “Is this Jason admitting he’s in love?”

“I don’t know,” Dick replied. “Jaybird, if you’re this pissed at me—”

“I’m not pissed,” he retorted, very much so pissed. “I just don’t want her getting involved with this.”

Dick’s mouth formed an ‘o’. “So that’s why you rejected her. You’re afraid of letting her know about everything.” He hummed knowingly. “See, she said that was probably it. That you’re scared.”

“What?” Jason’s eyes widened. “What’d she say to you?” He handed his younger brother a thumb drive. “What’s this?”

“Recording of the conversation I had with her last Friday,” he replied. “I was planning on giving it to you later tonight.” Dick laid a hand on Jason’s shoulder and murmured, “She’s not going to run away if you’re vulnerable with her Jason.” He nodded to the flash drive. “She’s stronger than you’re giving her credit for.” Dick patted his shoulder and took the cupcake from Jason’s other hand, biting into it. “Oh my God,” he groaned, walking off. “What does she put in these things? They’re addicting.”

***

I’m not afraid of him or what he’s afraid he is.

Jason put his forehead on the desk and stared at the floor, not really sure what was tightening worse, his chest or his throat, but something in the mix started hurting and he let out a shaky breath, vision blurring and he squeezed his eyes shut to keep the tears at bay. Rejecting her affections meant she forgot about him. She forgot that he existed, and she stayed safe. She stayed alive. Jason wanted that. He wanted (Y/N) to grow old with someone and have a family, not die an early death at the hands of some crazed villain or worse, a failure of his saving.

He let out a low groan and rubbed his forehead against the desk, wishing that it would solve all his problems. Mostly the ones in his broken heart. They had texted each other and video called constantly. Usually meeting up once a week to hang out somewhere or go get dinner. His entire life had changed in one conversation, and the only thing he regretted more than telling her he didn’t feel the same way and making her cry was watching her lie that she hadn’t been bothered when he knew deep down that her heart was shattered. He knew it because he watched her breakdown in her car through the manor window before she pulled out of the driveway.

Maybe Dick was right though…and that thought made him wanna vomit because younger-brother syndrome was a real thing and listening to your older brother wasn’t fun. But if she were that honest with Nightwing, that real with him, then maybe he could tell her the truth. All of it. About everything he was hiding from her. His past and most importantly his feelings for her. Maybe he could really keep her safe if he did.

Maybe Jason could be the one she grew old with. The one who held her hand and loved her.

[a-libra-writes]

are you still doing that kiss prompt thingy?? if you are, how's about '50. In Secret kiss' with Micah Bell? ((if youre not then dont worry!)) pleases and thank yous :0)

hECK YEAH (sorry i took ten million years yall aggghhh). i went rlly fluffy with this bc my self indulgence is always at MAX

The shot brushed the bottom of the empty whiskey bottle. It shook from the force, but didn’t fall over or break. Micah had seen the mark it left on the glass, but he didn’t have time to look twice. Another shot rang out, and the glass shattered.

“Well, it looks like that peashooter can get the job done,” He said to Y/N. As he anticipated, she gave him that look, then gestured to the four hares she’d tied to her horse.

“I recall you used mine to get that doe.” Micah inclined his head to the doe strapped on top. He missed the shot on that one - a rarity in itself - and Y/N took his rifle, downing the animal before it could run away. By the way the corners of her lips were twitching, she was remembering that.

It was hard to care about his wounded pride when she almost-smiled, because he knew it was more than anyone got out of her in the two … no, was it three years she’d been with the gang? “That one’s Y/N, she doesn’t say much. Leave her be.” Dutch had said to Micah during his first week. There was an odd protectiveness in the man’s voice, one Micah hadn’t heard given to others, besides maybe Jack and Tilly.

‘Not saying much’ was a great understatement. Y/N never spoke. She didn’t laugh or smile, or furrow her brows or cry. The camp acted as though she wasn’t there, with some exceptions. Tilly would chatter beside her as they did chores, she and Mary-Beth traded books, little Jack would trail after her if Abigail was busy, Hosea would bring her along for this or that job. There seemed to be a divide between those who worked with her silence, and those who were unnerved by it.

Micah didn’t want to admit he was in the latter camp. The first time he finally said something to her, he was drunk, and it came out stupid. Completely stupid. He remembered waiting for the usual reaction: Disgust, maybe a slap, storming off angrily. Some women shrieked when a rat scurried across the floor, some reached for an iron skillet. Y/N only looked at him with those sharp eyes, the shadows of the campfire bouncing off her face. 

She walked away, and he breathed out, not realizing how nervous the whole interaction made him. Never in his life had a woman made him shiver like that.

It was sunny now, not a cloud in the sky, and it was hard to believe this sunshined-kissed face was the same one that unnerved him months ago. Y/N took aim, and the next shot sent a glass bottle flying off the rock. She lowered the gun and clapped happily.

Shit. It was so endearing. Micah stood up from where he was sitting - on a goddamned blanket she spread out, because after hunting all morning and afternoon they were both tired, and she wanted to sit with him and rest. Then he suggested the game, and she wanted to play. Who was he to refuse?

Y/N walked up to the bottles and picked up the skinniest one. She walked several feet away and placed it, then ran back. When she pointed at it, Micah squinted.

“What, you gonna shoot that?”

She shook her head and pointed to him.

Micah scoffed. He retrieved his revolver, the right one. “Darlin’, I can do a lot better than that.”

He lifted his gun, put the bottle in his sights, and almost squeezed the trigger. He stopped, although he could already hear the sounds of the glass breaking.

“You try it,” He said suddenly. “With a proper gun, not that old thing.”

Micah was too anxious to look at her, or wait for a refusal. He all but shoved the revolver in her hands. Y/N blinked at it, then held it properly. He watched her fingers curl around it, how easily they fit into place. The gun wasn’t made for her hands, but it looked right. A swell of excitement went up his spine when she touched the barrel and noticed the engraving.

He cleared his throat, coughed a bit and stood behind her. “You shot one of these before, right?”

Y/N turned back to face him, giving him an ‘obviously’ sort of glance. He placed his larger hands around her’s, trying to fight the urge to pull away immediately. It was like her skin was fire, and his chest was hurting. He moved her smaller fingers into a better grip, so the recoil wouldn’t be as hard, and let her lift it to her line of sight.

“It’ll kick,” Micah said. “Every revolver got a different kick.”

Y/N didn’t squirm out of his arms, or look uncomfortable, so he selfishly stayed put. She was concentrating on the shot.

And she took it. She had flinched, but the glass shattered.

He couldn’t hide his grin. His next words spilled out. “Next time there’s a job, I’ll get you a better gun, an’ take you with me.”

Y/N smiled, and he had a sudden sensation of being both punched in the gut and choked out. He stepped away and cleared his throat. Micah felt something tugging at his side, and realized she was putting the revolver back in its holster. He immediately thought of her hands being somewhere else.

To distract himself, he looked at the sky. He was surprised at the late hour, and pulled out his pocketwatch to confirm it. Had they really spent most of the day in this forest? The discomfort growing in his gut was getting worse, and in an attempt to control it, Micah almost offered that they ride Baylock together. To his disappointment, Y/N had already swung up on her horse. He comforted himself with the fact she probably wouldn’t have agreed, anyway. It was a sheer dumb miracle she’d gone along with the hunting and shooting, given how she normally was.

“You better not be bothering that girl, Mr. Bell,” He could hear Grimshaw’s voice echoing off in his head. It was the first or second week he arrived, and her voice was low and dangerous. He’d just been looking at Y/N, and the old bitch was on him at once. “She’s don’t need the likes of you distracting her.”

He had a few choice words for the woman now, but Y/N clicked her tongue to get his attention. She was waiting on him, probably wondering what he was spacing out for. On the ride back, he wondered what Grimshaw, or anyone, would say if they noticed them coming back together.

No one said anything. It was still early in the evening, and there wasn’t much of the gang around. Micah could’ve split off and left to town if he wanted; he almost never came back this early. To his dismay, Y/N returned to that passive face he’d seen so many times before. He felt like something had slipped out of his grasp.

He could at least help her dismount, even if she didn’t need it. It felt stupid to offer his hand, like he was some goddamned storybook prince, but she took it. He relished that brief contact as he helped her down, wondering when it’d come again… if it ever would. This day seemed like one of those that was too good to be true.

“You come get me if ya need help, with the uh, the huntin’,” Micah mumbled. The words sounded stupid again, but they were far better than the first ones he said to her. “Or shootin’. Ya got a good eye.”

Y/N didn’t let go. She looked at him with those big eyes, now not so passive, and the old gunman had to will himself not to look away. He couldn’t, feeling rooted to the ground with both her gaze and her touch.

Then she kissed him. It was on the cheek, but he froze. From how close she was, he could smell the forest, the dirt, the gunpowder.

“Sure.”

He could have missed it with how his heart was beating, how the horses around them nickered and the distant gramophone crooned. She squeezed his fingers and smiled. The sun had set now, but she was so, so bright. 

Y/N turned away and led her horse to Pearson’s wagon. That simple word ran across his mind at least a dozen times by the time she was too far away to call to without drawing attention, and then Mary-Beth ran up to her, and then Charles offered to help with the doe. She nodded and gestured and pointed, the language she used with everyone.

Micah wondered if they’d heard anything she said, if she ever shared that smile. Something told him - something hoped - that wasn’t the case. He watched her until that gut-punching and throat-squeezing became too much, and he swung up on Baylock to head to town. Maybe come morning, he’d find a gun, a smaller one with not much recoil. Maybe he’d hear more words after that.

[exquisitley-obsessed]

I’m (right) here

This is technically a part two: you can read part one HERE

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: Arthur lost sight of y/n on a hunting trip and it turns out the Pinkertons have hold of her and are doing everything they can to beat information about Dutch out of her. Arthur’s only goal is to get her back but he’s beginning to realise that if he does, nothing will be the same.

Word Count: 5568

Pairings: Arthur Morgan x Reader

Warnings: Torture, murder, bruises, scars, cuts!!

A/N: Currently playing RDR2 so please no spoilers <3 Literally took five minutes for me to fall in love with this damn fool and so felt like I needed to write something angsty for him. 

REQUESTS OPEN <3

MASTERLIST

That had to be a broken rib.

Y/n gasped as she tried to roll away from the steel capped boot that had just gutted her; the chubby, squat old man at the other end of the boot was the more aggressive of her two captures - Steven was his name, or something like that. 

It was his plump, well-rounded face that she had woken up to sometime ago, sneering down at her with this sickening gleeful look. It was understandable, by his terms he had struck gold by capturing y/n l/n, proud member of the Van Der Linde gang.

“You still don’t want to talk?” He husked out, hands on his portly hips. Y/n simply spat in response, a mixture of saliva and blood. Days had passed. Weeks maybe, it was difficult to tell when stuffed in a cage in a windowless room.

They came and they went, her captures. Steven and Tony were their names, or at least, that’s what they called each other. So far all they had revealed was that they were Pinkertons, and desperate for information on Dutch Van Der Linde. The beatings were consistent, another day without information, another beating – more painful than the last.

But y/n already knew that nothing could break her vow of silence. She had been dragged into this cage loyal to Dutch and she sure as hell would find a way out of it still being loyal – they’d have to kill her otherwise. It appeared that would be the direction of things anyway.

They were getting tiresome, annoyed, frustrated. Constantly checking their watches and disappearing for long lengths of time, leaving her aching and alone on the concrete floor watching the free flies mock her as they crawled the walls before flying away. It was easiest when she was asleep, it didn’t hurt so much then, like small shelter in a hurricane.

They’re coming. She had rhythmically repeated the mantra to herself a thousand times by now, a prayer. Dutch and Arthur, those she who she was currently dying to protect – they would come. They had to.

 ***

“We’ll find her Arthur.” Dutch said for what felt like the thousandth time. Arthur was sitting glumly inside his camp, ignoring his company as his eyes bore into his map, spotted with pins and small notes.

“I know.” He huffed back without much thought, his mind somewhere else. It felt like so much time had already been wasted, and Arthur has resorted to spending every waking moment tracking y/n, at least it kept his mind occupied.

Pinkertons weren’t necessarily nasty men, he’d sure as hell met worse, but they were by no means men to be trusted. Honour among thieves didn’t apply to them.

Sighing heavily his eyes drifted from the map above his bed to his collection of photos pinned nearby; him, Hosea and Dutch, his mother, an old newspaper clipping and the most recent edition was the printed photo of y/n that he had taken on a hunting trip.

He put it up there after getting it printed, a few days after her disappearance. Somewhere in his mind he validated the action through it only being a reminder of his task. 

He liked the photo. She looked the same as ever, same braid, same work pants, John’s old shirt – her eyes were crinkled slightly as she smiled at the camera her jaw slack as if she were about to start laughing. Actually, she wasn’t looking at the camera, she was looking behind it – at Arthur.

It was strange to see the way someone looked at you, those moments which you normally don’t get to see at all, and yet he had it captured in time and hanging above his bed. Something about this whole situation had awoken something he thought he had buried a long time ago, but that’s always the way with old feelings, they don’t really go away you just start convincing yourself that they’re not there anymore as you suddenly become busy with someone else. But now he had no distraction, and with all this time, this torturous time without her – he was remembering.

“God’s sake,” He muttered under his breath, collapsing in his chair and flicking through his journal for the hundredth time. It was escapism really, reading old passages and admiring old drawings from a few weeks ago; pretending as if he were back then with nothing to fear.

He hadn’t realised how much he drew her. It seemed obvious now, flicking through the creased papers where loose sketches of y/n seemed to dot every other page. He had never questioned it before, just always thought that he could remember her figure a lot easier than others – the shape she took when she was hunched on her horse, how she always sat in the same crumpled poor-excuse of a chair every morning when he brought her a coffee. When the gang had had a small party, out of everyone it was her he remembered when sitting around the fireplace, lips parted slightly as she half-sang.

Everything was different now, even he couldn’t deny it. But God, he hated it.

What would this mean? When they got her back, if they got her back, what would happen then? Another cycle of burying his feelings, he could see himself already back at Mary’s beck-and-call, desperate for a distraction. Maybe there was a part of himself that didn’t want to see her again, that just wanted to see her safe and then disappear – could he seriously continue to live an elaborate lie he had formulated years ago, when he was only a boy? Who was that fair to?

He cussed again low under his breath. The past few days all he’s wanted to do is escape his mind, calm his rushing thoughts, tame them into something he could tolerate. Hazily, he noticed somewhat raised panicked voices out in the main camp. He could do this; he had done it before, burying feelings. The voices sounded excited. Maybe he was simply destined to live a life of half-loves. Footsteps were now moving toward his tent.

“Arthur!” But he had already picked up his gun and was headed through the folds of his camp. He had survived his feelings for y/n once before, of course he could again.

***

“Your own family left, y/n…” She cringed at how sympathetic Tony’s voice was, as if he were on her side. “They’re gone…there’s been no sign of them for weeks now. They’re not coming.”

This was apparently their plan for the time being. Whispering false truths to her about Dutch, how he was spotted on the other side of West Elizabeth, three days ride from, well wherever the hell she was.

“No,” Y/n gasped, her ribs grinding against the ground, bone and concrete. The lashes on her back felt like they were writhing as the leather whip in Steven’s hand dripped her slick blood.

“Stop!” Steven exploded, y/n was hazily aware of the whip being catapulted across the room, “Stop protecting them y/n! We’re here to help you, for God sake they-”

“Help me?” She hissed. He didn’t hear.

“don’t care about you! Look-” Steven grunted, hauling a chair from the desk to the front of her cell and throwing himself in it, “Life has been nothing but unkind to you y/n, we can see that,” Y/n squeezed her eyes shut as another dull, aching throb radiated from her back, “We’re at a point now where we can forgive you for all of your past crimes…you could walk away from this a free woman…marry a good man, whatever the hell you want…we just need something in return.”

She couldn’t meet his eye. Couldn’t begin to accept what he was telling her about her family but, the reality was, where were they? Weeks he said, weeks waiting in agony for the moment they’d come for her only to be left day in, day out, entirely and utterly alone. 

Y/n felt herself being lulled in to a numb state, all she could pitifully think of was that she wanted to go home: she wanted fresh clean clothes, Pearson’s warm soup, a story from Hosea, a hug from Dutch – when was the last time someone had touched her in an affectionate way?

“Please…” She wheezed through her shattered lungs as her eyes rolled, “Just leave me alone.”

This apparently wasn’t the right answer. Steven, in one fluid motion, swung the chair out from underneath him, hurling it at the cell. Colliding against the steel bars, the wood promptly splintered like fragile bones.

“You stupid bitch!” He exploded, “You can’t see help when it’s fucking standing in front of you! You refuse it like a fucking idiot!” He was gasping for breath as he bellowed, his podgy skin flushing scarlet, “No wonder you’ve ended up like this...all alone…” He was spitting at her, stalking across the front of her bars like a predator homing in on its prey. Y/n felt dull tears dribble down her cheeks as she began to drown in how utterly helpless she was. Crumpled on the floor, unable to move, unable to breathe. “This...” He stopped stalking, his pulsating eyes glaring down at her over his rounded cheeks, “This…” He repeated, lowering himself to her level, “is why deep down…you’ll always be an orphan.”

Y/n watched him curiously, he hadn’t acted like this before. He had always had control. She then focused on Tony behind him whose eyes were avidly watching a pocket watch as his flicked it back and forth between his fingers nimbly.

“We best get going.” Tony finally spoke into the silence, swinging his coat on before checking the bullets in his pistol.

“Not yet,” Y/n’s heart dropped as Steven turned back to her, “They aint getting you back.” He spat at her, his voice low, almost as if he was laughing at her. Y/n watched in silent trepidation as he pushed his key into her cell door and slung it open, “At least…” Y/n moved her eyes back to Tony, pleading for him to do something, “They aint getting you back alive.”

Lying there, face down, unable to move, y/n found herself desperately coming to terms with her own mortality as she heard the click of the gun; summoning all her strength she tried to raise her head to look at him but his steel capped boot struck her clean across the cheek. Choking out a feeble cry she then tried to use the momentum of the kick to roll away from him, but it was futile. With her body broken beneath her there was nothing she could do, and all too soon she felt the cold, lifeless tip of the gun’s barrel pushed against the back of her head. This was it. Her pathetic, ruthless, pain-filled life – this was the climax, the pièce de résistance. The final click sounded followed by a short explosion before finally, darkness.

****

“I told you to only blow the god-damn doors off!” Arthur hollered at Sean who merely gave him a meek look and a shrug of the shoulder. Irish idiot, Arthur thought. The explosion was only supposed to take out the chains and bolts encasing the front doors, but the underestimation of the TNT had caused a shudder through house’s frame, resulting in the roof crumbling in on itself.

“Okay boys!” Dutch commanded, getting off from his horse and assessing the damage, “They know we’re here now which is fine…there’s more of us than ‘em I can promise you that.” He turned back to the gang, patrolling across the front of them like an army captain, “One objective: get in there and find y/n…you see any Pinkertons…gun ‘em down. They messed with us…with our family.” Slowly and in unison, the Van der Linde gang pulled on their masks. “Aint nobody messes with the our family and survives…nobody.” They moved in.

Arthur turned left with Charles, moving swiftly through the large, white manor house they had tracked the Pinkertons to – and God what a job that was. Weeks had passed of tracking and losing sight of the Pinkertons, putting everyone’s necks on the line trying to find the whereabouts of y/n. At first, they had been so sure she was in this old, abandoned farmhouse. They planned meticulously their attack for a week before attempting, only to discover it was some O’Discrolls cooped up in there – y/n nowhere in sight. 

