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red-doll-face · 2 months ago

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Snow Angel 10

Chapter 10: adamant Series Masterlist

low - medium honor Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

Arthur has been living by himself, laying low (for real this time) somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. After the whole Pinkerton and Micah debacle, he has been hiding away, waiting for it all to blow over, occasionally getting letters from the people who still know that he’s alive. He’s been alone awhile and at first, he thought he could handle a little loneliness. He has been wrong before. Lucky for him, you look like the perfect thing to break up the monotony.

Warnings: depictions of a panic attack. PLEASE AVOID if that would end up harming you i beg !!! dubious consent, arthur’s mental health is kind of not so good…VERY low honor Arthur, darkish fic, a bit of naive reader. Reader has dated and period typical ideals, not very good ideas about men and marriage… if you want reader to be strong and a fighter… this is not for you sorry. suggestive themes. I am being serious when I say that arthur is bad at handling this situation. he does not think he has done anything wrong. if youve been reading so far you know that that is BAD. please do not read if you can't handle it, im putting a giant RED FLAG on this WC: 4753 SNOW ANGEL DROP TN??? everybody say thank you to @emerald-ranch CHAPTER 10 !!! we did it !! it took me a while to churn this out and get it to a place that i liked. im still not even sure i like it LMAO thank you for all of the lovely little niche questions i get about my strange snow angel arthur, he is everything to me and i love to speak him into existence. first time writing angst soooo Tags: lots of angst todayyy, no TB, weird but not that toxic relationship, Arthur being a menace.Arthur being rude as always just… low honor arthur as a warning lol You and Arthur clear the air.

“Caught me a little bunny, pretty one too,” you can feel his excitement behind the fabric of his pants, his belt digging into you uncomfortably. Arthur’s features, although covered in shadows from the dusk drawing in, still reflect his anticipation. He takes his hat off, his hand drags his hair back, damp with sweat, darker than the usual lighter brown. Some of it still flops over into his face anyway.

Your hands push at his shoulders weakly, whining as he dips down to kiss you, the warmth of his breath fanning over the roundness of your cheek, you can feel the scrape of his stubbly hair on your face, the dimple at the tip of his nose brush over you.

“Arthur, please, I just- I wanna go home, you won, you got me,” he hums, running his tongue over your neck, his arms prop his body up over yours, keeping you warm in the cold chill. He covers you well enough, shields you from the winter with his frame, wide and heavyset. You can feel the rumble in him when he says ‘you’re damn right, I did,’.

The sky is a pretty shade of purple, a little like lavender. You look up, feeling his body tilt to one side, held up on his elbow, his other takes the opportunity to roam over your body. “We can go to our home, Arthur,” you try to pull at his desires, but he won’t have any of it.

“Wanna see my prize first,” he says between puffs of air, his tongue pacing over the delicate skin of your neck. His hands tug your skirt upwards while you try and keep your legs closed. His hands grip the fat of your thigh, dipping under the dainty fabric of your stocking. Between his legs is the rather stiff press of him and his arousal. You don’t like how easy it is for your body to respond to just the notion of him taking you like this, like an animal.

His rough fingertips skim over the mark he left on you, the one your mother saw.

“All you had to do was say you liked it. I know you did. You like everything I do,”

“I-No, I…I couldn’t-” You couldn't make it stop. Couldn't make your body stop reacting to him is what you want to say. But to say so would admit that some part of you liked what he did. You snap your mouth shut like a coin purse. You can’t bring yourself to say such a thing. Not that his ideas deserve to be validated. He gives you a knowing look which sends a tremor down your spine, your legs shifting nervously.

“Quit your lying’, girl, you ain’t fooled me yet. Shouldn’t be ashamed, sugar; I might be a bastard but I ain’t the worst thing coulda happened to ya,”

“I’m not trying to…I told her not to say anything,” you whine and push again at his shoulders but he doesn’t budge.

“Mhm, how come I don’t believe that for a second,”

Either way, he drops his mouth to your neck, sucks another painful mark just under your ear, the sensitive skin tingles with sensation, pulling pain from your nerves. You tilt your face away, you can’t get him to stop. You can hear the wetness of his tongue moistening your skin before he's sucking a deep red mark, which will be another bruise on your skin. You pull at his hair, but you’re held down just as easily while he nips away.

Your back arches, your skin tingles. A lewd whimper is all you have to offer, keening for him. The quiver inside you isn’t mindful at all. Pure reaction, pleasure rising to the surface.

He gives you more than one this time, leaving them at his leisure. He's ripping your blouse open next, so he can leave more on your breasts. The soft flesh is alight with nerves, rippling desire through you.

“Think you’re starting to like it, angel,” you still your body, disconnected from its actions, which until then was moaning, clutching his shoulder for dear life. The tide of your emotions rises higher though, ice cold water crashing down on the pleasant warmth gathering on your lower belly.

Like you’ve stepped in front of a wagon train, the panic sets in, more than any other time before now. A shameful part of you; an awful desire that burns for Arthur somewhere inside of you, wants him to keep going. To make good on all of his promises. But it’s too difficult to indulge that part of you. The shock of what happened in your family’s home is too much. It drops on your head like an anvil or a blacksmith's hammer. You’re entirely too aware of how your father’s blood dripped over his own fingers. Your mother crumpled to the ground as she watched Arthur take you away.

“I don’t-don’t want to do this right now, please,” It’s maybe the first time you cry at his insistence. And the first time you’ve been utterly clear about what you do and don’t want. In the most explicit terms possible. You feel the tears well up in your eyes. You cried like this when he first told you what he wanted. They drip down the sides of your face. You hadn’t been able to stop him on the first night. And after he made you all too aware of how things work between a man and a woman, you hadn’t tried to, overwhelmed with how good he was at dragging pleasure out of you. But now, it’s like the world has come closing in and there’s nothing that can stop it from swallowing you whole. Not after what he did, simply because your father thought to stop him from taking his only daughter away.

Your breathing comes far too quick. Your head feels like it's full of air and it begins to hurt. The cold stings your finger tips. You have no regard as to what your face looks like, letting it bunch up in what is probably an unsightly expression of your reactive sobbing.

“Hey, hey, I-” He’s no longer using that husky tone with which he usually addresses you when he gets like this. It’s trying to be soothing but a certain panic underlines his words. You can see him take his hands off of you, as if he’s burning you with every touch. But he still keeps you underneath some of his weight, his mouth opens as if to say something else, furrowed brows

“Get off…Get off me,” you push at his shoulders and at first he doesn't move an inch. When you don’t immediately feel his weight move from pinning you down, your sobbing becomes volatile. Struggling to breath through your tears and your desperate wails, you inhale faster but it still feels like it's not enough. Thrashing mindlessly at him, uncaring of his anger or his punishments, is what makes him ease off of you a little.

“Woah, easy,” he tugs your skirt down, shielding you from the cold as much as he can without touching you but you can’t stop yourself from being consumed by the physical reaction your shock evokes from you, wrenched from you. Like a child and their toys infected with scarlet fever.

His soothing does work a little, now that you know he’s stopping, that he’s covered your legs. You sniff and writhe, your fingers grip at his upper arms. You can finally blink through your tears to see his expression, worry clouded with something you’ve never quite seen. The pull of his mouth tugs towards a guilt he’s never shown you before.

You’re starting to breathe way too much, all of the air makes you dizzy and the cold still burns your lungs but you don’t care, letting the pain ground you. Your arms wrap around yourself to cover your breasts, trying to fix your ruined shirt to no avail. The frustrated fumbling of your fingers has Arthur softening more, but his voice still intonates with his natural authority.

“Sweetheart, you need to slow down. Jus’ breathe, you’ll be alright,” his commanding voice controls you more than you thought it would. He sits back on his haunches, hoping the distance might do you some good, crowding you isn’t in his best interest. You gasp for air, sitting up a little with the space he’s afforded you.

Arthur comes closer to calm you when he notices you can’t seem to do it all on your own. He’s slow, shushing you, his hand pets your hair, down behind your ear, to the side of your neck. He keeps his eyes low, the warmth of his hand helps you a little, so does his own rhythmic breathing, slow and steady.

