#after the lock down finally ended I found out that he's moved to another fucking CITY

[suguann]

✎. you've been on the run for a while. you knew someone would come eventually—but not him.

tags. fem!reader, old west era, bounty hunter simon, size difference, size kink, implied the reader's husband is a terrible human, accidental voyeurism, period-typical sexism, masturbation [18+ only]

masterlist

You’ve been running for months, first from your husband (the phantom grip of his hand still sending an ache through your wrist) and now as a wanted conwoman for stealing the clothes from an unsuspecting cowpoke who thought he was getting lucky. You can only imagine what Mama would say about trading your ruffled skirts for grass-stained trousers and boiled-leather suspenders.

(It’s unbecoming of a respectable woman, dear. Uncouth.)

She’d probably have a lot to say if she knew everything you’ve done to survive.

You hop from one place to the next only by the mere chance someone was willing to let a helpless woman accompany them on their travels. Nearly a month has passed since being stranded in a dusty old mining town after a man and his wife dump you off and leave you behind. Washoe’s a little gritty and not welcoming unless there’s money to spend.

It’s not exactly safe, not unsafe, either, but nobody asks questions as long as you keep your head down and play the part of a mourning widow just passing through.

You know you’ve overextended your stay when you can’t leave your room during the day without worrying about a noose and the open end of a barrel meeting you outside. 

(That your husband or that gun-waving cowpoke finally found you.)

Sleep practically clings to you like a second skin, but you don’t dare close your eyes—you can’t.

This is how you end up sitting in the corner of the saloon, using the last of whatever you have in your change purse to order something strong, something your husband kept locked away, and anything else he thought women shouldn’t have a part in. 

You don’t even realize that your eyelids begin to feel heavy, steadily blurring out the flickering lantern on the wall while you wait for your drink. 

You catch yourself once or twice before your head can hit the table, rapidly blinking away the exhaustion before your eyes slide to the swinging doors.

You should stay awake. 

You need to stay awake just a little bit longer—

Your luck runs out that day. 

It’s one thing to know it’d happen eventually, and something else to realize that you make it easy for him—the man with an infamous name and a faded black bandana covering half his face—how he walked into the saloon and scooped you up (all unladylike sleepy dead weight) out of the weathered booth without a fight.

When you’d woken up to find yourself trussed up and thrown over the back of his horse, you cursed him out with every word you could think of that would make Mama clutch her skirts. Your captor ignored you, only talking to you whenever he warned you he was about to set up camp. 

“Did my husband send you?” Acknowledging him after all this time tasted like pennies on your tongue.

The man, Simon Riley, had leaned back against his bedroll and tipped the brim of his hat over his eyes. “Go the fuck to sleep.”

That was several weeks ago. 

Now, you find yourself stranded in another state that’s more green and vibrant than anything you’re familiar with, stuck with a man who refuses to answer the questions you throw at him. He doesn’t talk outside a few cursory words you greedily latch onto. Anything’s better than silence and the sound of hooves hitting earth. 

The pace he keeps you at is exhausting. You complain about it enough until he moves you in front of him, tying your hands to the saddle's horn.

“I would strongly advise you to shut that mouth for the rest of the ride unless you want me to do something about that, too.” The low growl of his voice in your ear makes the fine hairs on the back of your neck stand up, muddling your brain.

You’re distantly aware you had something to say to that, but you don’t. 

And that is really saying something.

It’s because there’s someone he needs to meet in town—an errand that lawbreakers who run their mouths aren’t allowed to go on.

This is how you end up sitting in camp alone, twirling around a knife he gave you solely for emergencies. 

(Surprise, sharp and quick through your middle, when he tosses his pocket knife into the grass beside you. “What’s to stop me from leaving?”

You could’ve sworn he rolled his eyes. “Will you?”

It doesn’t seem worth dignifying with a reply. You don’t want to travel alone, and there’s a high possibility of getting lost, finding yourself saddled up with worse company than the one you’re stuck with.

Until he evidently catches you again.)

He’s a lot nicer than you first gave him credit for—if only by a fraction—not that you know much about Simon other than what you overheard from gossip circles before you became Mrs. Thornton. Afternoons spent sipping tea laden with honey and lounging around a table full of cakes in the sun parlor while wealthy women talked behind their lace-covered hands to hide secret smiles you were too naive to understand. 

Trying not to stare at the bulge of his arms with thin pink scars—unlike the men you’re used to who got through life with a silver spoon hanging from their mouth—as he places his saddle back on his horse, you think you finally know what they smiled about.

You learn those scars also litter his torso from the time you accidentally walked upon him mid-way through putting his trousers on after washing in the river. It’d been too dark for you to see much else, and you quickly returned to camp before he could say something that would embarrass you both. 

Then, of course, tucked away into your bedroll, you can’t help wondering what the rest of him would have looked like if you had stayed a second longer. 

If his jaw is sharp or soft behind that mask he insists on wearing—that’s if he’d let you see at all. 

Simon’s always so serious that it’s often hard to determine whether he’s merely tolerating your existence until he can get rid of you or if he’s unused to traveling accompanied for so long. It’s not as if he goes out of his way to make pleasant conversation with you for you to assume otherwise.

You look off in the direction where he disappeared into the dense line of trees hours ago, wondering if you should go out looking for him (mainly because you’re hot and sticky from the humidity) despite his order to stay put. 

But after four hours turns into five, you head off, searching for something to help cool you off.

Luckily, unlike the heavily eroded lands you’re used to, there isn’t any water shortage in a place that sees rain three times a day, so it doesn’t take long to find a lake. You set your knife down on the stone-covered beach, followed by your boots, until you’re left in nothing but your undergarments. 

The water is icy cold and laps gently at your feet when you step in. You can’t find it in you to complain as the heat from the day slowly washes away the further you walk in and find a wide ledge to sit on. 

Your thoughts drift back to Simon, incessant and intruding even though you shouldn’t be thinking about him while wet and naked. And suddenly, you can picture it: his hands replacing yours as they trace along your neck. You have a feeling they’re probably rough and scarred from years of living hard and gunslinging, extracting the readily available knowledge that they’re big enough to encase your waist.

He could maneuver you around however he wants (you know this), and you feel dizzy just thinking about it.

Sighing, you sink deeper into the water while your hands smooth over the tips of your breasts and down your stomach. 

You wish you could see him without violating whatever personal preservations hide him from the rest of the world. Instead, you’re left with your imagination—the benefits of being a married woman and the little experience you have in the bedroom finally coming into play. 

Closing your eyes, you picture what he might look like under those sun-weathered leathers, knowing that the broadness of his shoulders isn’t only due to his vest and holsters but also from how his job has shaped him.

Your hands travel lower, fingers brushing through the creamy, soft wetness between your legs, evidence of what Simon does to you even when he’s not around. A moan, too high and breathy, slips past your lips as you use your middle finger to circle your clit in slow, clumsy swirls from lack of practice and patience that spreads warmth through your middle despite the cold water. 

It’s good, your fingers discovering places your husband always ignored—too many nights spent with your hand under your nightgown long after he’d tucked his cock away and gone to sleep—but probably don’t compare to the ones you’ve caught yourself staring at far too many times. 

They don’t fill you nearly enough, unlike how you know Simon’s would—thick and unrelenting. Rough and long, reaching deep enough to make you breathless.

Your breath hitches from pinching the tight, sensitive peak of your nipple until you feel a slight sting, and then it slips out, a tiny thing that’s only audible to your ears—Simon—a secret you now share with the lightning bugs and crickets.

“Dirty, no good rotten—” he’d tell you for thinking such lewd thoughts about him, for sinning so easily. Maybe you are, for getting so worked up over a man who isn’t your husband (no matter how terrible a husband he may be).

A man who’s so big that he makes you feel small, the type that gives before he takes. It’s enough to make you work your hand faster—your body vibrating from the chill of the water and the ache between your trembling thighs.  

Fantasies aren’t enough to sate the deep longing in your chest. Yet you’re slipping over the edge of ecstasy before taking your next breath—all of it builds up and gradually crests inside you like the lake rippling against the shore.

Afterward, it leaves you feeling soft and blurred around the edges, a watercolor painting drying under the sun while you wait for your rapid heartbeat to slow.

You don’t realize your eyes have fallen shut until they flutter open, and you’re startled to find Simon standing at the shoreline, his chest heaving as if he ran here. 

(Though he probably did to see if you took the opportunity to leave.)

You’re glued to your spot on the rock, suddenly struck with the mortifying realization that he’d seen you come—that he possibly heard you cry out his name so intimately.

You watch him remove his hat and hang it on a branch with wide eyes. Followed by his undershirt, guns, and—

He keeps removing clothes until he’s completely naked on the shore—aside from his face that stays hidden—scars marred his chest, spreading to his collarbones and below the water as he steps into the lake and sits on another ledge across from you.

His mask makes him look more menacing, erasing any trace of softness there. And you wonder if he’s angry at you for wandering off.

"Come here." His voice is low and deep, rumbling in his chest.

You don't think he'd hurt you. If he wanted to, he would have done it by now.

At least, that’s what you’re going with to settle the nervous fluttering in your middle.

Water laps at your arms as you wade through the water, each shaky step bringing you closer until you stop before him.

"In my lap."

Your breath sticks in your throat as you do as he says, settling down onto his sturdy thighs, palms falling flat against his broad chest. That same breath comes out in one large exhale as his fingers slide along your jaw, to the nape of your neck, curling into your hair, wet and falling around your shoulders.

“Like this?” you ask, trying to ignore how breathy you sound.

He grunts, apparently in confirmation.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt so conflicted in your life—fear and arousal turning into a messy cocktail in your veins.

“Why do I always have to use a heavy hand to make you listen?”

Your lips part. Breath growing short. “I’m sorry.”

And then—

Simon pulls your head back sharply, exposing your throat.

Your body goes slack against his. Mind blissfully blank.

“No,” he says, tone flat. “But you will be.”

[kimoralov3]

a/n: this was supposed to be 100-200 words...anyways @arkofblake @ivysprophecy @murdockcastleslut

warnings: this is my first time writing smut, language, jj is an eater, praise, slight degradation

despite your best efforts, things always ended up like this. jj’s head between your legs when it probably shouldn’t be, your hand gripping onto his hair as if it were your life line. 

currently, the two of you were in the bathroom of some random kook’s party. the plan for the night was to get drunk and have fun with your friends to help one of them forget about their recent break up. that plan went out the window when jj and his friends crashed the party.

the two of you locked eyes almost instantly, but you made an effort to avoid him as much as possible. after all, you were here for your friend, not the handsome pogue that had swept you off your feet— literally— a couple months prior.

“ew, is he staring at you?” your friend asked, raising her voice slightly so she could be heard over the music. you snapped your attention away from jj, narrowly missing the smirk that graced his lips. “fucking pogues.” she grumbles as she downs the rest of her drink.

even before you and jj started hooking up, you found the whole “kooks vs. pogues” thing idiotic. but you’d agree for the sake of appearances, pushing out some half assed agreement. lately, it’d become harder to do that. 

just as it was becoming harder to ignore jj’s eyes on your body, as if he hadn’t already spent countless hours memorizing every inch he could get his hands on. you turned to your friend, spewing out something about needing another drink. she waved you off, her attention now on some boy. good for her, or whatever. 

you didn’t need to look behind you to know that jj was following your every move. you barely even make it into the bathroom and onto the counter when jj comes in, locking the door behind him. 

jj walked over to the bathroom counter, placing his arms on either side of you so you couldn’t escape. “do you enjoy being a tease, mama?”

you pouted your glossed lips, putting on your best innocent act. “whatever do you mean, jj?”

“don’t play coy with me.” he says as his hands find their way onto your hips, sliding you closer. you flash him a sweet smile as you wrap your legs tightly around him, causing a low growl to fall from his lips. “what did i just say? huh?” he asks as he pinches your hip.

“i don’t know jj, i think i need a reminder.” you whisper as you lean closer to the blonde, your lips just barely brushing against his lips. jj leans forward as well, but instead of kissing you as you had hoped he would, he allows his lips to lightly brush along your jaw and down your neck.

“such a naughty little slut, aren’t you?” he mummers as he nicks you here and there. you moan softly as you tilt your head back, a hand coming up to grip his shoulder.

“come on, please.” you whine. jj smirks, pulling back to come face to face with you.

“how could i ever say no to someone so pretty?” he asks before pecking your lips, getting on his knees between your legs. whimpers pour from you like a fountain as he presses open mouthed kisses along your inner thighs, pushing your legs apart so he could settle in more comfortably. “would live down here if i could.” he whispers as he brings a finger to trail through your clothed slit.

“jj, hurry up.” you say as you bite down on your lip, nearly drawing blood from how needy you are. 

“if you say so, mama.” you hear jj say. his words are followed by the sound of fabric ripping, causing you to yelp and look down at him.

“did you just rip my underwear?” you ask in shock as you watch him pocket the item.

he shrugs, gripping your thighs and pulling you even closer to the edge of the counter. “you told me to hurry up. now shut up and let me enjoy my meal.”

with those final words his lips are on you, moaning at the taste of you. your head falls back as jj licks you up and down, curses falling from your lips. you grip onto the counter for support, lifting your hips up to push jj closer to where you need him most. he pulls away immediately, pinching your inner thigh hard.

“don’t be greedy. if you want more, ask for it.” he says as he brings a hand up to your hips, holding you firmly in place. 

“more.” you mumble, your mind starting to go fuzzy from his ministrations. 

“good girl.” jj whispers, placing a kiss to your inner thigh before focusing all his attention to your clit. a sharp moan tears itself from your throat, your hand burying itself in his blonde locks as he sucks on it. 

“fuck jj, don’t stop.” and a chorus of other encouragements find their way into the air as jj goes between sucking and licking. at some point your eyes screw shut, causing you to miss jj’s hand snaking it’s way up your torso and cupping your breast. 

“fuck, you taste so good mama.” jj whines into your pussy. that, in combination with the licking and slurping sounds nearly sends you over the edge, and jj can clearly tell that you’re close. “you gonna come for me, hm? come on mama, be a pretty girl and cum on my tongue.” 

“oh my god!” you shout as the band inside you snaps, head tilted back as you tug on the strands of his hair. he helps you through your orgasm, whispering praises the whole time. once you’re completely through it, he stands up, the biggest shit eating grin on his face.

“not bad for a pogue, huh?” he asks, causing you to weakly shove him away. he laughs at your feeble attempt, catching your arms in his and bringing them around his neck. “you did so well for me, yeah?”

you mumble something incoherently, still trying to catch your breath. jj rubs your back soothingly, pressing gentle kisses anywhere he can reach. after a moment, you look up at him with a glare. “you ripped my underwear.”

the shit eating grin returns, jj very proud of himself. “yeah, i did. but don’t pretend you didn’t like it. saw the way your breath stopped for a second there.” you can’t come up with a decent response to that, so you just shove him away again, this time a little more successful. “come on, let’s get you cleaned up and back to your friends.” he says as he helps you down from the counter.

“fuck them, i’m going home with you.” you say as you lean on him for support. he chuckles at that, an arm circling around your waist.

“fine by me.”

[chenlezip]

lets make this real ♡

⤷ summary : you and haechan had been fake dating for a couple months but what he didn't expect was that he had fallen for you..

warnings : smut under the cut, cursing, bit of a jealous haechan? idk.. just enjoy <3

haechan could not believe it. he had fallen for you - a girl who he never had interest in - you were marks closest friend and saw his chance to use you to get someone jealous by fake dating. it had backfired on him though. "shit.." he cursed under his breath as he saw you just across the room at the party talking with his friends.

you looked outstanding - hair curled and full of volume, makeup done prettily and smoothly and your outfit.. a tight dress that showed off all your curves in the right places. he couldn't stand the sight of mark laughing and joking on with you but it's not like he could do anything - you were just fake dating.

he downed a shot that he had poured for himself a couple minutes prior, hoping the alcohol would clear his head a bit but it didn't help, it just made matters worse. he felt a pang of jealousy course through him and he just chuckled to himself.. why was he getting jealous? he seriously couldn't have feelings for you right?

finally he couldn't take it anymore, and he found himself sauntering over to where you were standing with mark and the others. as he approached, he plastered a fake smile on his face, trying to act like he wasn't feeling anything at all. "how's it going with you guys?" he asked.

"'s good hyuck," you replied with that nickname... the nickname you decided on calling him to make things feel more official. "good." he forced out a response, trying not to keep his eyes glued to yours for too long so the others didn't catch on but mark could tell.

mark raised a brow at haechan, "you wanna join us?" he questioned, inviting the latter to party with them since he kept avoiding them ever since they walked in. "yeah, sure."

after a while of partying, things had soon died down. you and the boys just got back into the dorms and you were all pretty tipsy.. some went to bed, some went straight to the living room and chucked themselves on the couch. you sat in the kitchen, nursing a cup of water. you received a text.

you've never felt more nervous in your life. you look up and see haechan walking to his room, leaving the door a pinch open. "fuck.." you mumble as you get up and walk into his room.

haechan sat on his bed, looking at you walking in and closing the door behind you. "do you not reciprocate my feelings?" he asked. he got up, edging closer before you were stuck against his door. he locked it, meeting your gaze. "speak up then."

"i.. i do but-" "but what? there is no butts. i never expected to end up liking you after fake dating but i couldn't help myself.. you're mesmerising, you know everything about me in and out, seeing you dressed like that for this party just made me want to call this fake dating shit over and have you as mine officially. lets make this real."

he snaked a hand on your hip, gripping tightly as he pulled you flush against him. "i don't know how much more i can take - you're so inviting.."

"hyuck- fuck.." you whisper as you grab his chin and force him to face you. "i like you too.. i only agreed to fake date because i wanted a chance with you even if it was because you wanted another girls attention."

thats all it took for him to press his lips harshly against yours, it turned messy and sloppy quickly, his hands moving up and down the sides of your body. he moved you to his bed, pushing you down gently and getting inbetween your legs. he left soft open mouthed kisses to thighs, moving up and up before stopping just before your obviously soak stained panties. "can i?" he asked as he looked up at you with lazy eyes - they were lust filled.

"mhm.." you hum out as you look at him, clenching around nothing. he smirked and moved a hand to the waistband of your panties, pulling them down tantalisingly slow. as soon as they were off, he attached his lips to your mound and started licking a stripe up your cunt. "ah.." you whimper as you felt him moving the pace and you were soon arching your back and grabbing his head, shoving him closer.. his nose pressed against your vulva.

"fuck- fuck, hyuck.. ngh, you feel so good.." you moaned out as you felt your stomach tightening. you threw your head back as your orgasm came crashing down on you. your legs shook and you swore you could see stars. haechan was still lapping at your pussy, riding you through your orgasm.

"w-want you so bad, hyuck.. please," you grabbed his hair and pulled him up face to face with you. haechan smiled smugly, "do you princess? want my cock so bad? my mouth wasn't enough?" he teased.

you grew red in the face, "need all of you.." you mumble as you start unbuckling his bed. he just let you, his eyes wandering down as you struggled a little with the belt buckle. "cute.." he muttered as he removed your hands. he shoved his jeans off and his boxers. "condom?" he asked and you nodded, "do you have one?"

haechan got up and reached into his bedside table, grabbing a packet and ripping it open with his teeth. you swore that was the sexiest thing you've seen him do and he just ate you out a couple minutes before.

he placed it on his dick before lining up with your hole, slowly shoving himself in. you both let out a whine, the feeling sending a wave of pleasure. "you're so fucking tight.. no one touch this pussy, huh?" haechan teased as he shoved himself in more, bottoming out once he was all the way inside for a moment. you clench around him, "d-don't tease me.." you whimper.

"baby.." he whispered in your ear as he lay his head on your collarbone. he started moving his hips, gradually getting faster and faster. his bed banging off the walls but he didn't care at this moment in time - he knew the boys were in but they were probably passed out drunk. he needed to fuck you like his life depended on it, you were so tight and so responsive to him. he didn't last long after that - his hips stuttered as he came, loud whines and whimpers exiting his lips. "oh- shit, baby.."

[joelsrose]

Guns & Roses

previous chapter

Chapter 2:

After your tense exchange with Joel, his venomous words hit hard, leaving you taken aback by a sudden wave of insecurity—feelings you thought you had long moved past. Sensing this, Joel begins to question his own actions, unsure of the impact his words have had on you, but the tension between you remains unresolved as you both navigate the emotional distance that continues to grow, unsure of how to bridge the widening gap.

TW: depressive/anxious themes related to emotional abusive/traumatic previous relationships, also this is a slow burn yall so plss be patient i know i want them to be in love right neoowww but first they have to hate each other xxx Also let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list x

The next morning, you lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, your limbs weighed down by exhaustion, but the heaviness in your chest was far worse. Patrol was in an hour, but the thought of moving—of facing the day, of facing him again—felt impossible.

Yesterday had been a disaster—worse than you could have imagined. It wasn’t just that you had nearly died, although that should’ve been enough.

It was Joel—his words.

The way they had sliced through the air, cold and brutal, landing like a blade straight to your chest. You could still hear his voice echoing in your mind, sharp and biting.

“Fucking burden.”

It wasn’t just the insult—it was the way the words felt like something you’d heard before. The familiarity of it. Hearing it brought back memories you’d fought hard to bury. Memories of another time, another voice—his voice, saying the same thing, over and over.

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the flood of memories to stop, but it was no use. They slipped through the cracks of your defenses, no matter how hard you tried to push them away. You thought you had buried those moments, locked them up where they couldn’t touch you anymore. But Joel’s words had torn those scars wide open, and now they were bleeding again.

It wasn’t the first time you’d been called a burden. That word had haunted you for years, ever since him—the one who had made you feel small, insignificant.

You had spent years trapped in a relationship where every step you took was wrong, every emotion too much, every need a flaw. He made you feel like a weight around his neck, dragging him down, and every argument ended with him reminding you that you were too needy, too sensitive, too flawed.

A burden.

You believed him. For years, you let those words become your truth. Everything wrong in your life was your fault, and the idea of being loved felt so far out of reach that you stopped hoping for it. Even when you finally found the strength to leave, the damage had already been done. The lies he had planted in your mind were like weeds, tangled in your thoughts, impossible to fully uproot.