Realising how much time had been wasted, they quickly went back to work, until Micah’s loudmouth made things blow up in the local town. Time and effort were then directed to moving camp somewhere safe, no one allowed to go after y/n during that time – it was also during this time that Dutch and Arthur had a rather explosive argument. 

But they were finally here, finally had tracked her to this bulky manor house out west, and if she weren’t here… well, Arthur couldn’t think about that.

“In here,” Charles’ voice rumbled as they moved past some double doors. Sharing a quick glance with Charles, Arthur jolted forward, the doors snapping back out of his way as he moved into the room. Looking around, he noticed how it looked like it was crumpled in on itself, planks of wood, an old piano, a large cabinet that had been picked clean years ago. All signs of life felt distant and foreign, as if someone hadn’t lived there for years – still, Arthur couldn’t lose hope. He turned back to Charles shook his head and they moved on.

****

Y/n blinked for what felt like forever, her heart racing as a high-pitched whine completely dominated her hearing. She hadn’t expected to still be conscious so it took her a minute to gather her bearings. Slowly, fuzzy outlines hardened into shapes and then, objects. Something had exploded, something was happening. Y/n moved and her whole body burned but it didn’t matter anymore – something was happening.

Fumbling for a second, she dragged herself up, her legs threatening to give way underneath her as she clung onto a fallen beam for support. Looking around she saw Steven rolling around near her, his face contorted into that of agony as one of his legs sat stuck under a pile of rubble and brick, a low gurgling, gasping noise whining from his throat. Sweeping low, y/n swiftly plucked up his gun and felt adrenaline start to pump through her – she had the power now.

“I can help,” Her ears still ringing as she coyly smiled at the chubby, little man at her feet. “Make the pain stop…I mean…”

Y/n, without thinking, raised the gun to his head and shot. Blood splattered across the room. Letting out a long deep sigh, y/n felt herself snapping back into her body, her arms and legs now feeling a little more like her own. Looking over she saw Tony collapsed; maybe passed out, maybe dead. It didn’t matter.

Panic rose quickly inside her, she needed to get out. She didn’t know what was happening or what had sparked the explosion, but this could be her only chance to escape - she needed to get out now. Swinging herself clumsily around the corner she opened the door and peered out, her eyes greedily racing across all the new sights and imagery. She tried to move as light as she could across the creaking floor tiles, her legs limping and stumbling over one another beneath her. Maybe there were other people in the house, maybe she was just being overcautious. She didn’t much care. She just needed to get out.

Successfully reaching a flight of stairs, she began to pick her way down, half hanging over the barista, the world spinning around her. Then, she heard a noise, heavy thumps and distant voices – she wasn’t alone. Panic rose like bile and suddenly, she was racing down the stairs, another flight followed by the next – out, out, out. The next flight, almost there, keep the gun in hand. God it’s so heavy. The world spinning around her, the adrenaline not slowing down until she scrambled down that last flight of stairs until there in front of her were the doors, opening out in a grassy barren knoll ahead.

She didn’t care about the pain anymore, or the fact that all this movement had cracked open all her cuts and lashings – she ran. She ran faster than it felt like she had ever run before, racing forth into the greenery and the open night sky. The stars gleaming down on her as she sprinted through the tall grass, feeling the wind move through her, an explosion of smells - the world alive around her. Then, a figure arose from her right. Instinctively, she stumbled down into a crouch, hiding herself in the shrubbery.

“Any sign of her?” Someone called out, fear latched onto her heart, she already knew she was the ‘her’. She tried to make out the voice, but it felt like the whole world was swimming in her head.

“No…I think John found some dead bodies in the attic. He said they were real fresh though.” Another voice, a different accent. Why wouldn’t her head unscramble itself? She felt her stomach lurch at the name – she knew a John.

“But I thought…” She heard her own voice softly choke out as she rose to her knees, swaying back and forth as the Earth moved underneath her.

“So…she aint here?”

“Doesn’t look like it…there are signs she might’ve been…they’re going to burn down the house down though.”

Looking up over the spikey tops of the greenery, y/n tried to make out the dark silhouettes barely visible against the inky night sky.

“What the hell are we going to do?”

“They won’t give up…not when it comes to her…”

“Not when it comes to anyone, Javier. We’re family. No one gets left behind.” Y/n felt a sob explode out of her – it was them. Hosea and Javier, talking about her, looking for her – saving her. In the same second another explosion erupted, this time, it was to begin the fire. Bright and beautiful, greedily eating up the dry wood of the abandoned home and exploding light into the universe. The bright and beautiful universe in which her family were here, her family that had come for her.

“Hosea!” She tried to shout but it came out as a wheeze, her voice stuck somewhere in her broken throat as she dragged herself to her feet, stumbling forward towards the figures. “Javier!” She tried again, but no noise. Nothing. Something desperate arose in her, what if they couldn’t see her? What if they left her without realising they had found her, she was here, and she was safe now. She went to shout again, her feet stumbling beneath her.

Her hair was completely loose, her clothes torn, her body broken. The heat of the fire warming her skin and yet, her skin wasn’t warm, it was burning. Fresh blood dribbling down her body as her wounds split. She wanted to scream again but something stopped her.

“Y/n…” All he said was her name. Looking up all she could see was Arthur. He was walking between Hosea and Javier, away from the house, looking at her. He could see her.

“Arthur-” She tried to say his name, but a sob shattered her lungs. She silently begged him to come to her, to touch her as she began to crumble. And, almost as if he heard her, he jolted forwards, his face enigmatic as he reached out for her but just as he was about to reach out for her – she jumped back, as if he had shocked her.

She had this God-awful look in her eyes then, all glossy and confused, like she didn’t quite recognise him. Like she was questioning him, staring at him as if she couldn’t quite make her mind up about something.

“How long’s it been.” God her voice was quiet, barely audible over the sound of the fire, the shouts of Hosea and Javier as they called for the others.

“Since what?” Arthur heard his own voice softly rumble, all he wanted was to soothe her, touch her, keep her safe.

“Since I went missing Arthur?” She looked numb; her were eyes wide, her mouth half open, a salty mixture of tears, dirt and blood dribbling down her cheeks. Arthur had not realised a single question could make him feel so guilty.

“Um…maybe a few weeks…”

“Maybe?” She let out a shaky breath. He felt like a small stone settle at the bottom of his gut – guilt.

“Four weeks yesterday…that’s when you went missing.”

And there it was. Y/n’s mind felt like it was crumpling in on itself, beginning to choke on the feeling of betrayal. Four weeks. Four weeks they had left her there, maybe searching, maybe not. She had lay in that poor excuse for a jailcell for a month, she had been dragged past her breaking point, she had faced pain like she could never had imagined waiting every second, every minute for her family to do what a family does, to protect her and yet, where were they?

“Y/n, girl, there you-” Dutch’s gruff voice swam into her mind as she twisted away from Arthur. The blazing red of the fire and the inky blue of the night sky, all of it blurring into a complete and utter mess.

“Four weeks….” She was surprised at how meek her own voice sounded, she hated it venomously. How was it that she had become so weak? How had she gotten here, to this moment? “Where were you?” She turned back to where Arthur stood, his head bowed like a scolded runt and Dutch, his hand half outstretched towards her, his euphoric face crumbling. “How could you let…”

“Y/n we were looking for you…I promise we were looking…” Dutch began, already stumbling into his defensive tone. Y/n wanted to believe him, but then she blinked and suddenly she was back in her cell, the ominous faces of men she was savagely scared of hovering above her, sneering at her as they told her how her family had disappeared, left her behind, just like her parents did. She blinked once more, and they were gone.

“You were supposed to protect me-” Suddenly, she exploded, “We’re family! What kind of a family does that to one another…you left me there…you left me there with those men…”

“I know baby-” Dutch began again.

“No!” She was gasping now, unable to breathe – the smoke and the sobbing choking her, “You don’t know…if only you did…if only you knew what they did to me Dutch….” Her cheeks throbbed as she tried to resist a guttural sob, “I thought I was your daughter.”

“You are-”

“No…I aint.” Her legs were shaking now, the fire and sky crashing together once again, “You don’t do that to your daughter, you left me…you left me behind.” Suddenly the grass felt so soft, “You left me...” The grass was so gentle compared to the concrete of her cell, the soil softened, responded to her touch, moved with her – earth and flesh, “You left me just like they did…”

Resting back, she dug her fingers deep into the earth and looked up. The sky was hot, the soil cold. Her world being torn open around her, exploding and rearranging into something new.

Nothing would be the same.

*****

“Oh…you scared me.” Arthur murmured, his eyes flickering up to the ghostly figure at the mouth of his tent.

“Sorry I-” Y/n stood awkwardly between the folds of cloth, dressed in only her night things with her hair loose down her back. She looked young, a little like how she did when they had first met. Arthur also noticed then how delicate she looked; it had been like that for a few weeks now.

Dutch had basically carried her back to camp, leaving her with Ms Grimshaw so her wounds could be tended to. Arthur had checked in on her regularly during the first few days, he liked it most when she was asleep, it gave him time to watch over her without feeling as though he was intruding.

“No, it’s okay,” A sloping grin melted into his cheeks, “Stay...please…I got, uh, oatcakes and beer.”

“Wow…my lucky treat,” Arthur watched with concealed warmth as a smile pattered across her cheeks. It had felt like forever since he had seen her smile. “Sorry for intruding, guess I just wanted to be close to someone for a ‘lil bit. Can’t sleep, y’know,” Moving into his camp, she curled herself up on Arthur’s fur rug, resting her back against his side table; it was her position, whenever she had snuck into his tent she had always somehow folded herself into that specific corner and he had never dared question it for she would always aggressively insist she was comfortable.

“Yeah, I understand. I’d be lying if I said I don’t feel like that most of the time.”

“To be honest, it wasn’t made very clear when I signed up to this gang…” Y/n grinned at him, “Maybe then I would’ve rethought my application.” Arthur chuckled.

“True…they don’t exactly give you a run down before you start living a life of crime.” Moments like these were more regular the past few days. Moments where he found himself relaxing into the familiar rhythmic conversations with y/n that he had always had, it was comforting, a reminder that the pain was temporary. “How you holding up?”

“Fine,” She smiled at him, a real smile, “Ms Grimshaw works a miracle.”

“That she does,” He shuffled slightly to rest his back against the wagon next to his bed.

“Nothing really bad happened to me physically…I mean, nothing I can’t recover from.”

“And you will, with time, you always do.” She smiled at him again, but this time her eyes lowered after meeting his – was she nervous?

“I guess the only problem is…Dutch aint shifting outta protective mode any time soon.”

“He’ll get over it…” Arthur chuckled, “I think he’s just mad at himself y’know. You know how much you mean to him.”

“Yeah, yeah,” She nodded sleepily. “I know Morgan.” God, it killed him when she called him that. Suddenly, y/n’s face twisted up in a grimace and she jolted up, her hands stretching toward her back.

“Y’okay?” He asked nervously after a moment.

“Fine…fine…” She winced, rubbing at her shoulders, “Just not quite 100% yet, y’know.” He eyed her for a moment as she pushed her hair out of her face, trying to massage the spot in her shoulder that was causing her pain.

“Here,” He surprised himself by saying, “Let me do your hair.” She eyed him; an eyebrow half raised her lips slightly parted. It seems neither of them had expected him to raise that offer. “Oh c’mon, remember how I used to braid your hair before shooting lessons with Dutch?”

“Feels like a lifetime ago…” She murmured; a faint smile painted on her lips as her eyes clouded with a distant memory

“I ain’t forgotten how to,” He smiled at her and she smiled back, shyly. A pause. “Please y/n. I know I can’t do much to help you right now…I’m no good doctor, I’m a god damn idiot when it comes to words and, y’know, comforting people. So, please…let me do this.” He watched as her lips parted slightly into a distant smile, her eyes lighting up.

“Okay Morgan…if you really want to braid my hair I guess I’ll have to allow it. Just do a good job of it okay.”

“Who you trying to look good for?”

“Oh, you know me Morgan…everybody and nobody.” Arthur chuckled to himself. She plodded herself down on the floor next to his cot and, shifting over, he planted his legs like trunks either side of her, creating a small cove in which she could tuck herself.

He went to move her hair to the back when he noticed his hands shaking ever so slightly, his heart rate jumping too. Arthur tried to calm himself then and there but couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by the feeling of her, the warmth along the inside of his claves as she curled into him, resting her head lightly against his right knee. Desperately trying not to hurt her, he scooped up her hair and used his fingers to softly comb behind her ears and down her neck, ensuring he had caught every soft wisp.

Silently, he cursed his fingers for being so calloused, spitefully thinking of how his fingers might be grazing her soft skin. Sweeping all her hair to the back, he watched as it loosely tumbled down before softly combing his fingers through it. He promptly forgot about how much he hated his hands, forgot his hatred of how he had always been so large and gruff, unsubtle and mean. Instead his mind became full of thoughts of her.

How different her hair colour looked in the orange candlelight compared to daylight. How long her hair tumbled down her back when loose and how he hadn’t noticed considering she always had it tied back. How he could see the skin of her neck peeking at him as her hair began to sway when he braided it. How that skin sloped down into the loose collar of her night shirt. The way her shoulders and back moved with her steady breath and, if he listened carefully, how he could hear it. Steady, strong, safe. It seemed all too quickly the braid twisted to a finish in his fingers.

“You got a tie?”

“Course,” She sleepily murmured. God that killed him. The way her eyes drooped, the way she moved without being conscious of what she was doing to him. She placed the tie in his outstretched palm and seemed to not realise that her delicate hands had brushed so softly against his rough ones.

“I’m scared,” She piped up as his fingers returned to her hair, her voice ever so slightly dreamy.

“That they’ll come take you again?” Now done, Arthur relaxed back into his cot a little but refused to move his legs, desperate to not disturb her.

“No…well yes but…” She melted deeper into the cove of his legs without thinking, “I’m scared that what they did to me, what happened in those weeks…I’m scared it’s going to be with me for the rest of my life, affect me for the rest of my life, I mean.”

“But-”

“Sorry, I know it sounds silly-”

“No…it doesn’t,” Arthur leaned forward, catching her eye, “There aint anything silly about what you went through, but…I know for a fact that it won’t affect you forever.” A beat.

“How?”

“Because you’re so much more than what happened to you in those four weeks. You’ve lived through hell; we all know it, and yet at the end the day – you’re more than any of the people who have hurt you.” He watched her looking at him, trying to figure out the enigmatic feeling written on her face, but the conversation moved swiftly on.

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened in those weeks?” She whispered, not blinking, “Where you all were?”

“We were looking for you y/n, and that’s the God honest truth,”

“But-”

“But nothing y/n. For a while uh…things got complicated. We lost track for a bit and you paid for it, I’m sorry.” He looked down, wondering how far he could take this, “Y’know, I thought that you were dead, just for a moment…I was destroyed.” Her face remained enigmatic, “Now I’m scared to turn away from you for one second, I’m afraid I’ll lose you again.” It felt like he was crossing into unmarked territory.

“You’ll never lose me,” She breathed, “Not really.” A knot tied itself into existence in his gut.

Their eye contact never broke. It felt like it never would. Looking at her then, he felt like there were a million things he wanted to say to her, like there was so much of himself he had yet to reveal to her. The parts of himself which, in all honesty, cared for her more than he ever realised. Sitting there, with her tucked against his right knee, he couldn’t help himself.

Almost as if he were in a trance, he began to trace his fingers along the hair behind her left ear before scooping up her braid and shifting it to the side, how comforting it was to know that she was right there, under his fingertips. His left hand moved to her shoulder were he gently shifted the white cotton of her dress so that it slipped down, exposing her black and beaten shoulder. Slowly, and without breaking eye contact, he brought his lips down and pressed them against her colourful skin. She shivered into his touch as his beard grazed her bare flesh, but she never looked away. He kissed her again, moving up closer to her neck, his eyes fluttering shut. He was so close that she could feel his breath fluttering across her exposed neck. She relaxed into him, almost daring him to go further until she noticed something – he was crying.

Soft beads rolled down his cheeks as he kissed her again, and again, and again. Softly, y/n started to hear his whispers warm into the silence.

“I’m sorry…”

“I can protect you…”

“They won’t ever hurt you again…”

“I’m here now…”

“I’m sorry…”

“I’m here…”

 Maybe y/n was right, maybe nothing would be the same. But change didn’t seem so scary anymore.

requests open <3

Tags:

@uniqueclodzinevoid​

@rollyjogerjones​

[caspers-arthur-morgan-imagines]

Take Me Home - Part One

After a misunderstanding leading to an argument, Arthur is faced with the horror of losing the woman he loves. 

(So basically, I’ve been crying all day but I made this and I hope you like it.)

Three days.

That was all it took for everything to go to shit.

Freya hadn’t returned to camp for three days. Her horse and herself were gone. Her tent and belongings were untouched. Left the way that she had ignored everything and everyone as her world was crumpling in front of her when she ran.

Hosea had told everyone to leave her be. To let her grieve. The older man had only seen this happen once before in the time he had known Freya. The day after she lost her mother and he and Dutch had found her in the cabin in the middle of the desert. The heart shattering cries as the young girl held onto the still warm corpse of her deceased mother.

But this was a new type loss. The cause of it was sat across of camp as the old man stood on watch for the return of Freya. The cause being the man sulking in his tent.

Arthur.

Hosea hadn’t been present when the fight started. But he was there for the end of it.

“You didn’t have to do anything!” Freya had screamed in Arthur’s face. Throwing down the book that she had been reading as she stood. “Any moment she comes crawling back it’s as though she never left!”

“What was I supposed to do?!” Arthur had shouted back. Anger getting the better of him, his damned pride getting in his way of seeing how upset she was.

“You were supposed to chose me!” Freya cried. Freya pushed Arthur. Started beating her hands on his chest. The man had taken every hit she gave. “I should’ve been enough!”

Not long after, Freya ran. She took off on her horse as the rest of camp stood bewildered at the scene that had played out in front of them. Arthur retreated to his own tent; shoving passed Dutch who had tried to approach him.

A day passed and Hosea knew it would be many more before he saw the young woman return – if she did at all. A day of Arthur sitting at the campfire drinking bottle after bottle as he grumbled to himself; making both Swanson and Uncle look sane. Hosea had to help the younger man to his tent that night as he swayed and staggered. Hosea put him to bed as Arthur began to cry.

“Why do I keep fucking it up?” He remembered Arthur asking.

“You’re as dumb as you look.” Hosea had responded before leaving him for the night and retiring to his own tent.

Day two saw Arthur leaving the camp to go hunting. Hosea wasn’t sure whether he would bring back a dead animal or Freya on the back of his horse. But it was only a deer and two rabbits that joined Arthur on his horse when he returned. Arthur returned to his tent and during the night, Hosea could hear the man cry.

The third was how Hosea saw him now. Silently writing in that journal of his, sulking. Hosea shook his head at the sight. He couldn’t remember if Arthur were meant to be in his thirties or a young felon once again. For he had stolen the heart of Freya and torn it to shreds.

Freya spent those three days in a makeshift camp some place in the woods near a lake. She hadn’t paid much attention to where she had wandered to. All she knew was that she needed to stay away for a while, let herself grieve this loss and move on.