He doesn’t say much for a minute or two, a ‘that’s my girl,’ tingles your ear, warms you up. You sigh, trying to regulate your breathing, appreciating his help but still feeling frightened and confused. Especially when you consider that he is the source of all your troubles. Arthur is close enough so you feel body heat, his fingers brush your tears away. Sweet in this gentle moment. How could you stand to take comfort from a man who shot your father? Who could have missed, who could have killed him? As always, you doubt that you’re right in the head. Something must be broken within you.

It’s hardwired though. Arthur is all you have left now. The only one here with you.

He doesn’t seem excited in the same way he was before. The adrenaline from his chase dies in your blood, leaving behind the residue of stress, a headache forming. The pace of your heart does slow down now, the puff of the air in your lungs. He watches you with an odd expression. Glad that you’ve calmed down but still disappointed. Perhaps with you, having ruined his plan of taking you, of spreading your legs in the snow, burying himself inside of you. If things hadn’t gone so wrong today, you might have let him.

The thought makes more shameful tears drip down your face. Despite any calm summoned from you, you still feel the curl of disgrace, laying in your tattered shirt underneath this man, shrinking away from his stare.

“What's wrong? Did I hurt you?” You can at least appreciate that he is worried about you, even if he has no clue why. You can see a fear in his eyes that he tries to hide from you, a fear that he’s caused you real pain. At least you know now that if you had done more screaming and crying, he might have stopped that day. You didn't think him to be so thick as to not understand why you are as emotional in this moment as you are.

“Arthur, no, no, I just- I don’t want- I want to go home…now,” You had wanted to come away from this moment, maybe just a bit touched at how he had helped you through your foolish hysterics. But as always, some part of Arthur balances it out.

“Just tell me why you was cryin’. I know that ain’t all of it,” He narrows his eyes. Your jaw drops, unable to hide your outrage. Your anger, which you keep in check most of the time, pushes at the lid of the pot you stuff it in. Every single grain of it threatens to spill out. Your fingers scrunch, your face does too.

“Shooting my father and then hunting me like an animal; pushing me in the dirt for- for your desires- that’s not enough?” You realize now that dusk is here and it’s colder in this dark valley than it was before. You move to stand, he’s upright before you and he does try to help but you refuse him. Unfortunately, your anger hasn’t been honed into a point sharp enough to cut. It’s only wet and girlish, it makes you cry and tremble, your throat thickens unpleasantly.

“You did what you wanted with me, like you always do. But my family… I never wanted-” You wobble onto your feet, closing his coat in front of your chest. You should never have indulged him. You should have bitten and chewed and snarled and spat until he left you alone.

You aren't sure why you didn't. You suppose it felt nice to have a man notice you, to call you pretty. To want you in some way other than to just ignore or to leer at disgustingly like the lonely trappers at the trading post, even when they were friends of your father. How pathetic of you.

Yet, nothing about what he did felt disgusting. It was the expectation on you as a woman to reserve these affections for marriage that lashed against the inside of your ribcage. That whispered that it was wrong; it was anything but the pure and gentle lessons you received as a girl. Opening your legs so willingly for a man because he called you pretty, called you all sorts of saccharine praises, was tearing away at you. You hadn't fought him harder and at first you thought it was because there was no point, that he was too strong anyway so why waste the energy? But now, you aren't so sure of that resolve.

He was handsome in his own way and he didn’t seem like all the boys your mother told you to keep an eye on in case you should marry one day. Lanky and thin, sparse hairs on their chins which they stroked like great beards. He wasn’t a drunken fool or witless boy.

Arthur was a man. He acted like one, he smelled like one, looked like one. He wasn’t afraid to muck stalls, to cook. And he acted like you were married already, like you loved him and he loved you. Perhaps you liked the idea of having a man such as him, a man who didn’t need you to replace his mother’s duties, a man who wanted you to simply be with him. And those glittering moments where you played house with him, sat on his lap and let him kiss you. You could have stayed with him there forever, buried in the snow. You would have been happy if spring’s thaw never came. But now, he stands, with an almost resentful look at your accusatory tone.

Everything has dissolved into a coagulated mess, like spoiled milk.

“I do what I want with you? The hell does that mean?” He’s more upset now, at the insinuating circumstances.

“Arthur,” you recoil at the anger in his voice. You don’t even know what you meant particularly but Arthur fishes a meaning out from your words, even if you hadn’t put too much stock into your own words.

“You’re sayin’ that I violated you, is that it?” his hands rest on his hips as he moves to keep staring you in the eye, you’ve never seen him like this before. Really angry.

“I didn’t ask to do that with you, I told you to…” It’s like he can sense how noncommittal you are with your own sentiments. Your own certainty doesn't linger with you. As much as you would like it too. He sniffs it out like a bloodhound, throwing the truth in your face.

“You know what I think? I think- fact, I know. You’re one of those gently reared girls, think they’re better than this, above any of this low down ruttin’ us sinners do. You can’t even say it, can you? All that we got up to. That’s called fuckin’ , sweetheart,” The word curls into his vicious smile. You’re scandalized, can feel how your hands pull his coat even tighter. You don’t think you’ve heard anyone talk like that to you. It’s a dirty word but you suppose that is what it felt like to be with him. Dirty. But that rush, you can’t deny that. The one that shoots up your spine when you remember how it made you feel.

“Can’t say you ain’t like it, can’t say you did; and I get it. Ain’t the first time I met a girl like you. But you can’t lie to me,”

You ignore the hind-brain jealousy that pokes your mind. His words are truer than you want them to be. You said stop once or twice, although you can’t recall too well about things you said. Instead, you told him you belonged to him. You had meant to endear yourself to him. It worked far more than you wanted it to.

Pretending like you didn’t want him to do what he did protected your own self important image as your father and mother preferred you, not how things really were. And now that you don’t have them anymore, what use was that image? You try to cling to the truth of your old life, crumbling to pieces around you.

“It’s not just about that. I…I didn’t say yes…I thought you would hurt me, you told me you didn’t want me to fuss. When you told me I had to stay…” you stun him, he seems like he hardly remembers doing that. In that low voice, his startling command. It scared you to the bone then, but it did shake something awake. You had never felt so wanted in your life as that day. Both of you are some type of wrong, you think. Maybe he recognized the same kind of wrong in you.

Carefully, he mulls over what you said. It affects him, you can see how that same guilt settles in the creases of his face. It roots around his eyes, the harsh lines soften. How his boots scuff against the ground. One of his hands scratches at his beard. But all too soon, it’s gone and a resolve hardens on his face, like he’s dashed the guilt away. Made room for something else.

“Am I just supposed to believe you was lyin’ when you said you liked it? I don’t make you talk, darlin’. You might be pretty as a doll,” He looks over your features, over your hair and your pouting lip. “But you ain’t no string puppet. Wouldn’t hurt you, honey, not like that, not how you’re meanin’. It’d do you some good to remember that ain’t true ‘bout most anybody else,” He lets his body naturally intimidate yours, looking down his nose at you.

You don’t know how he can have such a prideful stare. Like he knows he’s right. He pushes the memory of your father, kneeling and gripping his wound to the front of your mind.

“You didn’t have to shoot him. Heaven forbid my father from trying to protect me from you. Wouldn’t be the first time a father tried to keep his daughter from marrying you. Arthur, why exactly is it your first instinct to go waving a gun around when something goes wrong? I don’t understand what drives someone to do the things you do,” He chuckles darkly, as if you told a morose joke at a funeral. He does let a quiet frustration come over him, a glare gets leveled at you. But he holds himself tightly in his own restraint. Your retaliation against him; he treats it as a minor slight. You cross your arms while he brushes it off. All too good at letting insults slide off his back.

“That makes the two of us. I ain’t been a good man most my life and I ain’t sure I’ll ever be any good at it. I try to be good to you, I do, but maybe it ain’t enough. That’s just fine with me,” He steps closer to you, sensing your shock at his words. He’s back to that prowling wolf from before. His demeanor changes on a dime. He bends at the waist to grab his gloves and hat, dusting the bottom of the brim casually against his coat before placing it back on his head. His gloves are shoved haphazardly in his pocket. “I don’t know if I need that from you, some fairytale love story, where your Pa hands you over to me and I bring you up to the altar dressed like a government boy,” You’re almost afraid of him, how he carries himself. There's a dread hanging in the air around him, a foreboding poke in the back of your head.