Brick by brick, you rebuilt yourself after walking away. You told yourself you were stronger now, that no one would tear you down like that again.

But Joel’s words—delivered with such cold finality—had brought it all crashing down. It was as though he had reached inside and ripped out the deepest, darkest insecurity you had tried so hard to keep hidden.

You tossed and turned, the memory of every moment, every word, replaying on a loop. The way he had looked at you, the anger in his voice, the disgust. It hurt more than it should have, more than you wanted it to. But the truth was, Joel had unknowingly triggered something much deeper.

You curled deeper into the blankets, pulling them tight around you as if they could shield you from the weight of your own thoughts. You weren’t just sad—you were spiraling. Slowly sinking into a pit of doubt, worthlessness creeping back in like poison, the same way it had years ago.

Because the truth was, you had never fully healed. You had put bandages on the wounds, told yourself you were fine, but you had never truly faced the scars. And now, they were unraveling. You blinked up at the ceiling, wondering if you would ever truly escape this feeling—this heavy, suffocating belief that you were always going to be too much. Too much for the people in your life. Too much for anyone to really love, to want.

And Joel? He probably didn’t even care. To him, it was just another day. Another patrol. He’d probably be glad if you called out sick. Glad not to have to deal with you at all.

You thought back to last night, Tommy had come by, knocking gently on your door, his usual wide smile in place.

“How’d patrol go?” he asked, his voice full of warmth, his eyes bright with that familiar, unshakable optimism.

You lied. The words slipped out before you could even think twice.

“It was fine. Nothing much happened.” You even forced a smile, adding something trivial about the snow getting heavier. And Tommy, being Tommy—trusting, kind, always believing the best—had smiled right back. He gave your shoulder a light pat, that easy grin spreading across his face. “Good,” he’d said, clearly relieved. And then he left, looking so genuinely happy that it twisted something deep inside you.

The guilt of lying to him weighed heavily in your chest. But how could you have told him the truth? How could you have explained what had really happened out there with Joel? The things you had both said still lingered in the air, unspoken but present in every breath you took. You couldn’t admit that the person Tommy looked up to—his own brother—had made you feel like nothing, like something broken and worthless.

So you kept the truth buried, hidden behind that forced smile, letting Tommy walk away, blissfully unaware of the weight that had settled on your shoulders. You told yourself it was better this way. Less messy.

Now, as you dragged yourself out of bed, pulling on your patrol gear, you couldn’t shake the sense of dread clinging to you like a second skin. You stood in front of the mirror, adjusting your jacket, wondering if you were making a mistake by going. The tension between you and Joel was thick, palpable, and the thought of spending another second with him made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

But you swallowed it down— the hollow ache in your chest—and forced yourself to leave the house. You told yourself you could get through this day. One foot in front of the other. That’s all you had to do.

•••

The snow was heavier today, thick flakes falling in a relentless flurry, blurring the world into a monochrome haze. It seemed to swallow everything—your surroundings, your thoughts—leaving behind a cold, biting quiet as you trudged toward Joel. The wind was sharp, stinging your skin as you walked, your mind racing with everything that had been left unsaid the day before.

When you finally saw him, standing by his horse, the same hard expression etched across his face, it was as if yesterday had bled straight into today. Nothing had changed. The tension between you was suffocating, thick like the snow that blurred the edges of your vision.

Joel didn’t acknowledge you. Not with a nod, not with a word, just the stiff set of his shoulders and the tightness in his jaw. His whole posture was guarded, closed-off, as if he were bracing himself against more than just the cold. And you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything either, your pride weighing down every word you considered. Instead, you mounted your horse and set off, the only sounds the crunch of snow beneath the hooves and the distant howl of the wind.

The cold words from yesterday still hovered between you like a storm cloud, dark and ominous. You thought, for a fleeting moment, about breaking the silence, about reaching across the vast space that had grown between you. But every time you opened your mouth, the weight of your own pride, your hurt, held you back.

And Joel? He seemed just as unwilling. His eyes stayed fixed ahead, his body tense, his lips set in a grim line.

Hours passed as you patrolled deeper into the woods, scanning the treeline for any signs of movement. The snow fell heavier and faster, the wind picking up as it screamed through the trees, the world around you shrinking into a blur of white. By midday, it had grown too much—the path ahead was barely visible, the storm swallowing it whole, the danger in pushing forward palpable.

Joel finally broke the silence, his voice rough and barely audible over the howl of the wind. “We need to stop.” His eyes flicked toward the horizon, where the dark silhouettes of trees loomed through the snow, distant and unreachable. “There’s no way we’re making it any further in this.”

His voice, though low, felt like it shattered the heavy quiet that had hung between you all morning. For a second, you met his gaze, the intensity there catching you off guard. It wasn’t just the storm or the danger—it was everything that had been simmering beneath the surface. Everything unsaid. But just as quickly, he looked away, his eyes scanning the snow, the moment slipping away as fast as it had come.

You nodded silently, following Joel’s lead as he steered the horses toward the nearest shelter you could find—a small, weather-beaten outpost nestled at the base of the mountain.

The cabin looked forgotten by time, its roof sagging under the weight of heavy snow, but it was better than freezing to death in the open. The two of you dismounted, still wrapped in the oppressive quiet that had grown between you, tying up the horses in a practiced silence before heading inside. The sudden stillness of the enclosed space was a small mercy, a temporary reprieve from the biting wind.

Inside, it was cramped, the air thick with the stale scent of damp wood and long-forgotten memories. The cabin was barely holding itself together, but at least it was shelter.

The cabin was freezing, the cold seeping into every corner, making the walls feel like they were closing in. You glanced at the fireplace, its hearth blackened from years of neglect, a thick layer of dust coating the stone.

You muttered under your breath, more to yourself than to Joel, "I’m gonna go look for something to light a fire."

Joel didn’t respond. You heard the low groan of the ancient couch as he sat down heavily, the springs creaking under his weight. The fabric was threadbare, worn thin by time and disuse, much like the rest of the cabin. He rubbed his shoulder, his face twisted in discomfort for a brief moment before settling back into his usual unreadable expression. His jaw was clenched, muscles tense, his whole posture tight and closed-off, as if he were bracing himself against more than just the cold.

You glanced at him briefly, your eyes catching on the lines of tension in his face, the way his hands flexed against his knees. But you didn’t linger on it. Joel was always like this—guarded, closed-off, like he was constantly holding something back.

You turned away, letting your eyes scan the small, dilapidated cabin around you. The place had clearly been abandoned for years, and it showed. Broken furniture was shoved into corners, splintered chairs piled against one wall, and shelves sagged under the weight of old, forgotten items that hadn’t been touched in decades. Dust clung to everything like a blanket, thick and undisturbed, the kind of dust that only settles when time forgets.

You ran your fingers absentmindedly across the surface of a rickety table, leaving a streak in the grime. The cold air from outside seemed to have seeped into the very bones of the cabin, giving it a lifeless, hollow feel.

As you rummaged through a crate in the corner, looking for anything useful—something to light a fire, something to stave off the cold—you could hear Joel outside. He had decided to check the area around the cabin, muttering something about seeing if there were any supplies worth bringing back. Old medicine, tools, anything that might have been left behind by whoever last used this place. His heavy footsteps crunched through the snow, fading in and out as the wind howled around the cabin.

You pulled out a few pieces of old, dry wood from the crate, hoping they’d be enough to start a decent fire. A few minutes passed, and you heard Joel's footsteps return. The door creaked open as he stepped inside, bringing with him a blast of cold air.

He grunted, clearly frustrated, as he dropped something heavy onto the floor—a bag or maybe a crate, you weren’t sure. You glanced up briefly, watching as he walked toward an old cupboard in the corner.

“Anything?” you asked, keeping your tone neutral, but there was no answer. Joel was already focused on the cupboard, tugging at the stubborn door, his expression set in that familiar, determined way.

You turned back to the crate, rummaging deeper when suddenly, a loud crash echoed behind you, making you flinch.

“Fucking hell!” Joel’s voice followed, sharp and filled with pain.

Your heart jumped into your throat as you spun around, eyes wide. Joel stood hunched near the cupboard, his body tense, one hand pressed tightly to his chest. Blood seeped through his fingers, dark and thick, dripping onto the wooden floor below in a slow, menacing rhythm. The cupboard door hung askew, a jagged shard of glass sticking out from where the door had broken. He must have accidentally shattered it when trying to open it.

“Jesus Christ, what happened?” you rushed toward him, panic rising in your chest. Joel grimaced, his face pale, sweat beading on his brow from the pain.

“It’s nothing,” he bit out through gritted teeth, his voice taut with a mix of irritation and discomfort.

“It’s not nothing, Joel—you’re bleeding,” you replied, your eyes widening as you stepped closer, heart racing. He was leaving a trail of crimson, blood spilling from his hand and staining the floor, a stark contrast to the muted tones of the cabin.

“Just cut myself on the damn glass,” he muttered, his other hand pressed tightly to his chest, trying to staunch the flow. The shallow rise and fall of his breath spoke volumes; he was in more pain than he wanted to admit.

“Sit down,” you ordered, pointing toward the old couch, but Joel shot you a hard look, his eyes narrowing in defiance.

“I don’t need to sit,” he snapped, attempting to step away from you, the stubbornness radiating off him like a palpable force. His body was tense, coiled like a spring, and you could see he was resisting the pain, unwilling to admit he needed help.

You stood your ground, planting yourself in front of him. “You’re bleeding all over the place, Joel. Sit down. Now.”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, it felt like a standoff. But you refused to back down. His irritation flickered in his eyes, but eventually, he relented with an exasperated grunt, sinking back onto the couch with a wince, the weariness in his posture finally giving way.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and quickly pulled your first aid kit from your pack. Taking a seat next to him, you reached for his hand, but Joel recoiled again, trying to pull it back.

“I can handle it,” he growled, the edge of his voice betraying his discomfort.

You shot him a fierce look, refusing to let his bravado intimidate you. “Can you not be so stubborn for once?”

For a heartbeat, his gaze flickered to yours, something unspoken lingering in the air between you. Finally, he relented, holding his hand out toward you. “Fine,” he muttered, though the annoyance in his tone still hung heavy. “But make it quick.”

You wasted no time, gently pulling his hand forward. His fingers were calloused and rough, the result of years of hard work and struggle, a testament to the life he led.

The cut was nasty—glass had sliced deep, leaving a gash that continued to ooze blood. You pressed a cloth against it, trying to stop the flow.

“Shit,” you muttered, your heart racing as you examined the injury. “I need to suture this,” you mumbled.

Joel shook his head, his face hardening once more. “Like hell you are,” he growled, attempting to retreat again, but you tightened your grip, refusing to let him pull away.

“What, you’d rather let it get infected and fall off?” you shot back, your voice rising slightly in frustration. “Just let me do this, Joel.”

The intensity in his gaze flared for a moment—anger, maybe, but beneath it, there was something softer, a flicker of vulnerability. He seemed to weigh his options before finally relenting. “Fine,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

You grabbed a bottle of alcohol from your kit, and without warning, began to clean the wound. The moment the liquid touched the raw flesh, Joel hissed sharply, his body tensing as a stream of curses left his mouth.

“Jesus Christ!” he swore, his jaw tightening as he tried to keep still.

“Sorry,” you muttered, though you didn’t slow down. “But it needs to be disinfected.” You worked quickly, trying to focus despite the tension radiating from him.

With deft hands, you cleaned the wound, your fingers steady even as your heart pounded in your chest. The needle slipped between your fingers like second nature, but the closeness between you both felt anything but routine. Knees brushing, neither of you dared to move, the tension crackling between you. His scent, earthy and warm, mingled with the faint trace of sweat, filled your senses, stirring something. Heat rolled off him, maker it harder to concentrate.

As you worked, Joel sat still, his jaw clenched tightly against the discomfort. The tension in the room was thick. You glanced up at him briefly, catching his gaze as you focused on stitching the cut. There was an intensity there, a flicker of something deeper than just pain.

“Just breathe,” you murmured, trying to keep the mood light despite the weight of everything unsaid. You concentrated on your task, the delicate movements of the needle requiring your full attention, but every time you looked up, Joel’s eyes were fixed on you, filled with an intensity you hadn't seen before.

When you tied off the final stitch, a wave of relief washed over you. “There,” you murmured, gently wiping away the last traces of blood. “That should hold. Just try not to move too much,” you added, pressing a bandage over the wound, your fingers lingering for just a moment longer than they should have.

Joel didn’t respond right away, his eyes darting anywhere but toward you, as if the weight of the moment was too much to confront. Finally, he released a slow, ragged breath. “Thanks,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly, the single word laden with all the things left unsaid.

You nodded, feeling the weight of the silence settle between you again, heavier this time.

•••

You stayed in the cabin for hours longer, the silence between you and Joel stretching out like an invisible barrier, thick and unspoken. Neither of you had spoken since you’d tended to his hand, but this time, the silence wasn’t charged with anger or frustration.

Instead, it filled you with something much heavier—an aching sadness that settled deep in your chest.

You weren’t sure when it began, but as you sat there, watching the snow fall outside, your mind drifted back to the words Joel had spat at you the day before. The weight of them, the way they had pierced something tender inside you, was impossible to shake. They had stirred up feelings you thought you’d buried—the same feelings that had kept you awake last night, thoughts you couldn't push away no matter how hard you tried. Now, as you stared at the endless white landscape beyond the cabin walls, you felt stuck in that spiral again.

You’d been here before, trapped in a loop of doubt and self-loathing, questioning your worth, your place in this world. Joel’s words had pulled it all back to the surface, like ripping open an old wound that had never truly healed. The silence in the cabin only amplified those thoughts, the quiet making the weight of them impossible to ignore.

You didn’t even notice when Joel spoke.

"Seems like the snow’s died down. We should get going." His voice broke through the fog of your thoughts.

It was rough, as usual, but there was something different this time—something softer, almost cautious, like he knew the air between you had shifted and wasn’t sure how to navigate it.

You wiped at your cheek, suddenly aware of the tear that had slipped down your face without you realizing.

The sadness that had been pressing down on you felt too heavy to carry now, like it had become too much all at once. You nodded, your voice barely audible as you replied, “Yeah… let’s go.”

For a brief moment, you caught Joel’s gaze. His brows furrowed, his eyes searching your face like he was trying to read something there, something more than the tear. Maybe he saw the pain you were carrying, maybe he didn’t. But for a fleeting second, there was a flicker of concern in his eyes. A hesitation. And then, just as quickly, it was gone. The wall came back up, his expression unreadable once more.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and stood, gathering your things with a sigh that felt like it came from the deepest part of you. The exhaustion wasn’t just from the cold or the events of the day—it was from the constant battle you were fighting inside yourself. And in that moment, you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep it up.

The journey back to Jackson was cold and quiet, the only sound between you the steady crunch of snow beneath the horses' hooves. The storm had passed, leaving the world around you still and blanketed in white, as if the entire landscape had been frozen in time.

The ride felt long, each minute dragging on, the cold biting at your skin as the wind whipped through the trees. All you could think about was getting home, sinking into the warmth of your bed, and shutting out the world.

The silence between you and Joel made the journey feel even longer, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on your shoulders.

Your mind wandered back to the cabin—Joel on the couch, the tension in his face as you tended to his wound. You wondered if he even knew what his words had done to you. At the end of the day, he shouldn’t have said what he did—that much was clear. But deep down, you knew he hadn’t meant for it to cut this deep. He couldn’t have known the depth of the pain his words would unearth, the way they’d pull you back into a spiral of doubt and self-loathing.

When you reached the stables, the familiar routine of tending to your horse became a lifeline, a small anchor in the swirling storm of emotions. The simple motions—loosening the saddle, brushing down the coat—gave your hands something to do, something to hold onto.

You could feel Joel’s eyes on you, the unspoken weight of his gaze making your skin prickle. Embarrassment washed over you, creeping up your neck and settling in your chest. He had seen you cry in the cabin, had watched that tear slip down your cheek—and it was enough. That single moment of vulnerability felt like too much, like you had exposed a part of yourself you hadn’t meant to.

You didn’t wait for Joel, even though his presence lingered close by, the soft sounds of his movements cutting through the still air. You could’ve asked how his hand was, could’ve wished him goodnight, maybe even walked home together—it would’ve made sense, living on the same street and all.

Instead, you gathered your things, the silence swallowing the unspoken words as your boots crunched against the snow. Without a backward glance, you walked away, your breath clouding in the cold air, leaving behind nothing but the imprint of your footsteps.

What you didn’t see, what you couldn’t have known, was the way Joel’s eyes lingered on you as you walked away. His gaze followed your every step, his expression unreadable, though shadowed by something heavier, something that settled deep in his chest and refused to loosen its grip.

He didn’t call after you, didn’t ask you to wait, even though the words itched at the back of his throat.

Instead, he stood there in silence, watching as you disappeared into the night, your figure swallowed by the darkness and snow.

And in that quiet, as the cold wrapped around him, he felt it—the guilt gnawing at him, the weight of his own words hanging heavy in the air between you. He’d seen the way you’d changed after he said it, the way something in you had pulled back, retreated, and now the regret settled in like a second skin.

It wasn’t just the bite of the wind that cut into him—it was the sharp sting of realizing what he’d done, and that he couldn’t take it back.

•••

Tag List: @immyowndefender @babygals-world @zenrobbins0021 @malfoycassimalfoy

[not-neverland06]

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚍𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚕 𝚂𝚘𝚗

Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

A/N: It's finally here, the fruits of my labor have finally come forth lol. I finally managed to get out those last few bits that I was struggling with so much. Turns out, finally getting on anti-depressants is actually a fucking game changer. Who knew?

I'd like to apologize for how long this took, but, also, I'd like to thank you all for being so supportive. I know there can be a lot of toxicity in fandoms, especially in fanfiction. I have been absolutely blessed with such wonderfully supportive, understanding, and kind readers. I want you to know that I do not take you guys for granted and absolutely love the small community I've found on here. Thank you all, and know that the epilogue is nearly finished and will be posted within the next 1-2 days, as I'm sure some of you will be wanting it after this one.

Next Part - Hell Hath No Fury Series

Summary: The end is nigh. Arthur feels it in the air, the broiling tension and building hostility within the gang. Their enemies are no longer their biggest problem. Instead, they have to worry about each other now. There's betrayal at every turn and Arthur is stuck in the middle of it all, pulled incessantly between two worlds. His old life as an outlaw, and the possibility of a new one with you.

You heave the hog off your shoulder and drop it onto Pearson’s table with a heavy thud. The legs creak under the weight, groaning as though they might give way. For a moment, you hover, watching the table tremble before it steadies. Satisfied, you take a step back.

Pearson ambles out of his tent, wiping his hands on his stained apron. He spots the hog, and his face twists into a suspicious scowl. “What the hell is that?”

You give a faint grin, more out of habit than humor. “Helped a farmer down the road. Didn’t have the coin to pay me, so he gave me one of his prize hogs.”

Pearson’s frown deepens, his lips twitching as though he’s struggling to process the situation. After a beat, he shrugs. “Alright, fine.”

You scoff, the lack of gratitude digging under your skin. Would it kill him to crack a smile? Shaking your head, you turn away, irritation simmering as you leave him to his work. Maybe you’ll go for another ride tonight—most likely camping out under the stars. Anything to clear your head.

You’ve still got a few hours before sunset, so you mull over how to kill the time. A race with Sadie might do the trick. The familiar sound of hooves splashing through the mud catches your attention. Normally, you’d ignore it, but a sudden commotion pulls your focus.

Mrs. Grimshaw’s gasp pierces the air, her hands clasped over her mouth in shock. Frowning, you follow her gaze, your stomach twisting as you spot riders approaching. Their faces are blurry in the distance, but something about the way they move makes your chest tighten. Stepping closer, your heart drops like a stone.

Dutch is at the head of the group, leading his men back into camp. Those who’d been on the ferry are all there, alive and well—except for one. The absence burns hotter than the sun on your back. Anger flares like wildfire in your chest, threatening to consume you.

The others cheer and laugh, crowding around the returning riders. Your gaze locks with Micah’s, and your teeth clench so hard it hurts. Dark circles frame his eyes, and he coughs into a bloodied cloth. The sight of him—the fact that this bastard gets to live while Arthur doesn’t—is enough to make you sick.

You turn away sharply, unable to stomach the celebration. Across the camp, your eyes meet Sadie’s. She’s leaning against the cabin, her face a mask of restrained fury. The sight of Dutch soaking up the adoration like a starving dog gnaws at what’s left of your patience.

You can feel it slipping away—your peace, your freedom. Dutch’s return threatens to drag it all back into the muck. But not this time. You swear it, not this time.

Dutch Van der Linde isn’t your leader. He isn’t your friend or your family. He’s nothing but a man who takes and takes until there’s nothing left.

Your gaze hardens on his back, your lips curling in quiet defiance. Tonight, you’re leaving—for good. Damn the gang. Damn this camp. And damn Dutch Van der Linde.

Arthur finds Diablo waiting for him at Shady Belle, as though the horse knew exactly where he’d return. He walks up to him, rubbing the horse’s nose gently. He finds an apple and gives it to Diablo, relishing in the familiar connection.

He’d known, deep down, when he was on his way here, that the gang wouldn’t be around. There was no way they could stay near St. Denis after what happened. Still, when he doesn’t see you immediately, the gut-deep ache doesn’t fade, even if he’d expected it. 

The note Sadie leaves is easy enough to figure out. Going off the hooves circling around the house, he’s sure the men who were ahead of him discovered the location too. Mounting Diablo and riding off toward camp is such an achingly familiar feeling it almost hurts. After weeks in Guarma, scorched by the sun and tortured by corrupt politicians, riding Diablo feels like a return to something sacred, something he can’t quite explain.

Reacclimating himself to the feeling of riding a horse isn’t an arduous task, but it is uncomfortable at first. He’d walked across every inch of Guarma, then spent weeks on a boat. It’s been so long since he felt the freedom of the open plains.

 Arthur looks toward the horizon, to the setting sun and the golden light casting its net across the world before him. It won’t be much longer until he’s back with you. He’s almost looking forward to hearing you say ‘I told you so.’

