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ak319 · 13 days ago

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Lovesick A.M x f!reader

--★ Rose Hats and Rough Hearts

(AN: So, a fic idea I have serves as an inspo for this one-shot. The reader is a morally gray character and doesn't like being part of the gang. Anyway, enjoy reading!.) Syno: When her sharp tongue turns on Dutch, Arthur wonders if she’s gone too far, or if he’s fallen too deep. Warnings/MDNI: Age gap (you are in early 20's and Arthur is 30-31), pining, angst, fluff. ✰ -11k.

“Well, wasn’t that easy? Been a long time since I enjoyed a robbery like that,” Hosea chuckled, tugging down his bandana.

Arthur glanced at the bag tied to the horse, heavy with valuables, and gave a small nod. “Definitely.”

The two rode at a leisurely pace, the quiet night stretching around them like a blanket, the stars casting a soft glow over the landscape. Arthur’s eyes drifted as they moved, catching on a patch of bushes nearby.

Roses.

Even in the faint starlight, their delicate shapes stood out, and an idea bloomed in his mind.

“Uh, Hosea,” Arthur started, breaking the calm, “I’ve got an errand to run.”

“An errand? At this time of night?” Hosea raised a brow, his tone lightly scolding. “You oughta rest now, son. You’ve earned it.”

“No, no,” Arthur replied quickly, waving it off. “Just need to head into town for a bit. Won’t be long, don’t you worry.”

Hosea paused for a moment, then gave a knowing smile and nodded. “Alright, if you say so. Just don’t go gettin’ yourself into trouble.”

He handed Hosea the score and with a final farewell, the two parted ways, Arthur veering off towards the town, his thoughts already on the next step of his plan.

Arthur arrived at the shop and dismounted, but instead of heading inside, he lingered by his horse, running a hand over the animal’s neck. Was this even a good idea? Why was it all so damn complicated?

There’s no harm in buying something, right? Just a harmless gesture. He could figure out what to do with it later... later.

For days now, it had been the same cycle.

Don’t think about her. Just don’t.

There’s no harm in it, right?

And yet he does.

Don’t look at her, it’s strange. Keep your distance.

A few stolen glances don’t mean anything when she’s far away, right?

And yet he does.

Don’t buy her a gift. What kind of fool even does that? Who is he to her, anyway?

And here he is, standing outside the shop, heart pounding like a damn fool, a love fool.

“Yes, sir? How may I help you? By the way, there’s a 5% discount on the winter stock. Perhaps you’d like to try the waistcoats?”

Arthur scratched the back of his neck, his eyes drifting around the shop. Was he in the right place? He scanned the shelves and displays until his gaze landed on the wall.

Yes, there it was. The item he’d noticed before.

“Can you show me that hat?”

The shopkeeper immediately retrieved it with a practiced hand and held it out with a smile. “Our latest and most popular piece, sir. Only $22.”

Arthur took the hat, turning it over in his hands. The black leather gleamed, unscathed and pristine, a far cry from his well-worn one. His eyes lingered on the rose corsage affixed to the middle, subtle but striking.

He stepped toward the mirror, setting the hat on his head, and studied his reflection. It was a fine hat

“Goes perfectly with your outfit, sir,” the shopkeeper remarked, his voice warm with flattery.

Arthur’s lips curled into a faint smile, but it quickly faded as he turned back to the shelves. “I saw a scarf, too. The one with the, uh... rose pattern.”

“Oh, the women’s one! Let me fetch it for you.”

The shopkeeper moved swiftly, his hands deftly retrieving the scarf. He prattled on about its fine quality and craftsmanship, but Arthur barely registered the words. They flew past him like horses leaping over a fence.

His thoughts were elsewhere, on you. On how the scarf would look wrapped around your neck, the way it might frame your face. The image was enough to push him to hand over the dollar bills for both items, not even noticing he’d given more than what was asked.

The shopkeeper’s voice called out behind him, but Arthur had already turned, mounting his Irish Draught, Clover, and riding off without a second glance.

He’d be wearing the rose hat, and you’d be wearing the scarf. The thought sat heavy in his chest, a strange mix of warmth and unease. Was he really going to give it to you now?

The wind tugged at his coat, but it couldn’t scatter the doubts and questions circling his mind. Was this... a confession?

Would you, confounding as you were, with your quicksilver moods and quiet distance, accept anything from him? You, who rarely spared him more than a glance, choosing instead to linger with the girls, Molly especially.

It ate at him sometimes, the way you seemed so unreachable. Always just out of his grasp, moving through the camp like a wisp of smoke, untouchable and wholly your own. And yet, he couldn’t stop watching. Couldn’t stop wanting.

You didn’t belong here, not like him, at least. You carried yourself with an air of defiance, tethered to the camp not by loyalty but necessity. A reluctant, bitter presence that had no reason to look twice at someone as rooted in this life as he was.

He saw the way you didn’t fit, the way you wanted to leave. And maybe that’s why the thought of you wearing the scarf--his scarf now--stirred something fierce inside him. The idea that, for once, he might give you something that tethered you to him, however briefly. Better than being tied to someone else. God, you have made him so selfish.

He clenched the scarf tighter, his jaw set. Maybe it wasn’t much, but it was a start.

He didn’t know much about you, except years ago when one day he came to the camp and discovered that Hosea and Bessie had found somewhere, taken you in, and raised you as their own as they always wanted a child. Nobody in the camp knew where they found you except perhaps Dutch but it was never told properly and he didn't pry much too, no one really did. Everything had been fine-peaceful, even, until Bessie passed.

After that, you’d wanted out. To leave the camp, carve out a life of your own, away from the shadow of the gang. But Hosea couldn’t let you go. He was your father, after all, the one who had protected you, shielding you from the blood and grime of their world just as Bessie had wished for.

And then there was himself whose hands were drenched in blood.

All of this screamed doom. Yet, he was doomed... doomed by his stupid feelings and that desperate longing to have someone to call his own, to have someone waiting for him. A foolish wish, considering the life he’d led, the blood he’d spilled, and the world he was tied to.

He slowed the stallion, the weight of bubbling anxiety and frustration pressing down on him. God, it was all a mess. Even if he could manage to stop thinking for a while, to quiet the storm in his head... when he'd return to the camp and see you again, just going about your business, sulking in some corner after an argument, or throwing those sharp, witty remarks, especially at Pearson as you cooked, that pull, that ache, would come rushing back.

Curiosity was the root of it all. He just wanted to know. Why? Why were you like this? Was it because of Molly, how she’d twisted your heart with her bitterness, making you turn your back on Dutch and the rest of the gang? Or did you simply not care at all about any of them?

He huffed at the thought of the stew you probably made, not out of love, but out of duty, or maybe a touch of malice. If it tasted so good, made with nothing but spite, he couldn’t help but wonder how much better it would be if you made it with love.

❀˖°

With a final pat to Clover’s neck, Arthur made his way back to camp, greeting the men as he passed. But there was something off, a silence hanging heavier than usual. He made his way toward Dutch, figuring he might have some thoughts on the score with Hosea.

"Dutch?"

The older man turned his head slightly, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips as he exhaled a cloud of smoke, his gaze fixed on the lake.

"Arthur."

Before Arthur could speak, Dutch continued, his tone slow, almost contemplative. "You know we’re a family, right? That everything we do is for each other, not just for ourselves..."

"Of course, Dutch," Arthur replied, trying to understand where this was coming from.

Dutch chuckled softly, the sound more gravel than humor, before crushing the cigar underfoot with a casual motion. "Some people, immature people, just can't seem to understand that."

With that, Dutch turned and walked back to his tent, leaving Arthur standing there.

"Is... something the matter?" Arthur asked, his voice laced with curiosity and concern.

"Thing? No, someone is the matter." Dutch’s words were sharp, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at Arthur.

Arthur gave him an impatient look, silently urging him to get to the point. This wasn’t how he’d planned to spend the evening. Not at all. He’d been hoping to retreat to his tent, to let his mind drift into thoughts of you, to finally sit and think about the gift he’d picked out for you, wondering if you'd even notice if you'd even like it. He could already picture himself, the soft scarf fabric between his fingers, tracing the rose pattern as his thoughts wandered, imagining what it would feel like to wrap it around your neck... his gift for you.

Dutch exhaled sharply, clearly agitated. "Hosea has let her get away with too much. You know what she did? When Hosea returned to drop off the share from your little endeavour, she-" He cut himself off with a frustrated growl. "She thought I wasn’t here. She came charging out, and started an argument, telling him he was doing the wrong thing--the wrong thing! Can you believe that?"

Dutch shook his head in disbelief. "She actually had the nerve to say that, Arthur. And that instead of doing this--helping us all--he should be out saving for them both and getting away from this life." He paused, his chest rising with each breath. "I swear, Arthur... turning one of my most trusted men, a friend, against me? Over some damn bills? But Hosea... being Hosea...what does he do? Runs out of camp to bring her back."

"So what did you suggest?!" Hosea’s voice cut through the tension as he entered the tent, his eyes flashing with frustration. "Let my daughter go out in the wild alone? At night? How could you do that, say 'get lost' just like that? Knowing she will take it seriously? She grew up right in front of you!"

Dutch’s face tightened at Hosea’s outburst, his anger simmering. "Oh, so it hurt her ego, huh?! Like I care. For me , nothing’s worse than a selfish, disloyal piece of trash that you just had to take in because-"

"Enough! No!" Hosea snapped, his voice sharp as a whip. "Don’t you dare bring that up."

With a heavy sigh, Hosea turned on his heel, walking away from the confrontation, leaving Dutch to seethe in silence.

Dutch watched him go, muttering under his breath, "Take those damn dollars you bestowed on us, Hosea, and gift her a house, for all I care! Fine by my ass!"

Arthur’s mind was a tangled mess, unable to process the whirlwind of events. So much had happened, so many emotions he could hardly keep up. Confusion clouded his mind, frustration clawed at his chest, exhaustion weighed down on his bones, and fury burned in his gut. But none of it made sense. He couldn't even figure out who--or what--his anger was really directed at.

Was it you? Was it your reckless, thoughtless actions that set this all in motion? Or was it Dutch's words and how casually he was ready to kick a girl out, kick you out, just like that?

It was at both.

It was both, but more than anything, it was you. Because you’d started it, hadn’t you? You always had a problem with Dutch’s authority, even when you kept your sweet little mouth shut. It was in your eyes, those eyes. The eyes he could never get enough of, the ones he craved to meet his own. If only for a second. A second where the same longing, the same hunger for something more, reflected back at him.

But instead, there you were. Acting like everything was just... nothing. Like none of it mattered. Like he didn’t matter. You went out there, reckless, careless, as if you could just walk away from everything. From him. How fucking could you? What if it had gotten worse and someone just decided to harm you in the camp and even Hosea couldn't do anything-

"Arthur?"

"U-Um, yes?"

Dutch’s sharp gaze fixed on him, deliberate and piercing. He let the silence stretch just long enough to unsettle, his expression unreadable. "What do you think? Hm?"

"About...what happened? I--it’s... yeah, she shouldn’t have said that," Arthur muttered, the words clumsy and heavy on his tongue.

Dutch hummed, a slow and pointed sound, as though weighing Arthur’s response and finding it just barely acceptable. Arthur didn’t wait for more. He muttered a farewell and slipped out of the tent, the cool air doing little to clear the haze in his mind.

His eyes found Hosea almost immediately. The old man was sitting on his bedroll, his posture stiff and guarded. His eyes screamed of hurt, Dutch's words had affected him deeply. After some seconds his eyes would flicker at your tent. The sight made Arthur’s chest ache. Hosea’s protectiveness was undeniable.

Because no matter how much Hosea wanted to protect you, Arthur wanted something deeper, something more selfish.

What the hell am I even thinking? he chastised himself, shaking his head. She’s not my responsibility. She’s not mine.

He wanted to say something to Hosea, to offer comfort or at least commiseration, but his feet wouldn’t move. Instead, he turned away, retreating to his own tent with a heavy sigh. Once inside, he shut the flaps, placed his hat on the table, and dropped onto the cot with a grunt of annoyance.

Reaching for the scarf, Arthur held it above him, the dim light tracing over its soft, silken material. He let it graze his face, the faint scent of the shop lingering on it, but it was his mind that did the real work. He imagined the fabric tangled in your hair, how it would feel wrapped around you as he held you close. He could almost feel the tickle of those strands against his skin, his breath hot against the side of your neck.

The thought of having you here, in his arms, that close, his hands gripping you, pulling you to him, ignited something fierce inside him. It wasn’t just the touch. It was the idea that you could be his, fully, if only you’d let him. He clenched the scarf tighter, frustration and something darker simmering in his chest.

With that vision playing in his mind, he let the scarf fall, draping it across his face and chest, the weight of it somehow both comforting and unbearable.

Lying there in the dark, his lips brushed over the fabric absently, and a bitter smile tugged at his lips. It was maddening, the way you consumed his thoughts without even trying. Even now, with frustration still simmering under his skin, all he wanted was to see you, to watch your expression, even if it meant enduring one of your scowls.

You little menace, I swear one of these days I might just lose my patience.

But you didn’t care, did you? You’d stormed out, reckless and fiery, with no thought of him or anyone, not even yourself. And here he was, lying alone, haunted by the feeling of silk and the ghost of a life he’d never have. With a frustrated grunt, Arthur shifted onto his side, clutching it closer, the tension in his body growing. He couldn't help but think if he had been here earlier, he would have tied you to him, not out of malice, but out of desperate, aching need. The kind of need that he couldn’t push down, no matter how much he tried. The kind that made him crave something from you that you didn’t even know you had to give. Something more. Something that would finally make you stay.

Sleep wouldn’t come easily.

He wanted you to feel it, to bear the same punishment he carried every night. To know what it was like to lie awake, tormented by the thought of someone you couldn’t have, unable to chase the fleeting peace of sleep because they haunted you in ways you couldn’t name. He wanted you to understand how it felt to be unraveled by longing, to have your very being tethered to someone who wouldn’t even look your way.

But then...what was he even saying?

Why did he keep forgetting the truth? That you didn’t deserve his anger, his silent pleas for recognition. That the fault wasn’t yours for not seeing him, no, it was his for daring to want you in the first place. Of course, you wouldn’t ever look at him that way. He was older, too far removed from your world, your interests, your life. And he knew, deep down, that you wouldn’t ever imagine, not in a thousand years, that someone like him could ever be interested in you. Even he could admit it, this was all stupid, unexpected, and nothing more than a fantasy.

And still, knowing this, he couldn’t stop himself. The heart never makes sense, does it? It doesn’t listen to reason or its owner, dragging you where it pleases, no matter the cost. Even he, a man who prided himself on control, had been reduced to a mere servant of its whims.

His fingers curled around the scarf as if it could somehow hold the pieces of him together. As if its softness could soothe the fire that burned inside him, one that you had lit and would never know.

Meanwhile, you lay in bed, staring at the worn canvas of the tent above. You weren’t leaving this tent. Not now. Not later. Not for anyone. They could all be damned for all you cared, it had all been damned ever since your mother died.

She was your anchor, the one thing tethering you to any sense of stability. And the moment she was gone, the world had cracked open, spilling truths you’d long suspected but never wanted confirmed. You weren’t really theirs. You weren’t their daughter.

Hosea refused to tell you why or how you ended up here, tucked into the folds of their chaos. But the truth was, you didn’t care anymore. You were tired. Tired of the games, the blind loyalty to Dutch’s every whim, the endless cycle of running and stealing and pretending any of it had meaning.

All you wanted was a normal life, a roof over your head that didn’t leak when it rained, a place where fear didn’t cling to the walls like smoke. But that dream stayed out of reach, just like everything else. Hosea wouldn’t let you go. He was scared to lose you, to lose something that was never even his.

Pathetic.

That’s what it was. That’s what they all were. And maybe Molly was right, Dutch’s charm was nothing but poison, bleeding into everything and everyone

"Bastard..."

You wanted a job, something stable to call your own. Or, if that wasn’t in the cards, maybe just to find some rich fool to marry so you could finally live in peace. Far from all this chaos. But no, these people couldn’t leave well enough alone, they had to loot every rich soul they came across.

Leave someone for me to marry at least, you scoffed bitterly, lips curling in a faint, humourless smile.

Sigh.

Dream on, (Y/N). Dream on.

Hosea’s familiar voice drifted in from nearby, low and steady as he spoke with Abigail. No doubt she was serving him food since you hadn’t bothered to. The sound grated on you, making you roll your eyes and turn to the other side of your bedroll. It wouldn’t be long, two days, maximum, before Hosea came to lecture you, or worse, dragged you out of this tent himself.

He was always so damn strict when it came to pulling your weight.

But right now?

Screw it. Screw him. Screw all of them.

Let them fend for themselves.

❀˖°

"Why do you do all this?"

Not did that. Do this.

Arthur’s voice was low, almost fragile, but there was a weight to it. A question layered with meanings he couldn’t bring himself to say outright. He just hoped you’d hear it, the real question, underneath the words. His gaze stayed fixed on the worn soles of your shoes, watching as you scrubbed at the dishes with an edge of restrained aggression that didn’t go unnoticed.

The sight would be funny to anyone in the camp right now. He was reduced to barely speaking above a whisper when it came to you, his usual steady tone faltering in a way it never did with anyone else. Whilst you were the only one who wasn't afraid of even him. While others tiptoed around him, wary of the weight his presence carried, you treated him with the same indifference, the same biting sharpness that you spared for everyone else.

Dammit, he fucking loved it.

It wasn’t fear he wanted from you, not respect or even obedience. It was something, anything, that showed he wasn’t just another face in the camp to you. It made him feel like that was all he was. Just another man under Dutch rule.

And it was maddening.

"I could ask the same question to everyone here," you replied, voice steady but sharp, like a blade dulled just enough to wound without cutting too deep.

"But you know the answer," he countered, quieter now, his words almost swallowed by the night air.

"And you do too," you shot back, turning slightly to glance over your shoulder, "but here you are. Playing the mediator of sorts."

Arthur exhaled sharply, his gaze falling to the ground as if the weight of your words had struck him in the chest. For someone who claimed to want nothing to do with this place, with these people, you had an uncanny way of stirring up trouble within it.

Perhaps you wanted that. You wanted to get kicked out.

He wanted to throw the thought out into the open, let it snap between you like a taut rope. But the bitterness in your tone, the heaviness in your stance, made him hesitate. Throwing oil on the fire wasn’t going to do either of you any good, not today.