She stared tirelessly into the flames of the small fire near her tent. Her horse was hitched to a tree not far from her and the remains of her small meal was left next to Freya’s legs. She knew she had to return at some point, there were too many responsibilities to just leave behind. But  for now she would stare aimlessly into the fire as though it would give her the reality she wanted to be apart of.

A fourth day came and it saw Arthur getting angsty to leave camp and find Freya.

“She could be hurt.” Arthur had protested to Hosea as the elder man stood between him and his horse.

“She is a smart girl. She knows how to stay safe.” Hosea declared as he crossed his arms. “Last thing she needs is you storming up to her.” He scolded Arthur.

Arthur knew he was right. So he went back to his tent. He waited and waited all day.

Then came the shock cry from Abigail. “Freya!”

Arthur rushed to his feet and out of his tent to sound. The sight he were greeted by was Freya’s horse carrying a bloody and wounded Freya as she lay against the horse’s neck. Her clothing torn and covered in dirt and blood. Blackened right eye and bleeding right cheek. Hosea and Arthur rushed to get her down from the horse.

Freya cried and whimpered as Arthur pulled her down into his arms, cradling her to himself as he looked her over. Her eyes closed and her lips parted as shallow breaths were sucked in and shook out once more.

“Get her to her tent.” Hosea demanded. Arthur didn’t waste a second. Laying her on her cot and helping Hosea as they waited for Susan.

“She’s been shot in her shoulder and by the looks of it, it’s still in there.” Hosea observed as he cut the remaining of her shirt off her shoulder. Hosea looked to Arthur as the man fretted over her. Arthur looked at Hosea and they shared a brief look before Susan came and shooed Arthur away. She closed the flaps to the tent to keep prying eyes from staring in. Arthur stood frozen staring at the tent. The only thought going through his head:

He could lose her completely.

The camp was silent. Each member stayed clear of Freya’s tent as Susan and Hosea took care of the young woman. Arthur stayed close. Refusing to move and refusing to be apart from Freya more than he already were. When Freya screamed, Arthur flinched and curled his fists. More time passed and more groans and cries came from the tent.

When Susan emerged from the tent, Arthur was swift to her side.

“She’s breathing. She needs to rest, Mr Morgan.” She told him and patted her bloodied hand on his shoulder. Arthur plead with his eyes; afraid his words would only throw him into the depths without chance of survival. Susan sighed and gestured her head to the tent, giving him on last glance before striding away.

Arthur hesitated. He knew he needed to be with Freya. But part of him told him that she didn’t need him. But the part that wanted to be beside her anchored him down to where he stood. He needed only to lift his hand and pull the flap to the side and enter the tent.

Hosea emerged before he could. The older man stared at Arthur with sorrow filling his tired eyes. Arthur couldn’t find words to begin uttering an apology before Hosea spoke.

“You better make this up to her. I won’t lose a daughter because of stupidity.”

Hosea walked away across camp to his own tent. Heart heavy and mind full. Only time would give him answers to what was to come.

Morning came and the camp arose as normal. Freya’s tent was still closed off from the rest of the members. Hosea made his way to her tent with some mixture he had made from herbs that he learnt were great at easing pain in the joints. He pulled the flap aside and halted in his movements at the sight that welcomed him.

Freya asleep and her face turned towards a sleeping Arthur, who had made residence on the ground next to her. His hat lay on the ground beside him and his jacket covered Freya’s midsection. Freya’s hand resting on top of the mustard coloured leather.

Hosea felt as though he had interrupted an intimate moment between the pair, so he slowly left after leaving the herbs beside the pair. He hoped Arthur would understand why they were there.

More hours passed before Arthur awoke with a small snort. He rubbed his eyes and looked at Freya to see her still sleeping. Arthur groans as his back pops when he stretches, but he turns when his hand touches the small jar that was now beside his head on the table. He realised that Hosea had been by and left the jar as he recognised it from the time he had suffered a bullet wound to the arm and Hosea had given him a similar concoction to help heal his wound.

Arthur gently moved the wrappings from Freya’s shoulder and applied the mixture to the area around the wound. He frowned at the stitching that was the handy work of Susan and how this could have all been prevented if it weren’t for himself. He wraps Freya’s shoulder back up and sit on the side of her cot. The back of his hand gently touching her cheek, his knuckles stroking her pale skin. Freya turned into his hand as her eye lashes twitched and began to open.

“You’re okay, darlin’.” Arthur soothed as Freya stirred and awoke.

Freya felt awful. Her throat dry, her blood pounding in her ears and a numbing ache in her shoulder. She saw the silhouette in the morning light. Smelt the familiar smoke and whiskey that accompanied the man she knew.

“Arthur.” She croaked as she blinked again and again to help regain her sight. Arthur shifted slightly to reach for her hand, enclosing it in his own.

“I’m here. You’re gonna be alright, darlin’.” Arthur assured her as his thumb stroked the back of her hand.

“Take me home.” Freya muttered. Still delirious, she closed her eyes again and returned to unconsciousness. Arthur sat holding her hand the entire time.

The next time Freya was conscious, she tried to move and leave the bed. Arthur got her to lay back down, only after promising to get her some food and something to drink. Leaving her briefly, Freya was alone with her thoughts once more.

She had been shot by someone trying to rob her. She was quick to return her own fire; thankfully, she hadn’t taken her revolver from her horse’s saddle. Now she lay in her tent. Safe. A hole slowly healing in her shoulder, but she was okay. She was alive.

Alive but still mad at the man who came back into her tent.

“Pearson just made a soup and got you some water.” Arthur spoke as he sat on the edge on her cot. Freya didn’t say anything in return, just glared. Arthur sighed as he put the bowl and mug on the table beside them.

“As pissed as you may be at me, don’t let yourself suffer.” He plead to Freya.

Freya once again said nothing. She grunted as she sat up, glaring at Arthur’s hand when he went to help but quickly retreated at her scowl. Arthur picked the mug back up and proceeded to help Freya as she sipped at the water. The dryness in her throat washing down and giving her room to breathe properly again. Arthur reached for the soup.

“I never was good enough, was I?” Freya spoke. Arthur lowered the soup to his lap as he stared down at it. Freya bore holes in the side of his head as he scrambled for words to leave his mouth. An apology. The truth of why he went to see Mary. But all he could do was stare at the soup.

“I can’t replace her. It’s always going to be her.” Freya sounded defeated. Her voice broken and tears brimming her eyes as she stared at the man she loved. The man who won’t ever look at her the same way. Freya looked away from Arthur as he sat in silence, using her good hand to wipe at the tears that fell down her cheeks. Now he couldn’t even speak to her.

“It was never her.” Arthur says.

“Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Don’t give me hope.” Freya begs as she turns back to Arthur, who now was looking directly at her. “Don’t give me something I can’t have.” Freya hiccups and lowers her head. Tears now streaming freely down her face.

Arthur puts the soup back on the table. His hands restless on his knees, picking at the loose bits of thread as he opens and closes his mouth. Wanting the right words to come.

“I was never good enough for you.” Arthur admits. “I’m a damned fool for thinking I could ever give you anything outside this life.” He reaches her hand under Freya’s chin and lifts her head. Her eyes puffy from her tears and cheeks flushed from the horrid feeling she had.

“But I’ll be damned if I don’t give you everything you want.” Arthur chokes on the last word. His own tears brimming his eyes.

“Then why did you go to her?” Freya questions.

“To end it. To finally let that thread loose.” Arthur replies, his hand lowering from her face. “I went to tell I won’t be there whenever she cries. I’m not her puppet.”

Freya hiccups on her tears, her own hand reaching for Arthurs.

“I can’t let you go.” Arthur was now the one to sound defeated. “Without telling you that I love you, darlin’. And I’ll do anything for you to forgive me.” Arthur leans forward and rests his forehead against Freya’s. His eyes closing as his own tears fall.

Nightfall came when Hosea went to check on Freya again. Arthur hadn’t left her side besides to get her food and water. When he entered the tent, Arthur was listening as Freya read Frankenstein – the book that Arthur had given her a month or two after she joined. They sat together, Freya leaning on Arthur as Arthur’s chin rested on top of Freya’s head.

“Don’t mind me.” Hosea clears his throat. Freya jolts and moans, grabbing onto her shoulder. Arthur quickly to her aid.

“Jesus old man, you’re going to be the death of me.” Freya groans as she gets comfortable again.

“I think it’ll be the other way round. Gave me quite the scare seeing you come back like that.” Hosea says as he crosses his arms on his chest.

“Yeah, you should see the other guy.” Freya jokes. Arthur huffs from beside her and rolls his eyes. Hosea smiles at the calm sight of the pair.

“I see wounds are being healed.” Hosea grins. Arthur glances at Freya as she reaches to her shoulder. Arthur knew the meaning behind his words, so did Freya.

“If you don’t go scaring me half to the grave, it will be.” But Freya couldn’t help but joke.

[splat-dragon]

Hi again!!! Could I request another Micah fic- but with EXTREME body horror? Maybe something with his face, where’s he’s kept alive and tortured? If you could do some branding and amputation (any amount of limbs- get crazy heehee) along with the other body horror and mutilation- that would be incredible!!! Tysm!!! 💖💕💖💕💖

why won't somebody come and save me from this, make it end?

AO3 LINK

@thedoodlenoodle-wa

“You know, Mr. Bell, my opinion on traitors.”

 and if the devil wore a man’s skin, the devil stood before him. Micah had never feared Van Der Linde - rather the opposite, in fact. Had thought him a soft fool, long fallen from his days as Dutch Van Der Linde, Outlaw King, but as he took in the feral smile and the hard glint of his beetle’s shell eyes, he knew that this was the face countless lawmen had seen just before their deaths.

 “Dutch,” he tried a final time, “I ain’t no traitor,”

 but the man only inclined his head in acquiescence, “I know, Mr. Bell. You’re a survivor.”  

 Micah’s eyes widened, looking from gang member to gang member, but none of them had so much as a hint of pity, of sympathy in their eyes. Even the O’Driscoll’s eyes were dark with, if not hate, severe dislike - and Bell’s chest burned with rage, the man was a snake himself!

 Van Der Linde clapped once, and their heads snapped to him as dogs to their master, “Mr. Morgan, Mr. Smith, Mr. Williamson, Mr. Matthews, if you would make sure our friend can’t make a run for it?”

 Our friend.

  Our friend.

 He knew what ‘our friend’ meant, and it was nothing good. Ice dripped down his spine and, at the nasty grin on Morgan’s face, at the dawning realization on Smith’s and Williamson’s faces when they looked from Morgan to Matthews, he felt his heart drop into the floor.

 “The rest of you, please go back to work! It’s crowded down here, and they’ll need space to work.” There were calls of discontent, and rather loud grumblings, but everyone cleared out, Van Der Linde waiting until they were all gone before clapping Matthews on the shoulder and following suit.

“Come on,” he tried for calm, for collected, didn’t think he pulled it off quite as well as he meant to, “you don’t really think I’d rat on you, do you?” but no one said anything, ignored him as Williamson lit the fire, throwing firewood in, while Smith relaxed against the wall with Matthews, the latter whispering something to Morgan before doing so, the younger man clambering up the stairs, “Where’s he going?”

 No one replied - he might as well have been furniture for how much attention was paid to him.

Morgan came clattering down, the flames in the fireplace roaring so hot they were sweating, something gleaming bright in his hand, passed off to Williamson and shoved into the flames so quickly he couldn’t get a good look at it, “What is that?” and his voice was much higher than he’d intended it to be.

 Again, he was ignored, Matthews instead addressing the three, “Make sure he’s well tied down ‘cept his right leg, I want to make sure you don’t get hit.”

 He fought, thrashed against his bindings, but he was already well tied and they carefully redid the ropes until they dug into his skin, he could feel his hair being torn out with each twitch and growled angrily, lashing out with his free leg. A whack to the back of his head stunned him,and he slumped, barely aware of his pants being torn off, cut where they were stopped by his bindings, and thrown off into the corner.

Matthews began to tap just below his knee, his voice distorted as he tried to gather his senses about him, drawing a line just under his kneecap, and Williamson nodded solemnly, though his face was anything but.

 Morgan dumped alcohol on his leg and he jolted, “What the hell?” and if grins could kill half of New Hanover would’ve dropped over dead.

 “Mr. Morgan, Mr. Smith, please keep him still.”

 “Yes Hosea!” they knelt, dragging his leg out and wrapping their arms around his lower leg, holding it so still that, though he tried to kick, he couldn’t even manage to twitch his foot, barely even managed to wriggle his toes. 

 “What the hell?!” he barked, but again was ignored, a scraping noise catching his attention and he turned to see Williamson drawing something white-hot from the fire, “What is that?” then as he neared he realized, oh god that’s a bone-saw what are they doing?

 “Careful, Bill,”

 “I know I know,” he grumbled, aligning the bone-saw just below his knee and Micah howled, jolting back or, at least, tried to, was well bound and Morgan and Smith had a good grip on his leg, already burning though he wasn’t yet touched and then—

  Tearing.

  Ripping.

 He couldn’t even scream.

  Sawing.

 His mouth gaped soundlessly, and he tried to double over, tried to lash out, but Smith and Morgan tightened their grips, held his leg straight out, and Williamson continued to saw steadfastly, sawing through skin and fat and muscle, cussing and carefully adjusting his cut when he scraped bone, turning up their noses at the scent of burning flesh.

  StopstopstopstopstopitHURTS

 The saw severed the last of the clinging skin and his lower leg dropped, would have hit the floor if it weren’t for Smith and Morgan’s hands gripping near his ankle, grimacing as they held the severed limb. “Take it upstairs Arthur,” and Smith was happy to let Morgan take the limb upstairs, stepping back to stand near the fire, as far from Micah as possible. “Is he bleeding, Bill?”

 Bill turned back from where he’d been shoving the bone-saw into the fire, giving Micah’s stump a cursory glance, “Naw, it burned it shut nicely.”

 Micah whimpered pitifully, mouth opening and closing - whywhywhy they’d crippled him they’d ruined him they’d destroyed him he was ruined

 His ears rang, their words swam through his head like so much water, and then they were going upstairs and why were they going upstairs why were they leaving him alone nonono don’t leave me alone!

An hour passed.

 Two.

 At least by his estimate, but he hadn’t a watch or a clock or a window or, even, a sundial. 

 Then three.

 And still, he was left alone.

 The silence rattled in his bones, each thud of his heart as loud as the crack of a gunshot. His leg hurt, God, it hurt, but it wasn't a leg anymore was it it was a stump

 If he opened his mouth he was going to scream, and scream, and scream.

He needed to run.

 They'd left him to starve, surely. To suffer to death.

 But he was not going to just sit there and starve. He began to twist his wrists, to work at the rope, bit his tongue against the pain as the rope shredded his skin, blood dripping down his arms until, finally! the knot on one came free and he tore at the other, growling as he flayed the skin of his fingers, surging and hurrying to free his ankle.

 Looked at his stump, felt the world wobble around him, tore his eyes away - he could freak out later, or never, preferably never - and staggered to his feet-foot, lurching and grabbing the wall as a crutch.

 Micah took a deep breath, leaned on the wall, and took a step.

 Hop.

 Step.

 Hop.

 Step.

 When he got out, he was going to kill them. Stand tall and proud and grin as he watched them hang.

 Hop.

 Step.

 Hop.

 Put a bullet through Williamson himself, Milton wouldn't mind much.

 Step.

 Hop.

 So long as they ended up dead, Milton would be happy.

At the stairs, he hesitated. Snarled, and lowered himself, a scream bitten off as he held his stump off the ground and began to crawl up, eyes on the cellar door.

 So close.

 It hurt.

 So close.

 It hurt.

He crouched as best he could when he couldn’t go any higher without hitting his head on the cellar door, straining his hearing and praying there was no one waiting. If they found him… if they found him trying to escape, who knew what they would do?

 Micah’d underestimated them once, and he didn’t intend to do so again.

There was silence and so he pushed it up, just slightly, and peered out. Only trees, and brush, and nothing else that he could make out, no voices or even horses, so he dared to open it and crawl out, biting his tongue until it bled when he had to put weight on his stump as he stood as best he could, grabbing a nearby tree and—

 —then he was off. Hobbling, grabbing anything he could use as a crutch. Tree by tree

 Hop

 Step

 Hop

 Step

 Tree

 Tree

 Tree

 And then he fell, and let himself lie, feeling awful sorry for himself. Agony throbbed through his leg, and it took all he had not to whine and whimper and cry out, and then he forced himself to stand and keep going, the further away he was when they found him gone the better and—

 “There he is!”

 His eyes went wide, 'Nonono!' and he began to hop - hopstephopstep - as fast as he could, but then Morgan was on him and the barrel of a gun was slamming into his head and pain!

and he was waking up back in the cellar, bound so tight he could hardly breathe.

  ‘No! Nononono!’

 He wasn’t alone for long. The cellar door creaked open, and his heart began to race, to leap and to bound so quickly he feared it might stop altogether, and then, impossibly, it raced faster when he saw Matthews and Smith and Williamson and Morgan coming down the stairs, faces serious as a heart attack.

  ‘No, no, no!’

 “That was real dumb Micah,” Morgan smirked, a slow, cruel thing that crawled across his face and bared his teeth, and Matthews patted his arm,

 “Don’t be mean, Arthur,” before directing Williamson to start the fire and oh god what were they going to do?

 Micah yelled, muffled by his gag, and slammed his foot into the ground, bound only by ropes around his arms, and Morgan looked to Matthews, raised an eyebrow, and the old man nodded, and then they were descending on him and he couldn’t even scream as they broke his leg, grabbing it and bringing his thigh down so hard over Morgan’s that the bone broke in half like a twig, Smith slamming his fist into his face, Morgan’s fists into his stomach and he felt something break, his nose shattered, then another rib, fuck he couldn’t breathe—

 “Enough boys, we want him alive.”

 They fell off, knuckles split and bloodied, eyes never leaving him as they stepped back to stand on either side of Matthews. Micah slumped over, gasping as best he could around the gag, testing metal, struggling not to drown in the blood from his broken nose, his head throbbing both from Smith’s punch and from the blow of Morgan’s gun, his ribs screaming, waves crashing in his ears as they talked, words nonsensical to him, moving around and doing… well, he wasn’t sure what.

 And then pain.

 Morgan and Smith were grabbing his snapped leg and pulling it straight out and he shrieked, writhing, tears dripping down his face and god he didn’t cry, he never cried, bile was rising in his throat and he struggled to swallow it down if he vomited he was going to choke to death, but would that really be so bad?

 Williamson approached, then, and though his vision was hazy he could make out the glowing of something in his hands and something snapped, nonononono oh god not again, he screamed and thrashed but they held his leg perfectly still, he couldn’t hear he couldn’t see oh god not again but there was nothing he could do as Williamson brought the blade down and began to saw just below his knee, mouth moving in a way that looked almost like he was whistling, and painpainpain he went limp, swallowing convulsively to keep from vomiting and choking and dying but almost wanted to because makeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstop but he refused to give them the satisfaction and then they were pulling his lower leg away and carrying it upstairs, leaving him to slump down in the chair and stare at the cauterized stumps that remained of his legs.

  ‘Oh my god.’

 He was never going to run again.

 He was never going to ride a horse again.

 He was never going to fucking walk again.

 They’d ruined him.

 They’d made him useless.

  ‘Uselessuselessuseless.’

PAIN.