“Used to be an outlaw, around New Austin, Heartlands, all over…” you look at the cold look in his eyes. Colder than the snow that dusts the ground. Frozen stiff like a corpse, but you tremble anyway. He shifts his legs, widening his stance and placing one hand on his belt, next to the shiny revolver. “I’ve killed people, robbed them, or both…done things I wasn’t always proud of. I ain’t too proud of what I done with you neither. Tellin’ you that is…just about as good as bein’ married. Can’t let ya go wanderin’ off knowin’ the truth, now,” Arthur raises his arms in something like a shrug. The nonchalant air about him has that wet anger rising in your throat again.

“You ain’t goin’ back home. Least the home you had. Me puttin’ a bullet in your Pa don’t change that. I’d advise you to make your peace with the fact. I keep havin’ to tell you. I hate repeatin’ myself,” You continue to stare, eyes wide with the realization of his truth. An outlaw. You must be the most unfortunate girl in the state. To walk into the home of a killer. Your thoughts trail back to how he disposed of the body of the man who had tried to rob you. The cold and careless manner of dealing with death was telling then. It screams at you now.

“I-I’m not some belonging for you to collect, for you to hang on your wall. To put up on top of your fireplace, Arthur,”

“No, you’re much more than that,” You aren’t completely sure of his meaning. But it’s something that entails you being with him how he wills it. No better than being chained to his bed, really. He nears you and you do take a wary step backward, a little afraid of the neutrality on his features. He schools his reactions, tells you of his past with no remorse.

“If you care for me, care for me at all, wouldn’t you- wouldn't you let me go?” you ask but you know his answer, when he finally closes in on you, drags one finger down the curve, the roundness of your cheek. His thumb rests on your lips, his other fingers curl around to almost the nape of your neck. His hand makes you feel entirely too small in his hold. Guides you to look up at him, as your fingers clutch the fur of his coat tightly around you.

“See, that’s the problem right there,” he has a strange twist to his voice, a light lilt while he smirks down at you, the darkness dipping the shadows across his face into an even darker tone. “I care about you too much. Maybe it ain’t right, can’t say I give a damn either way,” the fragility of this moment isn’t broken until he puts a kiss on your lips that’s a thousand times lighter than the precarious air of this conversation. But you should have known being so restrained isn’t permanent with Arthur.

A strong hand closes on your hip, drags you into the front of him. His breath quickens, it flatters you how much he likes you so near to him. Your hip aches pleasantly as he squeezes it. Your heart swells, you wish you could will yourself into rejecting him.

“Tell me you don’t want me, honey. Tell me to leave you alone…” You’re stiff as an iron rod when he pulls you to him. You brace yourself on him, hands compelled naturally to lay flat on his chest. Something about the full form of his body is so pleasing to you, the breadth of him against you. The warmth you feel and the strength lying in wait. The smell of him, leather and hide, tobacco and mint. It closes you in. You open your mouth to say something. Anything.

“Arthur, that’s not fair,” you whine. Your anger might have caused you to lash out at him for once. But you’re back to the docile thing he liked to chase around, too occupied with his body so close to yours to realize that you’ve dropped all pretense of that strong front, that you haven’t answered his question. You wish you could continue being the kind of person who could tell someone like Arthur what he's asking. Strong willed, not so swayed. But you’re moved in the opposite direction by whatever is inside of you, some deep buried want of yours. And the constant tone of knowing that he’s bigger and stronger than you. It’s always there, rain pattering on the roof in autumn. He had no trouble chasing after you like this, in the encroaching dusk. It was more a game than any real challenge.

“Just say it, you keep tryin’ to, don’t ya?” you look away. Why can’t you say it? When he’s inviting you to rebuff him. You look up at him. A knot gets tangled in your insides. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth. What is wrong with you?

“You can’t cause you don’t mean it, not when this little pussy gets wet when I touch you, when you kiss me back. You don’t remember when you was touchin’ all over me? Those kisses you put on me?” he teases you, a more smug exhale is what you get. The night weighs on your shoulders like a heavy blanket and so does his reality check. He has a sigh and a faint groan, as if thinking of all that you’ve done with him in the privacy of his home.

You think to defy him, to spite his words but you can’t when he gives you another kiss. The dryness he licks away. This one is a wet sloppy mess, it doesn’t last long but he’s as right as he knew he was, you melt into it, grab onto him, tilt so he can kiss you deeper. His teeth nip at your soft lips, his tongue rubs over yours. A warm shame fills your belly and crawls up your face. You can’t bring yourself to hate his stupid smug lovesick look, the way he rubs the scar on his chin as he pulls away.

“You like me, don’t you, sweetheart?” He’s mocking you now, he knows the answer just as well as you do but he likes to feel like he’s wrenching it out of you. He’s caught you and he’s holding you up by the ears while you dangle uselessly; a rabbit caught in the hunt. You stare up at him, caught in his pretty blue eyes, the little nicked scar on his nose bridge. You have a very reluctant almost imperceptible nod. Despite the raging heat in you at such an admittance. You like the man who locked you in his home, who wants you to marry him while hardly knowing him, who used to be an outlaw.

“Even after I shot your daddy? You’re somethin’ else, girl,” he revels in your reaction but with his own version of pity, an endeared expression at your warbling chin and heavy sniff.

A bad feeling curdles in your belly, you bite your lip. You shouldn’t do this. How could you ever do this to your family? Turn your back on them like this? But you didn’t see another choice. Tears bead on your lash line. He has to rub his inevitable victory in your face. You don’t know how you’re going to continue. How you can even stand the sight of Arthur: of yourself. Now that he’s twisted everything out of shape to suit his needs. You should spit on him. Curse him until he gets struck down by the powers that be.

But you don’t. You aren't sure there’s any end to that. You hope to never repeat this cycle again. Where you try to pull against his control and he overpowers, strong-arming you into doing as he pleases. He gathers your tears, brushes them away. Rough calluses over the little sensory hairs on your skin.

“C’mon, sweet thing, it’s time you get what ya want, huh? Time to go home.”

UGH this arthur gets on my fucking nerves but i am so weak for him i hate his corny ass. god dark arthur is just too much for me lmaooo feedback is more than appreciated, please let me know your thoughts im begging wahhhhh

#❄️ snow angel #red writes #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #low honor arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption 2 x reader #tw dark content #tw dark fic #tw dubcon #red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption two #red dead redemption #arthur morgan x female reader #low honor arthur morgan

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penvisions · 10 days ago

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services requested {chapter five}

Pairing: Kept Man! Joel Miller x Sugar Momma! Reader

Summary: Being in a city far away from daily life allows you to open up to Joel in a way you didn't think anyone would accept, but he continues to surprise you with just how good of a man he truly is.

Joel opens up in return, giving you pieces of himself he's yet to give anyone and his emotions are beginning to spring up as he spends more time with you.

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: no outbreak au, modern au, age gap (joel is mid 50's, reader is early 30's), reader is more of an oc written in the x reader style, reader is described to have a scar and tattoos, power dynamics, sexual undertones, mutual pining, flirting, casual touches, mutual attraction, light angst, mentions of infinitely (not joel or reader, mentions of past trauma, allusions to power imbalances within the tattoo world, heavy make out session, and some other....stuff hehe, caretaker joel, shopping spree, reader spoils joel, mentions of past physical abuse (fleeting), reader has scars that were the result of an attack (not described in detail), i think that'sit!

A/N: this chapter means so much to me, we see a rawness in both of them- giving into their emotions and being soft with one another is something i want in life right now. this is me living vicariously through my babies. love y'all and hope you enjoy this installment!

ao3 || series masterlist || navigation || ko-fi

“Okay, so we’ve got your flight taken care of and upgraded because there is no way I’m gonna make you squeeze into a regular seat with your broad shoulders. Now we need to get you a bag and some clothes, you seem okay with using my stuff I had the hotel stock, a pair of shoes maybe? Definitely a small thing of your cologne, ooooh maybe we could get some bath bombs!”