It’s not much longer before he’s riding through the muddy puddles in front of the cabins deep in the moors. Sadie is the first to see him. Her head is ducked, eyes down as she speaks in hushed whispers with you. Your back is to him and he doesn’t know if he’s grateful or not. The idea of a reunion has felt like a distant dream, he’s not sure if he’s truly ready to see you again. 

Sadie’s head lifts slightly, eyes locking on his. Her face goes slack with shock, cheeks pale, and eyes wide. “Sadie?” You ask, and your voice is like a balm over all his aches and pains. “What is it?” You don’t look,as stubborn as ever, you nudge at Sadie’s shoulder, waiting for an answer.

She spares you a brief glance as Arthur dismounts, eyes still stuck on him. “Turn your ass around and look,” she demands, her voice a mix of disbelief and wonder.

Arthur doesn’t notice the way Sadie throws herself at him, her arms wrapping around him, pulling back, and slapping his shoulder. He’s too focused on you. Your shoulders are stiff, fists curled tight like you know he’s there but can’t bear to turn around. In all his time thinking of this moment, of seeing you again. He’d forgotten something very important. 

Finally, you turn around. Arthur grins, the relief in his chest rising. “Well?” He teases, arms open wide as he narrows his eyes at you. “Aren’t you gonna say hi?”

You don’t answer, eyes nearly bulging out of your head as you look close to tears. Arthur’s brow furrows in confusion. He thought you’d at least look happy to see him. “Arthur Morgan,” Sadie chides from beside him, though her grin betrays her. “I thought you were dead, you bastard.”

Arthur feels his heart drop, finally realizing why you’re acting like you’ve seen a ghost. He was gone for weeks, last you heard he’d been on a ship. And word had probably gotten around that they’d been shipwrecked. Weeks without word, the shipwreck, and the rumors that must’ve circulated. He hadn’t thought for a second that you might actually believe he’d left you behind. After the way you’d parted, he supposes he didn’t do enough to convince you otherwise.

“Sweetheart,” he starts, chest clenching tight, “I-” 

You take quick steps toward him, boots splashing through the mud. He mutters your name lowly, an apology and a promise laced between the syllables. You suck in a sharp breath and he thinks you might hug him. Before he can say anything else, his head is whipping to the side, cheek stinging. 

Your hand lingers in the air for a moment, as if still caught in disbelief. You stare at him, your eyes wide, voice trembling. “Arthur?” you whisper, your words barely audible, your face crumpling under the weight of the truth.

You surge forward, grabbing the collar of his tattered shirt and dragging him down. You surge up, pressing your lips to his with a desperation that nearly matches his own. He can taste the salt of your tears as you kiss him, the way they streak down your cheeks. 

Arthur’s heart drops. He’s used to being a disappointment to the people around him. He’s experienced this a hundred times. His relationship with Mary was no exception, he should be used to this pain by now. But knowing he’s failed you, makes it hurt worse than it ever has before. Arthur grabs you by the waist, desperate to make up for everything. He pulls you as close as he can get, pressing his lips to yours. 

You wrap your arms tightly around his neck, desperation nearly a physical thing as you return his touch. You hold each other as though this kiss could somehow erase the weeks of suffering you’d both endured.

He doesn’t want to let go again. Arthur never wants to see that heartbroken look on your face. And he doesn’t ever want to be the cause for it, not anymore. The ache in his chest loosens as he breathes you in like you’re the only air he’ll ever need. Arthur won’t let you go again, he swears it to himself, because he knows you won’t ever believe him again.

You and Arthur sit toward the back of the cabin, away from the heart of the gathering. Everyone had been thrilled to see him alive, their greetings warm yet subdued, their relief tempered by everything they’d been through in his absence. 

Your hand rests loosely in his, a token of comfort you hardly seem aware of offering. Arthur studies your face as you listen to Dutch’s grand retelling of Guarma, your narrowed eyes betraying the skepticism simmering beneath your otherwise still expression. Each time Dutch embellishes a detail, you flick your gaze toward Arthur, silently searching his expression for the truth. The scrutiny makes Arthur shift uncomfortably, though he knows it’s not unwarranted.

“I truly do not know how you all made out so well here.” Dutch comments, lips curled slightly as he glances around at the thick layers of dust and dirt coating the walls 

Tilly grins eagerly, motioning toward you and Sadie. “It was all Mrs. Rowe and Sadie, they found this place. They been taking care of everything.” 

Arthur’s brows furrow as he watches a sheepish smile grow on your face. He squeezes your hand and you glance toward him. He lifts his brow in question and you nod your head. “Ain’t been doin’ much,” you tell him, shrugging. 

Sadie must hear you because she scoffs and rolls her eyes. “You kiddin’ me? Once you finally stopped mopin’, you were the only reason we didn’t all lose our minds.” Your smile tightens, the edges hardening as your shoulders stiffen.

“Well,” Dutch interrupts smoothly, his voice cutting through the tension. He fixes you with a look, and you straighten under his gaze. “I suppose I should thank the both of you for holding things together.”

“Suppose you should,” you reply sharply, meeting his eyes without flinching. “Or maybe you could apologize for that half-assed plan that got us stuck in this mess in the first place.”

Arthur’s hand tightens on yours, his voice low and warning. “Don’t—”

You whip around, glaring at him, and he’s startled by the fire in your eyes. Without a word, you yank your hand free and stand. Arthur opens his mouth to protest, but Dutch steps forward, his gaze narrowed in on you.

The tension is interrupted by the door bursting open behind Dutch. Bill stumbles in, his face red and sweaty. “Go’damn!” he bellows, his chest heaving. “I’ve been lookin’ for you all damn day. Had to ask every soul in town where the hell you were.”

Arthur’s gut twists. He bolts to his feet, striding toward you and Bill. “What’dya mean you asked around town?”

Bill falters, his face draining of color. His lips part as if to speak, but the words are stolen by a booming voice from outside.

“This is Agent Milton,” the voice calls. The blood drains from Arthur’s face as he grabs your arm, pulling you toward him. “You have one minute to surrender before my men decide to take you in dead.”

“Dammit, Bill, you fool,” Arthur growls, the words biting through clenched teeth. His mind races as he grips your arm firmly. He knows the men outside won’t hesitate. They aren’t the type to spare the women or the children. They’ll gun you down just for being around him and the others. He tugs you closer, instinct has him shielding you from the chaos as best he can. 

Milton doesn’t wait for the countdown. “Forget it,” he barks. “Start shooting.”

The first bullets shatter the cabin’s windows, sending shards of glass spraying like rain. Arthur curls his body around yours, as the rest of the gang scatters, some diving to the floor, others scrambling for cover. A lamp explodes nearby, and the oil catches fire, dripping to the floor and licking at the walls.

Arthur’s focus is on you, but you’ve already moved. You duck and grab a rifle from beneath a cot, slinging it over your shoulder. There’s no hesitation, no look back for approval. You dart toward the door, your movements swift and purposeful.

“Wait, dammit, don’t!” Arthur shouts, but you’re already outside, firing before the Pinkertons can adjust their aim. The sun has dipped below the fire, he only spots you through flashes of bullets and the fire steadily growing behind him. He tugs his revolver out, shooting wildly, the Pinkertons are swarming out of the forest like wolves, there's no point in aiming now.

Arthur follows along behind you, taking cover behind a wagon as some of the others pick up their own guns. He spots Sadie running past him, shouting something indecipherable as she takes out the Maxim gun. Blood flies as bullets make their marks, after weeks on a boat it almost feels foreign to feel the warmth of someone else’s life pressing against him. 

Through the chaos, he watches you move with precision, directing shots with a cold efficiency that makes his chest tighten. You’re not the woman he left behind. You’re faster, bolder, and sharper, your confidence and stupidity is clear as you throw yourself into the center of danger, taking aim at some of the men on the roofs of the cabins. 

Arthur sees another man creeping up behind you. His gun has been abandoned somewhere, he only has a machete in his hand now, arm arcing down toward your head. Weeks without practice might have left him slower than he used to be, but he’s still quick enough to shoot the blade out of the man’s hand. 

You flinch at the shot, whipping around with a pinched expression. The attacker shouts, clutching his bleeding hand to his chest. Without hesitation, you rise and swing the butt of your rifle at the back of his skull. The man crumples face-first into the mud, lifeless. You don’t even look at him again, your focus snapping back to the fight as you resume shooting, each shot clean and deliberate.

The tide of the fight begins to shift. Once Sadie got ahold of the maxim, the Pinkertons had no choice but to start their retreat. Even outnumbered fifty to one, the gang still has some fight left in them. But it’s a fragile victory, and Arthur knows it won’t last.

He weaves his way toward you, his mind racing, but you speak first before he can get a word out.

“They’ll regroup,” you say, your voice firm but low. “We need to track them into the woods, pick them off before they get away.”

Arthur’s eyes widen. “What’re you talkin’ about?” His voice is sharper than he intends. “You’re stayin’ right here. You hear me? I’ll deal with it.”

Your face screws up and it’s the first time you’ve given him a glance of the anger that had been burning under the surface. You go silent, lips set in a firm line before you glance over his shoulder. “They’re getting away,” you tell him quietly. “You can stay here if you want, but I’m going after the rest with Sadie and Charles.” 

You move around him without waiting for a response, your rifle brushing his arm in a way that feels deliberate, distant. The message is clear: you no longer need his protection. Arthur watches, stunned, as you stride toward the others.

For a moment, he stands frozen, the weight of the realization sinking in. The way you fight now, the fire in your eyes, the complete lack of hesitation, it’s all different. You’ve become someone who doesn’t need him, someone who’s learned to stand alone.

His chest tightens as he mounts Diablo, his gaze flickering toward you one last time before spurring the horse forward. He’ll follow the Pinkertons like you suggested. But even as he rides, a different battle churns inside him.

This isn’t something a few dead Pinkertons will fix. The distance between you both is growing and for the first time, Arthur feels powerless to stop it.

Dutch moved them down to Beaver Hollow, it’s a nice enough spot near the base of the mountains. The only problem is a bad brood of folk called the Murfree’s. A bunch of animals masquerading as men, cannibalizing people, and taking women without a care. Arthur hates the idea of you being anywhere near them. He’s doing his best to keep you in camp and you don’t argue. Arthur’s surprised at your easygoing obedience after what happened at the other camp. 

He’s getting worried about you. You’re quiet more often than not, you don’t bite back at Dutch or Micah like you usually would. And you’re more on edge than he’s ever seen you. He tries to talk to you about it, to understand what’s going on with you, but you won’t tell him. 

You always just say you’re worried about what’s going to happen when everything finally goes wrong. He thinks he knows what you mean, even if he doesn’t want to admit it to himself. Too many times has he been told that the reign of outlaws is over. There’s no room left for them anymore. 

When he was a boy, he would have thought that the time of outlaws was immortal. It’s easy when you’re young and foolish to think that you’re invincible, that nothing can ever touch you. He sees everything coming close to an end now, though. Despite the elation of their return back to a land they know, nothing’s the same. 

Micah’s only gotten worse since they returned from their shipwrecked time in Guarma. He’s always coughing, blood leaking from the corners of his mouth. A doctor down in St. Denis told him it was tuberculosis a while back, Arthur knows that their time on the island only further agitated the disease. Since then, he’s been angrier, always whispering in Dutch’s ear. 

And Dutch, he won’t listen to Arthur anymore. Since the Pinkertons turned up at the cabins, he has it in his head that everyone’s a traitor. The only person he’ll trust is the one whispering poison into his ear. It drives Arthur mad. He keeps trying to get Dutch to tell him what’s going to happen next but he just says the same thing every time. “I have a plan, Arthur. Don’t you trust me?”

Before Guarma, before the O’Driscolls, before you, he would have said yes in a heartbeat. But he doesn’t trust him anymore, he can’t. Not after Dutch left him for dead, and then Sean and John. Sadie and Arthur had to go bust them both out of the chain gang they’d been working at in jail. It had been a mess and a half but when they’d returned to camp the only thing Dutch had to say was, “I had a plan.”

He’d been angry at them for rescuing the men and Arthur couldn’t understand why. He never would have left them to rot if Hosea were still here. 

The thought of the old man’s death leaves an ache in Arthur’s chest. He keeps picturing him lying on the St. Denis road, bleeding out. He knows Dutch couldn’t have done a damn thing about it, that bastard Milton was never going to spare him. But, if he had been given the opportunity to save Hosea by turning himself in, Arthur knows he wouldn’t have taken the chance. Dutch has grown selfish and arrogant, prioritizing himself over the rest of the gang and it only makes Arthur’s resentment grow. 

Still, he can’t help but see him as the man who’d taken him off the streets. Dutch and Hosea had taught him how to shoot, how to read and write. They’re the reason he knows how to hunt and make it on his own in the wild. How can he turn against the man who raised him to be who he is today?

You shift restlessly beside him, turning out of his hold and onto your side. Arthur frowns at the action, placing a light hand on your arm. You don’t shrug out from under his touch but you don’t reciprocate. You’ve turned cold and it’s only making everything harder. 

“I want to leave,” you whisper, and he startles slightly, thinking you’ve been asleep this whole time. 

“Huntin’?” Even as he speaks, he knows it’s not what you want, but he tries anyway. 

You scoff, the noise bitter and angry. “No.” You tell him shortly, tone clipped as you rise from the cot. Without another glance at him, you start changing out of your nightgown. Arthur sits up slowly, watching you. He doesn’t know what he’s done to spark this sudden shift in you, but the tension is near suffocating. “You have to see it, Arthur,” you say, pulling up your pants and tightening the belt. You glance over your shoulder, your expression is expectant, almost pleading. 

He lets out a rough sigh, figuring that there’s no chance of convincing you to rest a little longer. “See what?” He asks, dragging his hand over the stubble on his jaw. A low groan slips from his lips as he gets to his feet, back protesting at the too-small cot. 

“This,” you motion wildly, arms swinging out towards the camp that waits outside the closed flaps of his tent. “All of this, Arthur. It’s coming to an end. I can feel it,” you tell him, voice impassioned with fear and urgency. “There’s only so far we can run.”

Arthur looks away from you, shrugging on his shirt. “I know it’s hard right now. But Dutch-”

“Has a plan?” You snap, taking a step closer to him. Your brows knit tightly together, anger burning hot behind your eyes. You swat his hands away as he fumbles with a button, doing his shirt up for him. Even in your frustration, you can’t help but help him. It’s oddly endearing, despite the tension yawning between you. “He’s gonna get us to Tahiti?” You scoff, voice dripping with sarcasm as you roll your eyes. You smooth out his collar before stepping back, movements curt and precise.  

He reaches forward, hands catching your waist and tugging you back toward him before you can get far. You don’t meet his eyes, stubbornly looking away, but you don’t stop him from pulling you closer. 

“We’ll leave,” your head whips towards him, face lighting up with hope. He winces, wishing he was more clever with his words. “For a few days,” he clarifies and your eyes narrow into irritated slits. 

“I promise, what happened in St. Denis isn’t going to ever happen again.” He needs you to believe him, to understand just how much of a fool he felt like getting on that boat with Dutch. They hadn’t truly had another choice, but if he had a chance to do it all again he would have ran away with Charles. He never would have even left you at camp. 

“After a certain point, Arthur,” you squeeze his hand in yours and he feels just a little bit of relief at you finally returning his touch. “Your promises stop meaning much when you don’t keep them,” you slip out of his hold and his face falls flat, chest caving slightly. “But, sure, we’ll leave for a few days,” you shake your head, slipping out from his tent as he stares at the spot you’d once occupied. 

How had things gotten so bad?

“And where are you going, Mrs. Rowe?”

Arthur turns toward the sound of Dutch’s voice, spotting him standing near Pearson’s station. He looks for all the world like he’s at ease, but the tense set of his shoulders and twitch at the corners of his lips betray him. Arthur’s gaze shifts to you, standing by Lady, one hand gripping the reins of the restless mare.

“For a ride,” you say curtly, your tone flat and face pointedly blank. “What’s it look like?”

Arthur’s stomach knots as he notices the tension in the air. You’re already gripping the horn of Lady’s saddle, pulling yourself up with practiced ease. Arthur watches as you glance down at Dutch, your expression hardening and eyes slit in challenge. 

Dutch steps closer, his mouth curving into a thin smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I understand things were run a little differently while we were gone. But I don’t think you going out alone is what’s smart right now-”

“Frankly, Mr. Van der Linde,” you interrupt, voice laced with venom, “I don’t give a damn what you think. I’m going for a ride.”

Arthur watches the muscle in Dutch’s jaw tighten, the flare of his nostrils betraying his irritation. Dutch turns to him, his eyes sharp, searching Arthur’s face for the usual complacent obedience.

Arthur whistles, and Diablo trots up to him obediently. Swinging into the saddle, he shoots you a quick look. “You heard the lady. We’re goin’ for a ride.”

The trail you lead him down is unfamiliar, winding through thick trees and rocky inclines. Arthur catches himself stealing glances at you- the way you sit tall in the saddle, the ease with which you guide Lady over uneven terrain. He tries to meet your eye, but each time, you only offer him small, polite smiles. They feel hollow, and it gnaws at him.

The silence stretches, prickling at his nerves. Finally, he speaks, voice cutting through the suffocating stillness. “Alright. Where are we goin’?”

You glance at him briefly, nodding toward the mountains in the distance. “Meeting up with Charles and the local tribe. I’ve helped them hunt a few times, but,” you trail off slightly, voice growing heavy, “they’ve been having problems.”

Arthur raises a brow. “Problems?”

You hesitate, your jaw tightening. “With the military,” you admit.

He doesn’t feel like you’re telling the whole truth and he can’t help but prod you further. “What kind of problems?”

You let out a frustrated sigh, shifting in your saddle. “The kind Dutch has been making worse.” You shoot him a pointed look and his jaw clenches at the blame lurking in your gaze. “He’s been riling up the chief’s son, getting him involved in jobs he shouldn’t.”

Arthur’s frown deepens, his brows furrowed as he struggles to think of Dutch’s reasoning for getting involved with the local tribe. Though, it’s not as if he’s been involving him in many plans lately. “Why would Dutch do that?”

Your head snaps toward him, your eyes filled with pent-up ire that’s been waiting to spill over. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Hey, now,” Arthur objects defensively, his tone growing just as sharp as yours. “I’m just askin’ a question.”

You fall silent, your expression flattening as you look ahead again. The weight of your resentment  hangs heavy between you, unspoken but undeniable. Arthur feels it like a stone in his chest, and it makes his teeth grind.

Arthur isn’t sure what he expected, but the sight before him twists his gut. Women huddle around children, feeding them thin soup from chipped bowls. Elderly men and women cough into bloodstained rags, their frail bodies barely covered by thin blankets. The air smells of sickness and desperation.

Arthur glances at you, but you’re already dismounting and striding toward the center of the settlement. Despite the distrustful stares from the tribe members, you move with purpose, your shoulders squared.

Charles stands near an older man, his voice low but urgent. Arthur catches the tail end of the conversation. “…my people will not survive this much longer,” the man says, his voice weary but resolute.

Arthur follows behind you as you approach. The man carries himself with a quiet strength, but his face is lined with worry and it’s ageing him by the minute. There’s a glint of familiarity in his eyes as you approach and he nods his head in greeting.

“Arthur, this is Rains Fall, he’s the chief of this tribe,” you explain to Arthur, introducing the two. “He-”

“I know you,” Rains Fall interrupts, still looking at Arthur. “You were there in the city. Your leader was meant to help my people.” He shakes his head, and Arthur sees the pain of being betrayed one too many times in the old man’s face. “Now the military is holding our medicine hostage.”

Arthur’s jaw tightens as he takes in the scene. It’s worse than he imagined. He’s heard the stories—the government stealing land, taking children—but seeing it up close is something else entirely. 

Being associated with Dutch has never brought about anything but pride. But standing here, seeing the people he’s taking advantage of, he’s overcome with shame. Rains Fall speaks again, his voice steady despite the weight of his words. “If we cannot retrieve the vaccines soon, we will lose many more. My people are already weakened.”

Arthur looks to Charles, who meets his gaze with grim determination. “We’re going to get the medicine back.” he tells him, and Arthur knows that you’re going to help, whether he wants you to or not. “The officer’s camp isn’t too much further down the mountain. But we can’t risk this looking like the tribe’s retaliating, it’s why I need your help, Arthur.”

Arthur and Charles are close, perhaps not as close as they should be. But they respect one another. Right now, Charles isn’t just asking for a favor, he’s asking for the help of a friend. Of a brother. And Arthur won’t allow himself to keep disappointing the people he cares about. 

Arthur nods, his decision immediate. But the truth burns in his chest: Dutch’s hand is in this. Somehow, the man he once idolized has turned these people’s suffering into a means to an end.

He glances at you, and your expression says it all. This is what you’ve been trying to warn him about. The look you give him is sharp, almost scolding, as if to say I told you so. Arthur doesn’t have the words to argue—not this time.

The conversation with Rains Fall and Charles winds down, and the three of you prepare to part ways. Arthur adjusts his hat, turning toward you. “You comin’?”

You pause, exchanging a glance with Charles. The look between you is brief but meaningful, and Arthur feels a pang of something he can’t quite name.

“We’ll catch up,” you say simply, your tone dismissive.

Arthur hesitates, searching your face for… something. An explanation? Reassurance? But you’ve already turned away, speaking quietly with Charles. He lingers for a moment longer, then mounts Diablo.

Arthur finds himself screwing up more often than not lately. But letting Dutch know about the plans for the tribe, has to be one of the stupider things he’s ever done. Dutch wants to get involved, of course, for the good of the natives, he claims. Arthur knows him, though, he knows it’s more than that. 

Together, they go and find Eagle Flies, the chief’s son. He’s already with his own band of men, each of them young and healthy, the few fighters their tribe has left. Their plan to get the medicine back, to stick it to the military, is far more violent and grand than yours and Charles had been. 

“This is the dumbest idea I have ever heard,” Arthur tells Eagle Flies, glaring down at the dynamite in his hand. He turns toward Dutch, expression disbelieving, “I can’t believe you’re encouragin’ this!”

“Encouraging what, Arthur? These young men to fight for their home, their land back. I’m disappointed in you son,” Dutch chides, and the way he says son rubs Arthur the wrong way. “I thought you, of all people, would support a cause such as this.”