"You’re wasting your breath on someone who isn't listening to whatever you have to say."

"Then I’ll just keep talkin’ until you do," he shot back, his voice low but resolute.

"Do whatever, I don't care. This place is full of people barking orders and trying to be big. Pft. How adorable."

At least spare me a glance. Just one.

"If you don't care about yourself, then at least do it for Hosea." His voice was strained, laced with a desperation he couldn't quite hide.

That made you turn, finally, but the look you gave him was anything but kind. Your gaze was sharp, cutting, laced with a mix of disdain and challenge. "Oh, so now you're worried about me being a bad daughter or something?" you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm. "I wonder if you all think the same way when you're out there making other daughters cry, making women widows and destroying families without a second thought."

This was the longest conversation you both had. Ever. And damn it was a wrecked one.

Your lips curled into a humorless smile as you snorted, mocking. "Tsk, I bet that's an exception, right? Family only exists here." You pitched your voice to mimic Dutch's smooth drawl, the mockery biting. Then, as if dismissing him entirely, you turned back to the washing, your hands moving with renewed fervor, the sound of water splashing filling the silence.

Arthur stood there, jaw tight, the weight of your words sinking into him like stones in a river.

He stood rooted in place, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. He wanted to say something, needed to say something, but the words lodged themselves somewhere in his throat, refusing to come out. Maybe it was the truth in your words that had him stunned.

Before Arthur could find a way to steer the conversation elsewhere, Hosea stepped into the fray, his tone calm yet firm. “(Y/N)...dear, today or tomorrow, you’ve got to apologize to Dutch and bury this hatchet.”

Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly, looking off to the side, the tension in the air thick enough to choke on. His heart thumped unevenly as he anticipated your response.

You turned to Hosea sharply, your expression a volatile mix of shock and simmering fury. “You want me to apologize to him?! For what?” Your voice rose, cutting through the camp’s quiet. “Just for talking to you about something I’ve wanted to for so damn long?!”

Arthur’s head snapped back in your direction. He could see the fire in your eyes now, blazing and relentless, and it struck something in him. That fire, he both loved and hated it, craved it and feared it. It was the very thing that made you impossible to ignore, yet it was also what pushed you farther from him. And still, he couldn’t help but think how maddeningly beautiful you looked right now, even if it tore him apart to watch you lock yourself away further from everyone, including him.

Hosea sighed, his calm facade slipping just slightly. “It’s not about what was said, it’s about how it was said. Dutch... he’s not perfect, but he’s trying. We all are.”

Your laugh was hollow, bitter. “Trying? Trying to keep us all in line like dogs? Sure, that sounds like a real noble effort.” You crossed your arms, your gaze icy as it met Hosea’s. “If you want to grovel to Dutch, go ahead. But don’t drag me into it.”

Arthur shifted uncomfortably, his fingers brushing against his holster as if searching for something to ground himself. He knew that your words were not only directed at Hosea but him too.

“You’ve got too much pride,” Hosea muttered, shaking his head in exasperation.

“And you’ve got too much blind loyalty,” you shot back, unrelenting.

Hosea held your gaze, his own softening but remaining firm. "Look, let me say this again, this isn’t about the words you said, it’s about the way you said them. You can stand by your beliefs without tearing everyone else down in the process, sweetheart."

You scoffed, crossing your arms defensively. "So what? Dutch can tear everyone down, but when someone calls him out, it’s suddenly a problem?! That’s rich."

"It doesn't matter!" Hosea’s voice rose slightly before he caught himself, lowering it to a pleading tone. "And quiet down, don’t create a scene, again. Have mercy on your old man, at least. For now, we’re in the camp, and as long as we are, Dutch shouldn’t be disrespected like that. You can be as angry as you want with me, but please, just apologize to him. He’s always been like an uncle to you... (Y/N)."

You let out a bitter scoff, your lips curling in defiance. "And he's the one who clearly doesn't want me here but--fine...fine Papa," your hands slammed the plate down in the basin. "I’ll do whatever you say. Because, apparently, my words are nothing but bullets of disloyalty now. The same words that were once adorable wishes to you."

Your words hit like a lash, leaving Hosea standing frozen as you stormed off toward your tent. Arthur watched the older man, his chest tightening when he saw the same hurt settle in Hosea’s eyes, the kind of pain that only festers in the heart of someone who loves deeply and feels powerless.

"I wish..." Hosea began, his voice barely above a whisper, trembling under the weight of emotions he rarely let show. "I wish I never told her the truth... that she’s not my child. Maybe it messed her up... It broke me more than it broke her."

Arthur stepped forward, his boots crunching softly against the dirt as he hesitated for a moment before closing the distance. Hosea turned his head slightly, and Arthur's heart clenched when he saw the glint of tears streaking down the older man’s face. It was the second time Arthur had witnessed Hosea cry, the first being after Bessie's death.

"It... it terrified me," Hosea whispered, voice thick with emotion. "I kept thinkin' last night, what if one day I'm not here, and Dutch just turns on her like that? Sure, the women might object, but that’s it. They’re powerless against him. No one would stand up for her... and she'd be all alone..." He sniffed, wiping his eyes, trying to regain control. "And that’s what broke me, Arthur."

It broke me too...

Arthur stepped closer, his voice low but steady. "Jus' don't think about all that happened. Forget it and don't worry Dutch will forget about it. He won’t hold onto it, not like that. And she... she’ll forget too. You’ll see."

Hosea let out a dry chuckle, wiping a stray tear from his weathered cheek. "She? I don’t think so. Not about this. When it comes to this topic, she won’t let it go." He paused, leaning heavily against the wooden counter, his shoulders sagging as though the weight of years pressed harder in that moment. "I want it too, Arthur. The house, the quiet life… I want to give her that. But it’s not easy. It’s not."

He gestured vaguely toward the camp, the flickering lantern light catching in his tired eyes. "Leaving all this behind, all of you, it’d feel like... like a betrayal. Even if I left on a good note, it wouldn’t sit right. Do you get what I mean?"

Arthur nodded, his posture relaxing now that you weren’t there to sharpen the tension in the air. "Yeah," he said softly. "I think we all... kind of want that." His words trailed off, his thoughts unraveling into something more personal. Something he couldn’t bring himself to say.

I do. I want it... with you. Maybe. No...

Only.

Hosea turned his head to study him, an unspoken question hanging in the silence. Arthur caught the look and quickly shrugged it off, letting out a small exhale as if to clear the thought entirely. "Jus’ don’t let Dutch know," he muttered with a faint smirk. Hosea returned the gesture. " 'Course not. Let's go have some coffee, boy." He reached to pat the man's shoulder but Arthur’s hand shot out, grabbing Hosea’s with a suddenness that made the older man freeze. His eyes, wide and questioning, met Arthur’s with a flicker of concern, but also an understanding that something serious was coming.

"Um--there’s... something that I want to..." Arthur’s voice faltered as he cleared his throat. His gaze darted to the ground, to the side, anywhere but Hosea’s eyes. The same sheepish, uncertain look Hosea had seen a hundred times, but now it felt different.

Hosea arched a brow, waiting for him to continue. "Well, go on then. What did you do?"

Arthur’s mind was a mess, his thoughts tangled with nerves and fear. What the hell am I doing? His heart raced as his hand shook slightly. What the hell am I about to do?

His breath caught as he reached into the inside of his jacket, fingers brushing the fabric of the chest pocket where he’d hidden it. It was a decision that had plagued him for days, one that felt impossible to avoid now.

He pulled out the scarf--silken, covered in his scent, soft to the touch, but now burning in his hand like a symbol of everything he couldn’t say.

For her.

It’s for her.

"I- I bought this..." he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, as if saying the words aloud made them too real, too vulnerable.

Hosea’s face was unreadable at first, but then he saw the scarf, and a brief chuckle escaped him, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I thought it was clear I’m a man, Arthur."

The joke hit Arthur like a slap, and he couldn’t help but feel his chest tighten. God, this was harder than he’d imagined. His throat went dry, his fingers tightening around the scarf as if it could somehow anchor him, give him the courage to keep going. But he was drowning in hesitation.

Arthur’s cheeks flushed a deep pink, his entire body trembling with an emotion he couldn’t quite name. The thought of Hosea’s reaction, the uncertainty of what might follow this moment, made him question if he’d just made the biggest mistake of his life. Would Hosea kill him? Would he laugh at him? Or worse, would he pity him?

Hosea’s eyes bore into him, patient, yet expectant. "Well, boy?"

Arthur’s mouth went dry, but he forced the words out. "It’s for... (Y/N)."

For a moment, there was a stillness, and then to his shock, Hosea’s expression softened, eyes widening, almost in a kind of jubilant surprise. The older man’s lips curled into a smile, the warmth of it almost disarming.

Hosea took the scarf from Arthur, his hands gentle as he examined the gift. A sense of something unspoken passed between them, something Arthur couldn’t quite name, but it was there in the way Hosea’s gaze softened. "Really?"

Arthur barely had the strength to nod, his eyes avoiding Hosea’s, his face burning with embarrassment and a kind of fear he couldn’t even process. Was this really happening? He was spilling it to him, of all people, your father.

He nodded again, his voice barely a whisper. "Yeah..."

Hosea’s hand reached out to pat Arthur’s arm in an almost fatherly gesture, the older man’s voice low and steady. "Well then... I’ll be sure to give it to her." He smiled, a knowing warmth in his eyes that made Arthur’s chest tighten in an unfamiliar way. "Thank you. Y’know... you’re the only one I trust after me."

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat, the words sinking in like the heaviest of weights. It felt like he’d won a game, but one he hadn’t even realized he was playing.

Arthur’s throat tightened at the thought, his breath catching. He hadn’t even realized how much he’d attached to the simple scarf until now. It was just a piece of fabric, yet the meaning behind it had become so much more than he’d ever expected.

"Just... tell her to, you know... don’t burn it at least," he muttered, his chuckle awkward and thin, as if trying to deflect the intensity of his own feelings. But the words weren’t a joke. They were the truth, and they hit him harder than he wanted to admit.

The image burned in his mind, you, angry, perhaps unaware, throwing it into the campfire or tearing it apart with a pair of scissors. The thought was almost unbearable, each possibility worse than the last. The way his hands clenched into fists at his sides showed just how deep the fear ran.

He couldn’t let that happen.

If you did something like that, if you so much as damaged it, he... he didn’t know what he’d do. His thoughts spiraled out of control. Would he lash out? Would he burn the whole camp down if it meant getting you back, getting that thing back, untainted by your disregard? The intensity of his protectiveness shocked him, made his pulse quicken.

He forced himself to exhale, slow and controlled, but the tightness in his chest remained.

"Tell her," he repeated softly, though his voice cracked with something that felt more desperate than he'd intended.

"I will, I will. Don't you worry."

❀˖°

You nearly sewed your own finger, but kept going, the needle trembling slightly in your hand as you tried to focus. Jack sure knew how to break his damn button every week. But you never minded of course. That adorable little kid is like your brother. You couldn't remember the last time you’d felt calm enough to sit still and stitch something--anything--together without your mind wandering.

"I’m proud of you, y'know. You apologized. Thank you." Hosea’s voice broke through the silence, warm but layered with something else, something like relief, as he sipped his coffee. His words sank into the quiet of the tent, the flickering lamplight casting soft shadows over his face.

"Of course you are."

His response was a low chuckle, tinged with affection. He knew you loved him and valued his advice,. His mind played the memories of the times when you always waited worriedly whenever he went on jobs and made sure he was looked after in the camp. He couldn't be proud to have you as his daughter even if both of you clashed at moments like these.

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of meeting his eyes. Even if you’d done it for Hosea, for your own reasons, you couldn't shake the irritation that still lingered beneath your skin. But he was happy, and that was enough for him. His approval always mattered to you, more than you’d ever admit.

The silence stretched out between you as you continued to sew, the rhythmic motion almost comforting. But Hosea’s gaze shifted, the way it always did when something was on his mind. He glanced at the closed flap of the tent, his attention drawn to the world outside. Then, after a moment, he spoke again.

"Here," Hosea said, holding the item out to you, his expression tight, as if he wasn't entirely sure how you would take it. You eyed the scarf suspiciously before taking it, your fingers brushing against the fabric, your thoughts clouded.

"Wow, thanks...it's so pretty," you muttered, still trying to piece together what was happening. Though genuinely happy to receive a beautiful gift.

Hosea shifted on his feet, averting his gaze, as if the words were stuck in his throat. After a long pause, you saw the truth flicker in his eyes.

"It's...from Arthur."

"Wha---huh? Why?" you asked, the suspicion in your tone now more palpable than ever.

Hosea looked away again, the embarrassment and discomfort evident in his posture, but the message was clear. You felt the shift in the air, a kind of pressure that built between you both.

Your blood ran cold, and you couldn't stop the words that spilled from your lips. "Wha- excuse me??! Did you... did you just sell me or something?!"

The words landed, and Hosea's head snapped back, his face darkening, his jaw tight with frustration.

"What even---Are you out of your mind?" he shot back, his voice low, heated now. "Listen to me. I am not going to be here for you forever, and I worry for you, even if you think I don't! And him, he’s the only one I would trust to-"

"What are you on about?!" you cut him off, your voice rising with anger. "Am I some child that needs to be babysat?! I won’t stay here forever, either, Papa! Hell, I won't! And you’re here finding ways to bind me here?!" You could feel the heat rising in your chest, the frustration turning into something you couldn’t hold in any longer. "I understand everything! Don’t think I’m a fool!"

You couldn’t stop yourself. With a burst of pent-up fury, you threw the scarf on the floor, your hands shaking with the force of your frustration. "Handing me to some old lap dog, you’re out of your mind! I can't believe it, have some shame!."

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between you both, as Hosea stood there, his hand still frozen in the air where he'd offered you the scarf, his eyes full of something raw, hurt, frustration, confusion. Hosea opened his mouth, but no words came. His gaze softened, his lips parted as if he were trying to find something to say. But the words you had just spoken hung heavy in the air, too loud and too real to take back now.

"You think I want this for you?" he finally whispered, more to himself than to you, his voice strained with frustration. "I just want you safe, damn it. Safe."

"If you want that, then find someone else, someone normal. A proper suitor, maybe? A decent citizen? Like Mama would have wanted!"

"And you think a 'normal citizen,' or the rich kind you dream of marrying, won’t ask about our background? Won’t dig into our truth? You want something built on lies, instead of what’s real? The most honest person you could have is right here, willing to do anything for you. I raised that boy, and I damn well know he will never disappoint me."

You rolled your eyes, fed up with another one of his lectures. "Yeah, because after spending half my life with outlaws, I've definitely lost the chance to be with anyone 'normal,' haven’t I? Then I'd rather die alone! Every man here is raised by you in some way but that doesn't mean that I have to trust them let alone be with THEM! You are being delusional! Whatever--just give it back, for God's sake," you snapped, your voice thick with frustration as you turned away, trying to put distance between yourself and the scarf as if it could somehow erase the conversation.

Hosea didn't move to leave. He just stood there. After a long pause, he shook his head gently, as if reconciling himself with something painful. "No, no I won't. Gifts are not meant to be... given back."

He picked the scarf up, his hands cradling it carefully as if it were something fragile, and for a moment, you could see him lost in thought, his eyes distant, remembering something else.

"I remember... the first time I held you in my arms," he murmured, his voice softer now, the anger and frustration fading into something more vulnerable. "You were my gift, too. You still are."

Your heart stuttered for a moment, the memory of being held like that, cradled in his arms when you were small, a time before all the complexities of your relationship had gotten so tangled. The warmth of his embrace felt distant now, like a fading echo.

Or it's just his way of manipulation.

"Papa, please, why are you even siding with him-"

"Enough, because I know better and I know you better," he interrupted, his voice firm this time, though it cracked slightly with emotion. "Just keep it." His words hung in the air, and he turned to leave the tent but paused just before he stepped outside.

He looked back, his gaze meeting yours for a moment, something flickered in his eyes, something deep, filled with regret, but also resolve. "If I couldn't, or am unable to give you the life you want," he said softly, each word deliberate, "my heart says he will."

You shook your head, your voice bitter as it escaped you. "Oh please, wait till you see when he kicks me out one day on your beloved Dutch's orders."

Hosea didn’t respond right away. He just looked at you, his expression a mixture of sorrow and a kind of quiet resignation, before he finally turned and walked out of the tent.

He would never be able to make you understand that Arthur would be the last person to do that.

❀˖°

The days that followed felt heavier, like a fog had settled around you. Arthur's presence, once easily ignored, now seemed to infiltrate every corner of your space. He started lingering around more often, always appearing at the most inconvenient times when you and Hosea were sharing a quiet meal or having (tea/coffee). At first, you thought it was just a coincidence, maybe just a shared moment of camaraderie, but the more it happened, the more uncomfortable it made you.

Arthur wasn’t doing anything overtly wrong, of course. He sat quietly, politely joining the conversation when spoken to, sipping coffee, offering a nod here and there.

It bothered you. You loathed it.

Is this some sort of indirect courting? Were you imagining things, or was this his way of trying to ingratiate himself with you? Was he trying to get Hosea's approval? To intimidate you? Or, perhaps, was it something more direct? Was he trying to... what, win you over? Hosea, for all his kindness and wisdom, didn’t mind Arthur’s company, even encouraged it.

The words Hosea had said echoed in your mind, lingering like smoke. "If I couldn’t, or am unable to give you the life you want, my heart says he will."

You scoffed internally, trying to push it away, but the more you thought about it, the more it gnawed at you. Was that really true? Hosea seemed to believe it, but you weren’t so sure. Arthur? The golden boy of Dutch’s gang? Or was Hosea just trying to soften the blow, making it sound like there was hope when in reality there was none?

You rolled your eyes, staring out into the distance. Why would he go after you? Out of all the people in the camp, why you?

It didn’t make sense. None of it did.

Still, a small part of you wondered... Should you ask him?

But what if you were wrong? What if Hosea was just speaking out of some misplaced hope? You didn’t know. And that uncertainty, it made you uncomfortable. Because you weren’t one to be uncertain. You didn't like it.

He just wants someone young to play with now that he's lonely.

Arthur stared at the journal in his lap, the unfinished sketch of eyes glaring up at him, imperfect and frustrating. He let out a slow, almost imperceptible sigh, his pencil hovering over the page, but he couldn’t seem to get it right. The eyes, those eyes, kept staring back at him, their gaze too empty, too raw. The frown on his face deepened as he bit his lip, his mind spiraling in frustration.