 He arched with a scream, jerked and tried to reach up, to grab the brand that was crawling across his upper shoulders in some sort of pattern and oh god it hurts make it STOP but the bindings stopped them abruptly, tore at his skin, shredded it until blood splattered to the ground and he sobbed, slumping over with a pitiful moan ‘letmedieletmedieletmedie’ and Williamson finished branding in 

  DER LINDE

 looking to Matthews for approval, the man nodding and turning, saying something to the three Micah didn’t catch, his heart thudding too loud in his ears ‘killmekillmeKILLME’ and they vanished up the stairs and then he was blacking out—

How long he was out, he didn’t know. Long enough that the pain had dulled some, and that his wrists stopped bleeding.

 He kept his eyes closed, listened out. There was no breathing other than his, no muttering voices or even the crackle of the fireplace. So he dared to open them, found himself alone again, the fire down to ash, the cellar beginning to grow cold and he found himself shivering, it must have been the middle of the night he was sure, he was going to lose his fingers and his toes to the cold but oh god he’d already lost his toes hadn’t he? His toes and his feet and his lower legs oh god oh god oh god don’t focus on that now Micah he needed to get out.

 So, again, he began to saw at the ropes, vision going white as the rope dug into his flesh, as he worked to undo it, to loosen the rope until it would come undone. How long it took, he couldn’t say, long enough that it began to grow warmer, that he began to grow dizzy from the blood that bubbled from around the rope, that poured to the ground and pooled around his feet, but finally one of the ropes came loose enough that, with a jerk up, he was able to send it tumbling to the ground, reaching over and clawing at the other with numb, cold fingers until it came undone and joined the other, lurching forward and collapsing to the floor with a muffled scream of agony.

 Oh god, his ribs.

 Oh god, his face.

 Oh god, his stumps.

 Make it stop.

 Micah blacked out.

He didn’t know how long he was out, but he woke up shivering, shaking and shuddering, his face tacky with tears. The pain had dulled to a weak throbbing, and ‘Fuck make it stop please god’ how long had he been unconscious what if they were coming? Fuck if they found him free of his bindings he didn’t want to know what they’d do, he didn’t have any more legs for them to cut off oh god his legs he retched and turned his head and emptied his stomach on the ground, nothing more than bile how long had it been since he’d eaten?

 God, he needed to move. So he began to drag himself forward, digging his fingers into the dirt, groaning through clenched teeth as the shredded skin on the end of his fingers was torn back open on the rough ground, each pull taking more of his strength than he thought he had, he had to reach down and seek it, his shoulders screamed and he groaned pitifully as the dirt tore at his bared stomach, as more and more of the skin on his fingertips was shredded and ripped away.

 And then he was at the bottom of the stairs, and he thought dying might be worth it. Because hauling himself up the stairs was going to be agony, was going to take more energy, more strength, than he thought he had, but he’d already gotten this far and he was a survivor, dammit! so he reached up and grabbed the highest step he could reach, biting his tongue against a scream as the uneven steps gouged his stomach, collapsing when he could go no further and curling on himself, having cut his stumps, slamming a fist against the steps before making himself continue.

 Up, and up, and up. It could have been hours, or it could have been minutes, though it felt like the former. He left streaks of blood behind him, didn’t dare to look though he knew it must look like a murder scene, a carcass being dragged, could feel himself growing horribly woozy.

 Micah slumped when his head brushed against the door of the cellar, gasping and taking a moment to catch his breath and—

 —naturally, the cellar door flew up and open, and he had a moment to see a look of almost comical surprise on Morgan, Smith, and Matthews’ faces, before Morgan’s foot swung back and flicked forward, and his face exploded with pain (there went his nose again) and his head snapped back, his torso lifted off the ground, then his hips and stumps followed, and he was tumbling down the stairs with a howl of pain, vision going white as he struck the last stair skull first, laying still as he struggled to gather his wits about him, able only to moan weakly as Smith and Morgan gripped his arms and dragged him to the chair, throwing him into it and binding his torso below his armpits and at his hips, then stretching his arms out on the armrests and binding his wrists tightly.

He couldn’t make out what they were saying - his mind was still buzzing, the world spinning around him. He couldn’t think, couldn’t hear, couldn’t see. Could only just feel as Morgan swung his foot and slammed it into one of his stumps, couldn’t even react other than to blink dully - a concussion, surely?

 His shooting arm was pulled out straight, and Morgan shook his head, “Shouldn’t’a done that Micah,” as Williamson began to saw through his arm just passed his elbow, Micah trying to focus on anything else (I’llneverbeabletoshootagainI’muselessI’muselessI’museless) and realizing that Matthews was nowhere to be seen as his forearm and hand hit the ground, taken upstairs by Morgan who, after the pair had cleaned up and wrapped the cauterized wound, was followed by Williamson and Smith.

He waited as long as he dared - other members of the gang visited him, mauled him. Took out their frustrations on him, fed him only as much as he needed. By Morgan’s fourth visit he was determined to escape and, so, he counted out a thousand seven times before working himself free.

 He dragged himself two paces, sun shone into the cellar, and he went limp as Smith sighed, tromping down the stairs and digging his fingers into his hair, dragging him by it into the chair, deaf to his hollering and shouting of pain - his stumps and other wounds had long gone numb - flinging him into it and binding him loosely before vanishing up the stairs.

 It didn’t surprise Micah when they stretched out his final arm, bound him tightly, and sawed it off.

Slowly, they stopped coming.

 MacGuire was the first. Grew bored with prodding at his wounds, tugging to worsen them and prevent their healing, of cracking jokes about how his teeth were 'worse than mine now, huh?’

 Then Escuella, the man losing the perverse pleasure he seemed to take in dragging his knife along his skin, drawing the faintest of lines into him before, seemingly without prompting, digging it into him until he screamed, then pulling it out and doodling again. He’d grown bored with it, towards the end, losing the vigor with which he’d done it before no longer showing up at all.

 The ladies had lasted the longest. Would come down and take out their frustrations, beat on him with a club or their fists and shout and holler and scream as though he were a tree, nonsense he had no interest in but was forced to bear, forced to listen about how ‘Bill is such a pig!’ whack! how ‘John needs to act like a goddamn father!’ crunch! about how ‘You men can do some of your own damn laundry!’ (Jackson had broken his nose, then)

 And then no one had showed up to feed him one feeding.

 Then two.

 Then three, and he’d realized he was fucked.

 He’d nearly broken his neck trying to twist so he could get to the rope around his neck, had shredded his gums 'til he choked on the blood trying to chew through his gag, but finally all he could do was slump against it, shouting and pleading against the rag in his mouth, but no one ever came.

“Sir,” Milton woke up, some weeks later, to a young Pinkerton agent knocking on his door, so pale he nearly offered him a chair for fear of him collapsing, “I think you need to see this.”

 He led him out the door, swaying on his feet as he kept a large distance from a massive box which, even from where Milton stood, he could make out his name scrawled on it. The man drew his gun, approaching warily, and jumped back after opening in some parts alarm and wariness—

 a tanned hide of a sort he’d never seen before sat inside, folded on itself as it hadn’t enough room to be fully stretched out, RAT branded meticulously atop the torso. A collection of limbs - half-limbs, a foot there, a half a leg there, half an arm here, a handless arm there - was piled beneath it and, to his horror, a tanned head was stitched to the hide, face twisted in agony, something rolled and sticking out of the mouth, a familiar white hat sat atop straw-like blond hair.

 He neared, fighting down bile, aiming his gun at the ratsnake that had been coiled around his hat before realizing it long dead, carefully tugging the papers - no, photographs? - out of the man’s mouth and nearly taking the head with it, straining the stitching—

  Him, handing over a clip of money to Bell

  Van Der Linde’s bounty poster, next to Bell’s coat

  His wife, brushing her horse

  Edgar’s family, sitting at the riverside

 Milton roared, grabbing the hide’s head and chucking it as far as it would go, the hide unfolding and flying along like some macabre kite, half-rotted limbs scattering every which way.

[morston-trash]

The Last Sunrise

I honestly can’t remember if I have ever posted this on here. This is the work that I am the proudest of. It also tore me apart to write it. 

Spoiler warning to anyone that hasn’t finished the game; it contains end of game spoilers. 

Proceed with caution. 

--------------------------------------

The gunshots faded into the distance but didn't cease altogether. The hunt was still on, just for someone else that had decided to leave while they had the chance. Whether they would actually escape or not, that was another matter. The men that were in the, once glorious Van Der Linde gang, were very persistent. The remaining men were more than likely in pursuit on horseback.

John could almost hear the whoops and hollers of the men as he fled. His heart slammed against his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins. All he could do was keep running, even though his legs threatened to give out. He finally collapsed, falling against a nearby tree. There he lay, working frantically to catch his breath.

"Go to your family," Arthur struggled before starting the climb upwards.

"Arthur!" John hissed.

"Go on, get out of here and be a god damn man," Arthur wheezed.

"Y-you're my brother..." John hesitated, reluctant to leave the man.

"I know..." the older man said before climbing up.

That interaction was burned into his skull, playing over and over again in his mind. He couldn't believe that he had left him. He hated himself more than he could ever express. Arthur had always been there for him. He had always been there to help him, to bail him out of the mess he always got himself into. He had just left him there to die. Hot tears threatened to fall, but he refused to let them fall.

"Be a god damned man..." John choked back sobs.

He stood, his legs threatening to give out once again. Without thinking, he ran back in the direction in which he had left his savior. He ran as hard as he could. Just hoping and praying, for the first time in his life, that he would make it there in time. He could barely breathe but he was willing to endure it. John was determined. He was going to get back to Arthur, one way or another.

The dark-haired man approached where he had left Arthur. He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. Arthur. Was he still alive? He climbed up the ledge, dread rising inside of him. He didn't know if he could do this. John pushed on, he was going to do this. His eyes scanned the area, searching for the man.

"A-Arthur?" He somehow managed to call out, sounding like a scared child.

He heard an angry groan in response, it had to be him. Only Arthur could make a simple sound seem so grouchy. He followed the noise to the source. The sight that greeted him shattered what was left of his stone heart. There sat Arthur leaning against the stone wall behind him, bloody and bruised from the fight that must have occurred after he left. The older man shot him a look of pure disbelief and annoyance.

"I... I told you to get out of here... Go to your family..." The dying man muttered, barely able to take a breath.

"I can't leave you, Arthur. You're my family too..." John cried, unable to keep the tears from falling.

"Y-you're... A mess... Marston," Arthur coughed.

"Don't I know it?" John laughed in an attempt to control his tears.

Arthur struggled to sit up just a little more. These were his last moments and the pair both knew it. John wished that he could stop time, that he could save his oldest friend. But he couldn't. Instead, he just sat there beside the other man, enjoying the silence. Before this moment, he had never understood what Arthur enjoyed about it so much, but now he completely understood. He understood everything now. It was as if the other man had opened himself up without saying a word. There they sat, Artur's final moments being spent in silence as they watched the sunrise together this one last time. John was painfully aware that he could no longer hear the struggling wheezes coming from Arthur trying to catch a breath. He had passed. John couldn't bring himself to look at the shell of one he had cared for so deeply. Instead, he sat there beside him. Watching the sun climb into the morning sky.

John thought of all the times they shared, just like how Arthur wanted to spend his last moments. It hurt like hell, but it brought the man some comfort. When Arthur saved him from the wolves, drinking around the campfire, all of the many times they had ridden together, their ride to get Jack back. That reminded him of something Arthur had once said.

"We can't change what's done, we can only move on," The now dead man's voice echoed in his ears as if he was talking.

He couldn't help but smile despite the tears that ran down his scarred face. That man had truly been the most selfless person he had ever known. Beyond that rough, sarcastic, intimidating exterior he was really just another hurt soul that loved helping people. Even if it took him until the end of his life to realize it. John forced himself to get up to face reality. Arthur was gone, all that left of him was his corpse and the memories that everyone had of him. His eyes dropped to the shell of the man, his chest feeling like a bear had torn into it. His dull eyes were still open, looking at the rising sun. He brought his hands to the face of his trusted friend, closing his eyes. John dropped to his knees, unable to hold up the facade of being strong. The tears flowed freely, unable to be contained or controlled any longer. His head dropped. He stayed there, unable to move. Without any prompting from him, a pained scream came forth from his throat. He didn't care if the gang heard him, if the Pinkertons heard him, he just didn't care in that moment. He couldn't bring himself to care.

The man heard the sound of pebbles being kicked behind him, someone was coming upon him. He stumbled into a standing position before drawing his gun and turning to face the source. His vision blurry, he could barely make out the image of Charles, the man Arthur trusted most out of the gang. That was still alive anyway. He sniffled and lowered his gun, trying to compose himself. It was fitting, he was feeling and acting just like the child he was when he met the man that now sat dead beside him. Both of the men nodded in agreement, no words needed to be exchanged. They already knew what needed to be done. Charles lifted the body of his trusted friend. John followed as the dark-skinned man carried him away from the place that he took his last breath. The pair walked in silence, both feeling more comfortable that way. They had never really talked much, the only things they had in common being small bits and pieces of the past few months and Arthur. They were both sad about the other man's death, but John was taking it the hardest of the two. Charles had a more private way of mourning, as well as a more considerate way of showing appreciation for the lives of those around him.

Charles led the way, placing Arthur on the back of Taima. He grabbed the reins and started to lead the horse. John followed, reluctant to stray away from the body. They walked away, the rays of the sun chasing away the cold of the hilly region. The walk was quiet, tranquil. This morning was the calm after the storm, and yet they couldn't wait for it to be over. They arrived a short distance from where the heroic man had spent his final moments. They were on a cliff, basking in the sunlight. It was a beautiful spot.

"This spot, it's beautiful..." John mumbled.

"Arthur would have wanted to be buried somewhere like this. Facing west. So that he could look at the sun and remember everything," Charles barely more than whispered.

The pale man had hardly heard the other, but he knew what had been sad. He was right, their fallen friend would have loved a spot like this. It was a beautiful spot, surrounded by a stunning view of the landscape. Had Arthur been alive, he likely would have been taking in the jaw-dropping sight with his journal in his hands. Tears threatened to fall, but he fought the now-familiar sensation. John didn't think that he could cry anymore but he didn't want to risk it. Charles pulled out his small, collapsable shovel from his saddlebag. The darker man removed his friend from the back of his horse before placing the body in the shade of a nearby tree. John couldn't help but watch, noticing the expression of pain that crossed his face. It was unusual, he had never seen him show this much emotion. Arthur had touched all of their hearts, he had saved them. There was no greater man, in their eyes anyway. He may have been a criminal, a murderer, a thief, but he had done it all to help the entire gang. But the bastards had turned on him, on all of those that saw how crazy Dutch really was.

"You should get out of here, get back to your family. I'll take care of him," the other man motioned to the body of their lost friend.

The grieving man could only nod numbly. He didn't want to leave, but Arthur trusted Charles in life and he was sure that this would have been what the man wanted. John turned away and began to walk away reluctantly. He walked back the way they had come, each step taking him a little further from the man who had saved his life countless times. The raven-haired man just wanted to throw himself on the ground, to scream out curse after curse, but it wouldn't change anything. It wouldn't bring Arthur back. Instead, he kept forcing himself to take step after step. Towards where Sadie had taken his family to safety. Another person that Arthur had trusted a lot, despite her having only been with them for a few months. But Arthur's judgment was not misplaced. The two had been more alike than anyone other than themselves could notice. John could see that now. It's funny, you only really start to notice and pay attention to things when they are no longer there. John cracked a sad smile at the thought. He felt so stupid, but at the same time, he felt partly to blame for Arthur's death. If he hadn't left him, maybe he would have still been alive. He could have fought off the one that killed him. They could have gotten him out of there. They could have tried to help him get better. The invasive thoughts swirled through his mind like a tornado.

"We can't change what's done, we can only move on,"

The man looked around for the source of the voice. It was like a whisper in the wind. Even beyond the grave, the man was looking out for him. Those words brought some comfort to the man, but not enough to prevent even more tears from falling. He struggled to not fall down onto his knees.

"D-damn you, Morgan. You selfless bastard..." the man sniffled.

He moved onwards despite the pull he felt to return to the corpse of the man he called brother. Each step made it harder to fight the urge. The urge to be there with Arthur. The sound of voices brought him out of his thoughts.

"We can't leave yet! They are still coming!" a woman yelled shrilly.

"We don't know that, they might have caught them." another woman reasoned.

"Momma, where's papa?" A young child asked.

"He's coming sweetie, he'll be here," the first woman soothed.

John recognized those voices, they were the voices of his family and Ms. Sadie Adler. He followed the voices out of the bushes. Sadie had her gun drawn, pointing at John. Once she recognized him, she lowered her weapon. Abigail ran towards him, wrapping her arms around him tightly. He hugged her back, realizing just how much he had missed her. Jack came running over and clung to him tightly.

"Papa! Papa!" the boy yelled joyously.

"I'm here, I'm here..." He reached a hand down to grasp the boy as well as his lover.

"Where's Arthur?" Sadie asked, knowing the answer but needing confirmation.

Arthur had told her about the tuberculosis. She knew that he was going to die. Seeing John walk over wearing his hat confirmed it. But she needed to hear it.

"He, uh... He didn't make it. Charles is burying him on a ridge not too far from where he..." John swallowed hard, unable to finish the sentence.

Sadie nodded, a dull pain searing through her interior. Arthur had been one of the best men she had ever met, seconded only by her late husband. She was going to miss him dearly. She turned her attention to the reunited family. She had fulfilled her promise to the man, she had helped them get out. They could go on living their life free from all of the madness that had just ensued. Sadie, on the other hand, didn't quite know what to do. She was more of a ghost than a person.

The Marston family loaded onto the wagon that was waiting for them, to take them to their new future. One hopefully free of bounties, robbing, murder, and Pinkertons. John was in the driver's seat with Jack between him and the woman. John turned to look at her as if asking if she was to be joining them. She just shook her head, waving them off. The man nodded, before signaling for the horses to start moving. There the family went, onwards towards their new life, their second chance. All thanks to a man named Arthur Morgan.

[imnotwolverine]

Home sweet home

Henry Cavill x OC Lisa - multi-chapter fic

Author’s note: Hello everyone. I had such a DREAM last night. Me-ow! I couldn’t help but kind of integrate it into this chapter, so ye be warned my luvvies, it is getting smutty! 

Word count: 4.511

Disclaimer: smuttt

--

This is part 9 of the Tea for Two series. 

You can find the masterlist here. 

--

< Go back to part 8

I opened my eyes. Trees. Their long wispy shapes bending and shaking in the gusts of a soft summer wind. And long, lush grass, tickling my back. My naked back. Strange… Did I fall asleep here? I could barely register where I was when I felt something move near me. ‘Hmmm.’ I heard a low rumbling male voice near my nether regions. I shot up from my dreamy daze, looking down my body to find two amber coloured eyes smiling at me before soft lips grazed my bare thigh. I gasped. Both at the sensation of hot lips and rough stubble, but also at this unexpected invasion. My fingers involuntarily curled in the long grass as my eyes shot open further. Were we on set? Henry? What was going o…his lips moved to my core and all thoughts became blurry.  