“I support the cause,” Arthur snaps, snatching the dynamite out of Eagle Flies hand, “but I cannot support acting like damn fools and getting yourselves killed.” He turns toward the boy, imploring him to see reason, not to listen to Dutch’s silver tongue. “My friend has a plan for your people, he can get the medicine back. And he can do it without getting anyone killed.”

“What is the point in that?” Eagle Flies growls, taking the dynamite back from Arthur. “You want us to just lay down, belly up like dogs and let these men take everything from us? You would have us stay quiet instead of fighting back? The only way your people hear us, is if we make ourselves loud.”

He steps back, looking around Arthur to Dutch. “Tonight, we’re going to their camp and we will send them a proper message. You can join us or not,” he snaps, storming back toward his men. 

“Dutch-”

“I’m disappointed in you, Arthur,” Dutch starts, shaking his head as he makes his way back to the horses. “Not just for this, but for how you’ve been acting lately.”

Arthur stops in front of Diablo, eyes narrowed on Dutch, “And how have I been actin’?” He snaps, tired of the superiority that Dutch carries himself with, as if he’s not trying to get these boys killed. 

Dutch stares down at him, distrust and suspicion lingering between the both of them, “Like someone I can’t trust.”

“Well,” Arthur shakes his head and mounts Diablo. “I guess we both feel the same, then.”

Charles is furious as Arthur tells him Eagle Flies plan to blow up the military encampment and steal back not just the vaccines, but the deed to their people’s land. “We had a plan,” Charles shouts, the first time Arthur has ever truly seen him lose his temper.

“Arthur,” you start, letting out a low sigh. “Why did you tell him?” He doesn’t need you to say his name for him to know who you’re talking about. 

“I thought,” he can’t finish his sentence. Too ashamed of what the end might be. He thought that, maybe, you were all wrong, that Dutch could still be relied on. That the man he once knew was still in there somewhere. It felt too childish to admit out loud. 

“We’ll need the others,” you start when it's clear Arthur doesn’t have a reasonable excuse. “We won’t be able to stop Eagle Flies on our own. Especially not if he actually picks a fight with the military.”

It doesn’t take long to gather the rest of the gang, some of them ready to join Dutch as he goes to see Eagle Flies. But Arthur knows that he’s doing this for the wrong reason. He doesn’t understand what Dutch thinks he can gain from exploiting the tribe, and he knows that Dutch is never going to share it with him. 

The ride toward the military encampment is quiet, the tension thick enough to choke on. Eagle Flies and the other men are already moving around the area when they arrive, dynamite placed and ready to ignite. Their faces are set with the determined fury of men ready to face death. 

Charles brings Taima to a harsh stop and swings down before she’s fully still. He heads straight toward Eagle Flies, face tight with anger. “What the hell are you doing?” He demands, voice sharp as he jerks the boy forward by his arm. “We had a plan! Your father-”

“My father would do nothing!” He snaps, ripping his arm out of Charles's grasp. His hands ball into tight fists at his side, as though he’s prepared to take his anger out on anyone close enough. “He waits, and we die slow. The army has taken everything from us, and you want me to stand by and watch?”

Arthur dismounts from Diablo, mud splashing around his boots as they hit the ground. “You blow this place sky-high, you think they’re just gonna walk away? They’ll come down even harder on your people.”

Eagle Flies’ expression flickers for a brief moment, the weight of his father’s disappointment visible in the tightness of his jaw. Before he can respond, a sharp sound cracks through the night. Everyone turns to face it as another breaks the silence. A gunshot, clear as day. 

Chaos erupts instantly, soldiers startling from their tents and returning from their watch along the treeline. They run forward, rifles raised, gunfire already ringing out through the night. “Shit!” Arthur curses, reaching for his revolver. 

As he turns to run for cover, the rest of the gang scattering, he realizes that he can’t find Dutch. He doesn’t want to assume the worst, he can’t. But he wasn’t beside Arthur when the first shot rang out, and the soldiers didn’t even know they were there yet. 

He doesn’t have time to linger on the thought as the first explosion detonates prematurely. A fireball launches to the sky, the ground below him shaking as though it’s about to split open. The horses make a run for it, bucking off riders and racing for cover. Shouted orders and screams become one cacophony as he finds cover. He fires from behind a stack of crates, bullets disappearing into the dark of the night, but the return fire is relentless. 

Arthur has lost sight of everyone, you, Charles, he sees no one except the soldiers bearing down on him. 

He grits his teeth and keeps shooting, even as the fire begins to spread across the dry grass and smoke fills his lungs. He sees one, two, three men drop before he’s forced to reload. As he turns, he spots Dutch nearby, moving through the smoke and fire with a calculated calm. For a brief moment, Arthur feels a flash of relief, if only to see one familiar face. 

Then, something slams into him. He’s knocked to the dirt, teeth rattling from the force. A soldier grapples Arthur and raises his arm, a knife flashing in the firelight as he swings it toward Arthur’s throat. He catches his wrist just in time, muscles straining and breath ragged as he holds the soldier back. The blade trembles inches from his neck, the soldier’s weight pressing him further into the suffocating earth. 

“Dutch!” Arthur chokes out, struggling to keep the knife at bay. “Dutch, help me!”

He sees Dutch stop and turn to face him. The gunshots have lessened, soldiers dropping to the ground like flies as the gang swarms over them. Dutch has nothing to worry about as he watches Arthur. Yet, his eyes are unreadable, cold in a way Arthur has never seen before. He looks at Arthur for a long time. Then he turns. 

And runs. 

Arthur’s grip slips, for a horrifying second, he nearly lets the knife drive through his throat. The shock and betrayal hits him like a punch to the gut. But before the knife can land, a wet, gurgling sound fills the air. The soldier jerks, eyes going wide and face paling as blood spills from his lips. 

Eagle Flies stands behind him, his knife buried deep in the man’s throat. He rips it out without a care and the body slumps to the ground. Arthur remains in a state of shock as Eagle Flies offers his hand. He hesitates, only for a second, before grasping it and hauling himself to his feet. He barely has a moment to catch his breath before another shot rings out. 

Eagle Flies gasps, his body jerking to the side as blood blossoms from his ribs. “No!” Arthur shouts, whipping around and putting a bullet between the eyes of the soldier who fired the shot. The man drops, but Arthur barely pays attention as he turns back to the boy. He grabs Eagle Flies as he wavers, slinging his arm over his shoulder. 

“Come on, kid. We’re gettin’ outta here,” he swears. Eagle Flies groans in pain but doesn’t argue. Arthur grits his teeth, half-dragging and half-carrying him away from the battlefield, bullets whizzing past him. 

He stumbles through the trees as the soldiers scream, wildfire consuming them quicker than his revolver ever would. He hears your voice over the sounds of death, sharp with desperation. “Where’s Arthur?” You shout and he lifts his head. You stand by the horses, face tight with worry and finger twitching close to the trigger. 

Dutch stands in front of you, expression impassive. “Where the hell is he?” You demand, stepping back from Dutch and raising the rifle to be level with his face. 

“Here,” Arthur calls out before you put a bullet in the man’s skull. You spin, your relief immediate but fleeting as your eyes fall on Eagle Flies slumped in his arms. Charles steps forward, his face contorting with grief as he looks at the boy. 

Arthur meets Dutch’s eye, something flickers in the man’s expression, something that could be shame if Arthur didn’t know better. He stares at him, and for the first time, he sees Dutch for what he truly is. A liar, a coward. And a man who would leave him to die. 

“I’m takin’ him home,” he turns his back to Dutch and prepares for the long ride back. 

He pushes Diablo faster than he ever has, heels digging into the shire’s side as he pushes him over the edge. Eagle Flies is only getting weaker and he can’t return another dead son to Rains Fall. He can’t be the reason that the rest of his family dies. 

He knows, though, that there is no chance of survival for a wound like Eagle Flies. No herbal remedy or medicine could fix this. But the least he could do is give them one last moment together. 

When he rides back onto the reservation, Rains Fall is already waiting to greet them. He rushes forward, face stricken as he sees his son slumped against Arthur’s back. Charles walks over, helping Arthur gently lower Eagle Flies from his horse. 

Rains Fall kneels beside his son, quickly scooping him into his arms and pressing his forehead to his. Eagle Flies is too weak for words by this point, eyes fluttering shut as he relaxes into his father’s embrace. 

“You brought him back,” Rains Fall murmurs, his voice breaking. Arthur nods, not trusting himself to speak. The chief closes his eyes for a long moment. When he opens them, they’re wet with sorrow. “This land will never be safe for us. We must go. Find somewhere else to settle.”

Arthur looks away, knowing nothing he could say would ever fix this. He could never salve over a wound like this with something as trivial as empty promises or kind words. You and Charles stand at his side, watching Eagle Flies take in his last shuddering breath. The disappointment is palpable. 

He can’t face it any longer. Can’t face the death or the grief that seems to follow him wherever he goes. Without a word, Arthur mounts his horse and rides off into the night, leaving the weight of it all behind him. 

And he knows, deep in his very soul, that nothing will ever be the same again. 

The trail lightens as the sun begins to rise. The sounds of the reservation fade behind him, swallowed by the rustling trees and the distant call of an owl. He rides without direction, without thought, just the steady rhythm of Diablo’s hooves against the earth, carrying him further from everything he no longer knows how to fix.

Then, a voice cuts through the silence.

“Oh!” Someone shouts from the trees, “You goddamn, useless,” the man’s voice trails off into a series of expletives that’s too quick for Arthur to make out. Face pinched in confusion, he nudges Diablo forward, leading him towards the man. 

An old man stands in the middle of a clearing, hopping around on one leg, fist waving wildly in the air as he curses to himself. Arthur chuckles to himself, watching the man plop to the ground with a huff. He reaches down and rolls his pant leg up, revealing a stump where his leg should be. 

Arthur frowns, slipping off Diablo and moving closer to the stranger. He’s barely got a chance to greet him before the man's whipping out his revolver, eyes narrowed in suspicion as Arthur approaches. 

“I ain’t lookin’ for trouble, sonny.” The man tells him, pulling back the hammer of the gun. 

Arthur puts his hands up in surrender, shaking his head, “I’m not lookin’ to cause any. Only wanted to see if you needed any help.”

The man’s eyes turn into thin slits, lips pursed as he eyes Arthur up and down. He looks the part of an outlaw, but right now the stranger doesn’t have much choice but to trust him. He lets out a heavy sigh and puts his gun down. “Hamish Sinclair,” he offers as an introduction. Arthur gives him his name and Hamish gives him a brief smile. 

“Forgive my poor manners, don’t see much of anyone ‘cept those Murfree folk.”

Arthur shakes his head in dismissal, taking a step closer. “It’s fine. You wanna tell me what’s got you out here shoutin’ at the sky?” He can’t help the slight chuckle that slips out when he sees how Hamish’s shoulders slump in embarrassment. 

“It’s my damn horse, Buell, bucked me off, took my leg with him.” He gestures vaguely behind Arthur with a huff, “ran off that way.” Arthur nods, grabbing his rope off Diablo and heading off. “Feel free to shoot him,” Hamish shouts from behind him, “bastard’s caused me enough trouble.”

Arthur laughs quietly to himself, Hamish reminds him a bit of you. 

It doesn’t take long to find the horse. But Hamish wasn’t lying, he was a right bastard. It was more of a chore than Arthur thought it would be to get him lassoed and corraled back to the old man. 

Hamish’s leg, as he’d promised, was still tucked into the stirrup, the wooden appendage waving in the wind as Buell stomped around. “Oh!” Hamish shouts, waving his hand as Arthur brings the horse forward. “Shoot the son of a bitch, I’ll go get me somethin’ nicer,” he mutters, reluctantly bringing a hand up to pet Buell’s nose. 

Arthur offers Hamish a hand up, holding the wooden leg out for him to take. Hamish holds himself steady on a nearby rock and latches the leg back on. “Cannonball,” he says idly. 

“Which war?”

“Civil, whatchu think?” Hamish snaps, narrowing his eyes at Arthur and shaking his head. “Named this damn thing,” he lays a heavy hand on Buell's side, “after my commander. They were both pains in my ass, and they both cost me my damn leg.” Hamish laughs at himself, swinging up onto the saddle and glancing down at Arthur. “Comin’ or not?”

Perhaps it’s the loss of Hosea that has Arthur following this man. Or maybe it’s just the need for a moment of escape. Either way, he finds himself mounting Diablo and following after him. “What were you doin’ out here, anyway?”

Hamish digs his heel into Buell’s side with a huff, driving the horse down a small path Arthur wouldn’t have found on his own. “I went out to get some bait. Got this pike that’s been eatin’ all the fish in my creek,” he turns and gives Arthur a wild grin over his shoulder. “I’m lookin’ to turn it into my dinner.”

A smile curls upon Arthur’s lips, something uninvited and unnoticed. Things in camp have been so tense, every conversation with you or Dutch just feels like a noose tightening around his neck. He’s being drawn in so many different directions that he’s forgotten what it feels like to just talk to someone without any ulterior motives. There’s no hidden message within Hamish’s gaze or underlying threat to his words. For right now, he can just ride and pretend that all is fine within his world. 

“Can’t seem to get the damn thing on my own, maybe you’ll have better luck. You seem a touch spryer than myself.”

Arthur snorts and shoots the old man an amused look, “A touch?”

“Hey,” Hamish warns, tone light as he grins, “I may be weathered, but I can still take you down, sonny.” Arthur raises his hands in surrender, bowing his head in defeat as Hamish lets out a low chuckle. “Gotta say, been a while since I hollered at anyone ‘cept those Murfree boys. It’s quiet out here, that’s for sure.”

Arthur takes in the scenery around him. The way the sunlight just barely parts through the thick cover of trees and shines across the creek running beside them. The deer he can hear rustling off in the distance. There’s a whole other world around him, one he hasn’t been a part of in a very long time. 

“Quiet’s what I’m looking for,” he mutters, not much thought behind the words as he makes note of a bunch of wildflowers. They look like some you used to pick for the tent. 

“No point in quiet when you’re all alone,” Hamish chides softly, a heavy sadness hangs off his shoulders that Arthur’s not sure he’s ready to dissect. Hamish doesn’t leave him worrying for long, shooting Arthur a quick smile and shaking away the emotions. “Nearly there,” he tells him, nodding toward a clearing. 

Wildflowers and rocks that reflect the midday sun surround a shimmering lake he’s never noticed on his travels. Arthur’s fingers twitch toward the journal in his satchel, the scene too perfect not to draw. Still, he doesn’t think Hamish would appreciate the interruption much. 

Instead, he commits the image to memory. The quaint cabin that sits in the middle of it all, so unimposing it looks as though it had grown there like a tree. He’d have to draw it later, maybe even show it to you. 

Hamish leads him around the cabin and orders him around like he’s spent all his life doing it. Arthur drags out the fishing poles and takes the boat off the shore. He laughs when Hamish slaps his hand away when he tries to help in the boat. And he laughs even harder when Hamish nearly topples over the edge in his stubborn fit. 

The fishing itself is spent in silence. One of them occasionally breaking it by humming something or thinking they spotted movement in the water. It makes Arthur’s chest ache with a familiarity that’s a stranger to him. Yes, he used to do this with Hosea. But Hamish wasn’t Hosea, and there would never be anything to replace or soothe that gnawing pain of never being able to sit on a boat with him once more. 

“There!” Hamish slaps his shoulder hard enough to force Arthur out of his spiraling grief. He nearly knocks him out of the boat as he starts frantically jumping up and down, arms pinwheeling to keep himself balanced. “There’s that bastard, whoo I got you now!” He hollers, lighting a stick of dynamite and tossing it into the water before Arthur knows what's happening. 

He ducks, bracing himself as a ripple of water nearly puts the boat on its side. It’s quickly followed by a fin rising up in the water in the distance before disappearing once more. “My god,” Arthur gets to his feet, jaw gaping as he watches the behemoth of a fish swim away. Not once, has he ever faced a pike as large as that before. It could eat him. 

“What’re you doin’, you fool? Reel it!” Hamish snaps, already lighting another stick of dynamite to force it back towards them. Arthur shakes off the silent astonishment and quickly grabs his fishing pole. It feels like a battle, hauling this fish toward them and finally killing it. 

They must spend nearly an hour on those waters, blowing up half the lake just to haul a fish the size of Bill out of the water. Hamish is cackling and hollering the whole way back to his cabin. He goes on and on about how long that pike has been taunting him. How Arthur must be his goddamn lucky charm to have gotten it on their first day. 

It’s only when Arthur lingers by the edge of Hamish’s doorway do either of them acknowledges the shared pain between them. Arthur doesn’t know exactly what Hamish lost in the war, but he knows it must be something just as bad as Arthur. There's a creeping loneliness that they both know neither one of them can fill. But that doesn’t mean they won’t try. 

“You helped kill the bastard, sit down, I’ll cook up some of him for ya.” It’s an invitation that Arthur can’t deny. He gives Hamish a small smile, sitting down at his table while Hamish moves quickly through his cabin. 

“Did I ever tell you,” Hamish starts, as though they’ve been friends long enough for Arthur to hear his stories. Arthur doesn’t object or interrupt, he leans back, eyes alert as he listens to everything Hamish tells him. Tales of the war, the time before, the time after. Arthur shares a little about himself, but for the most part, he’s content to let the old man talk. 

That’s how most of their time together goes. When Arthur manages some time away from Dutch’s suspicious eyes, he goes to Hamish. He listens to his stories. And they use the excuse of hunting animals Hamish claims to be haunting him. It’s on his fourth visit that Arthur mentions you. 

“I don’t get it. You’re big, strong, you gotta have someone.” Hamish pauses, glancing away from his fishing pole and narrowing his eyes at Arthur. “Don’t tell me I’m your only friend, son.”

Arthur chuckles a little, shaking his head. “I got a lady,” he tells him, reluctant for Hamish to know exactly what company he keeps. Hamish nods his head, giving him an expectant look. Arthur lets out a low sigh, rubbing his palms across his pants and shrugging. “She’s gorgeous,” Hamish lets out a disbelieving snort and Arthur shoots him a look. “Smart” he continues and it’s the first time he’s ever struggled to describe you. 

Such simplistic terms don’t seem fitting for someone like you. If he had his journal, if he could show him a drawing of you, of the little bit of you he’s managed to capture on paper, maybe Hamish would understand. “And she’s a good person, a better one than I ever will be-”

“Then what’s she doin’ with a fool like you?” Hamish interrupts, snickering when he sees the irritated look on Arthur’s face.

“Weren’t you just tellin’ me what a catch I am?” Arthur snaps, eyes narrowed in amusement at the old man. 

He shrugs, tugging slightly on the string of his fishing pole and huffing out a laugh. “Eh, she can’t be that great if she’s with someone like you.” Arthur straightens up but Hamish barrels on, paying him no mind. “Bring her down tonight. I’ll cook up whatever we catch here. It’ll give me something other than your ugly mug to look at.”

Arthur scoffs, “You are a piece of work, old man.”

Hamish waves him off, leaning back in the boat and smiling softly as he waits for a fish to bite his bait. Arthur shakes his head, looking back to the familiar blue waters and feeling something like contentment settle over him. 

“You didn’t have to dress up,” Arthur tells you, holding his hand out to you. Perched atop Lady, you give his outstretched palm a long look before slowly settling your hand in his. 

“I’d hardly call a corset and some nice pants dressing up, Arthur,” you tease. It’s the first time you’ve spoken to each other without there being some underlying current of tension to your conversation. 

He leads you toward Hamish’s front door, smiling slightly when you stop to admire the garden at the side of the cabin. “I wanted to make a good impression,” you tell him, straightening up from where you’d been smelling some of the flowers. You give him a brief look out of the side of your eye before brushing dirt off the knees of your pants. “You’ve been talkin’ about him a lot and well,” you suck in a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “I know things have been hard after Guarma,” you can’t seem to look at him, eyes always darting away from his. 

Arthur stays silent, worried anything he says will ruin the first honest conversation you two have had. “And everythin’ has been so odd between us." You take a step forward and Arthur follows, craving the closeness that has been so sorely lacking. Looking up, you finally manage to meet his eye. The hurt and frustration so plainly displayed on your face makes his stomach clench. 

“I care about you, Arthur, deeply. And that’s not ever goin’ to change.” He expects there to be a ‘but,’ some clause added on that means he needs to change his ways. Or even you telling him that you just can’t handle this life anymore. He wouldn’t blame you if you told him that, but just the thought of it makes him hurt. 

Instead, you give him a smile and lean up, pressing your lips timidly against his cheek. Your hands find his, squeezing slightly, like an assurance to you both that there’s still something to be saved between you. 

Arthur can’t help himself as he turns his head, capturing your lips between his own and tugging you closer. You let out a short huff of laughter, smiling against his lips. It’s a chaste kiss, certainly one of the more demure ones you’ve shared. But it means more to him than he ever thought it would. 

“What the hell are you two doin’?” You startle back from him, eyes wide as you turn. Hamish has his head peeked around the corner of his porch, a stern look on his face but a slight mischievous tilt to his lips. “I invited you to dinner, I didn’t need a show to come with it,” he scolds, but there’s no hiding the humor in his tone. 

You bite your lip and move away from Arthur, though you let your hand linger in his as long as you can before you slip to the porch. “It’s nice to meet you,” you tell Hamish sheepishly. 

“Hm,” Hamish shakes his head as he looks at you, “Can’t believe you let Arthur fool you into bein’ with him.” He grins at Arthur’s affronted scoff and nods you along. “Go on inside, fish is almost ready.” You send Arthur one last look before heading off. 

Climbing the steps of the porch, Arthur lightly shoves at Hamish’s shoulder. “What’re you playin’ at, old man?”

Hamish shrugs, beckoning him inside, “I need somethin’ to entertain myself with.”

“How long have you been out here?” You ask Hamish as you settle down at his too-small table. He plates the fish and takes a seat across from Arthur, brow wrinkled as he thinks. 

“Well,” he laughs lightly and shakes his head. “It’s been so damn long, I can’t quite remember. Probably longer than you’ve been walking, sweetheart.”

Your eyes round, something like concern flitting across your face. “All on your own?” Arthur pauses from where he’d been cutting into his meal, content to let you carry the conversation. He glances up at Hamish, gauging the look on his face. 