But that frown, that damn cute frown, it wouldn't fade. It never did. The curve of your lips when you were irritated or deep in thought, the way your brows furrowed as you focused on something else... It was almost intoxicating how endearing it was. Arthur couldn’t stop thinking about it, and worse, he couldn’t stop wanting to be the one to make that frown disappear.

If only you'd look at him once with a smile, he thought bitterly, the words tasting both sweet and impossible.

Because deep down, Arthur knew, he'd do anything. He’d break the sky and bring the world to your feet if you ever gave him that smile.

He longed for that.

But no, that’s just a dream, Arthur thought with a resigned sigh, closing his journal and resting his hands on his knees. You wouldn’t even notice me that way. I'm just some damn fool in Dutch’s gang.

❀˖°

It was another evening, quiet, save for the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional crackle of the campfire. You were chopping vegetables at the makeshift table, the rhythmic thud of the knife against the wood filling the air. Hosea sat a few feet away on an overturned crate, sipping his coffee with a watchful but calm expression.

Arthur appeared at the edge of the clearing, his hat tilted low and his hands shoved into his pockets. You barely glanced at him, focused on your task, but the tension in his gait was impossible to ignore. Hosea caught it too, his brow raising ever so slightly as Arthur cleared his throat.

“Evenin’,” Arthur mumbled, his voice unusually hesitant.

Hosea nodded in acknowledgment, setting his cup down. “Evening, Arthur.”

Arthur glanced at you, then back at Hosea. His jaw worked for a moment, as though wrestling with what

And then you heard the words. Full of hesitation.

“I was wonderin’... if I could take her out. Just, ya know, get her outta this camp for a bit. I figure... she could use some air.” His words hung in the air, but his eyes seemed distant, almost like he was hoping for a miracle.

You stiffened immediately, your brows furrowing in disbelief. You hadn’t been in the mood for any of this, and you weren’t sure how you felt about Arthur’s proposal. "I am absolutely fine staying here, got it?"

Arthur’s jaw tightened as he stared at your hunched frame, your defiance practically radiating off you. His voice softened, though there was a trace of frustration. “You’re not fine. Not always, and not here.”

You turned sharply, glaring at him with a fire that made his breath hitch for a moment. “What do you know about what I need, huh? You think you can just waltz in here and decide things for me? I said I am not going so I am not!”

Arthur took a step back, but not because he was intimidated. He rubbed the back of his neck, searching for the right words. “Ain’t about me decidin’ nothin’. You don’t even gotta like me. But you deserve better than to keep hiding in this damn camp, snappin' at everyone tryin' to care for you.”

"You’ve got some nerve asking me that. I don't need anyone taking me anywhere. Just 'cause you brought me a damn scarf doesn’t mean I owe you a thing."

Arthur seemed to bristle at your sharp reaction, but Hosea leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, studying the both of you with a quiet smile. He wasn’t offended, he understood.

Your glare didn’t falter, but Hosea cleared his throat before you could respond. “He’s got a point, you know.” His tone was calm, measured. “A little ride won’t kill you.”

You crossed your arms. “I said no Papa and that means, NO."

Arthur stepped closer again, his voice lower now, almost pleading. “I ain't Dutch. I ain’t gonna force ya into anything. But sometimes, you gotta trust someone’s tryin’ to help, even if it don’t make sense at first.. Just...give me a chance...please.”

Before you could reply, the unmistakable sound of Dutch’s boots approached. “Well, isn’t this cozy,” Dutch drawled, stepping into the space with a deliberate slowness that made everyone tense. He looked from Arthur to you, a sly smile curling on his lips. “Arthur, you’re not causin’ any trouble now, are you?”

Arthur’s shoulders squared. “Just talkin’. Nothin’ more.”

Dutch’s gaze flicked between the two of you, his smile growing sharper. “Talkin’, huh? Always knew you had a soft spot, Arthur. You got that puppy-dog look about you. But...you sure you’re barkin’ up the right tree here?”

The air went cold, and you froze, your grip tightening on the knife in your hand. Dutch’s words stung, a mixture of insult and insinuation that made your face burn with anger and shame.

“Dutch,” Hosea interjected, standing up from his crate, his tone calm but firm. “C'mon...don't say that."

Dutch laughed, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave y’all to it. Just a little friendly advice, Arthur. Watch where you step. You wouldn’t want to trip.” With that, he turned on his heel and sauntered off, his laughter echoing behind him. Hosea shot Arthur a brief look before following after Dutch, likely to smooth things over or ensure the situation didn’t escalate further.

Arthur lingered awkwardly near the table. His fingers toyed with the brim of his hat, his eyes darting between you and the ground as though he couldn’t quite decide where to settle. He hesitated, his hand lifting slightly as if to reach out to you, his face a mix of guilt and frustration. “Look, I-”

You sighed, stabbing the knife into the cutting board and crossing your arms. "What? Just go away."

Arthur flinched, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Didn’t mean to bother you,” he muttered, his voice low and almost apologetic. “Just...ignore what he said.”

"But what he said was right."

"No, it wasn't." He looked up then, the defensiveness clear as day in his eyes. “It ain’t like that,” he said, his voice firmer now. “Dutch--he just likes to run his mouth. Don’t mean nothin’.”

“Doesn’t it?” you challenged, your tone sharp. “You didn’t exactly deny it back there.”

Arthur hesitated, his jaw tightening as though he was weighing his next words carefully. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping. “Look, I ain’t tryin’ to make your life harder. I thought maybe... I don’t know. Thought you’d wanna get out for a bit. Thought it might help.”

“Help with what, exactly?” You gestured around you, exasperated.

“I just… I thought it’d be nice. Thought maybe you’d... enjoy it.”

“Enjoy it?” you repeated, incredulous. “Arthur, I don’t even know what you’re trying to do here. Why you’re trying so hard.”

His jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists at his sides before relaxing again. “Maybe I am tryin’,” he admitted, his voice low and uneven. “Don’t know why you think that’s a crime.”

“I didn’t ask for any of it,” you said, your tone quieter now, less biting. “I didn’t ask for you to care.”

He laughed softly, a bitter sound that barely reached his lips. “Yeah. I know. But it ain’t somethin’ I can help. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“You’re making it more complicated, you know.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I’d rather be here makin’ things complicated than not be here at all.”

The weight of his words hung in the air between you, suffocating and undeniable. You didn’t know what to do with it, with him, with any of this. So you did what you always did, you deflected.

“I’ve got work to do,” you said, pushing off the crate and brushing past him towards the wagon. As you walked past him, your voice cut through the heavy silence, sharp and low enough that he almost missed it.

"Why don’t you take all this energy and use it on something worthwhile? Perhaps finding the right tree." You chuckled tauntingly as you went inside the wagon.

He didn’t try to stop you, didn’t say anything else, not wanting to draw too much attention to the scene. With a heavy sigh, he decided to go for a ride.

❀˖°

When he returned later that night, most of the camp was either finishing up their dinner, indulging in late-night games, or sitting quietly by the fire.

He didn’t sense your presence anywhere, and he figured you were probably in your tent, finally savoring some solitude after a long day of work and being surrounded by the others. But he also knew that Dutch’s words from earlier weren’t easy to shake off, especially for you. Your blood was likely still boiling. Worse, you must be hurt too.

Taking advantage of everyone being preoccupied, his steps naturally gravitated toward your tent, your sanctuary. A place he had only ever dared to dream of being close to. What was it like inside? He often wondered. Would the air inside smell faintly of you? Would he ever be someone who belonged in your space? He imagined a future where he could step into it freely, with no hesitation, no uncertainty. A time when he wouldn’t even need to knock when he could enter with a smile on his face and a gift in his hand, your relationship so natural and warm that it felt like home.

But maybe that was the point. You didn’t need anyone in that space, and a part of him liked that. Liked that you existed here, hidden away, out of reach of the world’s harsh gaze. It wasn’t fair or right, but it soothed something deep and primal in him. If he had his way, the world would never touch you. You’d stay tucked away where only he could find you as if this tent was built for the two of you alone. Still, it wasn’t enough. He wanted to see you in his world, in his tent, on his bed, wrapped up in everything that was his.

Hidden away, yes, but hidden with him.

He cleared his throat, his eyes too shy to even glance fully inside, though the tent flap hung half-open.

"Who is it now?"

"Me... I--uh...can I?"

A soft, irritated sound followed, then your voice gave reluctant confirmation. “Leave the flap wide open.”

He obeyed, pushing the fabric aside, the cool night air spilling in. Then he stood there like a fool, frozen for several seconds as his eyes found you sitting on the edge of the cot, one leg bouncing with impatience. Enchanting nonetheless.

“Well? What now?”

The sharpness of your tone jolted him back to his senses. For a moment, he still couldn’t believe you’d allowed him inside. Maybe you were too tired to step out yourself, but he couldn’t help feeling grateful anyway.

Taking a cautious step closer, his gaze drifted and landed on the scarf in the corner, dangling from the back of a chair.

At least you kept it.

You kept it.

That was enough for him.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he dropped to his knee in front of you, his height aligning perfectly with yours now. The act wasn’t one of submission but of devotion, a silent acknowledgment that your hatred, cold and unyielding, loomed larger than the fire of his love. And yet, he stayed there, resolute.

If he had to kneel to earn even a fragment of your gaze, he would. If being this close meant bearing the weight of your disdain, so be it. Because in this moment, it wasn’t his pride that mattered, it was you.

Your first instinct was shock. His sudden closeness threw you off, but as the silence stretched and his hesitation became almost unbearable, you decided to speak, cutting through the tension.

“I think you’re only acting like this because Dutch reckons it’s the best way to keep me in line. So that you can scare me or something. Y’know, keep me stuck in this camp so Pa’s happy, Dutch is happy, and my life here is just that much more miserable.”

Arthur’s brows furrowed immediately, his expression a mix of frustration and disbelief. “No,” he said firmly, his voice quiet but resolute. “It ain’t like that. It ain’t even close to that.”

He leaned forward slightly, his hands resting lightly on his knees as he searched for the right words. “Do I look like someone who’d think that way? Or...who’d go along with somethin’ like that? Do you really think Hosea would do that to you? Think about you like that?” His voice softened at the edges, but there was an undeniable conviction in it.

“You ain’t some animal we gotta control, alright?” He shook his head, as if shaking off the very thought of it. “You’re...more than that. Always have been."

Arthur sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I know...there’s a whole lotta differences between us. But...I can’t help myself, y’know? I’ve tried. Lord knows I’ve tried.” His words faltered, and he cursed under his breath.

Damn, I forgot half of what I wanted to say.

You tilted your head, watching him struggle, your patience wearing thin.

He took a deep breath and pressed on, his voice quieter but no less earnest. “I don’t deserve this, I know that. Hell, you don’t deserve this, either. But one thing I can promise you, right here, right now...I’ll make this better. I’ll try every damn day to make your life here bearable, to give you somethin’ better. Until...”

He stopped himself, biting back the words he wasn’t sure you were ready to hear. “Until I can give you somethin’ far better than all this.”

He paused, his jaw tightening before he met your eyes again. “And no one, not a damn soul, will have the guts to disrespect you here. Not while I’m around.”

You raised a brow, skepticism clear in your voice. “Not even Dutch?”

Arthur swallowed hard, but he nodded firmly. “Yeah....not even him.”

Without thinking, he reached out and grasped your hands, his touch rough but grounding. He held on like it was the only thing tethering him to the moment, his eyes searching yours for any sign of trust, of understanding, of...hope.

"But why though? All of a sudden? And me?"

"I...wish I knew. But I am helpless right now. Helpless against these questions and these...feelings."

His eyes searched yours, desperate and pleading, but your words cut through him like a knife.

“If this is all true, then...why didn’t your lover, what was her name? Oh yeah, Mary, who even loved you, stick around?”

Arthur flinched as if you’d struck him. His heart trembled at the weight of your words, your tone unclear, was it innocent? Genuine? Or just plain cruel?

"That...that was different."

Your gaze didn’t waver, and your tongue stayed edged. “Okay but if she didn’t trust you enough to stay, then why should I? We’re not even-”

He moved before you could finish, his jaw tightening as he stood. With a single step, he reached for the scarf draped over the chair. Silent and deliberate, he placed it on the bed beside you, his every motion measured.

You watched him, confused and uncertain, as he pulled a few crumpled bills from his pocket. He smoothed them flat and placed them in the middle of the scarf. His hands moved deftly, folding the fabric around the money with a care that felt almost reverent.

Finally, he turned to you, kneeling once more. His rough, calloused hands gently wrapped around yours, closing your fingers firmly over the bundle. His touch was warm, grounding, yet carried the weight of something far greater.

“Here,” he said, his voice low but steady. “This...this is the only proof I can give you. I’ll keep fillin’ it, day by day, until we’ve got enough to leave. And you’ll keep it safe. You’ll keep it with you. It's yours. Only yours."

And I am too.

"I know...that the money is not gonna come from honest ways which you hate of course, but...there's no other way it can be done...but it will be done, alright?"

His breath hitched as he leaned closer, his shadow falling over you like a shroud. The proximity made your heart thrum unevenly, though you’d never admit it.

You stared at the scarf in your hands, his grip firm but trembling ever so slightly. You couldn’t bring yourself to look up, to meet his eyes. A dozen questions churned in your mind, your heart caught between disbelief and something else you couldn’t name.

Why was he doing this? Why for you? Damn, you never pegged him for such a fool.

It was as if he could sense the weight of your weariness. His voice softened, low and earnest.

“I just want you to greet me every time I come back…and every time I go. With that smile of yours.” He paused, his gaze dropping for a moment, as though the vulnerability of his words was too much. “That’s all I ask of you...that’s all this idiot asks of you.”

And to have you in my arms every night.

The thought came unbidden, a longing too deep and too dangerous to voice aloud. No, he couldn’t say that, not yet. It was too much to ask.

You blinked at him, caught off guard, your lips parting slightly as if to respond. “Um...I don't--” You cleared your throat, but the words still wouldn’t come.

When you finally looked up, he saw it, emotions swirling in your eyes, unguarded for once. Fear, confusion, a flicker of nervousness. But there was something else, something softer, buried beneath it all. His heart, racing only moments ago, steadied as if your gaze alone could calm him.

Unable to stop himself, he leaned closer, closing the space between you. His lips brushed the top of your head in a tender kiss, one that lingered longer than it should have.

You flinched a little but didn't pull away, and that, to him, was enough. A sign of acceptance, no matter how small.

The scent of your hair, the warmth of your presence, it was intoxicating. For the first time, he felt hope unfurling in his chest. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes searched yours once more. He didn’t say anything else, not wanting to break the fragile moment, and instead rose to his feet. His shadow stretched across the tent as he turned toward the flap, his steps deliberate and slow.

And just before he stepped out into the night, he glanced over his shoulder. “Goodnight, darlin’.”

Tonight, he might finally be able to sleep.

Arthur lay down on his cot, an idiotic smile tugging at his lips as he stared at the hat resting on the table. It wasn’t just a hat, it was your approval, your silent acknowledgment, your acceptance. For the first time in a long while, he felt...hopeful.

And now, he thought, he’d finally be able to wear it.

❀˖°

The outlaw's gaze drifted to the sketches, one was complete, your softer expression, that innocent curiosity you had when your guard wasn’t up. The other remained unfinished, a portrait of your infamous frown. Not that he hated it, hell, that frown had a charm of its own, sharp and stubborn. But something about leaving it incomplete felt right. He decided it would remain that way. He didn’t want to immortalise that side of you, not in his art or heart.

Arthur reached for the softer sketch, running a thumb over the lines as if touching the paper could bring you closer to him. He studied it, his heart aching with an almost unbearable tenderness.

No, you deserved better. You deserved to keep smiling. And if it took him a lifetime to make that happen, so be it.

Hosea watched from a distance, a quiet smile tugging at the corners of his lips as Arthur hugged your stiff form, bidding you farewell. He observed the way Arthur's demeanour had softened, the usual rough edges of the man becoming more relaxed in your presence. The smile and the way he tipped his hat to you before mounting the horse were enough to confirm the change that had occurred in him.

Arthur's gaze briefly flicked over to where Hosea stood, his eyes meeting the older man’s. With a small, almost sheepish nod of acknowledgment, Arthur gave a quick tip of his head. It was subtle, but Hosea had known him long enough to recognize the shift in his posture, the lightness in his eyes.

The mentor's smile deepened, though there was a softness to it that spoke of more than just amusement. It was the kind of smile a father would give when he saw something unexpected in a child, something tender, something hopeful.

It was good to see Arthur's content again. What truly surprised him, though, was that it was his daughter who had made it possible after all this time. The last person he imagined to ever do that and that made him chuckle quietly.

A match made in heaven indeed...

(AN: •⩊• u better interact for high honour++)

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arctrooper69 · 9 months ago

Text

As Iron Sharpens Iron

"As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another." Proverbs 27:17

Beta-read by @dragonrider9905

Chapter 6:

Previous // Next

Warnings: Jealousy. Canon violence.

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

The mission was simple.

You stood, picking at a loose splinter of wood beneath the bar, leaning on the counter as Cid explained the objective.

“Just remember I need that asset undamaged or you ain’t gettin’ paid.” She said, taking care to emphasize ‘undamaged’ as she shot a glare towards Wrecker, “That means no blowing it up, Muscles.”

“Hey! That was one time and it wasn’t my fault!”

Cid rolled her eyes, “Regardless. I want you in and out. Grab the staff and get outta there before the gang even realizes you’re there. You better not lead anything back to me. I can’t afford any more trouble around here. Especially with you lot.”

Hunter bristled but remained silent. It was a testament to his willpower that he hadn't yet told her off for the blatant disrespect she showed towards them.

You'd think she'd be more reasonable since we're the ones making all her money here, you thought, then sighed, but then again, we don't have much of a choice and she knows it.

Hunter pulled his pack over his shoulders and signaled the group to head out, not missing how quickly you turned away, not meeting his eyes.

***

The Marauder lay in quiet flight as it hurdled through hyperspace - the silence only broken by Wrecker's occasional comments and Omega’s responding laughter. Tech lay asleep on his bunk and Echo tinkered with something in the back. If it were any other day - any other time - it would've been peaceful. An oasis of relaxed preparation before the chaos of a mission.

Now the silence hung taught - stretched and pulled uncomfortably over the atmosphere. It was stifling. Stale.