Rough calloused hands pulled up my hip, as white hair tumbled over his face, hiding those golden hued eyes from me. When did Henry get such calloused hands? I thought, feeling the strong digits dig into my skin. I couldn’t move even if I had wanted to, I realised, feeling his tongue lapping my folds. I struggled a bit, trying to get some control back, but there was no way I could. He hummed devilishly as his fingers dug into my skin even more harshly, stilling my every attempt to move. I shrieked, immediately halting my futile attempt. ‘There.’ He said darkly, his voice low and gravelly, before he moved up slightly. He sucked on my nub. YAIKS. A wild shot of electricity shot through my nerves as my legs instinctively clamped around his head. But he didn’t stop, despite the fact I was practically strangling him between my thighs… He kept at it, sucking, pushing, licking. His expert mouth not allowing me any respite. WHAT THE F… I gasped quietly as the white blissfulness started to wash over me. But it didn’t feel..right. It almost hurt. I squeezed my legs even tighter, my hands painfully clawing in his hair. His hands felt different. He was way too rough. ‘St..stop.’ I breathed, barely managing to get those words out.

With little to no effort he pulled my legs away from his head, halting his administrations. I could finally take a good look at him. It wasn’t…Hen..ry.. OH MY GODS. I gasped in shock as I quickly pulled myself away from the man, crawling backwards through the thick grass. We stared at each other for a good moment. He was half clothed, clad in some rough leather leggings and boots, his shirt long discarded, offering me a look at a wild scattering of hideous scars on his torso. Bite marks, deep long lines, some old and thick, some still pink and raw. My eyes quickly looked around us. A horse standing somewhere in the thicket. Clothes laying around us.. but those weren’t my normal clothes. My gaze flew back towards the man who had now sat up on the back of his heels, looking at me with some confusion, his hands laying calmly on his muscular thighs. He remained quiet as he followed my gaze towards the clothes, before slowly raising an eyebrow.

‘Who are you?’ I finally muttered, fear thick in my voice as I folded my arms around my naked body protectively. His golden eyes didn’t bely he was confused as he stared down into mine. He remained quiet as he kept looking at me. ‘Well…?’ I asked, unsure of what to do. His lips moved as if he was to say something, but no words came out, his eyes instead shooting up at the sky. I followed his gaze, noticing the tree tops were moving much more wildly. The ground shook and a loud, bone shattering roar sounded…

‘Lisa? Wake up dear.’  

I shot up in my chair, slightly out of breath. I looked around with bewilderment. ‘You need to move up your chair, there’s some turbulence.’ Henry’s voice hummed in my ear as I felt his hand snake around me, reaching for the button to move the airplane chair into seating position. Our eyes met, his calm eyes studying me. ‘Wild dream?’ He smiled dotingly. ‘Yea..’ I sighed, taking a deep breath and sitting up a bit, blinking a few times to fully wake up. ‘Really wild Witchery dream.’ I said, looking at Henry as he put a marker in the book on his lap before putting it away. The plane started shaking again and I instantly grasped the arm rests, pushing my head back against the head rest. ‘Well that explains WHY my dream was so wild.’ I grinned, looking at Henry whom also sat back in his chair, calming Kal who had pushed his head in between Henry’s legs.

He looked at me with a sideway glance. ’So..you dreamt of the Witcher?’ He asked, raising a curious eyebrows, our bodies being shaken back and forth. We could hear some high pitched yelps from the back of the plane. I suppressed a smile - we flew so much that a little turbulence surely couldn’t phase us anymore - and shrugged, also letting my hand travel through Kal’s thick fur. Kal instantly moved his head slightly more towards me, to give me better scratching access. ‘Pretty naughty dream actually..’ I said softly, smiling at Kal as he pushed his head more fiercely against my hand, demanding more scratches. ‘Hmmm.’ Henry hummed lowly, something that would have well befitted Geralt. I chuckled. I looked back at Henry, our eyes meeting. ‘I’m intrigued.’ He whispered, raising a handsome eyebrow, his voice barely to be heard over the loud airplane engines and screaming people. ‘Oh ..you!’ I chuckled, grasping the arm rest more tightly as our bodies were jumbled again by another gush of turbulence. He moved his hand, cupping my hand that Kal was leaning into. ‘Well, I hope Geralt’s not winning from me.’ ‘Oh..absolutely not.’ I chuckled, squeezing his hand.

—

We had arrived back in LA. It felt like ages since we’d last had been here, but honestly…nothing much had changed. It was still sweaty and humid, the people were still quite self-absorbed and every empty bit of space in the city was plastered with large billboards and posters to promote upcoming movies and shows. I sighed, leaning into Henry as the cab driver honked at some idiots jaywalking over the busy road we were on. ‘Home sweet home.’ I snickered. Henry chuckled in turn, kissing the top of my head. ‘Just one more week and then we can go to MY home sweet home.’ He said, keeping his cheek rested against my temple. ‘I am most curious.’ I smiled, keeping my eyes trained at the window, recognising some of the shops. We were almost near my home.

Since we’d be here for a short stay, we stayed at my apartment, which I rented out whenever I was out of town. And thankfully the rentee had been a good one; there was still some basic food items left in the pantry so we could make ourselves some food and relax for a moment. Something that was most welcome, because whenever we’d be anywhere in public there would be this hoard of people trying to get Henry’s attention and take pictures with him (with or without his consent).. Today had been no exception when we had arrived at LAX airport.

The pancake in the pan sizzled happily as I moved around the small kitchen, laying out some plates and cutlery on the table. Henry was currently walking Kal, while I was prepping us some lunch. It felt so silly, but it was good to be back in my tiny apartment. To cook with my own cooking utensils. Sure, none of this was luxurious. But it was my home. I had all my things here. My books, my clothes, my art, my plants. It was good to be back, even if only for a short while. Life on the road was okay, but I sure missed the calm assurance of a home. Of my stuff. And that was coming from me, someone who really isn’t materialistic. Silly huh? I flipped the pancake once more, before adding it to the pile I had already made. Good ol’ dutch pancakes with some syrup!  

Like clockwork I heard the front door open. ‘Honey, I’m back.’ Henry’s voice sounded, alongside a panting Kal. ‘Food is ready.’ I chanted back, turning towards the window sill to clip some fresh mint leaves for my tea. ‘Hmmm. Smells nice.’ His warm voice rumbled in my ear as his hands snaked around my waist. I jumped slightly by his sudden nearness, laughing as he sniffed the skin behind my ear. ‘Henryyy! Please haha. The pancakes are going cold.’ I smiled, gently pushing my hip into his groin, shoving him back slightly so I could pour some hot water in my cup. He playfully patted my butt before getting himself a glass of water, settling down on one of the chairs and flipping one of the pancakes on his plate. He took a large bite, letting his gaze travel to some things I had stuck to my fridge door. One of them being the invitation to the premiere evening of the Witcher here in LA, this week. My gaze joined his. ‘I remember when those got into the mail.’ He smirked.

I smiled in turn, cutting up my pancake and remembering the moment it had arrived in the mail. We had only just started dating and already he had asked me to join him to that premiere. ‘That feels like a lifetime ago.’ I said, taking a bite. ‘It does.’ He smiled in turn, his eyes daintily moving back towards me, studying me while I ate. ‘Whuatt?’ I mumbled with a full mouth. He chuckled. ‘Nothing.’ His lips curled into a wide smile. I rolled my eyes. I knew Henry by now. He was thinking of something. I took another bite, eyeing him carefully.

‘Well… are you going to go to that premiere?’ He finally asked. I swallowed my bite, looking back at the invitation. ‘I haven’t really headed it much mind. When I received it I thought I’d be in England this period. So I actually RSVP’d the London premiere, next week, not this one.’ Our eyes met again. ‘Hmmm.’ He hummed in understanding, putting down his cutlery. ‘But you are free, right? Would you ..maybe.. be my date?’ He asked sweetly. I felt my heart thunder in my chest again. Those puppy eyes… How could I ever resist him?

‘..I…I don’t know… Isn’t it like..expected that you show up with Anya and Freya?’ I lowered my eyes, cupping my hand around my cup of tea and swirling it around a bit. I could feel those puppy eyes burn into me. Oh! Henry! Don’t do that! Don’t make me feel guilty for not wanting to go. In the corner of my eye I saw him shift ever so slightly. ‘Well, yes. Entrance and interviews is with fellow actors. But after that it’s a long, long night of watching episodes, sipping champagne and listening to toasts…’ He wrapped his hand over mine, his scorching palm way hotter than the lukewarm tea inside my cup. I looked up at him. His eyes were gentle. I sighed. Sure enough I had attended a red carpet event with him last week, and people knew we were dating. The pressure was off, right?

‘What is it?’ He asked, seeing my hesitation. He moved a bit closer, leaning over the table as his other hand also folded over mine. ‘I don’t know.’ I moped. ‘Guess I’m just a bit tired. My inner introvert just wants to stay at home. Drink wine on the couch and play some games..’ I shrugged in defeat. ‘Oh baby.’ He bent his head forward as he tried to hide a chuckle. ‘I guess I must admit your idea is far better.’ He smiled, moving his head back up to look at me. I bit my lip, feeling that all familiar heat burn up in my core. Even after all these months, a simple longing glance of this man was all it took to get me hot and bothered. I quickly looked away as he noticed my lip-bite. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself down, suddenly being very aware of the way his thumbs were now rubbing slow circles on my hand.

‘You know. We could perhaps do a bit of both? I’ll move up some of my meetings and cast calls so we can have the other nights off, plus, we could squeeze in one lazy day on the couch. Just me, you, some wine, some games..not wearing any clothes….’ His voice wandered off and I quickly kicked my foot against his underneath the table. ‘YOU!’ I gasped, seeing that devious smirk on his lips. ‘Incorrigible!’ I exclaimed, rolling my eyes, hardly suppressing the smile on my lips. He laughed heartily, letting his gaze hungrily fly over my face. I clenched my legs together at this. Mi-auw! ‘And then hopefully I haven’t completely worn you out.. ‘ He continued ‘..and we can go be together at the premiere?’ He raised his eyebrows, looking at me with the sweetest of puppy eyes. ‘If you add chocolate to the deal…’ I shrugged, smirking in turn as he playfully knitted his eyebrows together, as if mulling over whether that was worth it. ‘Deal.’ He nodded slowly. I broke out into laughter. ‘Deal.’

—

It was Wednesday.

With some minor begging and a few phone calls, Henry had managed to get the day off. And for the first time in over 4,5 weeks, we had absolutely no obligations today. No “quick” phone calls, short meetings. No, we did not even have to do groceries. Just. Nothing.

We had decided to start the day early, with a hike through the hills, together with Kal. It was about 6.30 am when we plumped down a bench on one of the hill tops, looking at the city as it slowly awoke from its slumber. The sun had just started rising, the world quiet, as the first rays of golden light started tipping over the millions of roof tops.

‘Hmmm’ Henry hummed in satisfaction, sitting back against the bench, his arms spread wide over the backrest. He was wearing some shorts, a t-shirt, running shoes and his usual cap. Simple, but effectively handsome. I guess he always looked good. But in this slightly muted light, his eyes beaming with joy, he was about as beautiful as a man could get. ‘Are you staring at me, wifey?’ He said, amusement in his voice. He kept looking out at the valley, a small smile playing on his lips. I felt a blush creep over my cheeks as I quickly looked away, joining his gaze at the valley below us. 

‘Maybe.’ I said softly, also sitting back against the backrest, feeling his strong arm as it folded around me. ‘And let’s keep it at “girlfriend”, before some wild paparazzi appears and the gossip train goes wild.’ I smiled. ‘As you wish my dearest.’ He laughed and pressed a sweaty kiss against my cheek. I chuckled, trying to move away, but failing to do so as he held me tightly in the iron grip of his arm. ‘HENNN.’ I laughed, poking his ribs. ‘What..?’ He hummed softly, using his other hand to cup my cheek and turn my head slightly so he could kiss me on the lips. ‘Don’t do that, before I want to have you..right here and now.’ I whispered against his lips. He chuckled, pressing another longing kiss on my lips. ‘What if I don’t mind that?’ he hummed, effortlessly pulling me onto his lap, my legs swung over one side. I could feel his half hard erection pressing into the side of my thigh. ‘Paparazzi.’ I said, shaking my head, trying to clear my foggy lustful brain. He rested his head against my shoulder, nodding with a mix of understanding and slight frustration. Our eyes met again.

‘Let’s go home.’ He said, his voice dark and husky.

—

I clicked open the door of my apartment, feeling Kal scurry past me as he quickly slipped inside, slobbering up some of the water from his bowl. I turned around, seeing Henry staring down at me hungrily, waiting just outside the door. Without breaking eye contact I dropped my keys in the bowl on the small cupboard next to me and gestured him with a finger to come closer. His lips curled into a hungry smile, his body not hesitating one moment as he pressed himself against me, closing the door behind us and pushing me back against it. ‘Girlfriend.’ He whispered, while plastering me with hungry kisses, his hands pulling up my shirt, followed by my sports bra. I quickly toed off my shoes, feeling his hot breath lowering down my neck as he bent down, unabashedly sucking on my slightly sweaty nipples. ‘Let’s…’ I gasped as his teeth grazed my skin. ‘..shower.’ I breathed, instantly feeling his hands cup my buttocks, before he lifted me up. I hooked my legs around his hip as he toed off his shoes as well and walked us to the small bathroom, turning on the shower.

It was a bit less easy to actually get IN the shower, since it was a shower-bath unit. However that didn’t stop Henry. He moved aside the shower curtain to get more room, then used one hand to support himself against the wall while stepping over the high edge of the tub. I shrieked as he wobbled while moving his other foot in. ‘IEEEEK!! I don’t want to die just yet.’ I laughed as he cursed under his breath. He smiled after he found his balance again, walking us under the hot water. Within moments we were a soaking mess of sweaty clothes, dripping hair and wanton kisses. ‘Well at least we’d die happy.’ He breathed, folding away some rogue hairs from my face. ‘Almost happy.’ I said, offering him a cheeky smile, before pushing my hand between us, rubbing the erection underneath his soaked shorts. He instantly bucked against me, humming. ‘Fuck.’ He whispered as I pushed down his shorts a bit to get better access, rubbing my hand up and down his silky hard length. ‘How attached are you to these shorts?’ He asked, roaming a hand over my ass. ‘What..?’ I asked, before realising what he meant. Our eyes met. ‘Not attached.’ I breathed, feeling his hands as he pulled at the material, his muscles flexing against me as I squeezed my legs tighter around his waist, not wanting to fall down. With seemingly little effort he tore the shorts. The same strength of Geralt in my dream. I gasped as his hands instantly pushed aside my underwear, gliding past my folds. ‘Oh..’ I gasped softly.

His head bent down to kiss my neck, his curly hair tickling my face, as his fingers deftly rubbed my core. I wrapped my arms more tightly around Henry’s neck and let my head fall back, enjoying this sensation of soft electricity building up, together with the warm water trickling down our bodies, his mouth suckling my skin. This feeling of half-floating in the air, the only thing keeping me from falling his strong arms. Henry knew my body better then I knew. He knew how to knead, kiss and lick it to bring it over the edge. And he sure wasn’t holding back now.  

I shivered as I felt the tingles in my toes and fingers grow in strength. ‘Oh Henry.’ I breathed. ‘OH.’ I contorted against him, my head flailing against his shoulder, as I breathed harshly. I scratched my nails into his back as his fingers kept rubbing and twirling on my core. He had not even penetrated me. Oh lords.

‘Come for me little one.’ He whispered darkly, his erection bouncing in restless agreement against my thigh. I felt the knot in my core grow tighter and tighter. ‘AAAH!’ I cried out in slight frustration, sensations overwhelming me. The warm water. His hot tongue on my skin. His rippling muscles. The friction. The muggy air. The shower curtain that occasionally tickled my leg. ‘Come for me!’ He said with more need, his deep voice swimming around in my head as I felt the knot tighten further and further. I squeezed my eyes closed, wanting to let go, wanting to come, but somehow not managing. 

‘Please.’ I begged, feeling his administrations speed up. I started to convulse, wriggling senselessly against his body, his arms a strong vice keeping me from falling. A hot flood bursted through my veins as the knot finally snapped, fireworks exploding. And I suddenly felt so full. Complete. White hot light sparkling in my eyes as his arms held me tightly against his chest. It took me a good few seconds before I realised he had sheathed himself inside me. I shivered involuntarily at the feeling of his throbbing cock inside me. It was deeply erotic to feel him hold me against his chest like this, trying to stay as still as possible while I rode the after waves of my orgasm.

He groaned softly as I slightly moved my hips. ‘Now..show me what Geralt couldn’t do.’ I whispered into his ear. I felt his arms relax a bit, his head moving back slightly as he looked me in the eye. ‘And that is?’ ‘Making me cum again..and again..and again.’ I said, my hips rolling against his in a slow rhythm. He gasped at the sensation, the feeling of my inner muscles, the occasional trickle of hot water on his thick swollen erection, my fingers deftly pulling his hair and scratching his back. ‘Babe, you don’t know what you do to me.’ He said hoarsely, cupping his hands under my bum cheeks again. 

He pulled himself out of me, before slamming right back in with raw force. Again and again and again. The rhythm steady, but slow. He moaned and groaned. I don’t think I ever had heard him this vocal before. ‘Oh your sweet..cunt. Arggh..’ He groaned, his head bending forward, his lips claiming mine. ‘You are mine.’ He whispered against my lips. ‘And no Geralt, not anyone, can touch you like I do.’ His hands kneaded my ass while harshly pulling me back onto his cock. I gasped at the sensation. The way he pushed against my cervix. ‘Henry..’ I muttered, feeling his heavy member drag out of me again before pushing back in. This agonisingly harsh, slow pace somehow made my core coil up. He wasn’t even rubbing against my clit, like I usually needed to find relief.

‘I can feel you baby.’ He smiled, remaining inside me for a moment. I yipped, feeling his cock twitch inside of me, my walls instinctively clamping onto him, wishing to suck him in deeper. Deeper still. He groaned, pulling out again completely. ‘Turn around, bend over.’ He commanded, his eyes drinking me in as I lowered myself down and slowly turned around. I could hear his ragged breath through the thundering of the falling shower water. He tore my ruined shorts open further and spit some extra saliva in his hand, before pulling me back so my bottom was no longer under the spray of hot water, just my back. 

His hand brushed over my folds and not too long after that all familiar hardness pushed against my core. He had to wiggle a bit to get it back in, making the sensation of him finally sliding back in all the more rewarding. I gasped in satisfaction as he filled me completely, his hips immediately starting to push into mine. Within moments I felt the flames in my groin build up again. ‘You feel so good.’ He cooed, letting one of his hands glide down my back while the other gripped my hips, keeping them firmly in place. This alongside the trickling water on my back, made me quickly edge towards another orgasm.

‘Oh gods.’ I exclaimed, feeling my legs buckle as the electricity started to shoot through my veins again. Without hesitation, Henry pulled me flush against his chest, keeping up his pace as he pushed into me, his arms folding around me like a seatbelt. A very hot, strong, penetrating seatbelt.