You feel Joel’s attention on you as you confidently maneuver through the thick LA traffic with an iced coffee held in one hand, your phone in a the little storage space in front of the cupholders and gear shift where it’s lighting up with notifications while it charges.

It’s bright and sunny, your sunglasses big on your face while Joel just has on his regular pair. He left his in the truck when he handed the keys over to the airport valet.

“Don’t need to much, Sarah said she got me a few gifts and knowing her it’s some clothes.” He sips from the juice you both got to share, him unsure of the thick green texture of it but curious enough to linger on it when he saw it on the menu back at the lobby restaurant.

“Yeah, but we’re here and the malls are insane. Might as well. I don’t mind.” You smile over at him as you signal to turn onto another street. You don’t have the navigation system reading out directions but you know where you’re going. The warmth and the scent of salt in the air is comforting, even if you know you’re rambling to keep the events of this morning in the back of your mind. There was no use in wondering if the man beside you had…taken care of himself while you finished up your shower….

“I, uh, haven’t used the card you gave me yet.”

“Is something wrong with it? I didn’t set up a code so you could do that yourself. And then the deposit, did it go through your personal bank okay?”

“I didn’t feel like I deserved to use it- after the way I blew up at you. But yes, the deposit came through okay. Used part of it to get the flight out here and valet for the truck.” He sets the drink down and drums his fingers on the denim over his jeans.

“Okay, well, that’s…that’s good that it went through.”

“Sweetheart, I want to explain myself.”

“Joel, please, you don’t…it’s okay. You thought I was married. I’m okay, we’re okay, I promise.” Sliding your coffee into a cupholder, you reach for his hand and squeeze it once, his warmth surprising you even now. He’s always so warm. You wonder if it’s because he’s such a big man or if it’s simply because he’s a man. Micah was always warm to the touch too, but it was never comforting like Joel’s- it was more sticky and suffocating as the tension rose between you two, an obvious sign of the disconnect that formed.

“I want to tell you, I want you to know.” His expression is so open, words so soft in their quiet confession.

“You can, Joel. I just…let’s run these errands first okay?” You don’t want to push him, to make him feel like he has to share his past with you know that he knows the worst of yours. Time will help him decide if he really wants to and you kind of want things to be casual today. No heavy stuff, just the sun and the beautiful sights of mountains and him at ease beside you. It’s probably been years since he’s had time like this to just be a person- to be himself. Not a dad, not a contractor, no jobs to worry about, in a new area to explore as himself.

“Okay.” His fingers squeeze yours back and then you’re pulling your hand away to fit the rental into a parking spot right outside of a large parking structure.

“Okay.” You shift the gear into park and turn off the rental, closing the windows so they’re cracked as to not buildup heat while you two walk about. “Now, where do you get your cologne? We can get you a little travel size if you don’t want to do the whole checked bag thing.”

“’m fine with just going to a department store. Normally get a new bottle around the holidays when they have those big blowout sales. I can get it too, the stuff I need.” You know he’s not insisting out of some macho defense that he can support himself, but because you know he’s still feeling a little guilty and new to the whole dynamic. You had checked the account you set up for him for supplies, no transactions

“This is your little vacation too, I want to treat you. You deserve a little pampering, we both do.”

It’s such a treat for you, to watch as Joel gathers a few things that catch his eye around the large department store that you enter through one end of the giant mall. He’s got a few pairs of jeans of different cuts and sizes, some nicer looking t shirts in basic colors, two buttoned short sleeves with patterns on them, and one flannel. His shoulders disappear behind the door he picked out in the dressing room, and you wait patiently for him in one of the chairs set up in a small seating area outside of it. In case he needs different sizes or doesn’t like something.

He found you, dropped everything to run after you and be by your side. His help at getting the rental car, checking into the hotel, all of it was so him, so in line with who you know he is at his core. A caregiver, a protector, someone who takes the trust of others given to him and cradles it in his chest right beside his heart. He’s a good man, a truly good man.

Your eyes rove over his figure as he swings the curtain aside to exit his dressing room, the little sitting area is empty save for you both and he’s got a thick hand curled around a way too loose waistband to the slacks he has on.

“Wasn’t sure if the waist was the same on these type of pants…” He looks so bashful, but your eyes are glued to the way the that the fabric is caught between his legs, right beneath the zipper. The soft, silk shirt he's got on with it does nothing to hide the bulge where it’s mussed up above where he holds the pants up. The outfit....is something that looks far too good on him, despite being completely different from anything you've ever seen him in before, the gold chains about his neck tying it all together in a dizzying way...

Biting your bottom lip, you feel a wash of heat roll down your back at the twitch as he realizes you’re not really paying attention to him, but only a part of him.

“S-sorry!” Um, what size did you grab, I’ll go get the next one down.” You’re up and swiftly walking away, barely catching the measurement he mumbles as you go. Huffing, you try and shake the image of what he would look like with less clothes on from your mind. He’s your employee, who hasn’t once brought up the intimacy clause. There’s no hiding the attraction you feel towards him, he’s handsome- devastatingly so. The way he carries himself, who he is- makes him even more so.

He’s thoughtful, enough to remain on his side of the bed when you all but summoned him into the bed beside you. Neither of you can meet each other’s eye as you hand him a smaller pair of the pants he was trying out, his mumbled words of explanation that he just wanted to try and see if he could pull off the look something you try very, very hard not to respond to with a dirty comment. He could pull off anything, you’re sure of it, his frame thick and muscled, age softening him in a homey and comforting way.

He pats his hands against the back pockets of his regular jeans at the register, but let’s you hand over a card to cover the cost of what he decided to keep from his search.

Easy conversation and soft laughter fill the time as you both walk around the shops, dipping into some together or separately. His beautiful blush when he almost followed you into a lingerie store and multiple brushes of hands against each other, the way he insisted on carrying the bags accumulated.

When you exit the colorful shop with a nice little bag with pink tissue paper, he’s got a soft pretzel and a small thing of cheese to dunk it in, paired with a frozen lemonade. As you approach him, a man walking by on his own turns around to look you up and down but you don’t catch the movement as he approaches you.

“I don’t mean to bother you, but your pieces look amazing.” He’s around your age, you figure as you turn toward his voice at the soft brush of his hand on your bare shoulder, sleeveless dress displaying nearly all of the pieces you have done. You debated the outfit for a good fifteen minutes, self-consciousness telling you that it wasn’t something you could pull off, but when you exited the bathroom to find something else in your bag, the heat seeping into the hotel room from the open balcony door and the glint in Joel’s eyes convinced you to keep it on.

“Oh, um, thank you. I did a few of them myself, but most of the compliments go to my friends.” Joel is a bit aways, closer to the railing that looks down onto the first floor of the sprawling mall. You look over your shoulder when you feel his gaze on you, but you don’t want to be rude to the man in front of you even if you aren’t fond of the way he casually touched you.

“I’m Rick and you are?” He holds out a hand, even if his eyes rove over you in an open leer. Sighing quietly, you reach out to shake it and notice his eyes drop to your cleavage when he pumps your hands roughly twice before taking his hand back.

You give him a fake name, not too willing to share your real one or even the nickname you’re known to go by. If he manages to track you down and find either of the shops you work at or the one you plan on opening yourself, you’re sure he would just be more trouble than the paycheck would be worth.

“You got a shop around here? I’d love to stop by and see some of your books.” The man’s eyes look you up and down unabashedly, his eyes widening when he sees the label on the lone bag in your hand.

“I’m just visiting, little birthday vacation for this one.” You motion over to Joel, eyes rolling as you look over at him, he catches the motion and approaches. The hand not holding the bags and lemonade curls around your waist and his fingers pull you slightly into his side. A clear message to the man not getting the hint that you don’t really want to talk. Too blinded by his ill placed confidence, though his lips do twitch and his eyes narrow at the paint stained shirt and worn jeans Joel wears with his cowboy boots.