Part of you longed for that normalcy - to take advantage of this time to go over strategies with Hunter, mapping out the best course of action, listening to his baritone words coaching you to think outside the box.

He was sitting right there beside you across the cockpit.

Say something, you begged silently. Anything. Ask me to stay and I will.

But no one made a sound.

Hunter sat stiffly in his chair staring directly ahead.

You sighed, pulling your feet up onto the chair, resting your chin on your knees, hugging your shivering bones.

Had space always been so cold?

Hunter shifted in his seat. You wondered if he could hear how your heart raced, desperate to relieve the tension in the room. He was staring at you again. You could feel his eyes burning into the side of your head.

He took a breath as if he'd finally decided to say something and you glanced up meeting his eyes.

The proximity alert went off as the ship snapped into orbit, shaking Tech from his slumber as he stumbled to his feet.

Hunter stood up - whatever he had to say was gone in a flash of professional duty. Time to do the job.

***

The ship landed smoothly on the landing pad - courtesy of Cid’s given coordinates.

“Alright, let's see what we're dealing with.” Echo said.

Hunter nodded in agreement, “Tech, how's it coming with that scanner?”

“Almost done.” He replied, fingers moving quickly over dials and screens.

“Good.”

Hunter pulled his pack on and straightened the bandana over his forehead.

“Alright, Echo you'll scomp in and locate the treasure vault. Tech you need to splice into their systems and deactivate any security systems they may have in place. Wrecker and I will keep a lookout and take care of any trouble that comes our way.” He glanced at Wrecker, “Quietly.”

Wrecker grumbled as he rolled his eyes.

Then Hunter turned to you. “I need you and Omega to stay here and keep watch. We don't know much about what we're walking into, so we need to be prepared to make a quick getaway if we have to. Got it?”

You nodded and Omega jumped to her feet. “Yes sir!”

***

Of course he doesn't trust me. You thought bitterly. He put me on babysitting duty.

A burst of regret tore from your chest as you watched her.

Omega hung upside down on a rock just outside the ship, fiddling with her trooper doll and a toy shuttle that Echo had found for her - oblivious to your traitorous thoughts.

You sighed, feeling the shame darken your cheeks.

You can't take your problems out on a kid, your inner voice scolded. Omega didn't deserve to be caught up in the middle of whatever this was.

“Heads up,” Hunter’s voice sounded through the coms, yanking you from a bored stupor, “You’ve got hostiles coming in fast.”

Omega looked over to you, eyes wide as she processed the information. She took a breath and nodded, keeping eye contact with you, lips settling in a grim determination. She unslung the bow from her back.

“Copy that,” she responded, “We’ll be ready.”

“Negative.” Hunter’s curt response came back immediately. “Do not engage. Get back on the Marauder and take off.”

You all but grabbed the com from Omega. “But what about you!?”

Silence. “We’ve been compromised.”

Omega snatched the com back defiantly, eyes narrowing in concern. “We’re not leaving you!”

“That’s an order!” Hunter hissed, keeping his voice low.

“No. Omega’s right. We’re not leaving here without you!” The com was once again in your hand.

“Listen to me!” Hunter snapped, “Get Omega out of there now! We can handle this on - “ The message cut off in a garble of static and shouting.

“Hunter!” Omega grabbed the com again in a desperate attempt to get him back. “Hunter, come in! I repeat, come in!”

Nothing.

Omega looked at you, wide eyed, shoulder’s bobbing up and down as she breathed, processing the situation.

Your head shot up. Muffled footsteps - voices echoing in the distance, carried on the wind. Gruff and unforgiving in a boastful confidence.

“Kriffing shit…” you hissed under your breath, grabbing Omega’s arm as you ran back to the ship.

“What are you doing!” Omega tried to yank her arm from your grip as you dragged her up the ramp, “They need our help! We can’t leave them!”

“Shhh!” you commanded, boosting her up into the storage hatch before clamoring up behind her.

“No!” she struggled, “We’re a squad! A family!”

A pang of hurt speared through your gut. Not me. Not anymore.

“We don’t leave our own behind!” she said adamantly, glaring daggers of betrayal and confusion at you.

Hunter’s words.

She looked up to him, constantly and unconsciously copying his mannerisms and ideals.

Hunter doesn’t trust you. The antagonizing voice of your subconscious snapped. That’s why he left you here with the kid. You’re just an asset. A body. But maybe you could be more than that. Maybe, upon rescuing them, the team would see you differently. Hunter would see you differently.

You sighed, “We’re not leaving, but we’re no help to them if we’re dead or captured.”

She nodded silently, relief palatable on her young face. Sometimes it was easy to forget that she was only 12 years old.

Is it selfish to want to prove yourself as more than just a useful tool?

Omega crouched by the closed hatch at her feet, bow in her hands, mimicking your own stance as you poised for action, blaster in hand.

Footsteps thudded up the ramp, carelessly clattering through the cockpit.

“Find anything?” one of them called out to his companion.

“Nah… there’s nobody here.” Another crash as he dumped a chest, “Nothin’ good here neither.”

Another clanging slam as another trunk was forced open. A loud chuckle came from a third voice.

“Ha! Hey, come get a load a this! The boss is gonna like this one!”

More footsteps, “Holy shit! Who keeps an entire trunk full of thermal detonators beside their bunk?”

“No clue, but they’ll go for a ton on the black market.”

“...and why is there a kriffing stuffed cat inside a trunk of thermal detonators?”

You side-eyed Omega.

“Ohh… that’s where I put her…” she whispered to herself, relieved that she no longer had to figure out a way to tell Wrecker that she lost his Lula.

“Whatever man, just grab the detonators and let’s go. This place stinks.”

“Yeah what a bunch of losers.”

Omega’s grip tightened on her bow, face contorting in anger as if she was ready to jump down and give the thieves a piece of her mind.

You placed a hand on her knee and slowly shook your head. Not yet.

“We are not losers!” she whispered harshly, insulted that the thieves had insulted her team - her family.

But not yours. You grit your teeth bitterly.

Once you were sure the offenders were gone, the hatched hissed open and you jumped down, catching Omega as she jumped.

“Okay, what’s the plan?” she looked at you expectantly. You nodded, practiced mind already running through various scenarios.

“We’ll track those thugs back to the compound. They have to be holding Hunter and the others there somewhere.”

Omega nodded solemnly. “Good plan. And then when we get there, I’ll keep a lookout while you search for a way in!”

“Right. Just follow my lead and stay out of sight!”

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

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houseofperfecttaste · 2 years ago

Text

Even

The second Rafe saw John B climbing out of Sarah's window around midnight he felt bad for you knowing you were in love with John B and here he was cheating on you with his sister. To make matters even worse you were the Camerons' housekeeper. Rafe snapped a quick picture of JB on the roof before heading inside acting like he didn't see anything.

You arrived at the Cameron house early in the morning starting to clean the kitchen not expecting to be bothered so early especially not by Rafe. "Good morning Mr. Cameron." You greeted Rafe as he walked in wearing basketball shorts, his hair messy from sleeping. As much as you hated Rafe you had to be nice to him if you wanted to keep your job. He was rarely home when you were working which made the job a lot more tolerable. "Good morning beautiful." Rafe never hid that he found you wildly attractive, so you were used to his compliments.

"Y'know I saw something you might be interested in last night." Rafe chirped leaning against the kitchen counter as he sipped his coffee. "Oh yeah? And what would that be?" You didn't turn your attention away from the chairs you were dusting until you heard his response. "I saw your little boyfriend sneaking out of my sisters' room last night." You stood up turning to look at him duster still in hand. "He wouldn't do that." You said crossing your arms thinking this was one of Rafes tactics to sleep with you.

"Well, he did. I can prove it." He fished his phone out of his pocket pulling the image up and turning his phone around to show you. The picture showed a boy climbing out of the window but it wasn't 100% clear who it was. "That could be anyone." Rafe chuckled knowing you would be in denial. "Look at the sweatshirt and bandana Y/N." You took his phone zooming in your heart sinking a bit when realizing he might be right. You sent the picture to yourself so you could have it when confronting him. You avoided Rafe for the rest of your shift, giving him one-word answers if he tried to talk to you.

You rushed to the Chateau seeing the whole gang on the porch, Sarah and John B sitting next to each making your blood boil. You slammed your car door shut stomping up to the screen door. "Hey, ba-" "Were you with Sarah last night?" You cut him off your hands on your hips and when he and Sarah looked at each other you knew Rafe was right, you knew it was John B in that picture. "Y/N I'm sorry." He apologized standing up making you back away. "It's fine, you want to start fucking a Cameron, I will too." You smiled sweetly at him and Sarah knowing it would piss both of them off. The look on John Bs face when you said it was priceless and you left the Chateau driving over to Figure Eight.

You knocked on the door waiting a few seconds before Rafe opened the door a shocked look on his face. Without a second thought, you leaned up pressing your lips to his and it only took him a second to start kissing back. He closed the door pushing you against it his hands roaming everywhere. "I was right. Wasn't I?" He always had to make a comment, didn't he? "Shut up Rafe." You groaned against his lips as he kissed down your neck. He picked you up leading you up the stairs to his bedroom throwing you on the bed.

Rafe's eyes were dark with lust and he ripped off his shirt and pants leaving him in his boxers as you took off your housekeeping uniform you never had a chance to change out of. "Look so pretty for me." He stood at the foot of the bed staring down at you licking his lips. "Look even prettier tied up for me though." He smirked heading to his closet and pulling out a pair of handcuffs. "Always need to be in control huh?" You teased but he quickly shut you up when he handcuffed your hands to his bedframe.

"Hm, where do I start?" He squeezed at your thighs kissing your breasts his fingers teasing your clit. "Fuck Rafe, please." You whined bucking your hips causing his finger to rub against your clit making you moan. Rafe started pinching and rubbing your clit watching as your muscles tensed and untensed and you were a moaning mess. "Rafe. Rafe." You moaned tugging at your restraints your legs opening more allowing him to kneel between your legs you were on full display for him. "Yeah, princess? Feel good?" He mocked slipping two fingers inside of you.

"Fuck yes, baby." You grew wetter when making eye contact with him, he was so fucking hot and his pupils were huge as he stared at you. He leaned down starting to lick and suck your pussy eating you like you were his last meal. He played with your nipples as your back arched into him and he had your legs shaking. He pulled away right as you were about to climax and his lips and chin glistened with your juices.

Your pussy clenched at the sight making him groan quietly. "Open your mouth." He instructed and you opened your mouth sticking your tongue out. He spit into your mouth making you moan at the taste of yourself. "Fuck you get me so hard. Always." He whispered into your ear making you blush, goosebumps rising to your body as he trailed his finger up your arms smiling at the handcuffs. "Fuck me, baby." You whined impatiently as he pulled his boxers down your mouth watering at the length and girth of his cock. "R-Rafe." You stuttered scared, John B was a lot smaller than him and nowhere as thick, Rafe was going to be a tight squeeze.

"It'll fit pretty, and if it doesn't I'll make it." He winked spitting on his cock before lining himself with your entrance. He pushed his tip in making you cry out in pain at the stretch, it getting worse as he pushed himself in more. "You're so big Rafe fuck." You moaned as he started thrusting into you your moans filling his room. "Such a tight little pussy. Squeezing me so good." He groaned his hand on your waist watching as your tits bounced with every thrust. "H-Harder." You choked out and he placed your legs over his shoulders folding you in half his cock reaching a brand new spot. You screamed at how deep he was making him smirk knowing no ones ever been this deep inside you.

His cock grew bigger at your vulnerable state, your hair was a mess, mascara smudged under your eyes, mouth hanging open in pleasure, screams leaving your mouth. Rafe pulled out of you flipping you onto your stomach spreading your ass and plunging into your pussy. You watched him in the mirror as he watched your ass jiggle with each thrust. You tried to keep your eyes open but the pleasure was too overwhelming causing your eyes to close enjoying the feeling of Rafes cock sliding in and out.

Your eyes snapped open when hearing your phone ring but soon drowned it out focusing on Rafes cock but Rafe answered the call when seeing who it was. "Y/N I swear to god you better not be with Rafe." Rafe chuckled putting it on speaker. "It's a little too late for that John B. She looks so pretty under me." A part of you felt bad about what was happening but soon got over it when remembering John B cheated on you with Rafe's sister. "I'll fucking kill you, Rafe." John B threatened and Rafe bit his lip laughing.

"Big talk coming from a cheater. I'm just giving her what she deserves." John B was growing more pissed off each time he heard your moans over the phone. "It was a mistake, I-" You rolled your eyes knowing he was going to start rambling so you snatched the phone from Rafe's hand. "I'm a little busy right now Routledge I'll talk to you later." You choked through moans hanging up and throwing your phone across his room shaking your ass on Rafes cock. Your actions shocked Rafe but also turned him on making him go full speed into your pussy making you cream all over his cock.

"That's it baby come for me." He helped you ride out your high before pulling out cumming all over your back. He grabbed a hand towel from his bathroom and wiped you clean handing you one of his shirts laying next to you. "That was the best sex I've ever had." You admitted panting and he smiled pushing his hair out of his face. "Yeah me too." Rafe agreed making you look up at him bewildered. "Out of all the girls you've slept with I was the best?" You propped yourself on your elbow as he mirrored you his hand on your waist.

"Yeah, you're the only girl I've slept with that I care about and like." He gave you a small smile embarrassed of his confession knowing you hate him and slept with him to piss off John B. You were about to kiss him but John B busted into the room causing Rafe to stand up protecting you. "No hard feelings right?" Rafe smiled shrugging causing JB to punch him in the face the two boys starting to fight. "John B stop!" You pulled him off of Rafe shielding him with your body. "You're protecting him?" He yelled his face red and chest heaving. "Yes! I initiated this! I'm the one who wanted to sleep with him." You crossed your arms knowing Rafe for once wasn't in the wrong.

John B scoffed looking between the two of you before leaving slamming the door shut behind him. You sighed running a hand through your hair turning to face Rafe helping him get on the bed. You grabbed his face in your hands kissing him softly his arms wrapping around you in response.

#rafe cameron #rafe x you #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #rafe #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x you #rafe obx #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron smut#drew starkey #drew starkey smut

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steddieasitgoes · 1 year ago

Text

“Babe! It’s about to start,” Steve calls from his spot on their couch.

Their living room has been taken over by the Party, but unlike twenty years ago when they all would have fit crowded but comfortable in the space, they’re like a can of sardines now. Bodies on top of bodies. Some share dining room chairs, others sprawled out on the floor so they don’t block the TV.

It’s rare they’re all together like this now, just the original Hawkins gang, no kids, no outside significant others, just them.

It needed to be like that.

At least for this.

“Thirty years ago, a small town in Indiana was plagued with a series of misfortune tracing back to government mishandling. Or so the residents were told. While many in the town believed the government story, others became skeptical.

“For the first time ever, we’re talking with a group of citizens who claim to be intimately involved in the events that really happened in a once quiet Indiana town. Stay tuned for a special showing of The Truth Revealed: Hawkins Turned Inside Out.”

“Oh, they were so close,” Dustin chuckles.

“Dammit, Eds! Where are you?” Steve calls again, throwing his body over the open couch cushion as Max tries to claim it.

“The show is starting and he’s not here, so it’s mine now,” she says, pulling on Steve’s arms to get him to move.

“You have Lucas’s lap to sit on!”

“And Eddie has your lap to sit on. Now move!”

Steve’s about to give in when Eddie comes racing down the hallway. The sudden absence of his thunderous footsteps is the only warning sign before he throws himself over the back of the couch and crashes down on Steve’s back as if he’s still a twentysomething year old and not a fiftysomething year old.”

“Seriously, Eds?” Steve groans under the weight of Eddie.

“Aw, baby,” Eddie croons. “Thought you loved being under me.”

The room erupts into a chorus of mock gagging and outrage. It brings Steve right back to the summer of 1986, when he and Eddie’s relationship was new and shocked the kids. They couldn’t even peck each other on the cheek without one of them wanting to gouge their eyes out. In a fun way, of course.

“We still got it,” Eddie laughs, leaning forward to free Steve.

“You guys are disgusting,” Robin laughs from the chair she’s currently sharing with Robin. Bodies pressed so close together they’re practically intertwined. She’s one to talk.

“What are you wearing, babe?” Steve asks, glancing over at Eddie for the first time since he made his dramatic entrance.

Eddie beams. His cheek dimples so big and deep, Steve’s pretty sure he could bury his entire pinky nail into them.

“Thought I’d dress for the occasion,” he shrugs. “What do you think?”

Steve blinks, really taking in Eddie. He’s wearing an old Hellfire Shirt. It’s not the same one he wore during Spring Break 1986 — that one went stayed behind in the Winnebago — but it’s the same design. A leftover from the hoard of shirts Eddie made for his club all those years ago.

It’s a snug fit. The logo stretched taunt across Eddie’s well-loved belly. The bottom of the shirt barely covers his navel, rolling up at the hem. The sleeves still fit though. Nothing’s changed too much about Eddie’s arms, aside from new ink to cover some of the scars.

Eddie’s left no detail unturned. From the black jeans that aren’t as baggy as they used to be, to the chain and bandana in his back pocket. He’s even got his old rings on. The only detail out of line is the missing skull ring he used to wear on his left ring finger. A black band with a gold stripe through it sits there instead.

“You should have told us you were dressing up,” Dustin wines.

“Yeah! I would have found dug mine out of storage,” Mike adds.

“If I told you it wouldn’t have been a surprise!” Eddie smiles, tipping his head back in that satisfied way of his.

“And now it’s time to learn what really happened in Hawkins, Indiana in the 1980s,” the announcer says.

Her booming voice is met with a chorus of shushing and chants to turn it up, all of which are listened to as they settle in to watch themselves reveal what really happened all those years ago.

Of course, it doesn’t stay silent for long as they all chime in with comments, laughter, and even some tears. They may be thirty years removed from the events, but the wounds are still fresh for most of them.

On the final commercial break, Erica checks in with social media on her phone. Shaking her head and mumbling curses under her breath.

“They don’t believe us,” she fumes, typing violently on her phone. “Those idiots. It’s just the facts!”

“We knew we weren’t going to convince everyone,” Lucas says, trying to placate her.

“It was never about them,” El nods. “It was about telling our truth. So we do not have to lie anymore.”

“I know,” Erica groans. “But it’s still annoying. They’re still going to think we’re freaks.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Eddie says.