Hamish’s solitary lifestyle has been something Arthur’s been avoiding talking about. He knows there’s something painful in Hamish’s past, something he does his best to keep quiet about. Arthur hasn’t wanted to push, too afraid that he’d ruined the good thing they had going. 

But the look on the old man’s face isn’t defensive or angry. It’s soft, his eyes are sad as he looks nostalgic, as if thinking back to happier times. “All on my own,” he confirms and Arthur sees the way your expression slacks with sympathy. “Honestly, this cabin is starting to feel too big,” he admits, glancing around at the barren walls. 

Where some would have family portraits, heirlooms, or memorabilia, Hamish has mounted deer and stuffed fish. There’s nothing besides a slightly dusty metal from the war to hint at what his life had once looked like. “It needs a family, or,” he glances back at you and smiles, “someone besides a sad old man.”

Hamish turns back to his meal and asks Arthur something, he responds vaguely, eyes still trained on your face. Your gaze has hardened as you glare down at the fish on your plate. There’s a wrinkle between your brows that he’s come to know as you plotting something. Whatever Hamish has said has given you an idea that Arthur’s not sure he wants a part of. 

“Well, I’ll be damned!” Hamish shouts, jumping from his seat and running toward the window. “That goddamn bastard!” 

You shoot Arthur a bewildered look and he shakes his head, standing up to join Hamish by the window. “What is it?”

“That boar! It’s back!” Hamish points to a vague shadow of a shape on the crest of the hill. It’s larger than any boar he’s ever seen, but Hamish seems to be cursed with animals of legendary size and vindictiveness. He runs from the window, grabs the rifle mounted above his fireplace, and runs toward the front door. “You better get a move on, boy, I ain’t waitin’ for ya!” He hollers over his shoulder, already whistling for Buell. 

Arthur sighs and gives you an apologetic look. “I oughta make sure he don’t get himself killed.” 

Smiling, you wave him along, “Go ahead, though,” you muse, glancing out the window, “it doesn’t look like he needs much help.” Arthur turns, letting out an aggrieved huff as he sees Hamish already shooting wildly at the beast. 

“Won’t be long,” he promises as he rushes out the door. 

He only vaguely hears your small, “I’ve heard that before.”

Arthur spots Buell grazing in a small patch of grass and leaves Diablo beside him. The two horses don’t seem to get along very well, but he’s more concerned with the trail of blood in the underbrush than them. 

Kneeling down to investigate, he’s stopped by nearby shouting. “I’ve almost got him, Arthur, hurry-” Hamish’s voice is cut off by a loud cry of pain and a boar squeal that almost sounds like screaming. 

Dirt flies up under Arthur’s boots as he races forward. He pushes through the thick foliage, stumbling out into an open area where Hamish lay sprawled on the ground. His body twitches, fingers weakly grasping at a dark, gaping wound in his stomach. Blood pools beneath him, soaking into the earth.

“Oh, Hamish, no,” Arthur mutters, dropping to his knees beside him. He presses his hands over the wound, trying to staunch the bleeding, but it’s no use. He can see it in the way Hamish struggles for breath, his chest stuttering with each ragged inhale.

Hamish lets out a shaky laugh, the sound wet and gurgling. “Flesh wound,” he croaks, though the blood trailing from the corner of his mouth says otherwise. His voice is strained, each word dragged from his throat like it pains him to speak. “I’m an old man, Arthur. This was bound to happen sooner or later.” Arthur wants to tell him to stop talking, to save his breath. But he’s seen death enough times to know there’s no coming back from this. 

“Don’t,” Hamish chokes on his blood and flinches forward. Arthur props him up on his knee, still keeping his hand over the wound. It’s not doing anything except prolonging this, but he can’t find it within himself to let go. Hamish settles, lungs wheezing with effort. “Don’t be like me. Don’t die lonely.”

Arthur doesn’t have the chance to tell him he’s not alone before the light leaves his eyes. He finally takes his hands off of him, looking up as he hears squealing. He spots the boar in the underbrush and picks Hamish’s rifle up off the ground. 

The trek back to the cabin is slow. Hamish’s body is slung over Diablo and Buell carries the boar. Arthur wonders if Buell knows that his master’s dead. If he can smell it, or if he even cares. 

He leads them both toward the hitching post at the side of the home. He sees you watching in the window, eyes narrowed in on Hamish’s body before you disappear from view. Footsteps sound out on the porch as he slings the body over his shoulder and walks it toward the clearing of wildflowers. 

“What happened?” You call out, voice soft as you join him. 

“Boar,” he answers shortly. He doesn’t have the patience to speak. He’s faced and caused death hundreds of times, but something about this feels like a slap in the face. It wasn’t enough that he had to lose Lenny and Hosea and then watch as what used to be his family falls apart. He had to drag Hamish into his problems, had to loop you into this business. 

He knew, when his mother died and when his son died, that he was cursed to lose everyone he loved. That he would never be allowed a happy, or a simple life. And yet, like the fool he is, he keeps trying. He keeps trying to allow himself a sliver of peace or happiness. 

You hand Arthur a shovel as he sets Hamish down on the ground and he starts to dig. Until the sun sets and the moon is high in the sky, he digs a grave for Hamish. You stand there with him the whole night, never saying a word, and for that he’s grateful. He’s learned that it's better not to have to do something like this alone. 

When he’s done, and Hamish is six feet deep, facing the east so he can see the rising sun, he leads you back to the cabin. It’s a comfortable quiet as you help him rinse the dirt and blood off his hands. You take the clothes he stores on Diablo and bring them to him, convincing him to just stay at the cabin for the night. 

He’s too tired to understand the concentrated look on your face, but there’s something niggling at the back of his mind. A sort of intuition he usually wouldn’t ignore but can’t bother with tonight. “Good night, Arthur,” you whisper but he’s already asleep before he can say it back. 

When he wakes up, you’re sitting at the table, writing something on a scrap piece of paper. You turn slightly, smiling briefly at him before going back to the paper. “What’re you writin’?” He asks, sitting up in bed and stretching out the soreness from digging for so long. 

Your shoulders tense up, expression going blank before carefully reconstructing itself into something pleasant. Placing the pen down, you slide the paper away from yourself and turn fully to face him. 

“Eagle Flies is dead.” Your voice is clipped, emotion buried beneath steel. “Dutch was at the heart of it all. He didn’t just destroy a tribe and a family for nothing but his own gain, he left you for dead.”

Arthur grimaces, shooting you a sharp look. “I don’t need the reminder-”

“I think you do, Arthur.” Your tone hardens, cutting through his defensiveness. “Charles is devastated. He won’t stay with the gang much longer after this. That’s who the letter’s for,” you say, nodding toward the paper on the table. “I need to tell him some things before he disappears for good.”

Arthur watches you carefully. There’s something else behind your words, something bigger than just grief over Eagle Flies. A knot of unease tightens in his stomach.

“John and Abigail are leaving soon,” you continue, voice steady but insistent. “They won’t risk Jack getting caught up in Dutch’s mess. Sadie’s been itching to go off on her own for a while-”

“What’re you gettin’ at?” Arthur snaps, frustration creeping in. He’s tired, exhausted from everything, and you dragging this out isn’t helping.

You inhale sharply, rolling your shoulders back as if bracing yourself. “I want to stay here.” Your expression is unreadable, your voice flat. “Here or anywhere else, but I am not going back to that camp. I won’t.”

Arthur stiffens, dragging a hand down his face before swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He tugs his shirt back on with sharp, jerking movements, frustration simmering beneath his skin. “You want me to just leave?”

You shake your head, voice calm but firm. “I want you to do what you need to do.”

Arthur doesn’t believe that. He can’t accept that you would be so calm giving him permission to leave again. He searches for an ulterior motive, for some hidden tone to your words, even though he knows there won’t be one. “They’re my only family. You expect me to just walk away?”

Your expression softens, but he can see it in your eyes, the steel behind each word. Your resolve isn’t bending, you won’t be changing your mind anytime soon. “I expect you to decide for yourself, for once.” You step closer to him and he feels two ideals, two lives, warring against each other in the back of his mind. 

“You’ve spent your whole life followin’ someone else’s lead- Dutch’s, Hosea’s.” Arthur wants to leave before he has to listen to anymore, not ready to confront the truth. “Even now, you’re just tryin’ to hold it all together because you think you have to.”

Arthur swallows hard, “It ain’t that simple,” he argues, even though, deep down, it truly is. 

“It is,” you counter gently, voice calm like you’re soothing a bucking horse. “I’m not tellin’ you to abandon anyone. But you know how this ends,” the look in your eyes shifts. It changes from something earnest to the distant gaze of someone whose sick and tired of marking new graves. “You’ve always known.”

Arthur sucks in a sharp breath, his jaw tightening as he turns away from you. If he doesn’t meet your eyes, maybe he won’t have to face the truth in them. 

But you’re stubborn as all hell and you never know when to quit. “I’m stayin’ here. This is my choice. And I’ll be here when you get back,” you pause, your last words quieter, “if you choose to come back.”

Arthur hesitates by the door. There’s so much hanging over the gang, the Pinkertons, Cornwall, Dutch’s tightening grip. Even if they all wanted to leave, Dutch would never let them. And Arthur… 

Arthur has to see this through. 

“I have to go.” His voice is quiet, resigned. 

“Then go,” you tell him as if it’s the simplest idea in the world. 

He lingers a moment before stepping through the door. He doesn’t look back, but he knows what he’s fighting for now. What he’s fighting to come back to. 

Arthur rides into camp, his gut twisted with unease. He’s not sure what he was expecting, certainly not an idyllic scene, but the sight before him still takes the breath from his lungs. 

Molly lies sprawled in the dirt, blood soaking the earth beneath her. Mrs. Grimshaw hovers over her body, shotgun in hand and the barrel still smoking. Her face is unreadable. The rest of the gang looks at her in stunned silence, some horrified, others grim. 

“She said,” Susan mutters, voice hoarse. “She said she sold us out. Gave us up to the Pinkertons.”

Arthur’s stomach drops. He steps forward, his voice low and urgent. “No, she didn’t,” he looks at Molly, the flickering light of the fire dancing across her lifeless face. He turns his gaze to the real snake in their midst. “It was Micah.”

Mrs. Grimshaw pales and Micah scoffs. “Oh, give me a goddamn break.” He leans lazily against a post, arms crossed over his chest, a smirk tugging at his lips. His eyes are alight with amusement as if this is all some great joke to him. “You’re graspin’, Morgan. I get it, you need someone to blame, and Molly’s already dead, so why not pin it on me?”

Arthur’s jaw clenches, “I see you for what you are, you rat bastard.”

Micah just shrugs, cocky as ever. Mrs. Grimshaw, though, in all of her wisdom and unflinching loyalty, sees right through him. Her eyes narrow and she comes to stand beside Arthur, “Arthur’s right.”

That’s all it takes. The shift on Micah’s face is instantaneous. The gunshot rings out before Arthur can even react. Mrs. Grimshaw jerks back, her body crumpling to the ground. Blood seeps through her blouse and spreads across her chest. 

The camp erupts. Shouts ring out, insults are thrown, and guns are pulled by people who had once called each other friend and brother. Dutch steps forward, getting between Arthur and Micah, his hands raised, eyes darting between them both. Arthur can’t read his face. It’s calm on the surface, but beneath it, something fragile and uncertain lingers. 

Micah steps back, but he isn’t alone. Bill and Javier fall in beside him, weapons drawn. 

John pushes Abigail and Jack behind him. Charles and Sadie round up the rest of the women, dragging John’s family off as they lead them to the horses to flee. John meets Arthur’s eyes, and there’s no hesitation. He grabs his revolver and steps to Arthur’s side. 

Arthur breathes out sharply, giving Dutch one last chance. “You can still do this,” he tells him, voice raw. “You can still make this right, Dutch. You can stop this.”

Dutch’s face twists, pain, doubt, anger, all flickering at once. He shakes his head slowly. ���I thought of you as a son, Arthur.” His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. Then louder, firmer, “I can’t believe you’d betray us.”

Before Arthur can say another word, the Pinkertons ride in, guns blazing. Chaos takes hold of the camp as Micah takes his eyes off of him to start shooting at the others. Arthur doesn’t hesitate, grabbing John as they bolt for their horses. Bullets fly past them, grazing against their clothes and nearly nicking them. Pinkertons certainly aren’t good shots. 

They mount the horses, racing through the woods. The sound of gunfire and shouting follows behind them before slowly fading. They can’t afford to slow down or stop, wordless as they push their horses harder and faster than the animals can stand. 

They don’t stop until they reach the base of a mountain. The money’s nearby, stashed away in Dutch’s greed-fueled paranoia. It’s their only chance of making something out of this mess. Arthur can’t afford to let Dutch and the other’s get to it first. 

Arthur dismounts and John follows. “This is it,” Arthur turns toward John, placing his hand on his shoulder. “You take the money, you get Abigail and Jack outta here. Make somethin’ of yourself.”

John frowns, shaking his head. “Arthur, I ain’t-”

“Go,” Arthur’s voice is firm. The finality of it stops John short. “I’ll hold ‘em off.”

John hesitates, and Arthur knows how desperately he wants to stand beside him and fight. To prove that he’s more than a coward. But he knows better than to argue, and he knows he can’t leave his family behind. He gives a short nod and starts running. 

Arthur begins his climb up the mountain, hoping to find a vantage point to hold the Pinkertons and the others off. He’s not far when he hears them behind him. Turning, he sees Micah and Dutch closing in. 

Micah grins, “Should’ve run while you had the chance, Morgan.”

White hot fury floods through Arthur’s veins, it pushes him forward and he lunges at Micah, grappling him to the ground. Micah lets out a wheeze, his blackened lungs not prepared for the attack. He doesn’t hesitate, bringing his fist down until he feels bones crunch under the force of his hand. 

Micah struggles against him, kicking him off and struggling to his feet. Arthur lets him get up and then he goes after him again. He pins him against the wall of rock behind them both, letting his rage drive him forward as he hammers against his face. Micah keeps gasping for air, arms rising feebly in defense only to get knocked down again. 

A click echoes through the cold air and Arthur freezes, dropping Micah and letting him slump to the dirt. His eye is purpled, swollen completely shut and Arthur almost can’t recognize him anymore. 

He turns, finding Dutch standing behind him, gun aimed at his chest. 

For a long, silent moment, they just stare at each other. Dutch’s finger hovers over the trigger and Arthur just watches. He sees the conflict in Dutch’s eyes, the doubt warring with years of manipulation and ego. 

But in the end, Dutch does what he always does. 

He runs away.

Micah groans, nails digging into the dirt as he struggles for air. Arthur doesn’t bother finishing him off. He watches Dutch disappear into the night and leave them both behind. Breathing slowly, his chest heaving, Arthur turns away from Micah and leaves him to rot. 

The ride back to the cabin is slow. Every muscle in Arthur’s body aches, his lungs burning with each breath, but for the first time in a long while, he’s not carrying the weight of the gang on his shoulders. It’s over. Dutch is gone. Micah is as good as dead. The life he’s known has fallen apart, but he’s still here. And he’s free. 

He crests the final hill, the cabin coming into view, and there you are- waiting. 

You’re not crying with worry or pacing in anger that he left again. You stand, arms crossed, watching the road like you always knew he’d come back.

Arthur exhales, something in his chest easing at the sight of you. He slows Diablo to a stop, dismounting with a grunt of pain. You don’t rush over to him and demand to know what happened, or how he got the fresh bruises littering his skin. The both of you have always known that the only way this was going to end was bloody. Arthur looks up and you hold his gaze, waiting for him. 

Waiting for him to finally decide. The outlaw life, or this new one with you. 

He takes a step toward you, and you stay still as a statue, another and he’s nearly on top of you. You don’t move away or take a step back, you peer up at him, meeting his gaze expectantly. “It’s over,” he tells you simply. 

You nod, nothing gleeful or victorious on your face that you finally got him right where you wanted. You’re not Dutch, this was never about controlling him, he realizes that now. Without his loyalty blinding him, he can finally understand that you were only ever trying to help him. “I know,” your voice is calm as your eyes rove over his face. 

A silence stretches between you, heavy with words left unsaid. Then, slowly, Arthur lifts his hand toward you. You don’t pull away, and when his fingers brush your waist, you sigh, your shoulders easing like you’ve been holding yourself together for too long. Arthur doesn’t waste any more time pulling you in close to him, the both of you holding each other up. 

Arthur breathes out slowly, resting his forehead against yours and pulling you as close as he can get. Your hands come up, gripping his shirt like you’re trying to make sure he doesn’t slip away. But he knows he won’t, not ever again. 

For the first time in what feels like forever, Arthur allows himself to feel real and true hope. He keeps you tight in his embrace, and you bury your face in his neck, he can feel your lashes flutter against his neck as they finally close and you relax against him. He’ll make something of this second chance. He’ll become a man you can be proud to call your own. 

As the sun rises, casting its golden light over the both of you, Arthur finally leaves behind his old life, to begin this new one with you. 

Next part end. — I do not own the characters or the game Red Dead Redemption 1/2, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2025. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

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[ghostbustting]

hey. *sneaks in a quick Kirk fic*

╰┈➤“𝑴𝑶𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮

𝑻𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑻„ ๋࣭

Kirk Hammett x Reader

Contains Smut and slight Somnophilia

I could hear birds chirping outside, a melody that usually greets me in the morning. My face scrunches up as I feel a sense of heat on my face, coming from the rays of morning sunlight that sneakily peeks through my curtains, blinding my vision as my eyes slowly flutter open.

Although my eyelids were finally lifted, my vision was still blurry and my mind wasn’t completely awake.

I could barely even remember what had happened last night, all I remember was coming back from the bar, half drunk, with Kirk, then passing out on our comfortable bed with him cuddled in my arms, tiredness was all that we feel.

The awaken state I’m in slowly gets to me as I begin to rub my eyes, trying to see the morning much more clearly, a small yawn leaving my lips.

Somehow, with that yawn, came another noise right after it. A small whimper from the back of my throat that I wasn’t conscious enough to let out on purpose.

Only then did I feel something warm and wet rubbing against my panties down there under the sheets that cover up all of my body. It took me awhile to get fully conscious to feel the ticklish hair against my thighs, or more specifically, between my thighs.

Furrowing my eyebrows in confusion, I throw the sheets off my body and find long locks of curly black hair between my thighs, a pair of pretty dark brown eyes looking up at me, tongue out and pressed against my clothed pussy.

My eyes widened, ”Kirk..? God, it’s 6 in the morning..” I grunted, rubbing my eyes as I sit up, only for my thighs to be held back by Kirk, him pulling me back down on the bed.

”5 in the morning, actually.” He corrected me with that crooked teethed grin.

I roll my eyes and try to grab his hands, to which he swatted mine away and huff, “C’monn! You don’t even have to do anything! Just— Just sit and be pretty. Pleasee?” He lay his head on my right thigh, lips slightly puckering out to press a peck on my skin.

Those dark brown eyes of his were staring up at me in the most precious way. His intentions were dirty, but the way he looked was way too cute to reject him.

After all, he had already make me wet in my sleep, my panties soaked with a mix of his saliva and my own juices.

But even if I try to mask it, he knew I was way too weak for him.

I rolled my eyes with a long sigh, "Fine."

Not even in a second, he quickly ripped my panties away from my once covered pussy, making me yelp in surprise and annoyance. "Shh. Just a panties." He shushed me.

Then, he proceeds to attach his lips onto my folds, tongue darting out to lap on my pussy like a hungry animal, sucking on me like I was a droplet of water he found in the middle of a desert.

I gasp and reach down to grab onto his hair, my fingers clutching onto those curly locks of his, pulling them every now and then while his lips makes out with my slick pussy.

His mouth went to my clit, sucking harshly on it. The sensation made me moaned and arch my back, the tug my fingers did on his hair made him grunt against my heat, the sound vibrating up into me.

"S-shit.." I whimpered out, desperately pushing his mouth against my pussy even more, my hips slowly grinding against his face while his tongue darts out yet again.

My legs were shaking, I cannot even utter out a word through my never ending moans, the only times a word would ever leave my lips successfully were either a moan of his name or a curse.

Suddenly, I could feel his tongue sliding up and down my folds, entering my hole as slowly as ever. I gasped yet again, my breathing became heavy as my chest rise up and down non stop, his mouth taking all the breath away from me down there.

"Kirk.. fuck fuck.." I mutter out, my legs moving to be placed over his shoulders while he eats me out.

He knew what he was doing too much, cause then I feel his thumb on my clit, rubbing harsh circles on it and encouraging the knot in my stomach to form and tighten.

Both of my eyes rolled to the back of my head, a louder moan leaving my lips. I wish my neighbors and the singing birdies out my windows a lovely morning, while I have my own sinful morning.

"Fuck— Fuck, I'm close.."

Small whines of curses never stopped coming out of me while I was getting more and more closer to my release.

With one last suck of my pussy from him, I moaned loudly while the knot in my stomach snapped, my release came gushing out of me and into Kirk's mouth, him sucking all the juices up desperately.

As I took deep breaths, I look down to see Kirk looking back up at me, that same crooked grin on his face as he licks up the juices left on his lips.

"Tasty. Real tasty. I'd give you a 5 star rating." He nods and press a kiss on my thigh, making me squirm just a little, senstive from my previous release.

I roll my eyes, huffing as I stroke his hair, "You little bastard."

He laughed, causing a small flutter on my stomach. I always loved his laugh, finding it cute. "Hey, gotta get my morning treat, right?" He winked.

"Whatever. Get off me." I scoffed and try to sit up before he yet again push me back down.

He tuts at me and shook his head, "Ah-ah. I'm still thirsty. Dehydration, you know?" He say with a playful tone.

Before I know it, his lips were back on my pussy, already sucking hard and lapping up and down my folds yet again. My breath hitched and as predicted, I can't help but give in to him.

I always give in to him.

[emotionalhottiee]

Jealous

Authors Note; this oneshot is just a random idea i had. Hopefully you enjoy it.

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise stated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events in this fanfic are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

Warning: 18+ (This content includes explicit material).

You been getting touchy feely with another man, just to make Roman jealous and he makes you pay for it.