You happen to think that he looks rugged, but Rick obviously sees him as something lesser than standing there in his dress pants and collared shirt with his sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He’s clean shaven where Joel is dark, greying facial hair. He’s slicked back straight hair where Joel is dark curls.

“Oh, I see. Well, I’ll look you up. Could always use an excuse to get outta the house and away from the girlfriend, am I right?” He’s got the nerves to give you a wink, completely leaving the line he crosses as soon as he approached you by the wayside.

“Our parking meter’s almost up, best get going. Have a nice day.” And Joel’s ending the uncomfortable interaction with a mild glare and guides you away. The deep timbre of his voice displays his Southern drawl, Rick frowning at the way it twangs between them. Joel doesn’t take his hand away from where it rests in the curve of your waist, soft skin tingling beneath the thin fabric that separates them from it. When you turn down another hallway, he finally speaks.

“Figured we should refuel, dunno if you like these but Sarah and Ellie devoured them up anytime we went back to school shopping.”

“It’s perfect, thank you.” You follow him as he makes his way to one of the little sitting areas that connect the two upstairs aisles together. With the bags secure between his feet, he carefully breaks it in half and hands it over to you with a few napkins. Dunking it into the cheese sauce you’re suddenly ravenous and take a huge bite, groaning around the salty goodness.

You blink a few times as he reaches across to swipe a thick thumb over your bottom lip, the digit coming away with a bit of the sauce. He licks it from his finger, and you feel heat swell up low in your belly as his tongue peaks out between his lips.

“Little messy, ain’t ya?” He offers you a playful smirk, even as his eyes darken with something more.

You suddenly look away, unable to handle looking at him and his chuckle sounds into the air, full and hearty. His protective side from a few moments ago to this playful one is a dizzying shift. He’s so fucking charming and it has your insides all squirmy the more you see him relax and enjoy the time out here.

The rest of the errands go smoothly, dropping him off back at the hotel so he can take a breather after the hustle and bustle of the crowded roads and the busy stores. You know he isn’t too keen on constant interaction, especially in such a different setting than he’s used to back in Texas. And you have a nail appointment to get to, the agreement was for dinner when you get back.

You certainly didn’t expect to end the day in his arms with his lips firm against your own. But you sigh as you melt into him, hands moving to surround his neck as you surge up on your tip toes to press closer to him. He groans at the feel of your chest pushing up against his own, the soft give of your body something so foreign to his work strained muscles. His hands trail down your back, fingers prodding and caressing as they do, earning him soft moans that he licks straight out of your mouth.

His lips are so soft against your own, slick and warm as you return his kisses just as fervently. It’s intoxicating, to feel him against you, to have your hands curl around his hair and pull slightly, allowing you to hold his bottom lip between your teeth gently before letting it go with a glint in your eye he catches as he gazes through hooded, pupil blown eyes down at you.

He's suddenly bending his knees and gripping you firmly behind your thighs sneaking underneath the hem of your dress, easily lifting you up as you hop into his hold and wrap them around his waist. You cradle his face in your hands, nails hushing as they run over his scruff and you connect your lips back to his, openmouthed and hungry for more. For anything he’s willing to give you. You feel the twitch of him against your inner thigh and you can’t help the whine that fills his mouth as he swallows it greedily from yours. He spins, plopping you carefully down atop the desk.

But it doesn’t matter how careful he is, your back twinges, scar tissue pulling and a pained hiss breaks your mouth away from his. Your back curves, leaning forward and slouching as the pain stings sharp on the left lower part of your back. Your forehead thuds into Joel’s chest as he freezes, hands stilling where they cup your bottom.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t- I’m so sorry.” His breath is heavy as it muses your hair, his scruff brushing your forehead. Reaching back a hand, you hold it over the pink, textured scar and focus on breathing in and out.

“N-not your f-fault, it’s t-the scar here.” You manage to sooth him, breathing in harshly. “I just, sometimes i-it’s hard to move like t-that.”

“I shouldn’t have- I didn’t even think about it, I know it’s there.” Joel doesn’t move, body rigid as you try your best to move as carefully as you can to relieve some of the pain. But you need heat. Trailing your hand down, you lay it over Joels and guide it up to where the scar hides underneath the fabric of your dress. Its not enough and you inhale sharply as another hot streak of pain strikes up your back.

“Fuck, okay. Joel, I need to get to the bath.”

“Whatever you need, I gotcha.” And he’s so steady as he steps back and holds his hands out to you to use for leverage. Getting down from the desk pulls your back but arousal pools hot in your core when you recall the way he picked you up to put you there. Joel settles you down onto the side of the tub and leans over to turn on the faucet. He ensures it’s the perfect temperature before he activates the stopper and kneels down in front of you.

“Gonna get these off for ya, if that’s okay?” He looks up at you from where he holds one of your boots in his hands. At your gentle nod, he begins to unlace them and pull them one by one off your feet. You worry about him seeing up the skirt of your dress, the damp front of your pale underwear. But the thought only sends another gush of arousal into the fabric and you tense your thighs together to keep it hidden. He smiles wide, a dimple appearing in his right cheek when your socks underneath are revealed to him. There’s a glint of heat behind his eyes even as he tends to you, they flick to your lap where the skirt bunches over them.

“Care bears?” He teases, delighting in the discovery.

“They’re cute.” You huff lightly, bracing your arms on the tile underneath you. Your nails tap against ceramic as Joel removes your other boot, the colorful socks following suit. His hands slowly trail up your ankles, your shins, tracing the lines and shading that decorate the skin.

“You’re mighty cute too.” He murmurs, eyes watching his hands trace the contour of feathers that frame the bottom of your knee cap. Your breath rushes out and you can tell he likes the way his words effect you, if the way his hands sneak up higher to trace over your thighs. His soft, earnest touch has you parting them, leaning back on your hands as your chest heaves in delicious anticipation.

“Fuck, you’re mor’n cute. You’re…amazin’.” He leans forward to kiss each knee cap. His lips light you up like a match, pleasure building low behind your hips drowning out the faint ache that persists in your back. “This okay? Don’t want to….overstep or pull anything on ya.”

“Whatever you’re okay with, I’m okay with.” You whisper, head knocking back when his hands grip more firmly and pull your thighs apart to fit between them. The skirt of your dress pulls taut, exposing the front of your underwear to him and he lets out a tortured groan at the sight. The peak of your dark hair beneath the pale fabric isn’t something you have to worry about turning him off. You’re sure of it, with the way he bites into his bottom lip as he reaches to run to a thumb over the damp fabric.

A small moan bursts into the air, doing nothing to cover the wet squelch of your swollen lips as Joel presses harder between your thighs. If you were paying attention, you would have seen the way his eyes roll back in his head as the sound settles deep in his belly.

“Much as I wanna do this right now, we should get you into the bath.” Joel doesn’t move despite the words he utters, hand gently caressing your folds. You can’t help but circle your hips, as gently as you could without putting any more strain on your back. Suddenly his breath is hot on the fabric, pulling a startled gasp from you. “But first I gotta get a little taste, if that’s alright?”

“God, yes, please,Joel.” You moan out, a desperate sound echoing around the bathroom as you feel the tip of his gorgeous nose press close and the way he inhales deeply.

“Fuck, you smell so sweet, darlin’.” His tongue swipes wide over your entire core, not once but twice before he’s pulling back and looking up at you where he crouches between your legs. “Taste sweet too.”

He moves away momentarily to stop the faucet from running, steam rising from the water filling the tub before he’s diving back between your thighs. He licks at the front of your underwear like a man possessed, pointing his tongue to swirl in search of that little bundle of nerves. Your hands fly to tangle in his hair, pulling lightly to make him hum against you. Just as two of his fingers sneak underneath the gusset, your head snaps back up.

“W-ait!” Your pant, panic rising and dousing the fire Joel was stoking low in your belly. As soon as the word leaves your lips, he’s pulling his hands back to you and leaning back. His eyes are wide, worry at doing something wrong or pushing for too much breaking through the darkness of them. You don’t move to clench you thighs but your heart beats so fast in your chest, for a completely different reason now as you realize Joel was about to see you.