They all nod in agreement as the final segment of the show begins. It’s quiet as they watch the final minutes of their own interviews play out on television. They all get asked the same question:

“If you could go back and relive those years without any of these events happening, would you?”

To no one surprise, they all answer no.

But it’s Steve’s answer that gets everyone choked up.

Especially Eddie.

“Absolutely not. I wouldn’t be the man I am today without the shit we went through. I never would have met my platonic soulmate. Or the love of my life. And I would probably be stuck in a miserable cookie-cutter family, instead of the found family I have because of those events. I’d take a thousand more hits to the head or bites to my chest if I had too to keep them around.

“Besides, being normal is overrated. Being a freak is so much better,” on-TV Steve says, winking directly into the camera.

Eddie leaps at Steve, smothering him with over-the-top kisses until the kids are groaning and gauging so loud it drowns out any of the trauma that the documentary might have brought back up.

“I’m changing my answer,” Dustin groans. “I’d go back and make sure you two stayed mortal enemies!”

“Too late, Henderson,” Steve sings. “You already said you wouldn’t go back. It’s immortalized on TV!”

#idk what this is but enjoy #steddie #steddie ficlet #stranger things ficlet #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #dustin henderson #dani writes

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kokoa-la · 1 year ago

Text

Prompt from @help-i-need-a-cool-username

Danny was tired of his neighbor’s bullshit. Above his head rested the well known crime lord of crime alley, Red Hood. Now, Danny used to be a vigilante, he gets it, truly, but that did not mean he forgave the other for the sheer amount of wake up calls he’s gotten. He knew he was a light sleeper, has been ever since the portal opened and since the portal was shut down by yours truly, but the amount of noise was still unacceptable. Did the guy not know he lived right below him? He knew that the building was in a rough patch, but it wasn’t deserted. He wasn’t the only one here ya’ know. By now the halfa had had enough. He had a class at 9 am tomorrow in literal physics. He needed sleep if he didn’t want to pass out in the lecture that he 100% needed for the midterms in 2 weeks. He would have gone up and complained in person if he wasn’t, you know, on the run. So he sat in his bed, grabbed earbuds, played one of his sad playlists and tried his best to sleep.

That was it, Danny was going to actually kill the Red Hood. Here Danny is, minding his own business, writing a paper for the English class he had to take for extra credits, and in storms 5 men kicking down his door with all sorts of weapons. They were in all black with hoods and bandanas covering the bottom half of their faces.

“Where’s Red Hood? We know he lives here!”

The half had had enough. Here he was, on page 2 of a 5 page paper, while on 9 shots of espresso and 3 energy drinks to make up for the lack of sleep he got last night because of the same very guy this gang is looking for. He was going to strangle this man, hands down, screw the GIW.

“I’m literally a college student trying to live off of a minimum wage salary, if all of us could be crime lords and afford an apartment without a day job, we’d all do it.”

“Where is the Red Hood?!”

The guy in the middle had yelled before pointing a gun right at Danny’s head. He sighed before standing and putting his hands above his head.

“I don’t know. He’s not here, and I don’t even think he lives in the building.”

He didn’t know why he was covering for his neighbor's ass, but he already had one foot in, so why not the rest of him?

“Don’t bullshit me! We know he lives here!”

“Are you sure it was this building, and not the one across the alley?”

Dany inched closer as the main guy looked over at the goon next to him and started arguing. By the time they looked up, Danny was right in front of the gun, merely inches away from the barrel now pointed at his chest.

“Boo.”

His eyes glowed a vibrant neon green before the lights turned off leaving the apartment in pitch black.

Red Hood cursed as he realized how careless he’d been. One of his men had informed him that they received a warning from one of their informants. Apparently, there was a new gang on the rise with the sole purpose of taking him down. Somehow they’d followed him to his apartment one night and were staging an attack right now. Luckily, it didn’t seem like they knew his civilian identity, but he didn’t know that for sure. Plus, if they broke in and he wasn’t there, he didn’t want to know what they’d do to the others inhabiting the complex.

It took him about two minutes to get there using his bike. He scaled the side of the building and got in through his window only to find his apartment exactly as he left it. Had his men lied to him? Or had the gang just not arrived yet?

Well, that’s what he thought before he heard gunshots below his feet. He scrambled down the stairs and ran to the apartment below him, taking out his gun and slowly walking towards the door. It was dead silent. It seemed that the last noise to leave the place was that one stray bullet, since then not a sound.

Hood cursed under his breath before turning the corner and moving the broken door out the way. Inside was a pile of 5 men in all black knocked unconscious with a man sitting on top of them criss crossed holding a bat with a green sticker on it in one hand while the other typed on the open laptop sitting in his lap. The vigilante didn’t even move. He lowered his gun to the floor and just stared at the scene at hand. Eventually the man looked up at him with ashy blue eyes and a tired look about them. He sighed before closing the laptop and resting his chin on the small end of the bat.

“Dude, it’s 3 am. Can you please tell your enemies to stick to acceptable invasion hours?”

Hood didn’t even know what to say. He just stood there at the door, even clocked his head sideways in confusion. The other sighed.

“I have a class at 7 am tomorrow and this paper is due like yesterday, so can you just, I don’t know? Schedule this shit? Or at least make sure they have the right apartment. I didn’t complain about the noise before, but this is ridiculous.”

Yeah, Jason couldn’t believe his eyes or ears right now. Was this man serious? He cleared his throat before finally speaking.

“Right… sorry about that? I guess? I’ll take them off your hands. No promises about the schedule though. I can’t exactly control when people try to kill me.”

He stepped forward only for the other to raise the bat at him threateningly. He still sat on the 5 men, and still was pretty far away from Hood, so why he raised the bat he didn’t know.

“Do you want them in your house or not?”

“I want you to stay right there and pay for the bullet holes in my walls.”

“You just said-”

“Oh, I know, but you agreed so readily I’m testing the waters.”

What the fuck was up with this guy, seriously.

“You know I have a gun right? I could shoot you”

“Well so did they, and look where that ended them. Gunless and knocked out.”

Touche, Jason wanted to say, but didn’t. One of the men on the ground started to move and groan, his neighbor, without breaking eye contact with him, spun the bat in his hand and hit the man dead center on the head, knocking him out once more.

Was Jason attracted to this? Maybe.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dc x dp au #danny phantom #danny fenton #jason todd #danny just wanted to finish his homework #jason todd didnt know he was gay #danny proceeded to accidentally become hoods guard dog cus hood refused to move away from danger twink #jason leaves fruit baskets #jason repairs his walls dw #danny tried to sue - jason said no #danny is a glorified glow stick #the fenton anti-creep stick shows itself once again

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codfishing · 4 months ago

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Okay BUT.

Western outlaw gang Task Force 141 deciding during a raid that you’re possibly the prettiest thing any of them have ever seen, so they take you along with the rest of the loot.

You had gone into town with your grandmother that day because she was getting up there in years and needed help carrying everything now, and your brothers were too busy helping your father with the ranch and your sister was off being courted so it was up to you. Not that you minded; the old woman was hilarious.

Everything was normal, until the sounds of hollering and screams reached you. Unfortunately you and your grandmother were out in the middle of the street when this started so you had already been seen and it was pointless trying to duck into a nearby store.

You instead usher her to the side of a nearby building and crowd her against a wall to shield her, hoping for the best. Your heart drops though as one of them brings their horse to a stop right in front of you, the sight of him causing your breath to catch for more reasons than you care to admit.

They all wear some sort of covering over the lower halves of their faces with a half-skull decal on it (a trademark that they’re well known for) and with the black cowboy hat you could only make out his eyes. And the piercing blue things were fixed on you.

You fight the urge to shrink back, your first instinct being to protect your grandmother before anything else.

“There’s nothin’ here you’ll want,” You said, forcing your shakey voice to sound firm. “Just an old woman with fabric scraps for quilting and groceries.”

The corners of the man’s eyes crinkled and you heard a deep, amused chuckle.

His head turned and over the chaos he yelled out, “Price!”

Your heart dropped as another man dressed in black pulled his horse over to join the first, another set of bright blue eyes looking you up and down. You stood frozen, rooted in place as your grandmother cowers behind you, feeling as though the two men were appraising you for something.

“Pretty thing, ain’t she?” The first man says with a noticeable grin in his voice.

The second, Price (your mind recognizes him as the gang leader) grunts in agreement. “Very pretty; prettiest thing I’ve seen in a long time.”

Your face flushes at the compliment and you chastise yourself, hiding the blush with a glare.

“Leave us alone,” You snap. “Have you no shame, terrorizing our little town?”

Price’s head tips up slightly and you hear a deep laugh that rings out amongst the shouts and screams. You immediately regret even speaking out, trying to keep up your brave front for the sake of your grandmother.

He looks to the first man and jutts his head away, and the first man glances down at you before steering his horse away and races off to join the chaos.

Price then catches your attention by dismounting from his horse, facing you with an amused look in his eyes. He slowly walks closer to you and you straighten, realizing just how much bigger he is than you.

His hand clad in black leather reaches out to grip your chin with more care than you expected, and his eyes take you in as he gently tilts your head back and forth, almost inspecting you.

With his free hand, he pulls his bandana down to reveal a strikingly handsome face and you stare up at him despite yourself, not missing the satisfied smirk adorning his features.

“I’ll make you a deal, love,” He started then, straightening up. “You want us to leave your little town alone?”

You hesitate before nodding, your heart pounding in your chest.

His smirk widens into a grin. He doesn’t move away though, doesn’t remove his hand from your chin, and your stomach starts to slowly twist as he leans forward slightly. “Alright then.”

You blink, waiting.

“We’ll leave as soon as you agree to go with us.”

Your skin grows cold and your eyes widen. “What?”

“You heard me,” He said amusedly. “Get up on my horse and we’ll leave your town immediately.”

Your mind was racing as you stared up at him, but deep down you knew already what your decision was.

Which was how you found yourself sitting in front of Price on his horse, a large arm holding you against him as he and his gang rode out of your town. You turned to try and look back one last time but his large frame hindered you from doing so, and he gently nudged you forward again.

He cooed at the tears streaming down your face, wiping them away with a swipe of his thumb.

“None of that now, love, you’re breaking my heart,” He said, the arm around your waist tightening slightly.

You kept your eyes forward on the desert landscape around you, ignoring the three men that were eyeing you with interest as your attention was caught by Price lowering his head slightly to yours as he spoke in a low voice.

“Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of you, love.”

#call of duty #call of duty au #task force 141 #task force x reader #captain john price #john soap mactavish #simon riley #kyle gaz garrick #outlaw au

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hunxi-after-hours · 2 months ago

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hello. no one asked for this but the purpose of this blog is so I can turn my brain upside down, shake it vigorously, and dump out all of my thoughts such that each day I may come closer to my greatest life aspiration (being a himbo) SO. it is now time for me to do a far deeper dive on the production and fight choreography of the 《逆流而上》 performance from season 4 of 《披荆斩棘的哥哥》 / Call Me By Fire than anyone really cares for

still with me? have a drink close by? all right (holds out hand) let's get egregiously deep in the weeds together

BACKGROUND / CONTEXT

《逆流而上》 (something like "Upstream" or "Against the Tide") is all of a four-minute performance by 石凯 Shi Kai, 井胧 Jing Long, and 阿如那 Aruna. combining singing, acting, and some legitimately very good stage combat, the performance presents the narrative of a plucky young upstart gangster (Jing Long), who steals something he probably shouldn't have from a seasoned mob boss (Aruna), and in doing so pulls his friend and maybe gang leader (Shi Kai) into the battle

(where are you getting this plot summary, hunxi? from my brain. unfortunately. because I've watched this performance several dozen times. that is not an exaggeration. this is however simply my interpretation of the performance so Costco container of garlic salt etc etc)

BLOW-BY-BLOW (hah)

aka hold my hand, I am going to walk you through the entire performance

but it's only four minutes! you protest

did I stutter? are you still holding my hand? is now the time to warn you that this post is over five thousand words? well let's get moving then

0:11 - 0:40 Opening

here we are, setting the scene:

jing long's character returns from the street (hear the sirens and street traffic) to their warehouse hideout, carrying a mysterious duffel bag presumably crammed full of whatever he stole from aruna (likely cash, given the lightness of the bag)

glancing over his shoulder, he checks that no one is following him before throwing the bag to his back and skipping his way into the warehouse. he scans (a badge? some other form of RFID?) his way into the front door, swings from an overhead pipe, and slides down the fireman pole to make his entrance onto the stage proper

shi kai's character is established with his feet on the desk, watching security footage and toying with something in his hand (we hear a burst of static and the bleep of a walkie-talkie)

so already! we have learned the following:

jing long reads very much as a cocky young upstart, everyone's little brother who's too hot(headed) and too cocky for his own good

shi kai reads as slightly older, more responsible, more cautious. though he slouches leisurely in his swivel chair, he is still keeping a wary eye on the security footage around the warehouse

in addition, I would like to express my respect and admiration for the costume designers of this piece — note that all of the performers involved in fight choreography (named actors and stuntspeople alike) are dressed in long sleeves, long pants, and sensibly closed-toed shoes. given the physicality of the performance, you'd definitely want clothing that can protect easily-skinned areas like elbows and knees. also, longer (and looser) sleeves and pants can handily hide other padding if needed (e.g. elbow or knee pads, or just extra layers of clothing)

shi kai is dressed in a baggy brown coat over a relatively high-necked black shirt, as well as baggy pants and black leather gloves. the looseness of his outfit leaves much more room for potential padding underneath, which makes sense as the "bruiser" of the two with much more fight choreography. I would dock points for the silly little bandana (what are you wearing that for, your opponent to strangle you with?) but it's a fun accent piece so we'll let it slide on style

jing long is dressed more "stylishly" or roguishly, with a white tank top under a leather jacket that is pushed up to almost his elbows. he also wears full leather gloves, but with holes around the knuckles; so, clearly not a bruiser or someone who punches things with regularity. while the leather jacket is good for protection, it offers much less padding than shi kai's coat. this then comes back to bite jing long, who gets flung to the ground later by aruna and takes a solid moment to recover

0:41 - 1:20 Establishing the Jing Long - Shi Kai Character Relationship

in this sequence, we begin the singing (something that I personally find deeply hilarious is how the lyrics have almost nothing to do with anything that's happening onstage. we could unpack this for a while but for now I get a good laugh out of it), but more importantly, we get into the acting:

as jing long walks across stage toward shi kai, high five-ing shi kai on the way over and spinning him around in his swivel chair, jing long does so with a swagger, evidently proud of his heist

shi kai appears to be more skeptical; as jing long sits on his desk and unzips the bag to show him the spoils, shi kai instead raises his eyebrows and gestures at the security footage, as if to ask "well, were you followed?"

jing long's character rolls his eyes and crosses the stage to the couch, where he flops and sulks about shi kai not being appropriately impressed

shi kai gets up and follows him, and though the lyrics rapped here have nothing to do with the plot beyond general vibe, the moment reads very much like shi kai lecturing jing long about the need for caution and discretion. fascinating moment where shi kai's character is clearly saying something but the words coming out of his mouth are not what he's saying diegetically (except maybe "back off")

jing long is evidently fed up with shi kai's nagging, until they both hear footsteps in the scaffolding overhead — someone has followed jing long back to their hideout

I do love the detail of jing long looking up, directing our gazes to the mooks running through the catwalks. jing long gets up to go deal with them — again, hotheaded youngster — but shi kai pushes him back onto the couch with a pointed look which very much reads as "older brother once again cleaning up after younger brother's impulsive decision"

now that we've done all the set up! let's get punchin'

1:21 - 2:04 Fight Sequence 1 (Catwalk Fight)

in which jing long gets to sit on a couch and do vocal acrobatics while shi kai cleans up his mess

the degree to which this set is almost completely OSHA certified but also Strategically Not OSHA Certified in certain places brings me so much joy and anger, but it's nothing worse than what the original Next to Normal set on Broadway pulled, so I will put my hard hat down

shi kai climbs up the stairs to the upper level of the warehouse, where a bunch of convenient mooks/stuntpeople await him to be mowed down one by one. this sequence is very much reminiscent of platform fighting games

A NOT-SO-BRIEF ASIDE ABOUT STAGE COMBAT: one of the reasons why I absolutely love stage combat is because, done right, it is the biggest inside joke you can pull off in front of a live audience. the audience is convinced that these two characters are Legitimately Trying to Hurt Each Other, but the performers are secretly in on the joke — they are executing a perfectly and exquisitely choreographed movement sequence in which they hoodwink the audience together. for a medium that is premised on hoodwinking the audience together, stage combat is extra fun because the hoodwinking is dialed up to eleven. it's not just convincing the audience of the immediacy and urgency of a fictional world, it's also convincing the audience that you hate each other's guts when secretly you're trying not to break out into a huge grin (or maybe other people are better at staying in character, I was never cut out for acting). it's ALSO making the audience think that serious injury and damage has occurred, when in reality nothing of the kind has happened. it's the wordless trust and synchronicity that your scene partner will be exactly where you both agreed they will be, just as you will do exactly what you promised to do

in stage combat, none of the blows actually hit with the level of force they appear to — this is incredibly important in live theater, which is performed night after night for days to weeks to months in a row. the fight choreography must be sustainable. that means no performer can be a hero and say "oh you can hit me for real, I can take it" because the body reacts instinctively and if you know physical contact is coming, it doesn't matter how good of an actor you are, at some point you will not be able to suppress the flinch. also, you have to be onstage doing this again tomorrow, or even tonight, and if it's a blow that will injure or bruise, you can't keep taking damage in the same spot repeatedly and expect to make it through the run

which is to say — stage combat should be safe. it should appear to be violent, feral, unhinged, vicious, whatever the scene needs, but it has to be safe and sustainable. what that also means is that the ferocity of the attack, the damage of the blow, the lethality of the strike depends less on the attacking performer's "strength" and wholly on the "victim" selling the force of the hit. cradling your face after a slap (conveniently hiding that your cheek is not even reddening because there was no contact made). doubling over after a "blow" to the solar plexus to sell that gut-punch. depending on your genre, maybe even doing a gratuitous backflip off a platform if you've been "sent flying." half of stage combat is camp (the other half is knapping)

so! shi kai mows his way through a series of stunt performers, who are really doing the lion's share of convincing the audience that his character is a competent brawler. no shade to shi kai — the man is also singing through much of this sequence

most notably, shi kai is singing as he delivers that flying kick at 1:49. the audio cuts a bit strangely here, which allows you to hear the strain in his voice as he jumps into half of a pull-up and kicks a stuntperson in the chest

if you've gotten way too deep in all the extra behind-the-scenes material for this performance, you'll know that this was a sequence that shi kai really struggled with because the director kept asking him to kick the guy with more force and shi kai felt guilty hitting the stuntperson every time. it wasn't until the stuntperson confirmed that he was wearing chest padding that shi kai finally relaxed and felt like he could put more force into it

most of the choreography has the combatants coming at each other with a big ol' overhand haymaker/icepick attacks (whether with a steel pipe or a closed fist). this is a classic stage combat move, partially because it looks Big and Scary and Impressive, partially because it's extremely impractical in an actual fight: it's slow, utilizes an excessive amount of wind-up, and leaves a huge opening where a fast attacker can dart in for the advantage while your arm is still in the overhead swing, which is what shi kai does with the first stuntperson