I could feel the eyes burning a whole through my body. He was staring me down from the other side of the restaurant. But did i care? Nope. He could stare all he wants, he’s not gonna keep me from moving on. I don’t even know how he found me here. But i was enjoying the company of my date.

Usually i wouldn’t go out with a man i had just met. I mean im not even single. After i saw him receiving some inappropriate pictures from some random woman on instagram. I just wanted to get even with him a little bit. So here i am sitting at a bar, with a man i just met.

Conversations were flowing between me & my date. But i couldn’t ignore the death stare. I tried to keep my date from figuring out, that was my boyfriend was staring us down. More so him than me. Knowing Roman the way i do. His knuckles are probably white as snow, wishing he could beat my date to a bloody pulp. But i was praying he didn’t tear this restaurant apart, due to his wrathful jealousy. The center of my legs were throbbing thinking about how Roman is going to fuck the shit out of me, once i leave this date. His large 6’3 muscled frame hovering over me, while pounding me into obscurity.

Snapping out of my thoughts. I was watching my date pay the tab. Gathering our things. We just made small talk as he walked me to my car. But not before making one final glance at a fuming Roman. His lips curled up into a mean snarl. I giggled to myself before exiting the restaurant. I said my goodbyes to my date, making plans to see each other again. Even tho honestly i knew i wasn’t going to be seeing him again. I know Roman will make his way over to my house, and I’ll end up under him as usual.

Some time later…

I was showered up and had lotioned my body down. Putting on my sexiest lingerie, knowing Roman would be popping up at any minute. I wanted to hide my excitement for him coming, because if i didn’t he would become even cockier than he usually is.

*Knocking at the Door*

“He’s here” i exhaled slowly before stopping by the mirror just to make sure i looked good. I quickly peeped through my front door hole just to make sure it was in fact Roman. After confirming it was him , i opened the door leaving room for him to come in. The heat coming off of his body could create a fire between us. He was pissed! I tried to hide the smirk that wanted to form on my face. But i couldn’t hide it quick enough, he caught me.

He closed the door and locked it. “I’m glad you think this is funny”, he murmured through his clenched jaw. “What are you so mad for” i responded trying to back out from being underneath his towering frame.

“You thought it was a good idea to ignore my text and calls, so you could go out and get drinks with some scrawny loser” he exclaimed. His eyes piercing into my soul. “Well i wouldn’t have to go out on dates, if you weren’t entertains bitches in your dms” i retorted back. “I told you i don’t even know that woman, or why she would send me a message like that. I’m not interested in her or anybody else”. He spoke a little softer this time. I looked up at him, believing every word he said. Maybe i was being a bit overdramatic but i just get a little jealous, when it comes to Roman. “You’re right, i just flipped out when i saw someone else’s vagina”. Being my hand up to caress his sharp jaw.

“I hope you know you’re in trouble, for being a bad girl baby” he stated using his big strong hands to whisk me up in the air. I wrapped my legs around his waist as his lips covered mine, before he parted them with his tongue. I panted against his lips while still engaging in such a sensual kiss. My hands found their way to the bun he had slicked back, gently pulling it out so that his long tresses of curly hair was flowing down his back. I ran my fingers through his hair as he walked us to my bedroom.

Making his way over to the bed. He laid me down on it while hovering over it. I missed this so much. I’m glad Roman is a man that can put up with my bratty attitude. I just am sensitive when it comes to him. Sensing me spaced out he looked at me with concern in his eyes. “What’s wrong pretty girl” he asked while rubbing his hands up and down my thighs. “I am sorry for going on a date, trying to make you jealous” i confessed genuinely. “Mhmm you didn’t have to tried hard to make me jealous, the thought of you with another man, makes me go insane. Besides i knew the little game you were playing baby girl. But i told you, im not out here cheating… this dick belongs to you and you only”. I let out a small chuckle knowing he would be understanding.

He placed a kiss on my forward, in an effort to reassure me he meant every word he said. Then he placed a trail of kisses from my forehead to my neck, running his tongue along my neck. He hands made their way to my panties, rubbing his long finger over my the fabric that covered my throbbing vagina. Still kissing my neck while doing so. I felt a slight yank as he ripped my panties off of my body and tossed the torn fabric over his shoulder. Before he went back to rubbing my pussy. Finally inserting his middle finger in me. I let out a small moan while gripping the bed sheets ever so tightly.

He worked his finger at a steady pace, moving his head from my neck up to my face. Kissing me more hungrier than before. “Hmmm you’re so wet baby” he groaned in between the sloppy kisses.

He took finger out to replace to with his mouth. Lowering himself down to my vagina. Placing a kiss to her before going to work. Eating me up like i was his last meal. “You taste so good baby” his deep voice let out sending my body into a frenzy. He continued to lick my sensitive clit rubbing my small opening with his thumb, until my body started shaking, signaling i was about to cum. He moved away his thumb and bought his hands up to my waist placing a firm grip on me, to keep me from running. He wrapped his whole mouth over me, flicking his tongue up and down while my body was shaking. “ cum in my mouth baby girl” he moaned against my pussy, sending me over the edge. My body shaked out my orgasm as he kept making out with my pussy. Making sure he didn’t leave a drop behind.

He came back up to me kissing me passionately, but with so much force. He pulled from the kiss to remove his article of clothing, pulling out his long girthy member. He climbed back on the bed, laying on his back “come here baby girl” he let out in husky tone “. Following his instructions i got down to his pelvis grabbing his hard dick, before patting it on my lips. i kissed his pink tip before stuffing the head of his dick into my mouth. Bobbing my head up and down on his lengthy shaft. I looked up and saw Roman trying so hard not to let his eyes roll back into his head. He’s so stubborn! Ignoring him trying to be mr macho man, i continued pleasing him with my mouth while my hands caressed his enlarged but sensitive balls. Feeling him buck his hips so that pushing his dick to the back of my throat. I started running my hands up and down his member to push him to his climax. Feeling his warm fluid fill out my mouth i slowed down my hand gestures to help him finish. Before swallowing his seeds.

I stuck my tongue out showing him there wasn’t anything left on it. Feeling proud of himself his kissed away any possible trace of him left on my lips. “bend that ass over for me” he grunted as he assisted me into the doggy position. Leaning forward on my elbows so that my ass was a high in the air as possible. I felt him rubbing his dick along my entrance, before sliding it in me. I let a gasp feeling him go deeper until he was all the way inside no room left. He placed his big strong hands on the small of my back, and picked up his pace thrusting harder and harder with each stroke. As if he was trying to beat up my cervix.

“That’s a good girl, you look so pretty taking all of daddy’s dick right now” he grunted moving my hair to the side so he could see my face completely. Putting his hand back on my back. He kept his pace until he felt my walls clenching around him.

“Cum on my dick pretty baby” he stated barely above a whisper. Unable to hold out any longer i released all over his dick. Feeling him twitch inside of me. I knew he was cumming right behind me. He let out a string of groans before i felt his warm cum filling me up inside. Giving me a few more strokes before pulling out of me.

He pulled me in closer him and my head rested against his chest tracing my fingers along his traditional Samoan tribal tattoos. Placing a slightly sloppy kiss on my lips, before telling him with his voice soft. “You don’t have anything to be jealous of, you are my one & only”. Placing another kiss, this time on my forehead. Before we feel into a peaceful slumber.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Queue me sprinting to the inbox when I got the notice that your inbox was open! First off, congrats on 5k! Ok now business: can I request something along the lines of Ghost realizing he’s become attached his partner (maybe the reader is the same rank or a sniper or something where they’ve known each other a while) but it’s a situation where it’s a harsh realization. Like it was the one time they didn’t go on a mission together and the reader got hurt real bad (like Ghost only found out because he happened to be on the tarmac when the reader’s body was being carried out of a helicopter by medics) and that’s how he realizes he loves the reader. Because it hits him like a ton of bricks that he might loose them and just breaks down but it ends with him being by the reader’s side and confessing in his own way when they wake up

—Blood Like Obsidian

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [Simon can only fight against so many nurses as they shove him back from your operation room.] ❞

He doesn’t recall how he felt the moment he spotted your body being dragged out of that Helo, arm limp over the shoulder of one of the men in your unit. He doesn’t even remember what Soap was talking to him about on the tarmac. 

Because at that instance, the entire world seemed to stop in one horrible moment of mute panic and brown, wide eyes. 

Simon watched for a moment in shock, seeing your limp form as the soldier carrying you screamed out for a medic, moving as fast as he could in the direction of the on-base hospital; jostling you. Soap finally looks over.

“Holy hell,” the Scot breathes, head pulling back. 

Simon’s already sprinting. 

“Give her to me,” he growls to the soldier, who looks up at him in shock as he appears like an apparition. 

“S-sir, I—”

“Fucking hand her over!” Simon orders, eye flashing, his accent already making the aggressive voice even more so as he spits from behind his mask. 

The man immediately presents your unconscious form, blood so saturated into your gear that the black looks like obsidian; shiny like that natural glass formed after lava cools. There’s a damn hole in your chest. 

Taking you up easily, your dead weight makes his chest tighten, a sharp inhale sounding off from Simon before he grits his teeth and holds you tighter.

The Lieutenant grunts and takes off, feet slamming into the ground. He glances down at you in rapid intervals, gazing at your expressionless face for long seconds before it snaps back up to the road ahead—it’s no more than a few seconds before Simon slams his shoulder into a door. 

The barrier hits the far wall and nurses all look up in momentary fear.

“Help her!” He sounds desperate, and his hands dig into you harshly. If you’d been awake, you’d be telling him to let go before you developed marks. The nurses are still paused at the sudden appearance of the monster-ish man in black and gray. Simon barks like a dog, stepping closer. “Fuckin’ hell, are you bastards bloody deaf?!”

The others dash forward and tell him to place you on one of the rolling beds, and he does so without another word; heart so violently beating in his chest that he’s panting, breath loud in his own head.

The nurses are calling to one another, yelling to grab an available doctor and get you into surgery, beginning to wheel you away. Simon jogs along, eyes not leaving your face but ever silent with his hands clenched.

He hadn’t given much thought to how he felt about you—nothing was ever going to come of it. Years of missions and companionship with you. You, the ever-present bit of light that had stayed longer than all others. 

You, the only woman he would ever love.

The realization makes Simon’s legs nearly lock from under him, stumbling for a moment as one nurse peels back your vest and takes a pair of scissors to cut away the fabric over the mess of torn flesh and spitting veins.

You leave droplets of blood behind you, trailing off the limp hand that points to the floor from over the edge of the bed. 

Simon grabs at it and brings the hand to your chest, and he notices his own fingers shaking as he desperately moves his eyes up and down your body. He can’t even look at the wound—large, deadly. You jerk around with every movement as if you're already dead.

The Lieutenant feels his eyes burn with stark betrayal but barely pays attention.

As they’re pushing you into a pair of double doors, Simon remembers he was supposed to be with you during this mission, but had been reassigned last minute. The thought is so sudden he nearly forgets to ask where they’re bringing you. But the man recovers quickly.

“Oi!” He shouts, arms pushing him back from the door. Half of the nurses are telling him he needs to leave. He growls and jerks away from them, eyes flashing dangerously but always darting back to the door as it sways back and forth. 

But he knows why he’s out here—and the Lieutenant certainly doesn’t know how to operate on someone no matter how much he did.

He steps back and the rest of the nurses disappear back into your room. 

Simon puts a hand on the back of his head, gripping tightly at the fabric of his covering as he fears his teeth might break from how hard he’s clenching his jaw—grinding them across one another like a cheese grater. 

He loved you. Oh, God, he loved you. 

And he wasn’t there.

Turning away from the door, Simon paces the hallways until Soap re-joins him, any attempt the Sergeant makes at conversation is immediately slashed down ruthlessly. Simon’s shoulders widen; eyes grow more dead the longer you’re gone from his sight. 

It’s five hours until there’s any word, and when there is, the Lieutenant is alone again—his leg jumping along the floor and his hands held in a single fist under his nose; elbows on knees.

When he’s able to see you—stable but the future still uncertain, he sleeps there. 

Simon sleeps on the floor beside your hospital bed for two days straight, and the nurses are too afraid to tell him he can’t do that. So they don’t tell him at all. 

On day three, the man has only left the room to go to the bathroom; no food, no showers, or new clothes. He’d gone through worse, what was hunger? What was the small uncomfortableness in his chest? Nothing. It was nothing. 

During the day he watches your face, standing or sitting doesn’t matter. The nurses come and go, the doctor too, and he lets them work silently. Simon doesn’t speak to them.

But he does speak to you. 

And on day four, he plays with your fingers with a single hand, taking the flesh and watching it move. Feeling your pulse. 

The Lieutenant grunts. 

“Should’ve been there,” he hisses to himself harshly. “Should ‘ave never let you bloody go alone, yeah? Been by my side for ages.” Simon scoffs, glaring at the bedsheets. “My fuckin’ fault you’re ‘ere. No one can watch your back better, should’ve known that.” He misses the small twitch in your hand, too self-absorbed with his faults. 

Simon was never one for airing his grievances; the man was a master at suffering in the quiet nights. But this was a special case.

Your finger twitches again. 

“...Shouldn’t say stuff like that,” your words slur, and Simon’s head snaps up; heart lurching. He goes silent. 

Your eyes are only half-open, body heavy. You’ll be going back to sleep in mere moments, but you’d been awake long enough to understand what was going on. Simon watches, but his hand slips into yours. Grasping tightly. 

An unknown weight is taken from him at the twitch of a smirk on your lips.

“Care about you too, Big Guy.” 

He won’t tell you he loves you—he’s not that kind of person. He won’t explain the panic or the fear. Terror, really. 

But he’ll slip off his mask and let you see him, his thumb running the length of your knuckles. He’ll sigh and those browns will give way to the rare expressions he shows so few. 

He’ll let his head bend down to rest on your thigh as you fall back to sleep. Simon’s hand still holding yours.

You know.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @waves-against-a-cliff, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[phyrestartr]

Love Is Alright | Sukuna x M!Reader

w/c: 1.9k #SFW, reader is early thirties, sukuna is mid twenties, reader is a uni prof, sukuna is a uni student, DON'T SLEEP WITH YOUR PROFS IRL PLS THANK YOU, questionable relationship, fluff, angst, self-deprecating reader, soft sukuna?, sukuna has daddy and mommy issues, TRIED TO EDIT BUT IM LAZYYY, uncle sukuna has entered the chat, ITTY BITTY YUUJI HAS ENTERED THE CHAT

tags: @kamote-kuneho @better-imagination-9 @flowersatwork

You distanced yourself after the semester ended. 

It felt like your duty, honestly; your responsibility to Sukuna and his well-being hinged on what you could do to remedy the situation. He was a young man, scrambling to figure life out in his mid-twenties while you were failing at life and happiness in your early-thirties. You weren't a good role model. A worse partner. Terrible teacher. 

He'd get over that stupid fling in no time, anyway. Most of your exes did. You'd leave them, mourn them and the relationship, and then feel your heart break a hundred times harder when you found out they'd already moved on. Gotten married. Had kids. All while you hoped they'd come chasing after you. 

But this time would be different. You were protecting someone, someone you cared about. You didn't want to leave, to walk away for the summer, to let him move on peacefully and realize you were nothing but a kink, a fetishized visage of a man, but you had to–you didn't know what it was you'd done to fool Itadori Sukuna, but you had to save him from whatever it was. Because it was your fault. It had to be. 

So why was he knocking on your door? 

“Fucking finally,” Sukuna sighed. He leaned on the doorframe like he was from some 90s greaser film, but you had a feeling he was trying to stop you from slamming the door on his face. “Took you long enough.”

You cleared your throat and tried to ignore the way your heart did backflips in your chest. “I–uh. What're you–?” 

“I need a hand,” the man admitted. “I got midterms comin’ up and I can't fucking focus.” 

You noticed the rings around his eyes, then. You frowned and instinctively reached up, holding the side of his face to get a better look at him. It was hard to tell if he'd gotten in another fight or if he was just tired, but the way he sighed and leaned into your kind touch gave you your answer. 

“Can't focus?” You repeated as you stepped aside and gestured for him to come in. Apparently, you were still too weak to stand your ground and abide by your morals. “Why not–oh.” 

“Hewwo!” The little munchkin on Sukuna's back screeched (rather, he was sitting in Sukuna's unzipped backpack like it was some sort of baby carrier). He had bubblegum pink hair like the older, and his skin was just as tan, but his eyes were more hazel than the reddish brown of Sukuna's. Was he–could this kid be–?

“His name's Yuuji. Little shit's my nephew,” Sukuna lamented. “I have to play daddy for a while, ‘n not in a fun, sexy way.” 

Oh. Not his kid. Okay.

“Huh. Okay.” You closed the door and locked it, sealing away the chill of the rain from the warm, cozy atmosphere of your home. “For a second I thought your playboy antics had caught up with you.” 

“Tch.” Sukuna rolled his eyes and pulled his pack off, being careful not to send his nephew plummeting. He did, however, dump the boy onto the couch like he was an invincible sack of potatoes. 

“Sukuna, be careful--he's just a kid!” You scolded as you went to the teary-eyed little boy. 

“He cries ‘n shit for attention, trust me,” Sukuna scoffed before sitting down as well. “Besides, kids are made of rubber. He'll be fine.” 

“Mean!” Yuuji hollered, battering Sukuna's shoulder with little fists. “Meanie!” 

“Piss off or I'll punt you into the fucking fireplace.” 

“MEANIE.”

“Okay, okay, okay,” you sighed, breaking up the spat. You looked to the little one and smiled when his big, honeyed eyes turned your way. You kind of related to his hopefulness, to his eagerness to find attention and be loved. 

“Yuuji, right?” You hummed as you went to him. “You hungry?” 

The boy lit up. “Ya!”

“Sukuna's hungry, too,” the older chipped in as he plopped his beat up, sticker-clad laptop onto the coffee table and popped it open.

You rolled your eyes and picked up Yuuji as soon as his grabby hands reached out for you. “Fine, fine. I’ll make enough food for three. You just make sure you do your schoolwork, Sukuna. You're not getting free babysitting just so you can slack.”

“Whatever, Mama,” Sukuna dismissed. 

But, he did what he was told. That was the whole point of bringing Yuuji here anyway; it wasn't just to weasel his way back into your life. He seriously needed a break from catering to the tiny, hyperactive tyrant while he was trying to finish his midterm paper. Yuuji was too much for a worn-out student like Sukuna. 

Still, being here, even though you took on the babysitter role without an ounce of resistance, made it hard to focus, too; you handled the little tot with so much ease and care it made Sukuna's head spin. The way you held him on your hip while you puttered around the kitchen, cooking and cleaning, was way too domestic and natural for a bachelor. Sukuna had to wonder if you'd taken care of kids before, or if you'd only dreamed of having your own.

“Focus, Sukuna,” you called from the adjacent room, sounding so pleased. It'd been a while since he heard you sound like that.

“Just making sure you're not cookin’ the runt,” Sukuna huffed. “‘N quit distracting me, asshole.” 

You laughed. Yuuji giggled. Sukuna tried to focus. 

–

Morning turned into afternoon. Afternoon turned into evening. And Sukuna was still somehow welcomed in your presence.

But the cold press of a beer can against his neck almost made him regret his decision to stay as long as he did.

“You're pretty good at taking care of runts,” Sukuna grumbled as he took the drink from you. You sat beside him, much to his delight, and popped open your own can as you settled on the couch. 

“Yeah, well. I, uh, used to take care of an ex's kid, so–well, I guess it just became second nature.” You smiled a little before sipping at your drink. “Don't really like random kids, though. Boyfriends’ are an exception.” 

“Yeah?” Sukuna asked with a wolfish grin. “‘N so if you like Yuuji, then–”

“Hey, hey, let's not get ahead of ourselves here,” you sighed. “I'm not saying–this isn't–”

“You let me back into your life so fuckin’ easily,” Sukuna said, bulldozing over your words and confidence. His vibrant eyes danced over you like a flame caught in a storm until they eased onto your own, and settled down. “Now you're tryna back out again?” 

You gaped. Your mind scrambled for an excuse, for any sort of reason you could use to push him away again, yet found nothing. Nothing but a spark of warmth left by firelit eyes in the hollows of your chest. 

“When I was your age,” you found yourself saying, dreading the story you suddenly decided to relive, “I dated someone older. A lot older. He was–I thought I was in love, I guess. I don't know. I really needed someone to lean on. He seemed like a good person.

“But, in hindsight, he was too old to be messing around with me. Told myself it'd be alright since we were both legally adults. But it wasn't.

“He was, uh, kinda obsessive and possessive. Made life harder than it needed to be. Made me more miserable than I needed to be.”

You sighed and took a long drink of your beer. “‘N then you came along, and I had to wonder if I was gonna do the same thing to you, y’know? So, I…guess I've been kinda afraid of that.”

Sukuna quirked a brow and frowned “You're talkin’ like you're some kinda fucking villain.”

You laughed bleakly. “I feel like I am.” 

“Fucking hell, just shut up,” Sukuna groaned and ran a hand through his hair, exhausted and frustrated. “You think I'd let you fuck with me, huh? I’m the one who came onto you.” 

“I–well, sure, but I shouldn't be–”

“Shut up.” 

“Sukuna–”

“I'm not listenin’ to you yap. Can it.” 

You pursed your lips and hid as best as you could behind your can. “Uh. Sorry. Maybe?” 

“You're a real dumbass for such a glorified prof, y'know that? Projecting all that shit onto this.” Sukuna shook his head like a disappointed parent and finished off his can before setting it on the coffee table. “I want you ‘cause you thrill me, that's it.”

A fierce heat slapped you in the face. “Oh. Thrill you. That's–wow. Okay. How do I…?”

Sukuna grinned and scooted closer to you on the couch. “You got a nice ass.”

“Wow.” 

“Shut up, not finished,” Sukuna scoffed. “Nice ass, nice face, nice voice. You know way too much random shit for your own good. You have a trashy tramp stamp–”

“Please forget about that!” 

“--you can cook. Fuck, can you fucking cook. Bake, too. You know how to decorate a damn house, how to make me not wanna go.” He paused for a second and slipped his hand to your thigh, just to feel your warmth under his fingertips. “You make settling down sound like less of a chore.”