“It’s not, you’re,” You breath deep and exhale slowly, closing your eyes against the burn of tears suddenly springing up. “Joel, that was- amazing, but…I- I don’t look…like other girls.”

“Everybody looks a little different, ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed of.” He assures you gently, cupping your knee to comfort you. “But if you say stop, we stop. No arguments or hard feelings, you bein’ comfortable is the most important part of this.”

“It’s…it’s not that. The scar on my b-back….it’s not the only o-ne he left me with.” You bury your face into your hands as hiccups distort your confession. You startle slightly when his arms wrap around you, holding you close to his still kneeling form. He cradles the back of your head and whispers quiet reassurances where he presses his lips to the side of your head.

You don’t know how much time passes as your tears cool and subside, but Joel holds you the entire time, you don’t feel crowded but wrapped safely in his embrace. Your muscles twitch and you suck in a breath as the pain washes over you, the position on the tile not helping the initial reason for being where you are.

“Gonna fix the bath again. I won’t look and I’ll step out, but I do want to help you get into the tub.” Joel pulls back, face holding one side of your puffy face as his thumb traces underneath your eye. “You need just relax, we don’t have to rush anything, we have time.”

He groans as he stands, the bulge in his pants obvious as he palms it in an attempt to tame it.

“Joel,” Your eyes linger even when his hand falls away and he busies himself with draining the now tepid water from the tub and running the hot water once again. He reaches for the bath bombs that he unpacked while you were gone and plops one into the tub. It’s eucalyptus, with bath salts encrusted around it beginning to dissolve and scent the air.

“’s okay, it’ll go down. More worried about you.” He gives you a smile, something small and genuine, washing away the little strands of guilt that lace through you even as you begin to feel the exhaustion from your tears and anxiety. “So, uh, how do you wanna do this?”

“I-I think I can manage, really,” You need to be alone, your thoughts firing over each other. You’ve come to enjoy the time you spend with Joel but it’s still a lot to handle. Especially in the wake of the emotions of the past few days, the ups and downs

“I’ll bring your phone in and give you your space.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, pausing for a moment that draws on long as you close your eyes and just settle in the moment of casual intimacy.

“My bag too, please?” Voice quiet, you can hear how raspy it is from the onslaught of emotions. He doesn’t look too rattled from the whiplash of the last hour and you’re grateful for his calm demeanor.

“Okay, you need anythin’ and you holler.” And then he’s giving you the space you asked for, like the gentleman he is. Proving to you that he truly is such a good man at his core.

Steam and the scent of eucalyptus wafts through the humid air of the bathroom, you’ve refilled the tub and let the act of washing your body with a soft buffing loofah calm your nerves.

His enthusiasm makes you feel like your own feelings aren’t so unfounded…

Heat flares behind your cheeks. He really did, happily pushing between your thighs in pure desperation to get a taste of you. But he….he hasn’t told you that he thinks you’re something he likes. It fuels something small and ugly inside you that you try so hard to keep pushed down and in the back of your mind. Sexual acts result from a lot of different things, and attraction isn’t always at their core.

He says he likes you, that he wants to kiss you, but…you feel so insecure. You feel like a failure because of how your marriage dissolved, if it was even a real attraction and connection to begin with. The feeling of being just another in a long string of younger bodies in Micah’s shop and bed. But he had asked you to marry him, though that too could have been his way at keeping control as your popularity grew.

Ruined in more ways that physical, your mind runs in circles until the water cools and you decide it’s time to drain the bath.

On the other side of the door, Joel’s own feelings bubble up.

Joel sees the pack of cigarettes in your bag and before he can think better of it, he’s grabbing it and the lighter stuffed into the side of the duffle alongside it. He opens up the sliding door to the small balcony and leaves it cracked behind him, just in case you call out for him. He’s worried. He’s overwhelmed.

He’s fucking livid.

The man’s face who hurt you surfaces in his mind and he lights the end of the cigarette with a little more force than necessary. Almost daring the light breeze to blow out the lighter as he does so. That pathetic, piece of shit excuse of a man did so much damage. He not only cheated on you and attacked you, but now Joel suspects that he took advantage of you. It all sits heavy in Joel’s chest.

That man at the mall today, too, had looked you up and down. Like you were something for the taking.

And he feels absolutely shitty for the feelings of desire that swirl low behind his hips. The thought of the few times he fisted his cock to memories of you making him feel sick. He knows there’s no true comparison of what your ex-husband did but he doesn’t like any part of feeling like he’s taken advantage of you and your kindness, your friendship.

His fingers tingle as he inhales deeply, recalling the way he could taste the same menthol faintly on your tongue as he sucked it into his mouth. Fuck, you had felt so perfect in his hands- all soft skin and enthusiastic. But he needed to be careful, for your sake and for his. You both carry so much trauma, relationships and the one you two have isn’t exactly a conventional one. He knows he said he doesn’t care what it looks like on the outside, but he kinda does.

He knows he looks his age and you look yours. He’s an old man and you’re…a beautiful younger thing. All supple skin and soft eyes. Taking another long pull from the filter, he looks out over the dark cityscape, the room high enough to make him feel like he’s above it all on a cloud. It’s so crowded, even now. Cars fill the streets, pedestrians fill the sidewalks, windows to shops bright and full. Headlights and taillights trace the curve of the highways that tangle all up in the scene, overwhelming him even now as he looks down at it all.

But today…being by your side, it hadn’t felt like too much. His attention laser focused on you and the effortless way you picked things out and allowed him to hope that you want him the same way he wants you, though he knows it just could be fleeting and spontaneous. He isn’t sure if there’s a depth to the way you feel and he’s too much of a self-conscious coward to ask you outright.

You seem to bridge the gap, slightly dewy skin from the bath scented so fresh as you sidle up to him and take the second cigarette he’s lit since being out on the balcony.

“Joel, I think it’s pretty obvious, but I kinda like you. A little bit beyond friendship.” You say it as confidently as you can muster, despite the nerves of being so direct. But that kiss…the way he pressed his mouth to the front of your underwear, his soft words and willingness to stop if it wasn’t what you wanted…it fuels you to find out the truth. Because if he did like you the same way…

“I kinda like you too, sweetheart.” Smoke billows out from between you lips at his reciprocation, heart stuttering as you look over at him out of the corner of your eye from where you stand side by side. He goes even further and calms the doubts you have about the contract being the only reason he’d feel like he needs to say something similar, though you know he’s not the kind to front false ideations, it’s still comforting to hear. “I don’t want you to think I’m just here for the money and…the uh, sex.”

“I don’t think that’s what you’re here for.” You whisper, eyes focusing on the way that too many bodies mingle about down on the street.

“I really appreciate you, so much. You…you were a pleasant surprise in my life and I wouldn’t change a damn thing, except maybe take back the storming into your house part.” He inches closer, gently corralling the cigarette from you to take a drag of his own. He could very well light up his own, but you rather like that he wants to share one instead.

“I was an ass, even if it came from…a place of insecurity. I was married, once upon a time. But she wasn’t interested in being a wife and mother, she got caught up in the spiral of what her life was supposed to be- college classes, parties, figuring out who she wanted to be. But we got pregnant young, Sarah is my whole heart, my reason for everything. But for her, it wasn’t the same. And she decided to find something to help her cope with it.

First it was a glass of wine in the evenings, then two or three. Then a whole bottle. Then a little joint here and there, edibles turned into the stronger stuff and eventually I came home one day to her high as a kite and fucking her drug dealer in our bedroom while Sarah cried her little head off. Put my foot down and told her she needs to get it together and deal with it in a better, healthier way or she needed to sign over full custody to me. That’s why the thought of you having an open affair set me off.”

“I’m so sorry, Joel…” Your phone pings, an alert for the delivery of the takeout you ordered while in the bath. You look from it to the front street of the hotel down below and then to the man beside you. The one bearing it heart and past to you in such an open way. “I had no idea, that…that’s an awful thing to come home to.”

“I thought I’d made my peace with it, but it still affects me. And that’s okay, I clocked it and reached out to someone who’s helped me before. Therapy ain’t easy, but it does help me, even if it isn’t something I ever anticipated needing.” He leans over to press a kiss to your temple, while a hand wraps around you to gently cage you between his front and the railing of the balcony you were both leaning against. “You didn’t deserve that initial reaction but believe me when I say I will never do something that you don’t want or makes you uncomfortable.”