‘Yes! Oh..gods...’ I cried out, feeling my core burst again. I couldn’t help but laugh, the endorphins wildly shooting through me as Henry peppered me with hot, lustful kisses. He laughed in turn, be it somewhat out of breath, not once halting his pace. How long would this man even last? Usually I could easily pull him over the edge while orgasming around his cock. Not today. I laid my head back against his shoulder as he had moved one of his hands back to my hips, my hands folding over his arms as I let him take me. In. Out. In. Out. Why did something like this feel so damn good? I sighed, smiling gently. ‘Witchers may have stamina..but so do I.’ He whispered huskily into my ear. I couldn’t help but laugh, a laugh that quickly turned into a gasp as he snapped into me more harshly. ‘Oh. Henry. You feel so good.’ I yipped. ‘Yes baby. Oh fuck.’ I squealed, feeling another orgasm building up. YEUSS. What would the day bring if it was only like 7.30 am? My mind couldn’t think any further as I started shivering again, my hands grasping the sides of the bath tub as I bent over, trying to resist the force of Henry’s hips snapping harshly into mine. He was slowly building up his pace, now coming to such a speed that my body was a shivery, shaking mess that was being completely jumbled by his punishing pace. I came, my body completely losing all track of space and time as white stars flew past my closed eyelids.

‘FUCK.’ He exclaimed, his voice floating through my hazed brain as I felt his cock twitch heavily inside me. He pushed in and out a few more times, letting me milk his cock, before halting and pulling my shivering mess of a body back towards his chest. He let out a few ragged breaths before he pulled out of me and turned me around, cupping my cheek and kissing me languidly. A lazy smile graced his lips as he felt my body shudder and shake in the aftermath of our love making. ‘I bet Geralt couldn’t do that to you.’ He smiled, kissing me again. I moaned into his kiss, leaning heavily into his body. ‘Bloody hell Henry. I don’t think my legs are still working.’ I sniggered.

He hummed in satisfaction, keeping me close to his chest while moving us back under the shower head to clean us up, the hot water washing away our sweet sins. ’That’s alright.’ He smiled against my lips. ‘I’ve got you.’

Home is even sweeter with you, Henry. 

—

Part 10 >

[waywardnewcomer]

Perfect Mistake

A/N: This is for @lielullabye writing challenge! Congrats on 500 and I hope you enjoy! It’s 3am so sorry for any mistakes

Summary: Bucky was the perfect guy, until he wasn’t.

Prompt: Professor!Character x Student!Reader, “You broke my heart.” “And you think I didn’t shatter mine?”

Warnings: Lots and lots of angst, heartbreak, swearing

Pairings: Professor!Bucky x Student!Reader, Steve x Natasha

Word Count: 1.9K

Masterlist

It was one of the summers you would only see in movies. Meeting a hot older guy at the beach on a blind double date, starting out as only a fling and ending up falling in love with the guy. He treated you better than any guy you had ever met, making sure you were always comfortable, giving you cuddles and stroking your hair when you were sad and taking you out every week to show you off. You had met all his friends, even his parents briefly and they all loved you. You had even introduced him to your parents and friends, gaining their approval. You thought you were gonna marry the guy, you’d even talked about moving in together. He was best friends with your best friend’s boyfriend, it was perfect. Until it wasn’t.

“Bucky we gotta get up, I have classes today.” You mumbled smiling at him softly kissing his lips, feeling his stubble rub against your chin.

“Classes?” He mumbled sleepily, pulling you closer to him and snuggling his head into your chest.

“Yeah you know this, I’m in grad school. Final year baby.” You mumbled, trying to untangle yourself from his body as you kissed his long hair softly. 

“Wait. What school?” He asked you carefully, eyebrows furrowing and suddenly more awake than before.

“Harvard, I thought we went through this?” You sighed as you pulled on your jeans and sweater, brushing your hair into a bun. Softly walking around your apartment so you didn’t wake your roommate. 

“Since when?” He asked in surprise, pulling on his own clothes quickly.

“Since 5 years ago, why are you being so weird? I told you this months ago.” You laughed at his shocked face and gave him a small kiss before going to the bathroom.

“No, you didn’t! I’d have remembered this. Look Y/N I gotta go to work, I’ll text you later.” He rushed out, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek as you brushed your teeth and practically running out the front door.

“Well, that was weird.” You said out loud to yourself, shrugging as you finished getting ready. 

You didn’t hear from Bucky until your morning break that day. It was a phone call that broke your heart, it was cold and not at all like Bucky.

“Hey Buck, how’s work?” You smiled as you answered the phone.

“Y/N look we gotta call this off.” 

“What?” You choked out, hoping not to tear up in the middle of a campus cafe.

“I can’t do this anymore. I can’t see you we’re done.” Bucky rushed out.

“Bucky I thought you loved me. We were gonna move in together. What happened?” You asked, stepping outside to try to mask your sadness from your classmates gathered in the cafe.

“I don’t. I can’t live a lie. I’m sorry.” He mumbled.

“Fuck your sorry Bucky. I loved you. I wanted to marry you someday and now you’re telling me it was all a lie. You used me. Fuck you. Don’t speak to me ever again.” You shouted angrily, hanging up your phone and throwing it against the wall out of anger. You let the tears fall down your face as you dropped to the ground, curling up on the grass, back to the wall. 

“Y/N?” You heard a voice ask making you look up through your wet eyelashes, to see your best friend standing there. “Woah what happened?” 

“Nat, he dumped me. He said he never loved me.” You sobbed as the redhead pulled you into her side as she sat next to you.

“But he looked so loved up with you, he told us he thought you were the one. It doesn’t add up.” She said confused, taking out her phone to shoot a text to Steve, her boyfriend and Bucky’s best friend to see what the hell was going on. Steve had suggested setting them up on a blind date together, saying his old army buddy who had just come back to town needed a companion, and that you would be perfect after knowing you for a year. If anyone knew something, it was Steve.

“Yeah well, he lied.” You sighed, wiping the tears falling from your eyes and lifting your head to look at her. “Can we go home?” 

“Yeah come on, get your stuff.” She smiled sadly at you. “What the hell happened to your phone?” She asked seeing the smashed screen in your hands as you picked it up.

“I kinda chucked it at the wall,” You laughed slightly. 

“Only you. Come on, let’s go watch movies and eat junk food.” 

For a week you didn’t leave your apartment. You told your advisor you had the flu and were going to be off a while. You barely left your bedroom unless Natasha and Steve pulled you out of bed to eat and shower. They took it in turns to hold you while you cried and stroked your hair until you fell asleep. Steve practically lived with you for the last 2 months and he was like a brother to you, no matter his connection to Bucky. He had only tried to bring him up once and knew never to do it again.

“He’s hurting too you know.” He mumbled one night as you were crying into his chest.

“Steve please don’t talk about him. It’s too hard.” You pleaded with him making him nod and kiss your hair, looking at Nat sadly. They hated seeing you like this, you were either not eating at all or stuffing your face, sleeping too much or staying up until early hours. Your heart was broken into two and they didn’t know how to fix it. So they did everything they could until you went back to school 2 weeks later. Since you had only attended one class on your first day back, you needed to catch up and make a good impression on your new professors. 

When you saw him at the front of the room, hair tucked into a man bun and dark bags under his eyes, you froze. He did a double-take when he saw you and locked his eyes on to yours, his immediately softening and his jaw slacking a little. He looked at you pleadingly as you choked back your tears. You were not ready for this. 

You turned around and left the room, immediately rushing back home and ignoring the shouts he made from his classroom door. When you got in you slammed the door and stood in front of the couch where Nat and Steve were cuddling and watching a movie. You tapped your foot impatiently as Nat sat up abruptly and Steve gulped guiltily. 

“Y/N what’s-” Nat started but you cut her off.

“Do you want to tell her or should I?” You asked him, raising your eyebrow. 

“Tell me what? Steve?” She asked turning to look at him confused. 

“Bucky. Um, Bucky is -” He started stumbling, trying to figure out how not to hurt the two most important girls in his life.

“My fucking professor.” You seethed, making Nat look between you two in shock. “When the fuck were you going to tell me, Rogers?” You asked him angrily.

“He told me not to.” He mumbled quietly.

“So you lied to her? To me? To us?” Nat asked, getting up and standing beside you. 

“Look I’m sorry. He wanted to speak to you himself.” Steve spoke, licking his lips and avoiding the gaze of the two girls.

“Steve I’ve just stopped crying myself to sleep and now I see him and it breaks my heart all over again. You’ve helped him pour salt in the wound. You’re an ass, Rogers.” You shouted and stormed off into your bedroom slamming your door. 

You heard him and Nat whisper arguing with each other before hearing the front door close softly and a knock at your door. It creaked open and you felt a dip behind you on your bed and arms pulling you into their chest. You cried into them, banging onto his chest as he whispered sorry over and over again.

“You helped him break my heart, Steve.” You hiccuped, looking up at him.

“I know bub, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to but he wanted to speak to you. If you don’t want to I’ll support you all the way. I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you.” He spoke kissing your forehead and squeezing you tightly. 

“He broke my heart, Steve. It’s too hard.” You mumbled, sitting up and grabbing your pillow to your chest watching him mirror your actions. 

“I know. I’m sorry for pushing it. I’ll tell him to back off.” He smiled at you sadly.

“I need your help.” You mumbled. 

“Anything.”

“Ask him to let me drop his class.” 

“Y/N, that’s your dream class.” He mumbled, looking at you sadly.

“I can’t focus knowing he’s up there teaching, it’s too hard. I can’t do it.” You spoke softly.

“Okay. I’ll do it. You’ll have to set up a meeting though, you know that.” He said looking at you sadly.

“I know, but after that, I won’t ever have to see him again. Get his signature and go.”

“Okay.” He mumbled knowing it was a bad idea but he knew he was going to do it anyway because you had asked him and he didn’t want to hurt you again. 

It was another 2 weeks before you could actually face Bucky in his office. You wore a skirt and crop top, makeup on and hair styled just the way he liked it, showing him what he was missing by being a jerk. You had to steady yourself with a bit of dutch courage before you went in, not anything to get you tipsy but a shot of whisky wasn’t going to hurt. You gripped the sheet he needed to sign in your hand and knocked on the door harshly, sucking your breath in when his voice spoke to come in. 

“Professor Barnes.” You nodded, taking a seat opposite him, placing the sheet on his desk and not looking into his eyes.

“Y/N, come on. Look at me.” He mumbled, pleading with you.

“Mr Barnes, please just sign the sheet.” You demanded.

“No.”

“What?” You asked looking at him.

“I said no.” He crossed his arms.

“Bucky, just sign the fucking form so we can get this over with.” You shouted at him.

“Y/N this is your dream class, you’re not dropping it.”

“It’s not a dream class if you’re the one fucking teaching it.”

“Y/N I miss you.”

“You broke my heart.” You shouted at him, standing up and pacing around his office agitated.

“And you think I didn’t shatter mine? I’m your professor Y/N. This is forbidden.” He pointed between the two of you.

“So why didn’t you just say that?” You asked him angrily.

“Because I didn’t know what to do. I love you so much and it scares me. But this was my first stable job since the army and I didn’t want to lose it.”

“So you chucked me away instead? You didn’t love me Bucky don’t make me laugh. You used me.” You chuckled dryly.

“You’re not dropping this class Y/N.”

“I can’t take this class when you’re the one teaching.”

“I’m dropping this class.” 

“What?” You asked, finally looking into his eyes.

“I love you. I want you to be happy. I want to be with you. I can’t do any of that if I’m your professor.” 

“But this is your dream job.”

“This is your dream class and you’re my dream girl. I refuse to give you up for my happiness.”

“You already did.” You mumbled as you walked out of his office, making sure to slam the door behind you and shutting him out of your life forever.

Marvel Tags:

Forever Tags: @creativedogs  @a-magey  @natashacamillaus @platonic-plots  @captainsherlockwinchester110283 @sleepylunarwolf @claitynroberts @theshortegg @casiskween @robfangirl @fanficwithasideofcanon @jaremish @mlovesstories @lauren-novak @hi-my-name-is-riley @spn-tw-37 @supernatural-teamfreewillpage @spnrelatedurl @phonegalhelp @springholland @the-hufflepuff-hunter @chonisberonica @coralphantomninja @therealmrshale @unicornblood4ever

[mcnished]

So last week De Limburger published a pretty great interview with Robin Frijns, so I tried to translate it. Short warning, I’m no professional translator so the translation won’t be perfect. It’s a long one folks, so get yourself some coffee because you’ll need it. All the credits go to the original author, except for the translation, which is mine. 

Robin Frijns puts past behind him: “Formula 1 was very unfair for me.”

Yes, he admits he had been jealous when Max Verstappen rapidly broke through in Formula 1. Why didn’t he get the chance? But Robin Frijns has put the past behind him. “Sometimes I think: would Formula 1 have made me happy? All those fake friends, everyone trying to profit from your success.”

Right in the hallway of his lily-white, freestanding house in Lanaken, a little across the border at Maastricht, it becomes clear why Robin Frijns (28) was accredited with a bright future in Formula 1. His biggest trophies are displayed like a hall of fame, won on circuits across the globe. With his status as a future racing talent, he was standing on the doorstep of the pinnacle of motorsport, even before the rise of contemporary Max Verstappen, but nonetheless, his dream was shattered. A sensitive subject matter which we, so we guess, could best wait to discuss until the ice is broken. But we’re barely seated when Frijns opens it up himself, determined to clear the air. 

Press agency ANP published in 2012, right before you were testing a car with Red Bull, an interview in where you proclaim that “Red Bull drivers are treated like dogs”. You contest that you’ve never said that. 

“That story is completely false. The conversation with that journalist took place two weeks earlier, over the phone. He screwed me. He wrote down things I’ve never said. I spoke to him once, after that never again. I’m still waiting for him to call. No, I won’t say his name.”

Did he put the words in your mouth?

“No.”

Did he make up stuff?

“Yes. Look, Red Bull has always been known for quickly putting aside drivers if they didn’t perform. Dropped. But that’s the truth, everybody knows that. Every once in awhile it isn’t fair, that depends on the situation. That came up in the conversation, but the word ‘dogs’ was never used. I have friends who were at Red Bull. Okay, they have had it rough, but it’s thanks to Red Bull that they’ve come so far.”

What would you like to change about yourself?

“That people who don’t know me get a better idea of who I am. That image was created in the past. I’ve been with Audi for years, if they didn’t appreciate me, I would’ve been long gone.“

What was the last time you cried?

“Good question. (long silence) When my dog died, in 2012. His name was Bikkel, a Bordeaux Dog. He was only three years old. In the morning I found him in his kennel, a heart attack. Cold as ice, stiff, I’ll never forget that.”

What do you regret?

“I regret that I’ve trusted people too easily, managers for example. I didn’t have the right people around met at the right time. One manager once demanded three ton from me. He lost that case. I recently ran into me, he shook my hand. What I think when that happens? Absolutely nothing.”

Who would you like to spend 24 hours with?

“Ayrton Senna. He always said how it was, was passionated, loved his country. He never forgot where he came from. Some people compare himself to him, like Hamilton. Senna stayed himself, Hamilton didn’t. I appreciate his driving skills, not his personality.”

Are you still being haunted by that publication?

“Yes, still. That stone started rolling and it feels like it has never really stopped. For some, it’s rolling still.”

If you’re so convinced about being right, why have you never taken action?

“If so, I, a layman from motorsports, would have to take it up against a journalist of ANP. Against such a big corporation.”

You didn’t have any good experiences with Bild, the biggest tabloid of Germany, either. 

“My manager at the time had contacts there. He let them record that I’m so difficult to work with. That hurt me even more than the whole Red Bull story. We split after that. Later teams said to me: “you are so difficult”. Where is that coming from, I thought. That image caused a reluctant effect on people who didn’t know me. Only after I’ve tested for them, did they know who I really was.”

How do you describe yourself? 

“I don’t like dishonesty, I can’t work with it. I’m very direct. Say what I want to say, but always based on something. And I never show myself when I don’t know someone. That’s a disadvantage... I have to get to know them first.”

You’ve been a test driver for various F1 teams in the years following that infamous ANP piece, but you never got a real chance. Why didn’t it happen?

“De F1 world was very unfair for me. At certain moments I drove faster than the drivers who did have a seat. Like Hülkenberg. Or Ericcson. But I didn’t bring millions. Others did. They shook my hand and I could leave. How unfair is that? I didn’t feel appreciated. That’s when the joy vanished. Compare it to football: if you move from Ajax to Barcelona, but you spend the whole year on the bench, what did you gain?”

Did you ever try to get those millions yourself?

“I have tried to play the game, but I missed the background in that world to achieve it. There were businessmen with interest in F1, but they all came from above the rivers. They didn’t see me as Dutch. Because I’m from Maastricht.”

Did your reputation play a part in this?

“People in business don’t read that stuff. It’s about investments, I think. “

How long did you need to process this broken F1 dream?

“At least two years. I just wasn’t feeling well. Constantly annoyed.”

Did you have someone to cry with?

“No, I did it on my own. My father struggled a lot, he’s just like me. He felt that injustice as well. Support? My parents have always supported me, up to a certain point.”

Are you guys talkers?

“A little. I’m from a family who isn’t involved with motorsport at all. The whole family loves football, my brother played for MVV [Maastricht’s football club]. I rolled into that world, without knowing where I’d end up. My father is a real businessman in the steel industry. He doesn’t understand the racing world.”

Not long after you Max Verstappen rose through the ranks, at lightning speed. He’s a world star now. Don’t you think: this could have been me?

“Of course, yes. I have never driven against Max, so I can’t say who’s better. That comparison is bullshit. But I certainly would have been at the same level as Max.”

Are you jealous of his success?

“Maybe a bit in the beginning. But not for the last three, four years. There’s always a pro and a con. I talked to him a few times. I don’t have anything against Max, amazing how he’s doing, a lot of respect. Especially for his dad, I know him much better than Max. But I don’t know if I want to be in the position he’s in.”

Why not?

“I want to be free in the things I do. If I were Max. I’d live in Monaco. Something I absolutely do not want. When I’m home, I want to be home, close to Maastricht. If I were at Max’s level I wouldn’t be able to go to a terrace, drink coffee in peace. That’s the flipside. Of course, at the track, a lot of people come to you, nothing wrong with that. But at a certain point, especially after a shitty race, you think: please leave me alone. 24/7 attention, it would drive me crazy.”

You currently drive in both Formula E and DTM. Does that give you enough satisfaction? 

“I joined Audi three, four years ago. That’s when it started to go better. They really appreciate me, they know me and they work well with me. With DTM and Formula E, I’ve found the fun again. The future? I want to be competitive, that’s the most important thing. When I’m 36 or 37 and I notice I’m no longer competitive, I’ll retire.”

Sustainability is a big theme nowadays. Do you think Formula 1 will merge with Formula E? 

“I think Formula E will fight Formula 1. But they can’t compete yet. FE has only existed for six years, F1 for almost seventy. Although I see that a lot more racing becomes electronic. You have Moto E, rallycross E. If you ask me now whether it has a future, I’d say yes. But maybe it will be different in ten years.”

Does idealism play a part in your choice for Formula E?

“That’s the same thing as not eating meat because you’re against animal cruelty. Honestly? A little, I think. Of course, it’s more about my career. But I do see the dense smog above China. You don’t have that in Maastricht.”

Your father once mentioned on the radio that he doesn’t like it at all, that speed. Does that affect you?

“I think every parent feels like that. The worst thing that can happen to you, is losing your own child. I’m very sober about this. It’s a dangerous sport. If you crash, so be it. But it does something to you when you hear about one. When I was on holiday in Santorini this summer, I got a text from Linsey, a good friend I’ve known for twelve years. She wrote: if you do this to me, I’ll kill you. I thought: what is she talking about? When I searched YouTube, I saw that Anthoine Hubert had a fatal crash in Francorchamps. I was quiet all day. I notice, the older I get, the more it affects me. I too want kids, in the future.”