“N'awe, that was kind of sweet,” you said like he was a toddler confessing his love for you. 

Sukuna leaned in. “Think I might need a lil’ more sugar from ya.”

You hummed and smiled, leaning in as well. “Don't wanna give you a toothache.”

The man smirked and held the side of your face as his lips brushed against yours teasingly. “Think I'll live–” 

“NUH UH!” 

You both jumped and leaned away from each other before blinking owlishly at the tiny tot standing before you both in A-pose. 

Sukuna's eye twitched. “What the fuck, you little–”

“Yuuji, it's too late for you to be awake,” you scolded lightly. “How come you're awake?” 

“Yuuji pwotect,” he bravely declared as he scurried up onto the couch and onto your lap with a throw blanket in hand–the same one you'd used to tuck him in earlier. 

“Oh, protect me?” You asked, pulling the soft blanket up around him. “From your uncle?” 

“Uncle eevil,” Yuuji whispered. 

“I'm gonna eat you alive, runt,” Sukuna hissed. Luckily for the boy, there was no real fire behind the words–not that he had the brain peanuts to realize that as he started snuffling and tearing up.

“E-ead me..” Yuuji whimpered, hiding under his blanket. “Noh…”

“I'll protect you, Yuuji, you're alright.” You gave Sukuna a look as you patted the little one. “Did you have to threaten to eat him this late at night?” 

Sukuna waved his hand in dismissal. “Little shit cock blocked me. It's what he deserves.” 

“Yeah, yeah, you keep telling yourself that.” You looked down at the little nugget of a boy curled up your lap, kept safe under the shelter of a blanket. Damn, the little thing really was cute. You almost got ideas. 

“We should clock out, too,” you suggested with a yawn before prepping to pick up the sleepy potato in your lap. “It's late. You won't be able to do much more like this.”

“Ha? You think I'm an old fuckin’ geezer like you?” Sukuna scoffed. “I'm not even–I ain't–” he cut off with a yawn and threw you a middle finger. “Fuck you.” 

You got up with the freshly K.O-ed bundled baby tucked in your arms. “Come on, bed time.” 

Finally, Sukuna sighed, and nodded.

“Alright. Fine.”

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

the rash decisions [part 1] l Joel Miller

Summary: a guy at a bar spilled his drink on you, then you made some weird decisions

Warnings: +18, smut, fingering, sex, some dirty words, probably some more

A/N: raise your hand to anyone who needs sexy and sweet pre-outbreak Joel Miller. I think there will be a part two.

[PART 2]

You definitely shouldn't be there. Maybe you were doing the worst thing in your life right now and showing zero sense of decency, but... God! This sin was so good.

His warm lips wandered along your neck, mustache and facial hair teasing your skin pleasantly. Large hands gripped your buttocks hidden in your tight jeans. The arousal in your nether regions was at a critical level.

The truck you were sitting in wasn't very comfortable, especially since you were sitting on his lap, feeling the growing bulge in his jeans beneath you.

"Take me to your place." you whispered into his ear, feeling like any more and both of you would go crazy.

"Are you sure?" He asked.

You bit your lower lip, smiling, and nodded.

"Completely sure."

His fingers threaded through your hair as he pulled your face down to taste your lips once more. That was crazy.

He took you to his house and the moment the door closed behind you, your hands were already under his shirt.

"Greedy." he laughed but didn't stop you.

He felt the chemistry and the fact that you wanted him so much was really pleasing to him. He wasn't entirely sure how you got to his upstairs bedroom without hurting yourself too much, but when the door closed behind you, all brakes were released.

Joel Miller didn't plan on spending the night at a bar, but he found himself there anyway. As soon as Tommy, his younger brother, found out that Sarah would be spending the night at a friend's house on Friday night and wouldn't be back until late Saturday afternoon, he didn't give up on him one bit.

"When was the last time you went out, huh?" he asked "You've got to get some nice lady laid, otherwise you'll be completely out of business. Trust me! It'll be good for you!"

Maybe Tommy was right? Since becoming a full-time parent, Joel's life has revolved around work, home and his daughter. Now that Sarah was a teenager, he could at least think about himself a little. Although he didn't hide the fact that he would rather spend the evening taking a nap on the couch while watching some poor quality movie.

That's how he ended up in that bar drinking a beer, and then he accidentally bumped into you and caused your drink to spill on your jeans. Joel felt like a fucking idiot and apologized so profusely that you finally gave in to his poor puppy look and let him buy you another drink.

You were both people who didn't necessarily want to be in this place. After a hard week, you decided to force yourself to go out and pretend that you were having fun. And then Joel showed up and you two were really having a good conversation, so you moved to his car to have more privacy.

Your kisses became more and more intense, and your hands, like hungry creatures, stripped you of layers of clothes. His body looked so good in the dim light. Broad and strong shoulders, narrow waist, a thin strip of hair leading straight to his briefs.

But you were the first to hear:

"Gorgeous." as his dark eyes landed on your body.

You felt his desire. It was like you were locked in a room with someone who wanted to swallow you whole, and you had never felt so wanted before.

Was it because of the alcohol? Have you just lost your mind? You didn't want to think about it then. All your life you had made decisions based on common sense, and that night you wanted to do something that would simply give you incredible pleasure. Joel Miller was that promise.

His sweet weight pressed you to the mattress in a nice way. A soft sigh escaped your throat as his lips closed over your nipple. His tongue teased the skin and his hand kneaded the other breast. You felt vulnerable around him.

"Do you like it, baby girl?" he asked, moving his mouth to the other tit. "Mhm. I can feel it."

Your body responded on its own. You arched in pleasure while trying to feel the friction between your legs that would give you relief.

“If you want me to stop…” he started, but you quickly cut him off.

"No, I want more, Joel. I want to feel you."

He smiled mischievously, and you wanted to wipe that smirk off his handsome face. He lifted himself slightly on his arms, smashing your lips together again. He kissed you deeply and with a feeling you hadn't expected from a one-night stand.

However, you took advantage of the opportunity and your hands quickly reached his briefs, sliding them off and then clamping down on his shapely buttocks.

"Ouch! Little rascal." he laughed.

"Really?" you replied innocently, "If I don't feel your cock inside me soon, I'll have to call a taxi and... Shit!"

His hand appeared on your pussy completely unannounced. You didn't think you were that horny. He rubbed it slowly, then moved her panties aside and inserted two thick fingers.

You took a deep breath at the sudden stretch, and when Joel began to tease your clit with his thumb, the air left your lungs with a soft moan.

"I got you." he whispered, kissing your neck, his low voice an added incentive. “So tight and so wet. I need to prepare you, baby girl. Before I destroy that sweet pussy, I want you to come on my fingers. Will you do it for me, love?”

You nodded, unable to make a voice or any other sound that could be considered an answer. His fingers moved quickly, curling every now and then to tease that spot inside you that was driving you crazy. You unconsciously bent your knee, spreading your legs further as if you wanted to escape from what was happening above.

Your hand slid down and found his, but you couldn't stop him even if you wanted to. But did you want to? You felt like you were so close, but at the same time you were afraid of losing that last control over your body.

Joel must have sensed it because his voice, although softer, gave you an order again.

"Let it go, baby girl. Don't fight it."

His lips appeared on your nipple again, and when you felt how hard he sucked on it, you came with a muffled moan. Your hand pressed against his, the fingers of which continued to move in your pussy, carrying you through this orgasm. He didn't stop even when your thighs tightened like pincers.

You wanted to kiss him. You grabbed his face in your hands and pulled him in, kissing him hard, feeling his tongue wander inside your mouth. You wanted to respond with the same pleasure for him, but Joel pushed your hand away gently.

"Next time, baby. I'm already so hard that if I don't bury myself inside you soon, I think I'll explode."

He turned and pulled a silver condom package from the bedside drawer. It's good that you found a guy who thought of everything.

"I'm clean, if you want to know." you said as he ripped open the package and put on the condom.

"I trust you, sweetie, but I want you to be safe." he replied.

He smiled, noticing how you watched his movements. His cock was firm and impressive.

"I want to be on top."

"Are you sure?" another nod "I won't stop you, baby."

In an instant, you jumped at his hips. Joel held his cock as you slowly lowered yourself onto him. You felt pressure, then a pleasant sensation as you stretched and then tightened around him. You stopped for a moment. You felt full like never before.

"Everything okay?" you asked, seeing him close his eyes.

"Mhm." he muttered, "Amazing. You're so... Fuck!"

Your hips rose and fell so suddenly that Joel almost gasped for air. He grabbed your hips, but you were in control now. With every move you made, you were driving him crazy. His eyes had gone completely dark. He was staring at you like a predator, as if he was just letting you play with him and then he would grab you in his claws and tear you to shreds.

His hands pressed harder against your hips and you moaned as you felt yourself impaling yourself on him even harder. Again and again. Your nails dug into his chest, but neither of you noticed.

He lifted himself and his lips found your neck, kissing and nipping at the delicate skin. Your arms wrapped around his neck, your fingers running into his hair, pulling it lightly.

You didn't even know when Joel turned you around and you landed on your back, pinned to the mattress as it groaned under the weight of your bodies and the force of him pounding into you.

"Fuck!" he moaned "I'm close, baby. So fucking close." he panted.

Your legs wrapped around his hips, his hands grabbed yours and pinned them above your head. Joel's movements became more and more erratic.

“Don't stop…” you moaned, “Right there, baby… Just like… Fuck!”

As your body was once again filled with pleasure, your legs tightened around his hips, but Joel didn't stop. Feeling your pussy tighten around his cock, he moved a few more times as he felt his release. With a loud groan, he fell on top of you, trying not to crush you, burying his face in your hair.

"Jesus... You're fucking amazing." he repeated softly, "So good to me."

He got up and, like a drunk, kissed your neck, collarbone, chin. You started laughing quietly, but you turned to his face and kissed him tenderly. His dreamy eyes completely melted you.

"Do you think we could do it again?" he asked "I'm still hungry for you."

"I think so." you replied, because you actually hoped that it wouldn't end with this one time. "That was really impressive, Mr. Miller."

"Don't talk to me like that. I'll be hard again soon."

Joel pulled out of you and as soon as he cleaned himself, he took you back to him. He smelled like sex, you both must have smelled like that. Sweat and sex.

"I should call a taxi." you noticed as you both breathed calmly, "Before we both feel awkward."

"What are you talking about?" Joel frowned at you.

"You know..." you shrugged. "We just met a few hours ago."

"And we just had fucking great sex. Stay, sweetie."

He kissed your forehead and you already knew you would stay. You felt really good and safe in his arms. Too good to go home.

You woke up to a strange sound. You rubbed your eyes and saw an unfamiliar wall. It took you a moment to remember last night. Joel's arm rested on your waist, his soft breathing and snoring filling the room lit by the morning sun.

Footsteps on the stairs. Someone was clearly in the house.

"Joel? Joel?"

"Mhm."

"I think there's someone at home."

"W-What?" he croaked, "Who?"

"I..."

The door opened unexpectedly and you saw a tall, dark-haired man. He was probably as surprised as you were. You quickly pulled the blanket up to your chin.

"Fuck, Tommy!" Joel growled, "Get out!"

"I'm so sorry!" the man replied quickly, but you didn't notice that he was even the slightest bit sorry on his face, "I brought coffee!"

"Get out!"

The door closed quickly and you covered your face with your hands. God! It was embarrassing.

"Jesus, I'm sorry about him." Joel kissed your shoulder. “He's my stupid brother. I'll see what he wants.”

"Yeah, sure." you replied, "Go."

"Look at me, please."

You uncovered your hands and looked at the man who had given you so much pleasure last night. His hair was sweetly disheveled, his eyes slightly sleepy, but a pleasant smile was on his face.

"Mornig. Good to see you, sweetie."

"Hi." you smiled, "So you're real?"

"I was just about to ask you the same thing." he laughed, kissing the back of your hand tenderly, "I'll go downstairs and see what he want. Would you like some coffee?"

"With pleasure."

Another kiss and Joel got dressed and left the bedroom. You lay in bed for a while, thinking about what you felt. You certainly didn't feel any remorse after what happened. Joel was really cute and you felt comfortable with him. If you could tell that after the few hours you spent with him, mostly in his bed.

You decided to get dressed and freshen up. You were sure you looked like a nightmare, and you definitely still smelled like him. You quietly walked out into the hall, intending to find the bathroom. After a few steps, however, your attention was drawn to voices coming from the ground floor.

"She's pretty, really."

It had to be Tommy.

"I know." replied Joel "I have a hard time believing that a girl like that would even look at me. If I hadn't spilled her drink..."

"Really?" Tommy laughed, "I told you! Put a nice lady down and you'll feel better in no time. Back to business, bro!"

A heavy stone landed in your stomach.

"Don't say that." Joel interrupted, "She's really amazing."

"You just slept with her. Don't think with your dick. You're not a teenager, are you?"

"Tommy, please!"

You took your chance and quietly walked down the stairs, then slipped straight to the exit door.

☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[thegnomelord]

Soap and #12 with cismale reader. I was thinking they have mutual feelings for each other but not in a relationship yet, and some obliviousness mixed in for drama lol

Sure mate, though it ended up more drama than oblivious idiots in love lol. Play the game HERE.

Prompt: "What, did you think all those times I kissed you were for shits and giggles?" "Let's be real, you had a lot of fun shoving your tongue down my throat in public."

CW:NSFW, Sub Soap, Top male reader, back alley sex, semi-public sex, mild fighting, miscommunication, Soap being a jealous hoe(again)

You and Soap have a . . . thing. You're not quite sure what to call it; You're just comrades, friends, who go out for drinks after every mission and end up messily making out in the back of a bar only to get kicked out when you two inevitably get frisky and near an indecent exposure charge. But it's fine, because it gives you the excuse to go to base and fuck on the bed, or the floor, or the table, or against the wall, or any other semi-flat surface.

But you're just friends. . . or, that's what tell yourself every time your heart pitifully clenches in your chest when Soap smiles, when he laughs and pats your shoulder, when he moans your name so sweetly as you pound into him, when he looks at you as if his world starts and ends with you; because what would a bloke like Soap want with you other than sex? So you try to drown the ache for him by going out with other people, but it's never the same— not in the way they sound, in the way they move, in the way you feel.

Johnny, on the other hand, thinks you're his and his alone.

"I'm telling yea lads," Johnny says as he knocks back a beer, a lovey dovey look in his eyes like he's a lovesick puppy. "Ah've locked him down this time." He grins, and Ghost swears if he has to listen one more time about how big your cock is or how Johnny can still feel you from last time— he'll shoot you both.

"Uhuh," Gaz rolls his eyes, amused at his antics but also happy that he's finally found someone. "Yeah, su-" Something catches Gaz's eyes and he turns his head, the color draining from his face. "-ummmm."

Ghost's eyes quickly flicker over to where he's looking, "Look at that," Ghost gives a rough snort, "Locked your man down so good he's swappin' spit without you."

Soap's immediately sober as a nun, his neck audibly cracking when he swings around to look at you. The sight of you making out with a random girl across the bar has Soap's thoughts turning in his head like rusted cogs, the world almost slowing down to force him to feel all the emotions his brain spits out; Surprise comes first, like being drenched in ice cold water, disgust making his blood feel like tar at the thought of you touching someone else the same way you touch him, hot anger barreling straight through it to make fingers twitch for the trigger of a gun.

But it's the meek hurt that forces his legs to move, striding across the bar like he's on a war path. A rough hand on your shoulder makes you break off the kiss, your world spinning like a kaleidoscope from the booze and sudden force turning you around. Your eyes finally settle on familiar blue ones, but they're cold like the deepest part of the arctic. "Johnny?" You ask.

His name on your lips only makes his scowl deeper, a bruising grip on your arm as he tugs you, "We need tae talk," He spits, glaring at the poor girl you'd been making out with like she's riddled with plague.

You're not given even a second to argue before he's yanking you out the back exit into the alley between the bar and another building. A second later he's roughly slamming you into the brick wall, knocking the breath out of your lungs with a forearm against your throat and ignoring as you choke softly. "Thae fock's wrong wit' yea!" He snarls into your face, more animal than man.

Rapidly depleting oxygen forces your brain to flood your veins with adrenaline and suddenly you're moving, harshly elbowing him in the stomach and ramming him into the stone wall behind him you swear the rock cracks. "Me? What's wrong with you?"

He tries to push against you, your arms scrambling for a solid hold until you end up in a stand still, "What's wrong-" He shoves his face into yours, nearly breaking your nose while hissing like a feral cat, "-is thaet ye're shacking up with some tramp."

"So what!" You demand, a low grunt leaving your lips as you attempt to keep him pinned when he squirms like an eel, "We're just casual-" You force out those words, trying to ignore the stab to the chest your heart gives.

"Casual?" He scoffs and with a swift jerk of his head smashes his skull into yours. You stumble away, black spots dancing in your vision and that's all he needs to grab and switch your positions, pinning you to the wall. "What? D'yea think all those times I kissed you were for shits and giggles?" He demands, a bit of a traitorous hurt making his his voice crack, face pinched in pain.

"Let's be real-" Copper and iron invade your tastebuds, drawing attention to the slow stream of blood trickling from your nose, "-you had a lot of fun shoving your tongue down my throat in public."

You feel his body tense, but keep your eyes open as you expect him to punch you, to kick you, to do something to prove what you have is just temporary; pointless bliss.

"Then how'bout ah give yea a clearer message-" He leans in to lick trail of blood on your face before capturing your lips in a kiss that's more teeth than anything else. You wretch your hand free to tangle your fingers in his short hair, bodies fitting together like jigsaw pieces, reciprocating with just as much intensity as you bite his bottom lip until his blood floods your mouths. "Got it through yer thick skull now?" He asks, pulling back just a bit to stare into your eyes.

You don't know what 'it' is, but the kiss and the roughness makes heat burn through your veins, one quick flicker of your eyes confirming he's sporting the same problem in his pants as you are. "Think I'll need more convincing."

Soap yelps when you turn him around, pinning his chest to the cold wall as your hands slide down to his belt. You stall for a second to give him a way out, but he just growls, "Get on with it," So you quickly undo his pants, shoving his jeans and boxers just down beneath the swell of his arse.

"Slut," You chuckle when you catch sight of the black plug nestled between his cheeks, the skin near it still glistening with lube from how messily he'd prepped himself, "Needed me so bad did you?" You ask as you pull the plug out, putting it into your pocket as you push the head of your cock against his fluttering opening.

"'s cause ah love yea, fockin' git." He growls, his words making your brain crash.

"Repeat that," You say, softer, kinder than you usually operate, pressing against him until you're covering his back completely. "Say that again."

He notices your change, the ice in his eyes melting away enough to let him tug your head closer to kiss you, "I love you." The way he says it, like a prayer, like a sweet caress, has your heart melting into a puddle. A dingy back alley shouldn't be the place where you confess your love, but right now it feels like Paris.

"Love you too," You kiss him back and slide into him in one slow stroke, greedily swallowing down his sounds. You let him adjust before setting a hard pace like you know he loves, cock head scraping against his prostate with every thrust. "Really, really love you." You breathe out, watching his eyes lose focus as he lets out little 'ah, ah, ah's every time your hips meet.

"Bonnie, bonnie lad please-" He whines, resting his face against the dirty wall as he moans without shame, forgetting that anyone could walk in on you two and more than likely hear you across the single layer brick wall. "Fock, c'mon, give it to me."

"Yeah, gonna take care of you-" Your hand slides down to rub his cock, squeezing his base every time you bottom out and playing with his head when you draw your hips back so you can plunge back inside him, lust and love lighting up every synapse in your body. "Just say you love me again."

Johnny's eyes close as he falls into a barely comprehensible rambling of 'love you, love you, love you', his body shaking with a building heat in his stomach, precum rapidly lubing the glide of your hand as you fuck him in a harsh pace until with a sharp yell against his shoulder you cum inside him, Johnny following suit as he paints the dirty wall white with his cum.

You feel him collapse against you and have just enough strength left to support you both, though the wall does the brunt of the work. You breathe the same air as you try to get your bearings, both hearts beating in the same speed and rhythm, and Johnny whines when you attempt to shift, hole clenching greedily around you like his body doesn't want you to seperate.

"You know," You say when you've managed to catch your breath, nuzzling into the back of his neck, "There are easier ways to say you love me without biting my head off." You chuckle, as if your heart isn't beating a thousand miles per hour at the knowledge Soap loves you.

He swats at your head, "Oh awa' an bile yer heid." He growls such harsh words before kissing you softly, sharing a silent promise with you.

[jymwahuwu]

I was wondering. . What if scenario where darling finally escaped jing yuan by dying and jing yuan had felt all emotions at once anger, furry, sadness, despair, agony. He just cant move on from darling he waited and waited for her next reincarnation and. . Finally after so long of waiting she was finally here standing, breathing and alive

And his not so kind once he kidnapped darling once more and had locked her on his (their) shared bedroom then he just basically fucks darling to the hell and back after so long and he makes her cum and darling felt overstimulated and had kept crying to him to slow down and trying to push him away because who in the right mind would suddenly pull a strange onto some person's house then fucks them into oblivion?!

(Basically idk why im horny or maybe its because i have a period idk anymore-)

From Cloud anon!

thank you cloud anon<3 hesitant to write this…but i love the thirsty ending 🫣 for Jing Yuan, if his clingy and sweet side can't keep you… he doesn't mind getting rough…?

CW: yandere, angst, non-con, kidnapping, overstimulation, (mentioned) death in the past

(The relationship between the reader here and Jing Yuan’s past life is described in a rather vague way. Please DON’T send me requests and comments about angst and take revenge on yandere. I’m tired of receiving those 😭 Please read the rules.)

That's a really rare concept for long living species; life blooms in the spring and withers in the winter. Jing Yuan placed flowers on the coffin, and… still… worked and lived as usual, arranging Luofu's daily affairs at the seat of divine foresight. People whispered- they said, Look. The general is so ruthless. His only lover in centuries had withered like a flower, and he was unmoved.