I am fairly confident that they are adding additional sound effects for punching, hitting the ground, and later, jing long strangling aruna — partially because I don't think we'd actually be able to pick up those sounds in the general noise of a live performance, but also primarily because they sound, um. somewhat canned

give it up for the professional stuntpeople who are really selling this performance, and also because of how extra they are across the board in "being defeated." I'm specifically calling out the second guy at 1:36 for his little foot twirl when shi kai gives him that head smack, and the last guy at 2:01 for bouncing off the edge of the platform where there is deliberately No OSHA Protective Railing. like my guy you could've just somersaulted onto the mat that's presumably discreetly laid out below, the bounce was completely gratuitous

speaking of moments where you can spot the "seams" of the fight choreography: watch this enough times and you can see how the stuntperson doubles over and waits for shi kai to knock him off the platform from 1:59 - 2:01; the slight pause there is partially hidden by the rapid cuts, but if you watch the stuntperson you can see him holding the position in preparation to be kicked off the platform

2:05 - 2:50 "ARUNA!!!!!!!!!"

time check: we are now two minutes. into a four minute performance. and only now does aruna, our third character, show up, and what an entrance it is. in the performance cut that aired, the editors briefly flash to the greenroom, where the other contestants of the show, watching the performance live, erupt in cheers for aruna's arrival. shouts of "he's coming, he's here!" and "ARUNA!!!!!!!!!" briefly interrupt the performance's audio as the other contestants clap, yell, and rise from their seats in primal enthusiasm. one gets the sense that aruna is not only a fan favorite contestant, but also a cast favorite as well

it is exceedingly difficult to get screenshots of the fight choreography since it all blurs. you will simply have to trust me and watch it

aruna's entrance + first lines are maybe the closest the lyrics actually come to making diegetic sense hhh

aruna's character rolls up with an entire crew, only to wave them off, presumably because he thinks he can take care of these upstarts on his own. to be fair, he's not completely wrong about that

I love the way they did the first moment of eye contact between aruna and jing long; aruna, high up on the catwalk, looking down at jing long on the warehouse floor with a nonzero amount of scorn. jing long, in contrast with his earlier insouciance and general slouchiness on the couch, now sits up, slightly hunched over, with what looks like fear in his eyes. as it turns out, he didn't pull off his heist as cleanly as he thought he had, and now the consequences are coming (literally) to beat his ass (literally)

they also take time to establish the location of shi kai's character, high up on a catwalk on the other side of the stage. this raises the possibility that the earlier mooks he dispatched in Fight Sequence 1 were simply a distraction aruna sent ahead; more importantly, it means that jing long will have to fend for himself against aruna until shi kai gets there

but not to worry! jing long and shi kai's side ALSO has disposable mooks (very hardworking stuntpeople). note that these stuntpeople (unlike the, uh, assorted 小鲜肉 in the background who wear tank tops) are dressed with sensible coverage

aruna one-ups shi kai's initial fight sequence by taking on three people simultaneously, more or less in a melee (they do attack him very politely in sequence. this is choreography after all). the first person he dispatches with a spinning kick, which is tremendously impractical in real life (slow! difficult to aim! not actually more forceful!) but looks cool in choreography

the second person comes at aruna with an openhanded haymaker, which makes it tremendously convenient for aruna to get inside that stuntperson's range, twist him around to feign a joint lock, and use him as both shield and leverage to kick the other two guys (the joint lock is feigned because it's real easy to get injured in a real joint lock. later, the two of them also untwist the "joint lock" to get better and safer leverage on the shoulder throw)

blink and you'll miss it — when the stuntperson hits and breaks the coffee table behind him at 2:46 - 2:47, you can see him briefly check over his shoulder to make sure he's falling where he wants to. I can only hope that the coffee table was pre-broken for the effect

the shoulder throw at 2:48 looks pretty gnarly, but if you slow it down you can see the stuntperson strike the ground feet-first to absorb the impact before pretending to crumple. that being said, the speed and the force of the impact are probably enough to rattle his bones a little

after summarily dispatching the three stuntpeople, aruna points at the bag by jing long's feet and gestures an unimpressed "give it back"

2:51 - 3:26 Fight Sequence 2, Electric Boogaloo (The Showdown)

you know it's a Big Fight Scene when they take a break from singing to do a pure instrumental + fight choreography interlude. after aruna summarily dispatches three stuntpeople and tells jing long to return what he stole, jing long, true to his character, flings the bag at aruna in a "fine, take it!" and goes in for the attack

aruna dodges easily, and as he goes to the side, he picks up a plank of plywood that he swings at jing long

it passes way over jing long's head, because jing long has planted one hand on the ground to slide by underneath

side note: in the behind-the-scenes material, shi kai was the one practicing a sideways knee slide. considering that 1) no knee slide made it into the final choreography, and 2) jing long is the one doing this close approximation here, that makes me wonder if a) jing long and shi kai at any point switched roles, and b) at what point the set was finalized vs. the fight choreography set, because there isn't enough space in the catwalk fight sequence for shi kai to slide safely or practically

but that's neither here nor there

aruna swings at jing long twice, and jing long ducks out of the way both times. props to jing long for making sure he comes back up between swings before ducking again, because otherwise it would make aruna's character look a bit foolish for repeatedly swinging at empty space

on aruna's third swing with the plank, he shatters it against jing long's left side. I'm hoping the plank was either really thin or pre-broken because that is a hefty cloud of dust

jing long then comes at aruna with — you guessed it — a haymaker, which allows aruna to grab him by the entire forearm and sock him in the stomach. this makes jing long double over, conveniently setting them both up for—

the next stunt these two pull involves partnerwork and coordination; aruna falls backwards, dropping his center of gravity to the floor and pulling jing long forward. he then gives jing long a boost with his foot (ah, my bad. "a kick"), which allows jing long to flip over him in a very showy manner

if this was actual combat, aruna would have probably kept hold of jing long's forearm in order to slam him against the floor. but since this is choreography, aruna lets go of jing long's arm, which allows jing long to catch himself on his hands and turn that into a forward somersault

don't be fooled by how far jing long rolls. after the first roll to dispel momentum from the flip, he's doing the rest of the rolls on his own merit

again, the "ferocity" or "strength" of an attack is sold by the "victim," so by lying on the floor for a bit longer and struggling to get up, jing long is selling aruna's fighting prowess. also, even if this is meticulously planned stage combat, the performers are still absolutely getting their bumps and bruises

shi kai enters — somewhat tardy, but I love this entrance because it's so funny. a plywood (?) siding hits the ground with a cloud of dust, presumably bashed in from the force of the two stuntpeople colliding with it, who then fall to the ground as shi kai struts in. the two stuntpeople roll around on the ground as if shi kai just pummeled them into the wall, but in reality the three of them were probably j chilling, waiting for their cue, before the two stuntpeople jumped at the plywood shoulder-first to knock it down for shi kai's entrance

again, stage combat is a huge inside joke! what looks like shi kai kicking ass and taking names as he comes to his lil bro's rescue is actually just the stunt crew going "nah man leave this to us, we'll make you look cool" and shi kai going "oh ok you guys sure?" and them going "yeah!!" and yeeting themselves at the wall

neither here nor there but I love shi kai sprinting across stage to get to aruna. it really builds up the momentum and intensity of the fight. the fact that he does this while spitting "now call me by fire" is. well. pretty fire

aruna's turn to throw a haymaker! shi kai easily ducks under it for the waist tackle, which 1) helps transfer all of his sprinting momentum to twirl the two of them around, and 2) results in a net zero change in positioning. throughout this whole performance, aruna is consistently positioned on stage right (frame left), and shi kai / jing long are consistently on stage left (frame right), just to make "who's on whose side" a bit easier for the viewer to track

aruna even does a fun little jump/flail to dissipate shi kai's momentum, which I find delightful. throw the didis a bone, aruna, they already can't beat you two-on-one

shi kai does a little jump + snap kick, which aruna easily parries with his hands. choreography!

aruna then goes for shi kai's leg to take him to the floor (what's with this choreography characterization. in less than two minutes aruna has gone to the floor at least three times. let the man rest)

I guess in a real fight it might make sense for aruna to use his greater strength and mass to pin his opponents to the floor, but that requires following through and punching their lights out, which he, uh, does not

shi kai's spinning flip is "assisted" by aruna — the quotation marks is because that maneuver requires anchoring one's weight on the leg that aruna's holding, but because shi kai's doing it with that foot elevated, it's much harder than it would've been if shi kai's foot was just on the ground. trust me on this one. it's all about core strength and leverage

much like how aruna politely let go of jing long's arm while flipping him, aruna politely holds shi kai's leg long enough for him to flip as well

they use this moment to briefly split apart and breathe for a second in the choreography

shi kai's turn to throw a haymaker! in an echo of earlier, aruna grabs that arm and puts it into a (very loose) joint lock, and loops his left arm around shi kai's chest in a "headlock." I would like to praise aruna's fight choreography technique here, because he is executing a lovely fake headlock — arm barred across shi kai's collarbones and shoulder, not actually anywhere close to shi kai's throat. likewise, shi kai's free hand is on that arm, which anchors both of them relative to each other and also allows for shi kai to "struggle" without being in danger of dislodging aruna's grip to somewhere more dangerous

aruna then pivots them and "kicks" shi kai onto the couch — either he misplaced his foot or he's really selling it, but that flail does not look very controlled hhh. meanwhile, shi kai finally gets to flop on this very squishy-looking couch, which jing long has been monopolizing for this entire performance. again, it's shi kai's job to sell the force of aruna's kick, so he whiplashes very convincingly onto the cushions

this is also a classic of stage combat: "throw" your opponent into what is actually a soft landing place with very little real force, and let your opponent control the force and direction and theatricality of how they land

aruna, stumbling back from kicking shi kai, has his outstretched arms caught by two of the stuntpeople he laid flat earlier. also another visible "seam," as he essentially backs into their arms so they can catch him

he then flings them off, which is tremendously unrealistic sdlfksdjls but we can cut the man a break, he's been onstage for a minute and a half and that minute was almost entirely fight choreography

side note: you can hear aruna's heavy breathing, which means that they decided to keep his mic on during this fight sequence?? well I hope they turned aruna's mic off shortly after this for the next stunt they're about to pull

the flying kick + punch combo is also tremendously unrealistic (like, way to cancel out the force of your own strikes as you try to go in opposite directions simultaneously), but it looks showy. if you watch carefully, you can see the second stuntperson (who presumably gets socked in the face) do his extremely extra flip while he goes down just a hair late

3:27 - 4:08 (end) Finale

and now it's time for the big finish! I do love the editing on this performance, since no matter who's currently engaged in a beatdown, they'll periodically give shots to the third person so we know where they're positioned. in this case, we saw jing long levering himself back up during the aruna - shi kai showdown and gearing himself up for—

jing long runs at aruna and launches himself into the air to lock his legs around aruna's neck

moment of silence for aruna's neck. and all the rehearsals they had to go through while jing long figured this out

another visible "seam" — as aruna backs up towards the center of the stage, he's subtly checking over his shoulder (the wrong shoulder, likely on purpose so that he can still be taken "off guard" by jing long's attack) and killing a few seconds while jing long gets a running start

to be honest the spinning leg lock just looks fun. probably not for aruna but once they get into position jing long lets his arms go like "wheeeee"

letting his arms go is also important for weight distribution, balance, and lowering himself to the ground once aruna's spun them enough times. hey can someone send a memo to 偶像剧 that this is clearly the superior form of the 公主抱 + 转圈圈 combination

aruna goes to the floor — again — to let them both down and they roll away from each other to disengage. hilariously, at some point in this scuffle, aruna loses a shoe. you can spot it by shi kai's foot in the next shot, and also when aruna stands, facing the didi gang, his right (shoeless) foot is visibly smaller than his left

this manuever also yanks the earpiece out of aruna's ear — at this point I'm just impressed that all of their microphones stayed on their faces

while shi kai helps jing long get to his feet (love that you can hear the unsteadiness in jing long's voice. that doesn't stop him from being exquisitely on key or belting), aruna goes and grabs the duffel

I am also irrationally charmed by how shi kai mirrors aruna's chin-jerk. in my personal postcanon imagination for this stupid four minute performance I like to think that they follow the 不打不相识 rules of friendship, and aruna takes these two chuckleheads under his wing. oh wait that's what already happened in the rehearsals for this performance. anyway

a moment of appreciation for the dynamism of the last shot — in the ringing silence after the last note, aruna hurls the duffel bag behind him with a yell, and the two sides charge at each other as the stage goes dark. this must have been a late add, because their dress rehearsals have the didi gang getting up in aruna's space and surrounding him, and the stage goes to blackout in that stationary image. ending on this clash is such a lovely evocation of movement and further story as both sides throw away the original "goal" of this confrontation (the duffel) for the thrill of the fight

OK SO THAT WAS A LOT OF RAMBLING, NOW WHAT?

you know, I wish I knew what the point of this exercise was too beyond trying to shake all of these thoughts out of my brain. all I know is that I watched this performance a couple of weeks ago and it's now become my entire personality. I think about it multiple times a day. I've watched it so many times I know all the cuts, and maybe most of the choreography by heart

I think there's something about the rawness of this performance — both in a primal, punchin' kind of sense, but the relative lack of artifice. this performance is very much a back-to-theatrical basics; a rare piece that doesn't rely on an overabundance of flashing concert lighting or pyrotechnics to elevate the atmosphere of the song. much like the barebones aesthetic of the set (mostly scaffolding), this performance relies on very little special effects beyond good old-fashioned theater. legitimately, I'm not sure they had many lighting cues beyond "lights up" and "lights out," which is tremendously refreshing to see.

and of course, naturally, I've been obsessed with the fight choreography. hopefully the several thousand words have convinced you that the choreography is well-made and well-crafted within the context of the song and performance and narrative; I think for me, it was the refreshing novelty of seeing actually good fight choreography in cmedia. it's just been. so long?? since I've seen down and dirty fight choreography that hasn't been stylized and slow-moed to hell and back, strung up and strung out on wire work and wind machines. there's also a down-to-earth-ness to the stage combat here — reminiscent of HK gangster flicks, for sure, and their overlap with kung fu action films — from the lack of wild stunts and acrobatics that feels especially appropriate to the presented narrative

and it helps that everyone brought their all to the performance! aruna, shi kai, and jing long's characters all shone through easily, subtly, in embodiments that felt effortless, though jing long would be the first to argue otherwise (he struggled quite a bit, and went to Professional Screen Actor Aruna for advice). and even if the characterizations felt seamless, I loved being able to see the "seams" of the performance; how they put the fight choreography together, the little tells where you can spot the immense amount of work that went into honing this performance into something stage-ready. the effort everyone put into this is palpable, from the shortness of breath to the strained voices and strained back muscles (big mood, jing long). it's the fly on the painting that brings it to life; it's sneaking a peek of the human effort and time and work it took to put this together

I am rapidly running out of words to explain why I love this so much, but to actually explain all of it feels like it would strip away the emotion and render it nothing more and nothing less than appreciation. but there is a healthy mixture of all of that: appreciation, admiration, enthusiasm, knowledge, satisfaction, that makes my deep affection for this performance that much stronger, that makes me stop my workday whenever this comes up in my playlist again to watch it all again, even if I already know every grunt and every thump, every run and every belt by heart

(bows to an empty auditorium) thank you for your time as I yammer on about another niche interest. I'm off to go elevate my watch count into the triple digits (kickflips off stage)

LINKS

纯享 4-minute performance video

full episode (their section begins 41:20 and runs approximately to 1:00:00)

extra reactions from the greenroom

additional rehearsal footage

#心怀杂念字数无量 #《逆流而上》#披荆斩棘的哥哥4 #call me by fire #怎么我每次为某样东西发疯的时候都是五千字起步hhh #饶了我吧

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m-musings · 1 year ago

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Winging It: Buggy The Clown X Winged! Fem! Reader Pt. 1

A/N: bless the one piece fans for getting me into the show and introducing me to this man because he is just so FJSCBKGHLKDGW, like you feel me? anywaysss, first time writing for one piece, let's do this whoooo!

(part 2 here! :] )

Word Count: 2.7k Summary: Buggy asks (Y/n) to help out with an unusual task, chaos ensues. Warnings: a dude being a creep to reader later on and a little bit of ooc on Buggy's behalf, but other than that, just some good ol' fluff!

It all started out as a perfectly normal day.

After another busy day on the Big Top and another successful "show", Buggy had given the majority of his crew the day off to do whatever they wished.

As soon as (Y/n) was able, she unfurled her feathery wings and flew up to the crows nest, needing to get away from the madness down on the deck for a while.

Closing her eyes, (Y/n) took a deep breath of the refreshing ocean air as the breeze blew softly against her face.

Having joined Buggy's crew a few months earlier, she had never expected her life to change as much as it did as fast as it did.

(Y/n) originally came from a life as the sole inhabitant of a tiny island in the middle of the East Blue. One day, the Big Top and its crew happened to be sailing by and stopped to search the island for any supplies they could find.

Fearing the worst, (Y/n) grabbed her baseball bat and and flew out of her hut to stop the pirates from getting any closer.

After fending off a few of the crew members, Buggy swiftly stepped in to try and diffuse the situation, being unusually calm and level headed as he addressed (Y/n).

Realizing her wings could be useful to him in shows and in pillaging, Buggy invited her to join him and his pirates instead of struggling to keep herself alive and entertained on her little islet.

With a hesitant but quick decision, (Y/n) agreed, asking for some time to pack some personal items before Buggy and the rest of the crew led her back to the boat, intent on celebrating a new member of the gang.