Do you have a relationship?

“I’ve been together with Maike, a German, for over a year. She is a communications officer at ABT Sportsline, the DTM team I drive for. She lives 700 kilometres away, south of Munich. We see each other every weekend, I’m happy with her. It’s a long drive, I once did it in four hours. At night. Cruise control, 300 per hour, you’re there in no time.”

Was it love at first sight? 

“No, I don’t believe in that. Win trust first, that’s how I am. If I enter someone’s house, it’s never, hey, here I am.”

And then you give all of you?

“Yes. But when someone turns their back to me, it’s over quickly with me. For me no means no. A lot of people know that. If it’s a disadvantage, I don’t know. It does have something, I think.”

Formula 1, is that book closed for good? 

“If I could prove myself at a decent team, with a multiyear contract, I would consider it. But if I would want it? I don’t know. Sometimes I think: would Formula 1 have made me happy? All those fake friends, all those people who try to benefit from your success. No, that doesn’t make me happy. I know who I have now. Parents, friends, my girlfriends. People who only want what’s best for you. People who value you. If you’re world-famous, those are hard to find. 

[virgyvandijk]

24 pretty please!

(if you haven’t already read this, please do before you continue w this prompt!)

Honestly, Jordan has been riding on his last nerve for the past two hours. He knows that Jasmine is sick and he’s truly, honestly, sorry – she’s his baby girl and he loves her more than anything – but it’s driving him crazy. It’s nearing five in the morning and it’s getting light out, and neither of them have slept for a minute.

It was okay at first. They cuddled up in bed together and watched Aladdin, her favourite film. She’d laid on his chest and he expected her to fall asleep within an hour, but by the end she was still wide awake. She was getting to a point where she was exhausted though, whinging and moaning, but still wouldn’t settle enough to go to sleep.

And then came the tears. She’d cried her little heart out, until her eyes were red raw and she was gasping out tiny hiccups. She didn’t even react to Jordan’s arms around her, didn’t respond to his soothing words, just cried and cried and cried. 

He was seriously at his wit’s end.

She started asking for Virgil through her tears and wouldn’t back down when Jordan had explained that he’d be asleep and it would be a little rude to wake him up. She cried some more, and Jordan felt his heart break when he couldn’t do absolutely anything to calm her down.

So he did the only thing that he knew would work.

He kissed her forehead and tucked her in bed with the teddy bear that Virgil bought her birthday (it was bigger than her, and she absolutely loved it), and crept out of the room before she started sobbing again. Closed the door behind himself quietly and breathed out when a whole minute went by without hearing her cries, because at least he’d have a little bit of time to himself. 

He stays where he was when he calls Virgil though, just in case. The phone rings and rings and rings, and just when the thinks it's about to go to voicemail, Virgil’s groggy voice sounds over the line.

“Jordan?” He says hoarsely. Jordan smiles at the sound of his voice but tears fill his eyes anyway, relieved ones. He feels better already knowing he’s got Virgil. “What’s up? Are you okay? Is Jasmine?” 

“We’re fine. Sort of,” Jordan whispers. The tips of his fingers trace over the speaker of his phone like he’s trying to reach down the line and touch him. “I know it’s the middle of the night, but can you come over, please?” 

“Of course, J,” Virgil says, and the rustling at the other end of the phone tells Jordan that he’s already getting up and getting dressed. “D’you need me to get anything on the way?”

“Calpol,” Jordan murmurs, head falling back against the wall with a dull thud. His shoulders feel lighter and he’s ready to face this head on – as soon as Virgil gets here, that is. “Please.”

“I’ll be twenty minutes, okay?” Virgil says. The sound of keys clinking together filters down the line. “Love you.” 

He hangs up without hearing Jordan’s reply, because he clearly know how much he’s needed right now. He’s not wrong, either.

It’s weird, because usually, Virgil would be here. He doesn’t often spend nights at his own house, but it’d gotten to a point where Jordan was worrying that things were moving too fast for Jasmine. He wanted her to love Virgil, to consider him family, but he didn’t want her to rely on him.

(And maybe that went towards himself, too. Because Virgil was near enough perfect – he cooked and he cleaned and he kept Jasmine occupied when Jordan needed twenty minutes to himself just to sort a few things out, and he loved her, and he never, ever complained when she wanted to watch Finding Nemo three times in a row. He loved Jordan and he kissed him like he was the only thing in the entire world that mattered, and he made both of them feel special. 

Relying on that was dangerous). 

He’d cautiously approached the subject of Virgil spending a few more nights a week in his own bed, and obviously, Virgil had been nothing but understanding. Told Jordan that he was there whenever he needed him and they could go at his pace, because Jasmine was the most important thing to both of them.

Jordan didn’t know how he can get anymore perfect, but he just about reaches it when he turns up on the doorstep at five o’clock in the morning holding a bottle of Calpol.

“Hey,” he says, stepping into the house when Jordan opens the door. He’s expecting it when Jordan falls into his arms and holds him close, kissing the top of his head. “What’s going on?”

“Jas has a cold and it’s making her ears hurt and I just don’t know what to do,” Jordan says, all in one breath. As if on cue, the crying starts again, and he whines low in his throat. “All night she’s been in tears, Virg. Neither of us have slept. She was asking for you. She wants you.” 

“Alright,” Virgil says, soothes. He pulls away and Jordan takes a proper look at him; he’s still in the joggers he sleeps in with a hoodie thrown on, and Jordan knows he won’t be wearing a t-shirt underneath it. Trainers hastily shoved on and untied and he looks shattered, but he gives Jordan a look before he can even think about apologising. “Come on, let’s get her settled.”

He kicks his shoes off and leads Jordan upstairs by the hand, and Jordan wonders how he ever thought he’d be able to carry on without him. 

“Hey, Princess,” Virgil murmurs, letting go of Jordan’s hand to sit on the edge of her bed. Jordan stands in the doorway and watches them, watches how his daughter perks up as soon as she sees him and stretches her arms out towards him. He picks her up, settles her in his lap, and strokes her hair out of her face. “What’s this I hear about you not sleeping?” 

“I’m poorly,” she mumbles, pouting as she nestles into his chest. She’s calming down already, eyelids growing heavier every time she blinks like maybe just the familiar scent of Virgil’s aftershave is enough.

“Well, you can’t get better if you don’t sleep,” Virgil says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. He lays down and rearranges her little body so she’s tucked up against his side. She’s so exhausted that she doesn’t even fight it, just clings to the material of his hoodie. “Why don’t you try, yeah? I’ll be here with you.” 

She nods, says something quiet that Jordan doesn’t hear. It should be a little ridiculous, watching this six foot something man settle into a palace-shaped bed made for a toddler, but it’s fascinating. It’s possibly the best thing that Jordan has ever seen, and if he had any lingering doubts left over about Virgil ever moving onto something better, they disappear completely. 

Nothing could ever be better than this. 

Virgil is talking to her, whispers that Jordan can’t make out. He’s pretty sure he catches some words in Dutch – Jasmine has been learning some, and so has Jordan, although he isn’t as quick as Jas – but whatever it is, it seems to work, because she’s asleep within minutes. 

He waits for a while, holds her and prays that she doesn’t wake up. Eventually though, enough time passes that Jordan knows she won’t, and he takes careful, quiet steps over to the bed to uncurl her fingers from Virgil’s clothes.

“My turn now,” Jordan says, half joking but mostly serious. His bottom lip quivers when he smiles and Virgil tuts, stands and tangles his fingers with Jordan’s. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so tired in my life, V.”

“Lucky we’ve got a day off tomorrow, isn’t it,” Virgil whispers. He curls his arm around Jordan’s shoulders and leads him out of Jasmine’s bedroom, into his own. 

The bed looks so, so inviting and he sways on the spot as Virgil lets go to take his hoodie off, then melts back into his embrace. His skin is warm and he’s already falling asleep standing up, but Virgil squeezes his side just to get him to wake up. 

“Come on, you,” he murmurs, manhandling Jordan into the bed. He slips in behind him and slots his body into the contours of Jordan’s, kissing his neck gently. Jordan is already half asleep though, barely registers the movement. “Like father, like daughter.” 

“Pretty sure you’re the glue that keeps this family together,” Jordan says, barely coherent. He feels Virgil smile but is so tired he can’t even open his eyes, let alone move to face him, so he squeezes his hand instead. “We’re lucky to have you.”

“Then it’s a good job you’re stuck with me,” Virgil whispers, and Jordan finally falls asleep.

send me a prompt

[gauntie-o-dimm]

Hosea Matthews X Reader | Before, After What Happened In Saint Denis | Chapter 9-16

Originally posted this on AO3. This post is a continuation of the story, so you should read part 1, first. These are NOT spoiler free, but part 1 is. Read at your own risk, you gonna be sad.

Part 1 

Word count: 2300+ Warnings: Swearing, spoilers, death, pregnancy, angst

Chapter 9 - Preparations

'What have you and Dutch been discussing so often lately?' you said with genuine interest as you took a bite from the stew Pearson had made. Hosea looked up from his dish, raising an eyebrow before putting his spoon in his plate. 'The bank of Saint Denis turns out to be loaded with money, so we are planning out a big heist.' he explained after wiping his mouth with a piece of cloth.

Concern made your stomach churn. 'A heist? Again?' 'Dutch said we need the money, and trust me darling, we really do.' he reached out over the table, putting his hand on yours for a moment. 'But Saint Denis is huge... And there will be so many Pinkertons there!' 'We'll be fine, really. As long as we have each other, being on the run from the law isn't all that bad.' he said with a wry smile. 'All that is left are some preparations and a distraction to be planned.'

'Can I come too?' The question had slipped from you before you even realized it. As protective as he was, Hosea shook his head. 'No, darling, I don't want to risk losing you.'

You sighed, looking at him with a thoughtful gaze. For a moment, your hand went to your stomach.

'Listen, Hosea, there is something that I need to tell y--'

'Hosea!' Dutch's voice hollered through the camp, beckoning for him to come over. Hosea sighed. 'I am sorry, (Y/n), please hold that thought and I will be back in a moment.'

You exhaled deeply as you watched him leave towards his friend, knowing that the moment he spoke about would most likely become an hour or two. In silence, you finished your stew.

~

Chapter 10 - Don’t Do Anything Stupid

Hosea’s hand rested on your cheek so sweetly that yours went up to hold it right where it was.

‘Will you be careful then?’ He looked painfully handsome in his suit. ‘Of course.’ he reassured, ‘I will come back to you, my love.’

‘Hosea.’ Dutch said with a stern voice, ushering him to hurry up. You embraced the older man in front of you, inhaling his scent deeply. ‘Just... Don’t do anything stupid.’

‘Robbing a bank is kind of stupid, (Y/n)...’ Hosea said with a small chuckle, leaning in to kiss you. ‘I love you...’ he whispered, ‘I love you, too...’ Softly, you pressed your lips a bit tighter against his. You didn't want him to taste your worry.

He pulled back, giving you a small smile before turning to the wagon, climbing on the driver’s seat, next to Abigail. ‘Be careful!’ you exclaimed as the caravan of outlaws started to move. Hosea made meaningful eye-contact with you for a moment. You kept looking as they disappeared into the distance until you couldn’t see them anymore.

‘(Y/n).’ Susan Grimshaw reassured, ‘Don’t you worry.’ You nodded, looking at the ground.

‘Hey, are you OK?’

‘I... I am pregnant.’

‘With Hosea’s?’

‘With who else? I haven’t had my period in nearly three months, my breasts hurt and I can’t keep in any breakfast I eat. Plus, I’ve been gaining some weight at my stomach...’

Susan hummed, nodding a little. ‘I already thought so... It is slightly noticeable, you know. If you’re a woman, that is. Men don’t see such things... Have you told him yet?’

‘What?’

‘Have you told Hosea that you’re probably expecting?’

‘No... I tried, but something came in between. I’ll tell him once they return.’ Susan smiled at this. ‘Good. Then we’ll have a huge party! After running to another camp, probably...’

You hummed in agreement. ‘But until then, all we have to do is wait.’

~

Chapter 11 - The Crash Of The World

The returning group was awfully thin. In the depth of night, two figures appeared at the horizon. Horse hooves trembled through the ground. You stood, wiping the creases from your skirt. Judging by the two postures, Hosea was not among them... Maybe something came in between, or those two had forgotten to bring something...?

All of camp gathered at the horse stations as the exhausted Abigail and Charles dismounted, out of breath and most certainly not followed by anyone - Abigails answer to Susan’s panicking question.

‘Arthur, Javier, Micah, Dutch and Bill are on a ship to God knows where, it was their only option to escape. As for—‘ Charles halted in the middle of his sentence.

Abigail and Charles shared a glance and the woman sharply nodded towards you. Worry filled your veins as said man put a calm hand upon your shoulder and lead you away from the group. ‘I am sorry, (Y/n)... We were surrounded by Pinkertons, and they had grabbed him as a hostage. Before we could do something, Milton just... I am so sorry, (Y/n), but Hosea didn’t make it, he... ... ...’

Charles’ voice sounded like a blurred mumble now as you felt your heart break into a million pieces. A cry of agony escaped your lips, startling the group that was standing somewhere away, also just taking in the horrible news of the fallen ones—

—You fell to your knees in the dirt, but you didn’t care—The only thing you knew how to do was how to cry, and so you held your face in your hands as an endless stream of tears and misery shattered your soul.

There was no comfort in the gang’s words, nor in their arms that were thrown around you so friendly - You could hear nothing of their words and couldn’t regain consciousness after chugging two— three cups of water — no, your entire world was taken right then and there.

This had to be a nightmare, you assured yourself after finally falling asleep against Susan’s shoulder, and when you woke up, you would see him right away, with the newest paper in one hand and some fresh coffee in the other — yes, you were sure!

The rest of camp packed up in chaos, putting you in the back of a wagon alongside some tents and bedrolls.

~

Chapter 12 - A Proposition

‘He didn’t even know that he was going to be a father.’ The sudden remark that you whispered to Sadie hit you so hard that it took your breath away. ‘Holy fuck...’

The blonde girl put a hand on your shoulder. ‘Please just don’t say such things.’ ‘That day they left... That was the final time we saw each other!’

Sadie noticed you were about to break down again. ‘Hush now. Say, what do you think if we sneak into the morgue and get him and Lenny out? Give them a proper burial, would that comfort you?’

You had no idea of the state Hosea could be in, but you didn’t care. All you wanted was to see him once more. You nodded eagerly, ‘If you’d do that, I’d be eternally grateful!’

~

Chapter 13 - Last Rites

He did in fact look dead, you pondered as you hold his limp body in your lap, and his skin was icy cold - not only from being in the icy morgue for a few days. You didn’t dare to kiss him, afraid of the taste, the smell, the feel...

‘(Y/n).’ Charles softly spoke, ‘It’s time.’ You weakly nodded, wiping your nose on your sleeve as you carefully laid Hosea’s head from your legs onto the ground again, standing up and dusting down your clothes. With much care, Charles lifted him up, laying him in the grave next to Lenny’s.

Abigail put an arm around you as sobs started to leave you, making you unable to hear the last rites Swanson read to them. Perhaps this was something that could help you cope, you wondered, but maybe it was not. Whatever way, it was fucking miserable.

~

Chapter 14 - Betrayal

It had been weeks before they returned, Arthur finding Lakay at first. The rest soon followed - And then, a Pinkerton attack filled with blood and bodies pumped full of lead.

The gang had to move once more, the stress taking a toll on your body. As your stomach started to grow, so did your longing toward Hosea - you missed him dearly and still clung onto his clothes to inhale his smell.

But it was fading, much to your dismay.

Ruckus at the camp caused you to let go of the light blue striped shirt, putting it down carefully before moving towards the commotion.

Molly’s red hair was messily braided as she stumbled around, slurring her words thickly. It turned out that Uncle had found her drunk at Saint Denis. The fight was already full blown, with Molly throwing insults at Dutch's head, about how she is not his to own. He had it coming, you mused to yourself, before she muttered something that made the hairs of your neck stand on end.

'I told them!'

'I'm sorry? Dutch grumbled, and Molly soon responded: 'Yeah, I told 'em and I will tell 'em again! Now I've got Gods ear!' 'You told who what?' a demand came from Dutch's chapped lips. 'Mr. Milton and Mr. Ross... About the bank robbery! And I wanted them to kill you!' 'You did what?!' Dutch drew his revolver, pointing it at her.

'I loved you, you goddamn bastard! Go on, shoot me!'

Arthur put his hand on his shoulder: 'She's crazy, she ain't worth it.' 'You know the rules!' the leader of the gang grunted.

'You aren't so big now, are we your majesty?!' Molly said with a mocking bow.

The feeling of betrayal became too much for you to keep quiet.

‘You!’ You suddenly spat, causing all attention to go to you. You approached her directly, holding one hand under your swollen stomach, the other pointing at her in a confronting way.

‘Because of your stupid fucking egoism, I will have to raise this child without a father! Because you were too self-centered, all of us have to live with the grief that this left behind - My child will never know the great man Hosea was! This gang will never feel the same again without the men we've lost, all because of you! The only damned bastard here is you!’

Molly was silent, looking at you with a confused gaze as you started sobbing loudly. All Susan needed was one glance at your broken form before she took the shot. With a thud, Molly O’Shea fell to the ground, blood as red as her curls.

~

Chapter 15 - Mourning Never Ends

A heavy cry left your lips as you pushed as hard as you could. The sharp smell of blood and sweat was thick in the dark room. ‘Come on, (Y/n), just a little longer. I think I can see the head...’

You clenched onto the sheets, wishing all the more that his hand was there to hold and squeeze as pain overwhelmed you—

— ‘There it is!’ The pain reduced and you felt the baby slip out of you — ‘It’s a boy!’ Tilly cheered in delight. He immediately started wailing. She pushed him into your arms right after cutting the umbilical cord. He was still slick and grimy, but you held him to you nevertheless. The blanket you had around your naked upper body slipped from you and you laid him against your bare chest, shushing him to calm him down. ‘I know, my boy. That is what I want to do too so often when I see what a shit-hole the world has become...’ you whispered, only loud enough for him to hear. ‘There was happiness in here. But it has all faded away as the innocent folk died, like your father, Arthur, Molly O’Shea, Miss Susan... Yet you make the world a little better... Maybe you can be my new happiness...’

Tilly smiled at the motherly scene as she took a bucket of water from above the fire. It wasn’t boiling - just warm enough to be pleasant for a newborn. As the child had calmed, Tilly took him from you, gently rinsing his skin in the bucket for he didn’t need much more space.

‘Have you decided on a name yet?’ she asked as she handed him back to you, taking a clean rag, dampening it and dabbing it against your sweaty forehead. A tired smile came over your features.

‘Melvin. Melvin Hosea Matthews.’

‘What a wonderful name that is.’ Tilly whispered. You wryly grinned at the thought of your passed significant other and all the great memories you had of him. Time heals all wounds, they say, but you doubted it far from being true. However, if this was a final gift from Hosea to you - a child with his features, a new purpose - it was everything you could’ve wished for.

~

Chapter 16 - Epilogue

Melvin looked more like Hosea every day. You squinted against the light of the lowering sun, enjoying the glass of red wine in your hand, watching ever closely over your seven-year-old who was darting around the field of flowers.

‘Careful with her, Mel!’ you warned him as he took the hand of Tilly's little daughter, wanting to drag her along to play. A sigh left your lips at the sight of both of them laughing - how proud Hosea would’ve been.