Jing Yuan knows that he can still live as usual, but there is an empty gap in his heart, which often aches, but he still chooses to keep you in his heart instead of letting time pass by. No loss can cause Jing Yuan to stagnate, he just lives with wounds. He regretted not leaving more holographic records and replayed the few videos you had, over and over again. "mm- Jing Yuan-" Your lips parted slightly, a record of a time when you were so annoyed that you blocked the camera with your hands and giggled while eating ice cream. That was - that was when you liked him, right? The general sometimes wonders - are you tired of him pestering you like that? He apologized, apologized, apologized bitterly - but you wouldn't hear it again. In the end, he still couldn't keep you, you flowed away between his fingers like floating sand. What had hundreds of years left for him?

Reincarnation - Jing Yuan really found you, in another galaxy. In the dim light, you are standing on the street, laughing and chatting with your friends. A familiar frown and a sweet smile, and when talking about interesting topics, the clear and sweet laughter leaked out. Similar facial features, similar movements and expressions are the imprint of the same soul. Jing Yuan suppressed the urge to take you away immediately, knowing that he must first find out your identity in this life. He removes every possible obstacle and takes you away.

Locked up in a room, in the general's mansion. Since you didn't like being able to travel freely among the stars in your previous life.

To you, you who have no information, this is really the cage that abruptly descends. Be sent to the Xianzhou ship by the people of your planet. Your hands are locked with a bunch of locks made of solid space material, but they are wrapped in plush fabric as if to prevent your wrists from getting hurt. The burly man with long white hair, said to be a general named Jing Yuan, caresses your body desperately - desperately. Lots of sticky, dazzling kisses. His tongue dipped into your mouth to search. Tears…tears? This mysterious man doesn't shed tears when you look at him, it's like the tears have dried up. Your thighs and calves were tied together and spread apart, forcing you to expose your most private parts and squirt on his thick fingers for hours. Orgasm is no excuse to stop. After your struggles and twitches, those fingers didn't slow down at all. The cock is buried deep inside you without any suspense after the warm-up is completed. The tight walls contracted and the liquid spread outward.

You are confused - confused, orgasming in pleasure, wanting to push him away (but your hands are tied), asking who he is and why he treats you like this while still maintaining your senses, and all you get is silence. It was the silence of not wanting to repeat the old dreams. From behind, his entire crotch is pressed against your ass, and even your hands are pressed by him, rocking and pounding you back and forth, occasionally kissing your cheek in a daze. Face to face, staring into your eyes, the lower body is closely connected. On top, you were forced to ride him, swinging your waist. From the side, a strong arm lifts one of your legs and slowly inserts it. In front, sucking and servicing that cock for hours. Seed and fluid oozed from the connection. There are two trembling vibrators stuck to your nipples. What a mess.

After making up for some of the love he hadn't had in hundreds of years, the general felt more at ease. Jing Yuan's hands wrapped around your shoulders and waist. You wanted to hate him so much- hate him, but he read you bedtime stories and space. He prepares rich meals for you, toys to relieve your boredom, and kisses your forehead. He promises to take you out, but not now.

Not now.

[iznyangwoni]

EASY TO LOVE | chapter twelve !

warnings: smut! mdni

After five days of not attending a single class, you finally found the courage to get out of your room. You did indeed fuck things up last friday and that ended up with your phone being smashed on the floor and not being able to leave the house for three days.

If it werent for your mother getting worried about you not replying to her text you would’ve probably stayed there another full week. But now everything was fine, kind of. You were staying at your mom’s house, you had just bought a new phone and Wonyoung and Moka were being sure to stay next to you at all times.

You can feel curious eyes on you as yoh walk in the hallway, and you cant tell if its because you have something on your face or because you’re repeating an outfit.

“Y/n.” You hear Jungwon call you, you turn around. He must’ve just finished practice since he’s still wearing some sweats and his hair and stuck on his forehead.

You dont even have time to say anything as he immediately takes your wrist, taking you with him to the locker room. Thankfully each person of the dance class has a personal locker room, so there’s no fear of anyone getting in. He locks the door and looks at you, you’ve never seen him so mad. “Where have you been?”

“Why do you care?” “Y/n.” You sigh, you’ve thought a lot about what to do with him. You obviously dont feel like playing anymore, so many things ruined this game of yours by now that if Jungwon were someone else you would’ve already let him go. But thats the fact, you cant let Jungwon go. You enjoy his presence and god, the way he kisses you…

“Jungwon i dont owe you any explanation, now can i go to class?” You get closer to the door but Jungwon stops you, his hand going through his hair. “No. Y/n do you understand that i havent heard from you for almost a week? You cant yell at me to not talk to you or touch you and then vanish!”

“You’re getting attached.” You cant even look at him in the eyes, you’re tired of all of this and wish you never spoke to him that day months ago. You need to push him away before this turn out badly. “Dont tell me you arent.” He gets closer to you, his fingers under your chin so you can look at him. “You missed me, didn’t you?” He asks and you chuckle sarcastically at that.

Missed him? You might have missed the way he touches you, but you didn’t miss him as a person. Its not so easy for you to just get attached, especially after what you found out. “You’re only going to bring me even more troubles.” as you say that Jungwon’s hands slowly start to wonder on your body, but you still look at him in the same cold way.

“I thought that was the exciting part.” he gets even closer, his nose brushing with yours before he moves down on your face, giving gentle bites to you. You try not to get distracted, but your heart is already beating so hard its becoming hard to. “You dont know how much i missed your pretty self.” His voice comes out lower than usual, even a bit raspy, it makes your whole body chill.

This is when you realize that he’s not any different from you. You’ve been manipulating and controlling each other this whole time, and now you cant let him go the same way he’s obsessed with you. You close your eyes when he starts biting your neck, his right hand on your thigh.

“Jungwon.. whatever this is… it needs to be over.” But not even you can believe your words, and he’s barely hearing you by the way his hands are slowly going up your thighs. “And what exactly is this, pretty? We’re not dating, we’re barely friends, nor you’ve ever made me touch you properly. We cant stop something that doesn’t exist.”

you feel his lips coming back to your cheek, before he bites your lips. You open your eyes slightly, he’s right after all, theres nothing to stop in the first place. you’re already breathing quite heavily, his hands resting under your skirt. you look at his lips before leaning in, he catches them in a kiss immediately, pushing you back to the door. Your hands on his shoulders meanwhile his grip on your thighs gets stronger. “Good girl. You look so pretty when you listen to me.”

He picks you up, your legs intertwining on his waist, his hands under you ass. He then sits you down on the washer, thank god this school is so rich to afford that. You moan when you feel his teeth sink in your tongue and then bottom lip, one thing about this boy is that he loves to bite. “Tell me if you ever want to stop…” He whispers.

Jungwon slowly goes down, your skirt is short enough that it makes it easier for him to slide his hands under it, his fingers playing with the hem of your underwear. You’re against the idea of doing anything in public, but this is a closed room, with no windows or cameras, you can let yourself relax for now. You feel his bites on your thighs, which makes you giggle a little, he really loves your legs.

Jungwon leaves a couple of marks on the inside of your thighs, your hand on your mouth so that the sounds dont get out too loud. Before you can even register what is really happening, he pulls your panties down and opens your legs completely. Your free hand goes to his hair and he gets up to give you another kiss.

“We dont have time for the full thing..” He says between kisses, his fingers already tracing your opening. Its embarassing how wet you are just from teasing. He then slides his first finger in, making me whine through the kiss, he doesn’t move it immediately, but you can feel his thumb already going to circle your clit. You moan, trying your best to not be too loud, its crazy how he already made you forget what you were talking about.

You bite his shoulder as your head comes to rest on the crook of his neck, he keeps pleasuring you slowly, pumping his finger in and out before sliding in another one. “Fuck.. i can barely fit two in..” You close your eyes, your hands still in his hair meanwhile he kisses your head and cheeks, whispering so much dirty stuff in your ear.

“Jungwon.. am close” He goes faster at your words, wet sounds all over the room, your teeth sinking on his shoulder are most likely going to leave a mark. “Let go pretty, cum on my fingers.” I doesnt take you long before you actually do, his fingers full of your juices. Your legs are still shaking when he puts your panties back on, Jungwon kisses your lips once more before taking a step back.

You take a few seconds to regain your composure, your head still dizzy from what just happened. Jungwon laughs as he sees your red cheeks, finding you very much adorable. “Fucking asshole,” You breathe out, looking at him as he changes his clothes. “I hate how good you are at distracting me.”

He laughs again, shaking his head. You finally find enough balance to get up, Jungwon looks at you, shirt in his hand meanwhile he is wearing none. “Am i distracting you?” “Dickhead.” “You’re gonna run out of insults.” You roll your eyes annoyed, how can he be so damn infuriating and hot at the same time you still dont know.

You wash your face and make yourself presentable again before going towards the door. He looks at you with a smirk on his face, it makes you want to punch him so damn hard. “Call me when you’re feeling stressed, pretty. Looks like it worked taking your mind off of some things.” “Oh fuck off.”

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author’s note hehe today we’re getting two chapters to thank you all for 100 followers!! i didnt even have this account until last week so this is so so crazy to me. Once again thank u all sm for the support <3

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[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍: Car Sex w/ Dean Winchester

a/n: for the first time in the last six days this day was not prewritten! that kind of worries me because i've been doing so good being on time but never fear, i'll make it work!

masterlist | kinktober masterlist | AO3

The way you ended up here was a total accident – at least, that’s what you like to tell yourself, that is. 

You weren’t attracted to Dean by any means, no no, don’t get it twisted; yes, you may think he’s handsome. Yes, you sometimes fantasize about what it would be like if you were the one that he was taking home that night, but it was totally normal to think those thoughts about your friends… right?

It was like everything that you had ever known, that you had ever told yourself had melted away into nothing as you found yourself in the backseat of the Impala, nails digging into Dean’s broad, naked shoulders as he bounced you up and down on his thick cock. He buried his face in your neck, heavy pants brushing against the sensitive skin that sent a shiver down your spine, a whimper escaping your throat when his tip brushed your g-spot.

It was kind of hard to remember how you may have ended up in this predicament, especially since Dean was  too busy fucking you into next week. Maybe it was the sexual innuendos that were rather consistent these last couple of weeks, or maybe the quick glances and secret shared moments when you’d knock into each other in the middle of the night, eyes devouring one another from the inside out as you’d bid lustful goodnights – even though you noticed the way Dean’s hands were tensed, flexing as he walked away.

You thought that maybe being away from the bunker would help with the fact that you often found yourself falling asleep after rubbing furiously at your needy clit, Dean’s name always on the tip of your tongue but never daring to slip past your lips. 

It was obvious that being locked up in a stuffy hotel room was going to be the death of you, even after the hunt was over. All it took was suggesting you, Sam, and Dean take a trip to the local dive bar to end up losing a game you hadn’t even had a chance at winning.

The windows were fogged and the car was sweltering, but that didn’t deter either of you. Months upon months of swelling tension had bubbled to the surface which was portrayed in Dean’s hard thrusts and your harsh bouncing.

“‘You feel so fuckin’ good, sweetheart.” He grunted, moving his head so that his lips brushed the shell of your ear. His stubble burned at your skin.

There was no gentleness in the way he fucked you, just pure depravity fueling your needy gripping. You took advantage of your position to caress and stroke as you pleased, just in case this was a one time thing.

“Can’t believe I finally get to fuck you,” He grunted, lifting you up to then slam you down on his cock. If the car wasn’t rocking before, it definitely was now. “Shit!” You cried out, throwing your head back.

“You know how long I’ve been wanting to feel this sweet pussy? God,” He cursed when you squeezed him. “Fuckin’ years.” He finished with a slap on your ass, sending you jolting in his lap.

‘Years?’ You would have asked, but all of your words died in your throat when you felt his cock jab at your g-spot once again. 

“Me too.” Was all you were able to whimper out. “Yeah?” He questioned through a smirk. “Mhm!” You confirmed through curled lips. “‘Would always wish I was those girls that you took home.” A hand descended from your hip up your chest to cup your breast, his finger pinching a nipple. “Ah! And I- and I would always wonder about what you would do to them, how it would feel.”

“Do you know now, sweetheart? Huh?” He cooed.

“Yeah! Yes, yes I do!” You quickly corrected yourself.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @murdadixon @zippertwat @hallecarey1 @alixwriter

[chrissv4mp]

just me and you and you and me, alone

reader x ethan landry

inspired by 'teddy bear' by melanie martinez !!

warnings: dead body, weapon(s), strong language (lmk if i missed any)

do not repost for any reason at all.

"my parents are gone for the week, so it'll just be me and you." ethan smiled, closing the door behind you before quietly locking it.

you hummed in response, your backpack full of clothes and essentials hanging off your shoulder.

ethan caught up with you as you made your way down the hall to his room, grabbing your backpack and carrying it into his room.

you smiled, following him.

"you seem more energetic than usual, what's going on?" you asked, a smirk on your face.

the brunette boy shrugged as he placed your backpack on his bed, "just excited that we can finally be alone, i guess."

the feeling was mutual. and he was right, you guys never had time alone. and when you guys were alone, someone would always come along and ruin it. this was nice for a change.

"hey, i'm gonna go to the bathroom." ethan hummed in response, too busy unpacking your things to process your words.

you walked out of his room, making your way down the hall and checking every door that you passed along the way. none of then were bathrooms.

as you reached the end of the hall, where the front door was, you turned to face the stairs, sighing, "how is there not a bathroom downstairs?"

after you got upstairs, you continued your search for a bathroom, opening every door you could see. until your attention turned to a hallway with three doors.

one of them had to be a bathroom, right?

you opened the first one, it was a guest bedroom.

the second one was a closet.

as you reached for the doorknob of the third door, you crossed your fingers, hoping that it was a bathroom.

it creaked as you slowly opened it, and you shut your eyes.

as you opened them, you let out a relieved sigh, smiling. as you stepped into the bathroom, your foot hit something and it brushed against your shoe.

your smile fades instantly as you looked down. the bathroom floor was bloody, and there he was, the boy from your physics class, on the floor. dead.

he wasn't moving, his eyes were still wide open and his neck had been sliced open. you hadn't seen anything like it before.

"wha-- what the fuck..?" you slapped a hand over your mouth to cover your gasp.

you stumbled back, your knees feeling like they were going to buckle. you wanted to scream, wanted to run out the front door and cry for help. but you couldn't.

ethan, your boyfriend, was just downstairs. who knows what he would do to you if he knew what you had found.

but then your eyes went impossibly wider.

your shoes were white. and blood wasn't exactly the easiest thing to get off of it.

"shit, shit, shit, shit! you muttered, balling your hands into fists.

maybe you could get out of the house quietly. maybe he wouldn't notice. just maybe.

you walked back down the hall, getting to the railing. you leaned over it, checking to see if ethan was done with unpacking.

your hand flew to your mouth, muffling your heavy breathing as you saw the boy.

you stumbled back once again, hitting the wall with a loud thud.

ethan perked up, his shoulders tensing as he raised an eyebrow, "y/n? are you okay?"

he turned his head to the stairs, slowly making his way up them.

your ears caught up on the creaking sounds of the wood, and your heart was beating so loud you were sure anybody who got close to you could hear it.

before he could get all the upstairs, you spotted a door you had opened earlier. it was another guest bedroom. you quickly ran into it, closing the door quietly before locking it.

your eyes went all around the room, looking for a place to hide. the closet? the bathroom? underneath the bed?

"y/n? where'd you go?" he called again, this time his voice further away.

you shuddered at the sound of your name falling from his mouth.

ethan walked down the dark hallway, his body more tense than before. he noticed that the doors were open. all of them. including the bathroom door.

his eyes widened, and he stood still, his hands balling into fists. he held them so tight his knuckles turned white, and then he let himself freak.

"fuck!" he screamed.

you winced at the sound, and you hurried to hide under the bed.

"y/n, baby, come on out! it's not what it looks like." ethan pleaded, his breathing heavy as he rushed to open every single door upstairs.

he reached into his back pocket, grabbing his pocket knife and flipping the blade out, gripping it tightly.

as he reached for the guest bedroom door handle, his hand shook.

the door handle rattled as he tried to open it.

"why are you hiding? y/n, i would never do anything to hurt you. just come out and we can talk, yeah?"

you stayed quiet, tears falling from your eyes as you held yourself tightly.

ethan waited and waited. and when the 5 minute mark hit, his patience with you ran out.

his fist hit the door with a loud bang, and he screamed, "i'm done playing games, y/n, come the fuck out of there!"

no response.

ethan huffed, taking a step back before kicking the door with all his strength.

he didn't stop. he wouldn't until the door opened.

he did it again.

and again.

and again.

until the door faltered and swung open, hitting the wall before bouncing back slowly.

ethan breathed heavily, and he pushed the door open again, stepping into the room as he gripped his knife tightly.

"come on out, baby. don't be shy."

[jhugas]

‘Of Course Baby.’- Jung Hoseok

✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

Genre: Drabble, smut, fluff at the end♡

Pairing: military! Hoseok X Reader

Summary: You needed him one last time before he left again..

Word count: ~1,2k

Warnings/tags: Buffed!Hoseok, military!Hoseok, big dick lol, kissing over his boxers, oral (m receiving), making out, cums in her mouth, unprotected sex, he cums twice, cunt penetration, stand up sex (he carries her), rough sex, creampie, clothed sex.

✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

‘Don’t go babe~’ you tell him as he’s ready to leave the apartment early.

‘I have to, next time we’ll see each other we’ll spend another amazing week, alright?’ He said trying to comfort you.

He was leaving for the military again and was already wearing his uniform.

And though you had enough time this whole week to do as you pleased together, you wanted more, just one last thing.

‘Please baby…’ you whisper with a pout while locking eyes with him.

He then gets closer to you and whispers back ‘What do you want?’.

‘You know what I want…’ you answer him, meanwhile your hands start caressing his buffed chest, fingers going over his covered nipples before going straight to the point and holding his bulge entirely in your hands, squeezing it.

His leg twitches at the sudden touch but he doesn’t reject it, instead, he puts his hands over yours that’s on his crotch, and asks you one more time ‘Are you sure?’.

You nod immediately, and he starts moving his hand with yours on his cock on the side of his pants.

You can feel his cock getting harder and harder as you hear his breath becoming irregular.

Your lips then reach out for his, connecting each other like a puzzle and sucking his bottom lips, nibbling on it before his tongue starts playing with you.

Now that you were both making out and things were getting really heated.

You decided to unbutton his pants, pulling them down just enough to see his cock entirely in his Calvin Klein boxers.

You pull your lips away from his, then get down on your knees and get close to his boner. And to make it better for him, you try to arch your back as much as possible to make your ass more visible for him.

Indeed, when you looked up to him after, you got to see him looking at you with his siren eyes and a smirk, admiring your face and position from his point of view.

You couldn’t lose any more time.

You start kissing lightly his thigh before reaching his boxers and kissing his crotch, then finally, kissing his length over the tissue.

You place a few wet kisses from the top to his bottom and once you reached his tip, immediately wrapped your lips around it, making sure your spit passes through the tissue as you suck it like a lollipop.

You can hear Hoseok moaning, and you moan back with his tip in between your lips, making him feel vibrations.

But he needed more… he pulled you away then got his dick out of his boxers before pulling you back in harshly, his tip hitting the back of your throat.

He has his hands on your head, holding your hair as he pushes himself in and out your mouth recklessly, because nothing turned him more on than your gagging and wet sounds coming from your mouth, or pussy.

He feels himself already hitting his high as you suck him off like a pro, and indeed, a minute later he found himself pushing himself as deep as possible as he releases his cum down your throat.

Afterwards, he pulled out and took your hand, then carried you to get you up. He kissed your lips, as you tried to stand up correctly while your pussy was making wet sounds.

And when Hoseok heard your pussy begging for his thick cock, he knew he had to please you.

‘Fuck me please… I need you inside…’ you said with the strength you had left, and he answered without any doubt ‘Of course baby.’. But since there wasn’t any place to lay down, he thought he’d just do something he always wanted to try, have sex with you, standing up.

First, he took off your pants and panties with his strong hand, then he picked you up by your ass, making your legs wrap around him as his cock was fit and ready to penetrate you.

‘Can you really do this?’ You ask him, scared that he wouldn’t be able to pull this position the entire time.

‘Of course I can.’ He answered with confidence. Indeed, you could feel his strength in his arms, he could probably do this all day actually.

He quickly spits on his hand and spreads it on his hard cock, before finally getting you lower and pushing his tip into your wet cunt, making you feel him entirely and each inch of him.

You moaned deeply when he entered you, and then he started pounding in you, already finding your sweet spot and making you see stars around you.

There was something incredibly hot about him being able to carry you, make you jump up and down on his dick while he was standing up. Clapping sounds and loud moans were resonating around the room.

He was someone that always encouraged you to be as loud as needed, he always made sure you were confident about your body and moans and always empowered them.

‘You look so good baby.’ ‘Louder. Your moans are so hot…’ ‘I wish I could picture your pretty ass right now.’

Are the sentences that he said all of the time.

Meanwhile, he kept on making you feel so full and secured, his strong arms making sure you don’t fall off while he hits your sweet spot continuously, making your orgasm come fast to you.

‘I’m gonna- I’m gonna cum.’ You warned with a breathy voice.

‘Me too, I’m close.’ He answered.

Your legs started shaking around him, being completely vulnerable and putting your whole weight on him as he kept on carrying you easily.

Then you arched your back as he leaned back and pushed himself the deepest possible in you. Meanwhile, he kept a hand on your ass to keep you close and secured, and used his other to cup your face and make you look at him.

You scream of pleasure and once you felt his cum releasing in a rush inside you, you released yours, making both of your juices mix up in your one spot.

You kept eye contact the whole time, but once you came down from your high, you felt so exhausted your eyes closed alone.

He finally pulled out, and tried to make you stand up but it’s impossible for you in this state, so instead, he picked you back up, brought you to your bed and kissed you softly.

‘I’m sorry I can’t properly give you an aftercare or cuddle with you, but you know I’d love to. I have to go now… I’ll text you a lot, goodbye love.’

He said before kissing your forehead, then leaving silently.

When you woke up, you went to the kitchen and saw a paper on the table;

‘I love you♡ rest well and keep pictures of me close to you. I’ll be thinking of you and looking at your pictures before going to sleep every night, as always. I’ll be back soon. - yours (aka future husband)♡’

Thank you for reading! Likes, reblogs and comments are really really appreciated🫶🏻

Masterlist :)