Quickly learning the ropes of pirating and climbing up the ranks of the crew, (Y/n) eventually became a high ranking member, just behind Mohji and Buggy himself.

She even managed to become friends with the quirky captain, to the the slight disbelief of the rest of their crewmates. In addition, after getting to know each other a bit more, that friendship slowly turned into a (huge) crush on (Y/n)'s part, but neither Buggy nor anyone else needed to know that part.

And even though the start of her pirating adventure was a little strange, (Y/n) could never say she missed her old life. Being apart of the Big Top Crew gave her the family and friends she was sorely missing on her island.

Reveling in the quiet of the air, (Y/n) smiled to herself as she thought of her new existence as the Big Top's resident trapeze artist, grateful that she now had the world at her fingertips, plus people to fight beside and fight for.

As she reminisced upon the past, her eyebrows perked up when she heard ropes creaking from somewhere down below.

"Hey doll! Figured I'd find you up here!" Grunted a voice from beside her.

She cracked one of her eyes open to see Buggy climbing up the rigging, the tail of his bandana flowing behind him.

"Hey, Cap! Did you need something?"

"Nah, not right now. But I might once we get to the island we're headed to. If the winds are good, we should get there in the next 2 days."

"Oh, yeah, I nearly forgot! What's so special about this island anyway? Isn't the stop just for us to stock up again before we head out to meet Alvida?" (Y/n) questioned, sitting down on the floor of the crows nest as she scootched over to make some room for Buggy.

"That's part of it, yes, but the main reason we're stopping is because a couple of our cannons were destroyed in our last fight with the Marines. There's a few weaponsmiths in a city there that are willing to sell us a few new ones if we can negotiate a good price for both of us."

"So we need them to agree to our bargain so we don't get demolished by another battle on the way to meet Alvida?"

"Exactly! You're one smart cookie.

"Hmm, I try." She shrugged with pleased grin, her wings fluffing out in sync.

"You sure do, (Y/n/n). Anyways, I came to see if you would be willing to come with me, just to make sure nothing fishy happens while I'm not paying attention. Maybe pretend to be my arm candy to trick them, y'know?"

"Me? Can't someone, like, Cabaji do it? He's got way more experience with this stuff than I do."

"He's gonna be in charge of the ship while we're gone. Plus, I mean, you're the only one who would make spending time with dumbasses like these smith guys bearable. You would save me of literally dying of boredom."

"Pfft, I doubt that" Answered (Y/n) as she rolled her eyes at the clown's exaggeration.

Buggy chuckled, smiling softly at the girl as he rested his arm atop her shoulder.

The action causes a very subtle blush to appear on her face, which she tries to keep hidden by scratching at her neck.

"So whadya say, huh? Wanna go on a little adventure with me?"

(Y/n) sighed with a sputter of her lips before turning to answer the blue haired man.

"Sure, Captain, I'll come along. It could be kinda fun."

"Aww, thanks (Y/n), you're the best! Even better than Mohji! But don't tell him that." Whispered Buggy as he jokingly cupped his hand over his mouth.

"You're ridiculous, Captain." she laughed softly, bumping her shoulder with his.

"And I take pride in that. It's all I got goin' for me, after all." Chuckled Buggy, who shrugged and leaned back in reply.

(Y/n) gave him an amused grin in reply before shifting her eyes back towards the big blue ocean that surrounded them.

The two then sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes before the voice of another crewmate called out for Buggy from somewhere on the main deck.

"Well, sweets, duty calls. See you later, huh?" Buggy said with a salute before he made his way back down the rigging.

As he disappeared from sight, (Y/n) bashfully put her head in her hands as she tried not to overthink the nickname her captain had given her.

"Oh, damn.... what have I gotten myself into?..." (Y/n) questioned herself as she placed her head against her knees.

After a few more minutes of sitting by herself while she scanned the horizon, Buggy yelled out, calling the crew back to the deck for another show.

With a small shake of her head, (Y/n) stood up, stretched, and flew down to gather with the rest of the troupe.

Just as Buggy had said, the Big Top had reached it's island destination a couple days later. Thankfully, there wasn't many Marines in this town, meaning the crew could go into town to stretch their legs on land and get any supplies they might need for the rest of the trip.

Still on the ship, (Y/n) sat below deck as she tried to find something other than her circus costume to wear, wanting to be able to blend into the crowds better or just in case a high ranking Marine or someone from the World Government showed up and recognized her alongside Buggy.

Rummaging through her chest of clothes, her wings fluttered as she finally found a simple black tank top and a pair of jeans.

After placing the clothing on her bed and gliding over to a nearby vanity to do some basic makeup, she heard a knock at her door while she applied some light rouge to her face.

"Come in, it's open!" She announced as she grabbed another brush from the vanity drawer.

Looking behind her using the mirror, she saw a familiar orange pirate hat pop into view.

"Are you decent?" Buggy said as he entered the room, his disembodied hands floating in front of his face to cover his eyes

"Yes, Captain, you can open your eyes if you want." (Y/n) giggled as she put on some finishing touches of makeup.

Popping off one of his fingers to glance at the girl, he gasped lightly as he finally saw her face.

"Wow, you look fantastic!" Buggy said with an impressed nod.

"Really? It's not much different than my usual casual looks..." Claimed (Y/n) as she timidly placed a hand upon her cheek.

"Either way, angel, you look good. But I suppose that's beside the point. I just came to tell you to be ready to go by sundown. I'll be waiting on the dock, Don't be late." He winked before leaving the room.

With a huff as she tried to compose herself, (Y/n) stood up to get dressed and mentally prepare herself for the night.

Within just a few short hours, the sun had finally set upon the island, and right on cue, (Y/n) left her quarters and strutted over to the deck railing to see Buggy down on the pier waiting for her.

"Ah, (Y/n) there you are! I was worried for a sec, thought you were gonna chicken out on me!"

"No, I'm here. Someone has gotta keep an eye on you!"

"Well, I'm glad that someone is you. Shall we go?" Buggy motioned as (Y/n) climbed down to meet him.

"Yes, we shall, mon capitaine!" (Y/n) quipped as he held her head up high with a light giggle.

"C'mon, let's get going." Chuckled Buggy in response as the two made their way out of the marina.

After a minute or so of idle chatter about their days, (Y/n) spoke up with a question she had been meaning to ask.

"What do we do if they don't agree to give us the cannons for the price you set?"

"Well If that happens, I guess we'll just have to... wing it!" Buggy quipped as he gave the girl a sly grin.

"Oh, ha ha, very funny!" (Y/n) fake laughed as she playfully smacked Buggy's back with one of her wings.

"Thank you! I am funny!" Buggy declared as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, careful to avoid the feathers on her back.

(Y/n) bit her bottom lip in reply as she moved her gaze to the cobblestone ground beneath them.

"So where exactly is this weapons store at?"

"Not far, we come to this place every so often so I know the quickest way to get there."

(Y/n) nodded in acknowledgement as Buggy began to tell her some fun stories about his past adventures here.

About 15 minutes later, Buggy made an excited noise as he realized where they were.

"Ok, (Y/n/n), the weaponsmiths store is just up ahead, I'll lead you there." He announced, taking her hand until they found the place they needed to be.

As the door swung open, a little bell rang overhead, signaling to the two workers that someone had entered the shop.

"Gentlemen! How's it going, am I late to the party?!"

"Ah, you must be the guy that contacted us the other day! Nah, you're right on time! Did you bring cash?" Asked one of the men who (Y/n) assumed was the shop owner.

Buggy rolled his eyes as he pulled out a large stack of berry from his pocket and placed it onto a nearby counter, in front of the younger man with black hair.

"Perfect! If you follow me, I can show you the canons we currently have on stock." the older of the two men said, leading Buggy past a few rows of shelves and cabinets to another part of the store.

Just before they rounded the corner, Buggy and (Y/n) gave each other a reassuring nod.

After a brief moment of looking around at the various weapons and items scattered across the room, (Y/n)'s attention was grabbed by the sound of someone behind her clearing her throat.

She slowly whirled back around to see the younger of the two shopkeepers looking her up and down.

"Hey gorgeous, how ya doin' on this fine evening?" The man who stayed at the counter smirked, looking at (Y/n) with something dangerous flashing in his eyes

"Fine, thanks..." (Y/n) giving him a polite smile

"So, you uh, doing anything tonight?"

"Just getting those cannons, then we're headed back out."

"Aw come on, you couldn't stay for... say, one drink with me at the bar in town?"

"Um, thanks but no thanks, I've got stuff to do back on our ship." Responded the girl as she took a few steps backwards

"Are you sure? I could give you a real fun time, cutie!" Chuckled the man as he walked around the counter to stand in front of (Y/n) with his arms crossed.

"Yeah, positive. Sorry." (Y/n) finalized as she started to walk away, but was near-instantly stopped.

"Oh, come on, pretty birdy, leave that idiotic clown guy and spend the night with a real man huh?!" The man cackled as he grabbed onto (Y/n)'s wrist and pulled her into his chest.

"Ow! Let me go!" Hissed (Y/n) as she began to tug against the mans grasp, flapping her wings slightly to give her a bit more leverage.

The man laughed crudely before grabbing her other arm and trapping her against a shelf.

"Hey, maybe that stupid pirate will let me keep you! Who knows, maybe we can see all of the things those pretty little wings of yours can do!"

With a disgusted scoff, (Y/n) went to grab a small dagger she had hidden in her left pocket, but before she could even find it, a white-gloved hand shot across the store to grip the black haired man's collar.

"What exactly do you think you're doing?!" Buggy inquired, his voice menacingly low as he appeared back from the other side of the store.

"Uh, well, you see I- it's um-"

"Answer me!"

"C'mon, It was a joke! I didn't mean anything by it!" The man tried to convince the Captain as he let out a nervous laugh.

"Didn't seem very funny to me..." Buggy stated as he glared daggers at the shopkeeper.

"You're right, it wasn't, I- I apologize-" he stammered with a fearful whimper before Buggy pushed him back against the counter with a growl.

"If you ever try to touch anyone on my crew again, I'll personally make sure you lose both of your hands, got it?!"

"Okay, alright, I'm sorry! It won't happen again, sir!" The man agreed with a frightened look at the pirate.

Buggy scoffs irately, throwing the man onto the floor before picking the berry back up and stuffing it back into his pocket.

"C'mon, (Y/n), we're getting the hell outta here." Buggy spat as he gingerly grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the shop.

Confusedly sputtering as they clambered back down the road, (Y/n) stared at Buggy with wide eyes.

"Slow down a little, please!" (Y/n) said, stumbling as she tried to keep pace with Buggy.

With an apologetic and upset glance, Buggy released her hand before she hurried over to walk side by side with him.

"Buggy, what the hell was that about?!"

"Don't worry about it, we just needed to leave that shithole before I killed someone."

"That hasn't stopped you before!"

"I'll just say I'm feeling generous tonight then." Snarled Buggy, growing more and more enraged as the pair walked.

"We need to go back, we need those canons or we're screwed!"

"We can get the canons somewhere else, we need to go."

"But what was that all about?! Sure, the guy was a douche, but I could have easily just pushed him off with my wings or cut him with my dagger. Why are you being so weird about this?!"

"Because no one fucks with my girl!" Buggy shouted, spinning around to come face to face with (Y/n).

"W-wait, wait... Your girl?..." (Y/n) asked quietly, freezing as the meaning of his words sunk in.

Buggy halted his rant as he turned to fully face her, finally realizing what he had said. Running a palm through his blue locks, he dejectedly shook his head as he struggled to find the right words to say.

"Just forget about it, okay?! We have to get back to the ship..." Buggy muttered as he continued to stomp away.

As the blue haired pirate angrily marched down the street, (Y/n) stood frozen on the edge of the town, not knowing how to feel about what her beloved captain had just revealed to her.

#buggy x reader #buggy the clown x reader #buggy the clown #one piece #one piece live action #one piece imagine #fanfic

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the-name-is-z · 9 months ago

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SKELETONS | ch. 2

daryl dixon x f!oc

masterlist

a03 link

Summary: After the apocalypse took everything Iris held dear, a new opportunity presents itself in the form of a bag of guns. Little does she know, that bag of guns starts something much bigger than she ever could have anticipated. Warnings/Information: AMC's The Walking Dead OC Insert | 18+ Advised | strangers to lovers; the slowest of slow burns; gore; angst; horror; humour; m/f; gun violence, gang violence, offensive terminology for gang members and daryl, salty language

Chapter 2 - The Deal

The kid led them to a warehouse further into the city, and Iris was fidgeting with her knives. They waited at a wall further outside the building, a broken window between them and their friend. The bandana was back over her face, the bag of guns slung over T-Dog's shoulder. Rick rattled a shotgun shell next to his ear before loading it into the gun.

The group of warehouses was old enough to be made of brick and mortar, broken windows and doorframes unaccompanied by a roof. All except for the main building at the back, where the rest of the gang was presumably waiting. The kid wasn't smart enough to set them up, hopefully.

"You sure you're up for this?" Rick asked T-Dog.

"Yeah." He assured. Daryl gripped his crossbow tightly, keeping an eye on the kid as Iris peered through the broken barred window to the gate on the other side. Wasn't anything to write home about, but looks could be deceiving.

"One wrong move, you get an arrow in the ass. Just so you know." Daryl grunted.

"G's gonna take that arrow out of my ass and shove it up yours. Just so you know." The kid retorted.

"G?" Rick asked.

"Guillermo. He's the man here."

"Okay then." Rick continued, cocking the gun. "Let's go see Guillermo." He gestured for Iris to go first and she scoffed, ducking through the bars and wire fence. T-Dog took up a sniper position on the wall to give them an edge. Rick pushed the kid forward and they followed him to the gate.

They slid open with a loud creak, a group of guards standing in the doorway. One man stepped forward, a cross chain hanging from his neck. He was shorter than the kid, and young. Didn't look like much of a threat, but there were more Iris couldn't see. She gripped the handle of her knife tighter.

"You okay, little man?" Guillermo asked, his hands in his pockets as he regarded them carefully.

"They're gonna cut off my feet, carnal." The kid replied, twitching. Clearly he'd never been a hostage before. That being said, most days consisted of things Iris had never done before.

"Cops do that?" Guillermo asked, his scrunched brow directed at Rick.

"Not him. This redneck puto, here. He cut off some dude's hand, man. He showed it to me." The kid whined. Iris glanced between Daryl and the kid.

"Shut up." Daryl snapped.

"Hey, that's that vato right there, homes." One of the men from before stepped, or limped, forward, one hand pointing at Daryl with a very small revolver, the other firmly pressing a rag to his ass. "He shot me in the ass with an arrow. What's up, homes, huh?"

"Chill, ese, chill. Chill." Guillermo said, holding out his arms to keep him back. He levelled his gaze back at them. "This true? He wants Miguelito's feet? That's pretty sick, man."

"We were hoping more for a calm discussion." Rick countered, shotgun still pointing at Miguel.

"That hillbilly jumps on Felipe's cousin. Beats on him, threatens to cut off his feet. Felipe gets an arrow in the ass and you want a calm discussion?" Guillermo recounted, frowning. He licked his lips. "You fascinate me."

"Heat of the moment." Rick explained. "Mistakes were made. On both sides."

"Who's that dude to you anyway? You don't look related." He asked, nodding to Daryl.

"He's one of our group, more or less. I'm sure you have a few like him."

"You got my brother in there?" Daryl asked abruptly.

"Sorry, we're fresh out of white boys." Guillermo replied, equally as fast. "But I got Asian. You interested?"

"I have one of yours, you have one of mine." Rick said evenly. "Sounds like an even trade."

"Don't sound even to me." Guillermo grunted.

"G..." Miguel protested. "Come on, man."

"My people got attacked." Guillermo continued, unfazed. "Where's the compensation for their pain and suffering? More to the point, where's my bag of guns?"

"Guns?" Rick asked.

"The bag Miguel saw in the street. The bag Felipe and Jorge were going back to get. That bag of guns."

"You're mistaken." Rick replied.

"I don't think so."

"About it being yours." He continued. "It's my bag of guns." Guillermo shrugged, leaning back with a frown.

"The bag was in the street. Anybody could come around and say it was theirs. I'm supposed to take your word?" He asked. "What's to stop my people from unloading on you right here and now and I take what's mine?" Felipe cocked his tiny gun once more, Jorge flanking Guillermo from the other side. Daryl raised his crossbow, clicking echoes coming from inside as more guns found their targets, men raised pipes and crowbars.

"You could do that." Rick shrugged, turning to where T-Dog had a rifle levelled at Guillermo's face. "Or not."

"Oye!" Guillermo called, looking up to the roof of the warehouse. Two guys walked to the edge, a third wrestling between them, a soiled bag tucked over his head. They ripped the bag off, Glenn whimpering with a piece of duct tape over his mouth. "I see two options." Guillermo continued. "You come back with Miguel and my bag of guns, everybody walks. Or you come back locked and loaded, we'll see which side spills more blood."

Guillermo shrugged again, raising an eyebrow at them before turning and retreating into the warehouse. Jorge and Felipe followed, the doors sliding shut. Rick put the shotgun down, sighing as Glenn and the two guards disappeared back onto the roof. Iris blew out a breath.

- "Them guns are worth more than gold." Daryl said pointedly. "Gold won't protect your family or put food on the table."

He was pacing back and forth in front of the desk Rick stood at, the bag of guns set atop it in consideration. Rick was checking them one by one under Iris' watchful eye. They'd come back to their cleared building, T-Dog watching over Miguel as they decided what to do. Guillermo was right, there were two ways this could go, and neither of them were ideal.

"You willing to give that up for that kid?" Daryl asked. Iris raised an eyebrow at him. The whole reason they were here was for their friend. Though, it seemed all he cared about was finding his hand-less brother. He still didn't trust her, that much was obvious, especially by the looks he gave her every few minutes.

"If I knew we'd get Glenn back, I might agree. But you think that vato across the way is just gonna hand him over?" T-Dog asked.

"You calling G a liar?" Miguel asked.

"Are you a part of this?" Daryl snapped, slapping the kid across the face. "You want to hold onto your teeth?"

"You willing to risk it on Guillermo's word?" Iris asked, turning back to the sheriff. Rick sighed in exasperation.

"Could be risking more than them guns. Could be your life." Daryl added, making a face at Rick. "Glenn worth that to you?"