“I believe you,” You press back into him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest firm against your back. “I won’t either and I…I do trust you to be honest with me as we, maybe….take things slow?”

“You have my word, sweetheart.”

Another ding and Joel is glancing at your phone in your hand. He tells you he can run down to the lobby and get the food, that he wants you to relax and set something up on the television for you to watch before bed. The sun setting late, casting deep oranges and pinks across the clear sky. When he returns, he doesn’t tell you about how the delivery person was a young man hoping to interact with you- the disappointment that Joel was the one to receive the food. Between that interaction and the one at the mall, Joel knows he’s got no true claim over you, but the protective and jealous streak he knows he possesses still flares.

He knows you’re surrounded by beautiful people in your world, the work you do, the fantastic art you create and design for people bringing them into your orbit. He’s just an old man, but he hopes that you like looking at him just as much as he likes looking at you, that there’s more to your connection than physical attraction, because for him- he knows his insecurities are something he’s still working on, yours he can help to ease as well.

The sentiments wouldn’t do much but showcase insecurity, something that’s tired you both out already after a busy, full day. Time, he thinks, is something that will work in both your favors and you have plenty of it.

A movie plays calmy in the background while you share a plethora of appetizers and a few entrees- sampling each and easy laughter bubbling up at genuine reactions. Neither of you bring up that his flight leaves tomorrow evening, basking in the moments you have left in the privacy of the hotel room.

Once the food is long gone, a second movie playing while you both get ready for bed, the couch remains as such and Joel slides underneath the covers of the bed beside you. As soon as the lamp goes out and the tv volume gets dimmed, his hand reaches for yours above the duvet, fingers tangling with your own and making the day that much more special.

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08melancholie · 3 months ago

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FIC IDEA

i need you guys with me on this one

"After drunkenly robbing a lawman of his handcuffs, Bill proposes a challenge; the first two people to bust during a poker game will have to stay cuffed together for a whole day. All of you, buzzed out of your minds, decide to agree. The game is quick and relentless, with nobody really wanting to be the laughing stock around camp by being cuffed to one-another. It's then that you have to risk it and go all-in on a round, where you lose and bust, gaining the title of the first cuffed candidate. You accept your fate—until it's none other than Micah that busts next, and everyone at the table starts snickering and laughing at the two of you. Now, you have to spend the entire next day cuffed to the worst guy you know; just great."

are you guys with me on this.......

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mayweneverdie · 3 months ago

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Rdr2 Walmart AU?!?!

Me and my friend we really bored at work so we thought up of who would work in which department

—

Front end

Arthur (associate)

Micah (associate)

John (associate), but after a while he’s perpetually stuck at gm self check (analogy for the penitentiary)

Dutch (team lead)

Maybe Lenny?

Human Resources

Hosea (people lead)

Grimshaw (not sure what position but it makes sense imo)

Deli

Pearson (main guy/manager)

Sadie (regular cook)

They fucking HATE each other, but refuse to transfer departments

Greeters

Kieran

Reverend

Self explanatory imo

Custodians

Uncle (fucking sucks at it)

Abigail

Electronics

Lenny, but that’s mainly because i didn’t know where else to put him… maybe front end?

Stocking

Sean

Javier

Lenny if electronics or front end is slow

Apparel

Karen

Runs it like the navy

Sporting goods

Bill, runs it like the army

Service desk

Strauss (money orders are his favorite)

Seasonal/garden

Tilly

Also wasn’t too sure where to put her, but @tempting-andromeda helped me decide :3

I also see Charles potentially working here

Delivery guy

Trelawny

He’s a very important part of the gang, but works more behind the scenes yk?

Carts

Charles. I know he seethes when people leave the cart just outside the corral. Wears that neon green vest like a badge of honor and constantly has one earbud in.

Has thought of taking one of the carts home but he’d rather not lose his job.

Regulars

Sister Calderón

Albert Mason

Dino Lady

Blind man

Rains Fall

Annoying customers

Angelo Bronte

Uncle when he’s off work

Strange Man (terrorizes john)

Honorable mentions!!

Donation people - Downes family

Used to work there and either quit or got fired - Eagle Flies, Molly O’Shea

—

IM SORRY FOR DISAPPEARING FOR ONE MILLION YEARS YALL 😭

Please take this as reimbursement for vanishing…

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #i’m not tagging all of them #but i will tag my pookie bear #eagle flies #rdr2 eagle flies

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ataraxiaspainting · 4 months ago

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YANDERE OC - The College Student.

Yan OC x F Reader.

Synopsis: He isn't sure of what to do with you, but you are sure of what to do with him.

Warnings: Yandere themes, some descriptions of not SFW (dub-con), unhealthy relationships, manipulation, thoughts of potential sexual blackmail, and masturbation.

Word Count: 600.

*~*~*~*

"Fuck, you're getting heavy."

"Huh?" Micah puts his glasses back on the bridge of his nose but because of his clumsiness he drops them back on the floor beside your bare feet. "Am I?"

"Yeah," You scoff as you pull one of your stockings back onto your calve and then back onto your thigh. "You probably even fractured a part of my spine, the way you were sitting on me."

It's... odd. Micah has always been a pushover – he has always stayed in his own lane and has never spoken out of turn when it comes to the rest of his classmates.

But with you, he feels like he is a completely different person. His hair is tied up halfway and he proudly displays his tattoos to you. When he kisses you, he doesn't bother to brush his teeth – that is, until he has to go back to his classes.

"That means those workouts are working then," He murmurs, laying back down on his side. "Can you pick those up for me? My glasses?"

"No." You blurt out. "Get them yourself, you lazy ass."

*~*~*~*

You never lock your door, Micah thinks as he swings his satchel. It lands right where it has to, your bed.

He wonders why you lock your window then. Is it out of fear a stranger would hurt you, but not him?

Oh well – this is just a test run, in case you did go through with the little joke you told some of your friends. I’ll lock myself up in my room until he finishes my essay.

You have quite the ego in you. He minds it sometimes when he is his true self – the self that has you lying in his bed for high enough grades on papers to pass the semester and for him to slip some money in professors’ pockets.

Micah is unsure what self he is right now. He’ll reach into one of the drawers on your vanity no matter who he is or will become soon enough.

He can choose to be the good guy and clean up the mess afterward. Or a neutral party that keeps your panties on the bed as a reminder but still mops up whatever work he did on himself.

Or he can steal them and threaten to show them to the whole school – his cock gets harder when he imagines that.

Your carefully made-up face fracturing – falling to the floor – as students point and laugh. Potential suspension, expulsion. It’s so thrilling when you cry – not that he would ever admit it.

All the names you have ever called him will be released onto you – yet ten times worse and will never fade from your life, let alone your record. They will play forever in your ears as you fall asleep in his arms near tears again.

Micah wants to cackle as he sinks further into his imagination – but the kind part of him that still hasn’t faded away completely frowns.

#i live for a mean darling.......#she's iconic and she is the moment #author aya #aya's ocs #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere #yandere x you #micah.