‘You know,’ Mary-Beth began, looking up from her writing, ‘I am sure that somewhere in the universe, if you hope hard enough along with having a little faith, that he watches upon you and Melvin very closely and protects you from evil.’

You rolled your eyes before sipping some of the drink you held. ‘This world is damned.’ you spoke, ‘And every day it will get damned more, because Hosea is getting further and further away.’

‘I disagree.’ Tilly Pierre said softly, nodding towards Melvin. ‘Within him, he lives on.’ You kept silent.

‘Every day Melvin will be more like his father. You will tell him plenty stories of him, about who he was, about what he fought for. And as time passes, you will find your Hosea within him. Melvin is part of both you and Hosea, which makes him worth living for.’ Mary-Beth mused.

And for once, you found comfort in Mary-Beth’s words.

[ladyg3m1n1]

Hehe, so sorry to ask again! But I’d LOVE to see what you do with it! “I know it’s not a number, but could you do some painful/sad Vandermatthews? Also not a number, but Vandermatthews where one of them gets shot in a robber gone wrong and isn’t doing well but INSISTS they’re fine?”

Sorry for the delay! It’s been a trying few days and I really didn’t want to half-ass this one,  but here it is!

“They been gone too long,” Ms. Grimshaw said standing close to Dutch crossing her arms. “A simple job like that shouldn’t have taken this long.” Dutch didn’t say anything, he brought his cigar to his lips taking a long drag. She was right, he knew she was, but right now he had to keep the faith that Arthur and Hosea were fine. 

They had left early on in the day, Hosea had a scam lined up in Valentine that could bring in some money. He brought Arthur along as back up, just a scary bit of muscle to stand at his back in case they got outed. It was after dark now, they should’ve been home. Unless they decided to stay a little while and have a few drinks for a successful scam, but that’s not like Hosea. 

Dutch squashed the cigar under his boot. He was going to get John to mount up and they were going to go look for them. At least just to make sure they’re safe, that would be enough to ease his anxiety. 

“Whoa!” Lenny’s voice rang out. Dutch looked over and saw Silver Dollar galloping into camp. “Easy! Easy boy!” he tried to soothe the horse but Dutch knew better. He hurried over grabbing the reigns and pulled Silver Dollar down a little and pat his nose trying to keep him from bucking. 

“Shh, boy. Easy, easy. That’s it…” Dutch cooed to the horse. “Where’s Hosea boy?” he asked. As soon as the question left his lips he heard Arthur’s voice coming from the path. 

“Dutch!” Dutch hitched Silver Dollar and moved to see Arthur riding in alone. Ice filled his stomach and his heart seemed to stop in his chest when he saw blood all over Arthur. 

“Arthur! What happened son are you hurt?!” Dutch asked when Arthur dismounted. He looked at the younger man and checked him over for wounds. He didn’t see any, but that could only mean one thing. “Where’s Hosea?” he asked. Arthur swallowed thickly, tears misting over his eyes. “Damn it, Arthur! Where the hell is Hosea?!” Dutch yelled voice cracking a little. He felt his own tears in his eyes. 

“He’s…he’s in a bad way, Dutch. A real bad way. Some drunk with a gun and a case of mistaken identity. Hosea…he took a bullet for me. I left him with the doctor but…” Arthur had to stop a lone tear slipping down his cheek. 

That as enough for Dutch, he hugged Arthur tight for a moment and pet his head. He was glad Arthur was safe, but he needed to get to Hosea. Now. He pulled away wiping away his own tears while Arthur did the same. 

“Mount up,” Dutch said. “John! Mount up! We need to go to Valentine!” They were on their horses in mere seconds and thundering down the road. If Hosea was going to die, then goddamnit his family was going to be there with him.

Dutch doesn’t think he’s ever ridden the Count that hard before. Not even running from the law. He’d have to make it up to the old boy, but now he needed to see Hosea. Barging into the Doctor’s office he looked at Arthur who pointed to the back room. Dutch was a raging storm when he entered the office making the doctor jump. 

“Ah, you must be the others,” he said calmly and stood straight. Dutch went to Hosea’s side felling to his knees next to the bed. He looked pale, his hand was cold in Dutch’s own. There was a blood soaked bandage over his stomach making Dutch lose the color in his face. 

“Hosea?” he asked quietly taking one hand and petting Hosea’s hair tenderly. He didn’t care at this point who saw him like this. Nothing mattered except Hosea. Hosea groaned and looked at Dutch smiling softly. 

“I’m okay Dutch…really,” he said and tried to sit up gasping in pain. 

“You are not okay!” Dutch snapped laying his lover back down putting a hand to his face. “Damn it Hosea, you were shot!” 

“Dutch, I’m fine. I just need to get home,” Hosea said trying to get up again. Dutch shook his head his eyes blazing firmly. He laid Hosea down again leaning over him running his fingers through his hair. 

“No, you’re going to stay here until the doctor says it’s okay for you go home! Now, be quiet and lay back. You need all your strength.” Dutch finished off softly and tucked his lover into the bed kissing his forehead. “I’ll watch over you,” he whispered. Hosea gave another hum, his eyes slowly closing.  

“Is he gonna be okay?” John asked quietly when Hosea fell asleep. The doctor sighed and rubbed his face tiredly. 

“I’m going to be honest with you. I’m amazed he’s still alive now, he lost a lot of blood and it took a lot of time to get that bullet out. I couldn’t stop the bleeding. I think if he’s lucky, by morning he’ll…” the doctor didn’t finish. He didn’t need to. “There’s nothing more I can do for him. It’s up to God at this point,” he said. 

They were silent for a long time, Dutch swallowed a sob more tears slipping down his face while he pressed Hosea’s hand to his cheek leaning into it. His other hand was still petting the silver strands of hair from Hosea’s face. The doctor left wordlessly leaving Dutch, John, and Arthur alone. Arthur sat on the foot of the bed with a heavy sigh, while John sat on the floor between Dutch and Arthur. 

“He’s strong,” Arthur said after a while. “Strong and stubborn.” Dutch let out a half laugh with a sob sliping out. 

“That he is,” he whispered and kissed Hosea’s hand squeezing it gently. “We’re here darlin’, me and the boys. We’re here,” Dutch said. 

They were in it for the long haul, sometime in teh night, Arthur adn John went out to get their bedrolls to settle in after Dutch told them both to go to bed. ‘I don’t care how old you are, I’m telling you both to get some sleep.’ 

Dutch hadn’t moved from where he knelt next to the bed, but he must’ve dozed off at some point because when he woke it was to a gentle hand runnign through his hair. Jolting up in surprise, he looked around tiredly. It was dawn, teh boys were still asleep so that could only mean…

“Dutch…” Dutch turned his head to Hosea and felt a surge of joy when he saw those dull sapphires looking up at him and a thin smile on his lips. 

“Hosea…oh God, Hosea. You’re awake,” he breathed. He looked over at the boys and opened hsi mouth to call them over when Hosea squeeed his hand. 

“Let them rest love,” Hosea said voice still dry. He let out a cough, wincing in pain. Dutch reached over to grab a cup of water and liftend Hosea’s head trying to keep from hurting him. Hosea drank slowly until he laid back down with a groan. “Thank you,” he sighed. 

Dutch kissed Hosea’s hand. Hosea let out a dry cough and winced again. He squeezed Dutch’s hand and looked up into his eyes. Dutch tried to read them, and what he saw…he didn’t like. 

His father once told him, you can always see death in a man’s eyes. When they’re close, you’ll see death’s face staring back at you. Dutch saw the face of death in Hosea’s eyes and the very thought made him feel sick. 

“Hosea…” he whispered, tears sliding down his face. 

“Hey…don’t you start crying on me now. I’m going to be just fine. So don’t you cry over me,” Hosea said. Dutch let out a soft sob kissing Hosea’s hand lovingly. “I’m okay, everything is going to be okay.” 

“Don’t you leave me Hosea, you hear me? You’re strong. You’ve always been strong, and you’ve been worse than this.” Dutch said trying not wake the boys. 

“I’ve never been this old, Dutch. Nor this sick, I was living off borrowed time as it was.” 

“Don’t you fucking say that!” Dutch snapped holding Hosea’s head in his hands pressing their foreheads together. “Don’t say that..please…” Dutch whispered. Hosea brought his hand up to touch Dutch’s cheek wiping away the tears. 

“I love you, Dutch. Always have, always will. No matter where I go my spirit goes with you,” Hosea’s breathing was becoming more and more shallow. Dutch pulled away swallowing thickly more tears slipping down his face and off his chin. 

“Dad?” Dutch looked over his shoulder and John and Arthur who had woken up and were hovering at the foot of the bed. Hosea smiled at them lovingly. 

“My boys…look after each other. You hear me? Stay strong, stay loyal…stay together. I love you both, so much,” Hosea said. John sniffed a little and nodded hanging his head. Arthur wiped away his own tear and pet John’s head fondly. 

“Hosea,” Dutch whispered. “Please, don’t go,” he said when Hosea’s eyes were back on him. “I love you.” The older man smiled weakly bringing Dutch’s face to his own laying a soft kiss to his lips. 

It was wet, slow, and soft. But it was enough to portray their feelings. Just one last time. Just one last kiss. 

Dutch felt Hosea exhale and his lips went slack underneath his own. Dutch pressed a little more firmly praying to any god that would listen that he could bring Hosea back with a kiss. When he pulled away, Hosea’s face had gone white, his lips slack, and his chest no longer rose and fell with his breathing. 

“Hosea?” he asked. He shook his lover a little sobing openly. “Hosea?” he tried again with no response still. No sign of life. “No…no no no no no…” he moaned shaking his head and pressed his forehead to Hosea’s still chest. He sobbed for a long time before an anguished scream broke free. He clutched onto his lover and continued to scream until he was hoarse. 

His heart was shattered. His soul was torn. Their family was broken. 

[reddeaddenial]

Hi friend! May I request 38 with Micah? Thanks a lot! 💚

“Hand me the gun and I’ll kill him myself.”

Micah x Reader Part 1

[Part 2]

Word Count: 2051

Welp this turned into an angsty reader x micah somehow lmao. I’m gonna retcon some minor stuff after Guarma cuz it makes no sense imo but i dont think it’s too noticeable lol This got really long for no reason and I’m very sorry. I tend to write ramble when I’m not sure where I’m going with something so this just sorta happened haha

—–

Abandoning Shady Belle was a quick and panicked mess. You packed as quickly as you could, you knew you and the group couldn’t dawdle. Couldn’t have time to mourn. But it felt like like abandoning the old camp was also abandoning the others who they had to leave in Saint Denis after that horrible bank robbery gone wrong.

Good people died. Hosea… You adored Hosea like a father. Took you into the gang near a year ago when you had no where else to be. Lenny. That poor boy didn’t deserve the end he got. And then the others according to Charles, smuggled themselves on a boat. A boat that no one has heard about since. But there was mentions of an awful storm not a day later and everyone feared the worst.

That was a good portion of the gang missing and it was an awful blow to morale in their new camp in Lakay. Dutch, their slowly unhinging leader. Arthur, probably the most realistic voice of reason and right hand to Dutch. Javier, the group salvaged his guitar, but was left unplayed in a corner of the camp. Bill, they made sure to take all the horses, even those without their riders now; but Brown Jack was growing increasingly restless without the usual attention and pampering from his owner.  

And then there was Micah. And honestly, no one in camp made mention of missing his presence. Or any comment at all. At least not around you. Because for reasons that they and even some days you could not comprehend, Micah and you were sweet on each other.

Well maybe sweet wasn’t the right word. More of a tolerance. That tolerance started with holding your ground over Micah’s aggressive and rude talk to you and the others. Your quick witted back talk seemed to annoy him at first, but it then became the norm for you two to just banter. It was an amusing show to some, with how quick tempered who bother were and constantly clashed, but it kept Micah from harassing others in camp mostly so no one seemed to care. But then things…changed after a party at camp one night.

Too many drinks. You ending up in Micah’s lap, playfully arguing with him. Next thing you know, you’re both kissing heavily, much to the shock and disgust from those who noticed. After that, things were different yet… not. You would still shout and fight with each other. But more often than not after, Micah would yank you behind some trees or tent and fool around. A lot. What can you say? The man was an asshole but he was very skilled in other areas.

But what was most shocking and just a secret between the two of you, was just the normal conversations when alone. Stories about past robberies, or life before, complaining about Pearson’s food. It was small things, nothing earth shattering. But those tiny quick moments seemed to bring you both together more than any fooling around did. He wasn’t a nice man, you couldn’t fool yourself that he was even if you tried. But you liked him. A lot more than you should have. And you hoped to think the feeling was mutual.

But now the bastard had gone and got himself lost in a boat at sea. And you were more torn up about it that you ever thought you’d be. In a sense you were grateful no one made comments, good or bad about Micah Bell. Most days you could just go about camp chores without thinking too much on him. The times you did though.. He was probably dead. Dead and gone but no one would care. You cared. You cared enough to cry into your pillow some nights. You hated it, Micah would have called you out for being such a whimpering weak willed thing for crying. You cared and you hated that you did.

It took several days and nights but with a lack of hearing his name around camp, hearing his voice, you were getting better. Not over it, but you were more focused on keeping the rest of the group alive, helping Sadie and the others where you could.

But then, one day Arthur Morgan walked right into Lakay. Looking a bit worse for wear but he was alive. And according to him, everyone was. Dutch, Bill and Javier. And Micah. You didn’t know how to feel. Ecstatic at first but… Now you were just mad. Furious. You wanted to punch that fool. No. Shoot him in the damn leg so he couldn’t go wandering off on boats and getting shipwrecked in god damned fucking Guarma. Really? Guarma?!

The group could feel your storm of emotions and wisely left you be. They knew how you got when you were in one of your Moods. A day or so later, Dutch and the others showed up to camp, exhausted looking, but alive and breathing. And there he was Micha Bell. Alive. Not even looking in your direction and antagonizing Sadie and the others. You scowled, hating at how hurt you actually felt by it. You stalked off, going to find a place to cool down before you caused a scene.

About an hour later you wandered out of your hiding place in one of the wagons and walked about looking for the fiend that had an unfortunately tight grip on your heart. There he was, on the porch overlooking the swamps leaning back lazily in a chair. Alone. Good. Maybe you could both just… talk.

You walked across the porch, the taps of your boots across the rickety floor made your presence known as you stopped beside him. “Micah.”

Micah looked up at you with an unreadable expression, and just looked away indifferently. “What you want y/n?”

Ouch. You took a steady breath trying to keep your growing pent up anger from bubbling over. “Think you know Micah Bell. Haven’t seen you since that nightmare of a robbery in Saint Denis.”

Micah snorted and crossed his arms. “So? What, you here to check up on me?” You almost needed to physically restrain yourself from reaching for your gun to… to do anything. Anything to just get him to even fucking look at you. You swallowed your pride though and answered him honestly. “…Yes.”That had him looking at you again, but you caught a flash of genuine surprise in his eyes before it was hidden with indifference again. Which confused you all the more when he said “It’s no concern of yours. Now how about you run along and go chat up someone else? I’m not in the mood with putting up with your usual shit.”“Why are you acting so-?!… I thought you… and me…” Dread was filling your gut, the emotions of all the awful things that have been happening these past weeks were really messing with you right now and Micah acting so indifferent. You knew there was a good chance that he didn’t give a shit about you. You knew that the little bonding moments could mean nothing. You knew all of that, but your heart was being shot up into little pieces right now. You had only yourself to blame. You knew… but you had hoped. “You and me what? Thought you were smarter than that y/n.  Got more things to worry about than your pining.” “Pinin’?!” There is was, a crack in the dam keeping your anger at bay. Your voice raised a bit, eyes narrowing. “I’m the only one that tolerates your shit attitude in this damned gang! Sure you can shoot a gun, but if it ain’t for that. No one ‘round here woulda hesitated puttin a bullet in your head with the way you go on!”Micah scowled and stood up from the chair, facing you completely. This argument was different from all the rest you both had before. You could tell how the way he was looking at you. Something changed in him. Was it from the incident at Saint Denis? What happened in Guarma? You weren’t sure. But whatever cruelty he held back on you was let out full force in his next few words. “I never asked for you to tolerate me! Never asked for your company. Never asked for you to follow me around with your simperin’ feelings.” He stepped closer, getting in your face with a sneer and completely shattered your hopes in two quiet sentences. “You’re so easy to read now y/n it’s borin’. How ‘bout you wander off and go do something useful, and if I need your services, I’ll give ya a holler.”

That was it. You saw red, behind your damp eyes. You roughly pushed Micah’s chest away, making the man stumble back and hit the porch railing. You went for you gun. Micah’s eyes widening in shock as he realized what  you were doing. You had only just began to aim, when you noticed from the corner of your eye an outreached hand whipping out and grasped your wrist tightly yanking your pistol out of your grasp. You glowered at the man who only tiredly looked at you in disapproval and sympathy. “You need to calm down y/n. You’re lucky I got here when I did.” “This don’t concern you Arthur Morgan. Hand me the gun.” You spat out glaring between Arthur and an oddly silent Micah. “Look y/n, as much as I’d love to see this sack of shit dead you-” “Then hand me the gun and I’ll kill him myself!”

“-You can’t be doin’ that. We need every workin’ hand here to keep the gang together. We can’t ourselves killin’ each other when we have a whole lot of problems out there tryin’ to kill us!” He raised his voice over your own, trying to get you to see reason. And you did. Arthur was always good at that. After a few moments of silence you nodded. You sniffled and glanced at Micah, who was just watching you warily like he’s never seen you before. Squaring your shoulders, you collected yourself and took a deep breath. Enough of this. You were better than that. So much better. And definitely better than Micah fucking Bell. “You don’t get to talk to me. You don’t get to be near me. And you sure as hell don’t get to touch me. You… You are not worth this Micah Bell. I’m just sorry it took me this long to realize it.” And just like that, you turned your back to him and walked past Arthur who was still holding your gun. Micah didn’t say a damned thing. This was probably the quietest you’ve ever heard the man. He let you leave without a peep. You walked to the absolute farthest part of the camp away from Micah, leaning against a tree, wiping your tears. You were done with crying over that lowly snake of a man.

Footsteps.

You turn your head and see Arthur awkwardly shuffling there and your lips upturned to a faint smile. This man was awful with trying to cheer people up but offering your gun back was a good attempt. “Promise me you won’t shoot em? At least not yet.”“Promise. I’m… sorry you had to hear all that, had to butt in.” “It’s fine. To be honest, I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner. Bright side, looks like you scared him quiet with that act. Wonder how long that’ll last though.”You gave a bitter chuckle and you both looked out at the fading sun through the gaps of the trees. “I’ve been a fool. But he’s an even bigger one. He’s gonna regret makin’ so many enemies out of people.”Arthur huffed a laugh and crossed his arms. “Don’t I know it. Till then… you ever feel like you’re about to get trigger happy on him, just come my way alright?”“Thanks Arthur… You’re a good man.” You smiled softly, hearing his quiet grumbles of denial. Lord that man couldn’t take a compliment. But you felt… better. Lighter. As much as you hurt right now in this moment, you knew you’d come out of this stronger. Arthur mentioned Dutch, Bill and Javier would be here soon as well. The gang together again, you could all move forward, get back on track. Lay low, earn money, and get the hell outa here. You could do it, you were a survivor. And no heartless Micah Bell was going to stop you.