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verdemoun · 7 months ago

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What does everyone do for a job in the modern era?

i love posts like this where i just get to list the gang. thank u. i also think this is the first official complete list of all the canon timewarpers!

dutch: institutionalized, professional case study for psychologists hosea: retired, he earned it arthur: professional extra pair of hands. just helps people. later technically works for charles, despite charles insisting they're equals john: tradesman! specifically, a residential framer and carpenter javier: state-paid carer for kieran bill: ranchhand, ironically at the modern macfarlane ranch micah: seasonal paintball attendant. trucker in the off-season charles: self-employed handyman sean: pizza delivery driver. that is all lenny: professional student and later lecturer sadie: homesteader! she really went back to her pre-1899 life karen: stay-at-home mom and housekeeper uncle: retired. gang often ask when he wasn't retired abigail: after studying, became a professional assistant grimshaw: bartender and manager. she loves it strauss: insurance agent. he loves it, and his bosses love him trelawney: time-wimey man is still a con-artist kieran: he's on disability payments, finally not surviving for survival molly: influencer queen who preaches self-love and self-defense davey: imprisoned. maybe stocking shelves for the bit but right to jail mac: worked at a wholefoods before joining bill as a ranchhand jenny: waitress! she loves it, her boss approves of pouring hot coffee on the lap of creeps annabelle: human rights activist and UN ambassador bessie: womens history professor, we love an educated queen jack: unemployed writer who accidentally writes a bestseller isaac: mechanic but far more passionate about his hobbies eliza: also a waitress! ironically the same diner as jenny, though they didn't realize they were both timewarpers for months jake adler: homesteader with sadie, like they always should've been alden: everyone's favorite postman, still a postman

#rdr2 timewarp au

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allzelemonz · 1 year ago

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Lesson: Micah Bell X Male Reader

Fictober Prompt: Day 11, Humiliation Pronouns: None Mentioned, Reader referred to as ‘boy’ and ‘man’ Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: E/Smut Warnings: Kisses, smut, outdoor sex, long term humiliation, anal fingering, anal sex, top Reader and bottom Micah, established relationship, jealousy, rough sex, Bill is kind of a wingman Summary: When Micah gets too close with Dutch, you feel the need to remind him of something.

Now you have never had a problem with Micah being such a suck up to Dutch, but something about the way Dutch smiles at your sweetheart after one of his many compliments makes your eye twitch. Micah is doing his usual thing, being a massive sycophant and loitering near Dutch’s tent, and you don’t blame him. He was probably bored with you out of camp, but you’re back now and you can’t even focus on your conversation with Arthur because you’re too fixed on Micah.

He’s practically leaning on Dutch, his head tilted over with an adoring look on his face. And that would be fine. Micah is a suck up, you knew that as soon as you met him, you knew that when you got sweet on him, and you know that now. But this time, for the first time, Dutch is smiling at him. Not brushing him off, not giving him a half-annoyed thanks, but smiling broadly and looking down at your sweetheart with eyes you’ve only seen him reserve for Hosea. And Micah, the socially clueless fool that he is, doesn’t stop. He puts a hand on Dutch’s shoulder and smiles at him.

“You listenin’?” Arthur asks, his fingers snapping in front of your face.

“Uh-huh.”

Arthur sighs. “Fine, partner, we’ll talk later.”

With Arthur stalking off, Dutch’s attention wavers, favoring his son. He excuses himself from Micah and meets Arthur to talk. Micah’s eyes follow him, seeing Arthur and immediately snapping to the horses, because if Arthur’s back then you are too. For the time being, you decide to act unbothered. This is a conversation for later, a real conversation about reading body language and the difference between bootlicking and flirting, but before that you feel the need to remind Micah who he’s supposed to be such a desperate fool for.

He saunters over, the usual cocky look on his face when he wants attention. “Cowpoke.” He smiles broadly. “I missed ya.”

“Is that right, sweetheart?” You ask, your hand finding a place just above his gunbelt and pulling him closer. “You wanna prove that for me?”

And Micah, who long got over being judged for showing affection so long as it appears that he is in charge, leans in to kiss you. And you let him take the lead, you let him keep up his ruse of dominance. But tonight… tonight the whole camp is going to hear the reality, all because your dear sweetheart needs a bit of a lesson. You know you can’t just be harsh and cruel, he’d like that. Or, worse, he’d hate it too much. You could never call him pathetic or weak, or anything else he spits at others because that would actually hurt him. No, you need to poke at the shell rather than make it solidify.

First in your preparation, you visit Abigail. Handing her money and telling her about a children’s show you heard is playing in town. Because as much as you want to humiliate Micah to get the message into his thick skull, you’d rather Jack not be subject to what the adults will overhear. Cluelessly, Abigail thanks you for the money and smiles when she kneels down to tell Jack about the show.

Second, you talk to Bill. He grumbles about it, claiming that he in fact does not have a stock plié of pomade hidden in those boxes by his bedroll, but he ultimately relents when you tell him what it’s for. Fucking Micah, that’s one thing that Bill isn’t exactly keen on enough to share his pomade for, but making him look like an idiot… He hands you two full tins with a smirk on his face.

Third, you chat with Arthur and Dutch. One man, Micah can’t stand, the other he adores. Both are people that Micah would never want to know anything about his sex life. He’ll get over it of course, and you can’t count on your hand the number of times you’ve nearly been caught roughly fucking Micah out in the woods around camp. It’s best you capitalize on the opportunities rather than let them go to waste on some accident. So you make sure both of them will be in camp.

Lastly, you sweet talk Micah. You find him by the lake, whittling something to keep his hands busy. His hyper vigilance keeps him alert, hearing your footsteps early and gladly tucking away his things in favor of putting his hands on you. After all, you’ve been gone for an entire day and Micah Bell is a needy bastard. It doesn’t take much convincing to get him to walk into the woods with you. And you distract him, making sure he can’t tell how close to camp you are

“Been waitin’ all day, cowboy.” He grins, letting you push him against a tree. “Thought you was a gentleman.”

“Desperate bastard.” You mutter, pressing yourself against him.

You kiss him, more furiously than you usually might, and Micah feeds off of it. He returns it without issue, always happy to be treated rough.

“You wanna tell me what you and Dutch were talking about earlier?”

“Don’t matter…” Micah mutters, rutting into you with a half-hard dick. “I were waitin’ fer you… got bored.”

Starting gentle, you trail your hand down to palm him through his pants. He groans, pulling back from his kissing to focus on the feeling. You take the opportunity and turn rough, gripping his dick hard enough to make him whimper.

“F-Fuck…”

“You were being awfully friendly with our fearless leader, Micah.” You mutter. “He seemed to like it too, you notice that?”

“J-Just jokin’ around, sweetheart. I wouldn’t-“

He gasps as you squeeze his dick tighter.

“Just thought I’d make sure, darling.” You say, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Remind you who you’re supposed to be fawning over.”

He huffs a laugh through his strained breaths. “Shit, cowboy, by all means.”

And so the standard. You get Micah situated, his bare ass exposed as he leans against the tree and arches his back so you can stretch him out. Normally, he bites down on his hand, but you’re far too focused tonight. You press relentlessly on that spot inside of him until he cums, not stopping for a second even though your fingers burn at that point. Micah huffs and whines at the overstimulation, so you start pumping his dick to make it worse. He releases again in no time.

Then you actually fuck him. Fast, careless, enough to make him scream your name before he can muffle himself. Perfect. And by the end, Micah can hardly breathe. He shivers when you pull out, your cum dripping down his legs.

“Do me a favor, sweetheart?” You murmur, pressing light kisses to his shoulder.

He hums. “Anythin’.”

“When Dutch starts smiling at you, stop sucking up to him.”

He chuckles. “Ya jealous?”

“You wanna get fucked senseless again?”

“Not tonight…” Micah says, wincing as he stands upright. “Too sore.”

“Then do it.”

“Fine, fine, darlin’. If it makes ya feel better, I suppose I can manage.”

And when you return to camp, you make straight for your tent. Micah is exhausted enough to crash onto your bedroll and drift into a light sleep in your arms. As usual, when you wake up, Micah is sitting with something to keep him busy and waiting for you to give him attention. After a long morning kiss and a few teasing words, he leaves to stretch his legs as you go through your morning routine.

It isn’t until you sit yourself by Bill and thank him for the pomade, handing back the half tin that’s left, that you hear the commotion. Sean, of course, is the loudest of it.

“Aw, what’s that matter?” He laughs, stepping back from a glaring Micah. “Just didn’t know you’d be such a-“

“Shut yer damn mouth, cowpoke, best chose those words wisely.”

For all the effort, at least you think Micah got the message. One that will keep not only him, but the rest of camp, remembering who his sweetheart is. And even if he doesn’t connect the dots, you’ll explain it to him later. For now, the blush on his cheeks is too delightful to interrupt.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #micah bell #red dead redemption x reader #red dead redemption x male reader #micah bell x reader #micah bell x male reader #x reader #x male reader #fictober #kinktober

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