"What life I have I owe to him." Rick answered firmly. "I was nobody to Glenn, just some idiot stuck in a tank. He could have walked away, but he didn't. Neither will I."

"So you're gonna hand the guns over." Daryl concluded.

"I didn't say that." Rick reasoned. "Look, there's nothing keeping you three here. You should get out, head back to camp."

"And tell your family what?" T-Dog asked, rubbing his temple.

"I'm not going anywhere without my guns." Iris replied, shaking her head. Rick looked to the three of them, nodding conclusively. T-Dog stepped forward, him and Daryl taking a shotgun each.

"Oh, come on. This is nuts!" Miguel protested, siting right back down as Daryl pointed a stern finger at him. "Just do like G says." They loaded them up, each taking an additional hand gun. Iris loaded up her 22, slinging a rifle over her back.

With a towel tied into his mouth and hands bound, Miguel was escorted by the four of them back to the warehouse and the makeshift courtyard. Iris was trying to ignore the anxiety pulsing in her stomach.

Daryl had his gun pressing into Miguel's spine as they walked, armed and dangerous, through the gate and into the warehouse. Iris carried the bag of guns over her shoulder as they passed through the hoard of guards. Guillermo met them halfway through the warehouse, guns pointed in all directions.

"I see my guns," He mused, "but they're not all in the bag."

"That's because they're not yours. I thought I mentioned that." Rick replied simply.

"Let's just shoot these fools right now, ese." Filipe urged. Daryl pressed the muzzle of the gun into the back of Miguel's head. "Alright? Unload on their asses, ese."

"I don't think you fully appreciate the gravity of the situation." Guillermo said sharply.

"No, I'm pretty clear." Rick assured. He nodded to Iris, who cut the duct tape binding Miguel's wrists and shoved him forward. "You have your man. I want mine."

"I'm gonna chop up your boy. I'm gonna feed him to my dogs." Guillermo murmured. "They're the evilest, nastiest man-eating bitches you ever saw. I picked them up from Satan at a yard sale. I told you how it has to be. Are you woefully deaf?"

"No, my hearing's fine. You said come locked and loaded." He stated, cocking the shotgun. It echoed as everyone around took aim, Guillermo staring down the barrel. "Okay then, we're here."

There was a pregnant pause of baited silence as they all waited for someone to make a move, to say something. They stared down one another, waiting for the triggers to be pulled. The silence was filled with a small shuffling, and a woman's voice carrying through the warehouse.

"Felipe! Felipe!" She called, tone wavering with age. Iris watched as an old woman walked through the warehouse of gangbangers with no fear.

"Abuela, go back with the others-- now." Felipe urged, keeping his gaze and gun pointed on them, though fear laced his words.

"Get that old lady out of the line of fire!" Daryl chastised. Guillermo huffed, turning to her.

"Abuela, listen to your mijo, okay?" He instructed softly. "This is not the place for you right now."

"Mr Gilbert is having trouble breathing." She pleaded, looking to her grandson and tugging on his shirt. "He needs his asthma stuff. Carlito didn't find it. He needs his medicine." Guillermo glanced nervously between them and the old woman.

"Felipe, go take care of it, okay?" He snapped. "And take your grandmother with you." Felipe took her gently, pleading with her to walk with him, but she brushed past him toward Guillermo, frowning at Rick.

"Who are those men?" She asked. "Don't you take him--"

"Ma'am--"

"Felipe is a good boy." She assured. "He has his trouble but he'll pull himself together. We need him here."

"Ma'am, I'm not here to arrest your grandson." Rick replied calmly, putting the gun down.

"Then what do you want him for?" She asked.

"He's... helping us find a missing person. A fella named Glenn." Rick answered.

"The Asian boy? He's with Mr. Gilbert. Come, come." She urged, waving him along. "I show you. He needs his medicine."

Iris hid her small smile behind her bandana as she followed Rick, Felipe and the old woman through the warehouse. Daryl and T-Dog stayed on their tail, watching the others carefully, even though Guillermo ordered to let them pass.

The old woman held Rick's hand as she led them out of the warehouse and through a neat garden, and through the doors to another building. It was a hospice center, or a retirement home of some sort. Felipe asked his grandmother to take him to Mr. Gilbert, while the others glanced around.

There were doctor's offices and hospital beds, everything occupied by elderly people. Iris was quick to sheath her knives, following Rick into an old auditorium, tables and chairs set up for a common area. A man in a wheelchair at the back was coughing and wheezing, deeply inhaling as Felipe helped him with his inhaler. Glenn stood beside the, watching to make sure he'd be okay.

"What the hell is this?" Rick said softly.

"An asthma attack." Glenn replied worriedly. "Couldn't get his breath all of a sudden."

"I thought you were being eaten by dogs, man." T-Dog hissed. A small bark sounded from the corner, a trio of chihuahuas sitting in a leopard print bed.

"Could I have a word with you?" Rick asked, taking Guillermo to the side. "You're the dumbest son of a bitch I ever met..." He hissed, Iris' attention taken away by Felipe's grandma approaching her.

"Young lady, why do you hide your face? Do you have a scar?" She asked, gesturing to her own face.

"No." Iris replied with a small smile, pulling the bandana down to show her face.

"Oh, que linda eres." She cooed, patting Iris' face. "I should introduce you to my grandson. There are no more pretty young girls around here." Iris laughed nervously as she toddled over to Felipe, prodding him in her direction. He flushed, swatting her hand away as he continued to help Mr. Gilbert.

"So you're the girl with the guns." Glenn said, folding his arms as he walked over. Iris turned to him, nodding.

"Iris." She said, holding out her hand.

"Glenn." He replied with a slight frown, shaking it politely. Rick and Guillermo finished their little chat, the former beckoning them into a small room where Guillermo could speak to them quietly.

"What about the rest of your crew?" Rick asked, gesturing to Iris. She handed him the bag of guns, eyeing the interaction closely.

"The vatos trickle in, to check on their parents, their grandparents. They see how things are and most decide to stay." Guillermo explained. "It's a good thing, too. We need the muscle. The people we've encountered since things fell apart? The worst kind. Plunderers, the kind that take by force."

"That's not who we are." Rick assured.

"How was I to know?" He defended. "My people got attacked, and you show up with Miguel hostage-- appearances."

"Guess the world changed." T-Dog mused.

"No." Guillermo disagreed. "It's the same as it ever was. The weak get taken. So we do what we can here. The vatos work on those cars, talk about getting the old people out of the city. But most can't even get to the bathrooms by themselves, so that's just a dream. Still, it keeps the crew busy, and that's worth something. So we barred all the windows, welded all the doors shut except for one entrance. The vatos, they go out, scavenge what they can to keep us going. We watch the perimeter night and day and we wait. The people here? They all look to me now. I don't even know why."

"Because they can." Rick replied honestly. He handed the shotgun to Guillermo, and began to sort the guns from the bag.

Iris turned from the room, walking back out into the auditorium. The vatos kept an eye on her, but she walked over to the closest.

"Hey, Felipe?" She asked. He turned from the table of elderly people, frowning at her sudden appearance. Iris took a map from her coat pocket and a pencil from an abandoned crossword puzzle, circling a place on the map. "I don't know who's in charge of the runs, but just outside the city here, there's an auto shop. If you can make it, there's a van out back full of parts, more cars in the shop. Take whatever you need. No one's gonna come back for it."

"Why?" He asked, taking the map and frowning. Iris shrugged, trying to offer him a comforting smile.

"Gesture of good faith?"

#thenameisz #skeletons #Daryl Dixon #Daryl Dixon x original character #twd daryl #the walking dead #the walking dead daryl dixon #twd daryl dixon #Daryl Dixon x f!oc #Daryl Dixon x oc

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itwasthereaminuteago · 6 months ago

Text

|| Black eyed & Blue ||

Chapter 1 - Skull & Crossed Wires

Frank Castle x Female Reader/OC

Notes: I'm posting this first short chapter in my Frank Castle and female OC/reader mini series in the hope that it will spur me on to finish it! I have some other chapters written already just need to get them where I want them and write some more. 😊

Warnings: kidnapping, blood, biting, general vampire themes, fluff & smut, frank being protective, Matt makes an appearance.

Please comment and let me know what you enjoy or would like to see as the story develops and I'll see what I can do!

Frank managed to limp his van to the nearest garage before it crapped out entirely. He had cleared it out after his latest 'road trip' back at the safe house. It wouldn't do any good if the mechanics found any of his arsenal…

He left them with the keys and said he'd check back in a couple of days. Leaving a cell number was out of the question too, he still wasn't quite comfortable leaving much of a trace even if he was now 'Pete'.

He walked up to the shop office two days later, hopeful he could throw down a few hundred and get going. A fraught looking gangly guy was having an in-depth discussion on the phone as he entered. He passively waved Frank in the direction of the garage floor, pulling the phone away from his mouth and yelling towards the doorway.

"Blue! Customer!"

Frank gave him a semi-polite nod and headed through the side door where his van was jacked up, a pair of dark blue Converse sticking out from underneath.

"Uh, right. Guess it ain't ready yet." Frank ventured.

"No shit Sherlock." A voice came from below.

"Can see why you got Shaggy on the front desk there, customer service ain't your thing huh?"

The feet peddled their way out from under the van to reveal a woman with her hair tied up out of her face with a blue bandana. She had an oil-smudged face, and chipped sky blue nail polish on her fingers. Her mouth dropped open as she pushed herself up and took in the figure of Frank standing over her.

"Oh fuck- I mean, shit! Damn! Fuck!" She winced. "I'm really sorry mister… thought you were Ray winding me up again. Sorry, I'm trying not to cuss as much but, um…"

Frank couldn't help the sly smile from spreading across his lips.

"Think you're doin' well enough. Don't you worry about it. Maybe uh, you can gimme an idea when she'll be ready?"

She got to her feet, wiping her oily hands on her dirty coveralls, which were also blue.

"Well, that's the thing. I'm still waiting for a part to come. I woulda called you to let you know but, uh, you didn't leave a number so…

"Yeah, don't have a phone." He scratched at the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Kinda hate all that tech shit y'know."

"Wow. Well, okay old man, I'm not sure exactly when it'll arrive, our supplier is vague at the best of times, I really wanna find someone better but…"

Frank couldn't help grumbling a little. He was keen to get back on the road, after all, biker gang ass wasn't gonna kick itself. "Then I guess 'i'll just keep comin' back every day till she's ready."

Blue smiled politely. "Once it's here I'll get it fixed as fast as I can but if you refuse to have a phone like us regular people I guess that's just what you'll have to do. See you tomorrow then?"

Frank nodded. "Yeah. See ya tomorrow."

The next day Frank dropped by the garage late afternoon, he'd had a particularly rough night chasing down some dregs of the Dogs of War that refused to go down easily.

"Jeez, what the heck happened to you?" Blue asked, looking up and seeing the dark bruises around his eyes as she heard him come in. "I mean, if you don't mind me asking? Those are some shiners."

"Walked into the side of the door when I got up during the night to piss. Bein' how I'm an 'old man' an all," Frank deadpanned back.

"No shit. You gotta be more careful, looks a bit like someone belted you right in the kisser!"

Frank shrugs.

"To be honest I wouldn't be too surprised if they had. Don't take this the wrong way but you've kinda got one of those punchable looking faces, mister..?"

"It's uh, Pete." Frank replies with a slight chuckle, only slightly offended. "And is that so?"

She holds out her oily hand for him to shake. "Hi Mister Pete. They call me Blue. And yeah, I mean you're real good looking and all but-" she stopped as Frank shook his head and laughed.

"Jeez, I really gotta stop running my mouth around strangers! I am so sorry…"

Frank holds up both hands giving her a smile, it had been a while since he had laughed as much. "Hey, no worries. Punchable and good lookin'? I'll take it. So, Blue, huh? No need for me to ask why I guess. "

She returns the smile, scuffing the toe of her shoe into the ground shyly. "I just like the colour."

Frank clears his throat. "So uh, there any news on that part yet?"

"Oh! Yeah, um it might be tomorrow but…"

"Might not?" Frank finishes with a slightly tense shrug.

"Yeah, really sorry about this, Pete. I'd even go as far as to offer you a free coffee in apology but our machine's bust, and even if it was working it tastes crap anyway."

"Don't worry about it. Alright well, guess I'll seeya tomorrow again."

Blue gave him a little wave. "Yeah, seeya tomorrow Old Man, hope I've got some good news for you then."

Frank just shakes his head, smiling to himself as he leaves the garage and sets off back home.

The next day, when Frank turns up, Blue's face is bright with the biggest smile, and it only got brighter as she saw what 'Pete' had in his hands.

"Hey!" She greets him animatedly and it makes him feel a little warmer inside.

Frank nods then hands her one of the carryout cups of coffee he has. "Hey, didn't know how you take it but I got some sugar and milk here too if you want, seeing as your machine is broken an all."

Blue beams, her fingers brushing briefly over his as she accepts it. "Oh, thank you so much! And no, that's great, straight up is perfect, so kind of you, thanks Pete!"

Frank shrugs. "S'nothin'."

She takes a hearty sip and then remembers what she was about to say. "Good news by the way, the part arrived this morning! I'm about to get on it right now, shouldn't take too long if you don't mind waiting?"

Frank nods, finding a space to sit nearby. "Yeah, sure, if you don't mind me watching you work."

She disappears under the van. "Actually, gives me the chance to ask what the hell you've been putting this poor van through, you gotta take more care of her if you don't want to run her into the ground."

Frank huffed. "Yeah, just been real busy, y'know, and my work takes me all kinds of places, some uh, rough terrain."

"What kind of business are you in Pete?"

He scratches the stubble under his chin. "Uh, removals, pest control, odd jobs. That kinda stuff."

"A Pete of all trades?" Blue suggests, and Frank has to laugh.

"Yeah," again he feels the rare smile stretch his face as he strokes his stubbled jaw. "Somethin' like that."

It wasn't till later, when he was on the road again rummaging through the glovebox for the map when his hand landed on the tin of sweets. He took them out, curious seeing the note stuck to the lid.

'Something to sweeten you up, old man :)

-Blue'

He chuckles to himself as he opens the tin and takes a candy.

#frank castle x oc/reader series #frank castle fluff #frank castle smut #frank castle x female reader/oc

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kimmberleeex · 9 months ago

Text

The View from Halfway Down

NSFW! 18+, MINORS DO NOT READ. TW: some smut content, strong language, graphic depictions of wounds and death, sexual content relating to sex, oral (m/f), penetration, breeding, etc, etc.

** Author’s note: Name of this one is inspired by Bojack Horseman, iykyk. Also, this is technically part 3 of an inadvertent series. These were three separate ideas that were written a long time apart and while I was writing this one, I realized the continuation. Too funny. Linking here: Part 1 , Part 2

*** Also, most of this is technically in the perspective of Eddie, with a small section in the (f) reader’s perspective that will be in a pink font.

*GASP* Air rushes into Eddie’s lungs as he shoots forward to sit up, he’s drenched in a cold sweat and dried blood. His hand clutches his chest, he can feel his heart racing under his palm. The clothes he had on were tattered and stained, but he sees none of the wounds that he had sustained from the demobats. There were very faint scars, but overall they were virtually nonexistent. Eddie rubbed his rough hands over where he was previously bleeding out from a large wound in his stomach. Only to feel where his skin was raised very minimally from the little scarring that he had. “What the fuck…?” He murmured to himself. A crash of thunder and a flash of lightning causes him to look around at his surroundings. All of the demobats he was fighting laid dead on the ground around him, Eddie slowly stood up. His muscles ached and his bones cracked as he stretched his limbs while he looked around. Other than the occasional thunder clap, it was too quiet. Eddie’s eyes fixated on Dustin’s spear that was lying near where he had woken up. “Dustin…” He whispered before looking around frantically, shouting louder as he searched for his friend. “DUSTIN? Y/N??”

Eddie’s hands ran through his hair, pushing the bandana off of his head as he pulled at the curls on his temples. Fear and confusion was settling into the crevices of his mind as he realized he was alone in this terrifying place that was his home, but it didn’t feel like his home. He quickly made his way to his trailer, only to see that it had been destroyed. There was a giant crack in the pavement, it looked like hell had erupted from it. Getting closer, he could feel the heat radiate off of the glowing magma like substance, but he could see the sky of his reality on the other end, there were plumes of smoke filling the air over there. “Shit…” Eddie murmured to himself. He held his hand out closer to the crack, it was warm, but it didn’t hurt him. “Screw it.” He said to himself before just leaping right in.

Eddie fell with a thud as gravity took a hold of him as he crossed the portal and was back on the right side of Hawkins. Police and army soldiers were crawling all over the place, luckily Eddie hadn’t been seen so he bolted off towards the woods. He had to find Dustin, he had to find you, and he couldn’t do that if he was captured for murder and whatever else they were blaming on him since this all blew up. The trees and brush were blurring past him as he darted faster than he ever knew he was capable of doing. He ran for so long until he was deep enough in the woods that his lungs burned from the exertion of his heavy breath.

For what felt like hours he spent trekking through the woods, trying to find his way and sneak over to Dustin’s, or even your house. Finally finding the edge of a treeline, Eddie slowly emerged and saw the Wheeler’s house in the distance. It was mid-afternoon by the looks of the sun in the sky, which seemed brighter than usual to Eddie. It annoyed him with how the brightness strained his eyes. But he chalked it up to his eyes were slowly adjusting from being in the dark for so long.

As inconspicuously as possible, Eddie snuck his way to the basement door of the Wheeler home. Nancy and Steve’s cars were both there, so he only had hope that the rest of the gang was too. When he was about to knock, Eddie’s palms had become super sweaty and it felt like his blood had run cold. Why was he so nervous? He was desperate to see his friends, but even more so to see you. God, he couldn’t imagine how you must be feeling. Remembering the last talk you two had before you had gone off with Nancy, Steve, and Robin. He had promised you that he wouldn’t do anything stupid, that he would protect himself so that he could come out unscathed and marry you. That was his promise, and he knew that he had broken it.

Taking a shaky breath to steel his nerves, Eddie slowly knocks on the basement door. After a few long moments, Nancy peers out behind the curtain covering the door window. Her eyes grow wide with horror, Eddie can hear muffled shouting before Dustin yanks the door open and runs into Eddie for a hug. Tears streaming down his face as he embraces his friend who was more like his brother, that he had previously lost. Dustin collides with him so hard that it knocks the wind out of him momentarily, Eddie just slowly pats Dustin’s back and squeezes him gently. “Missed you too, buddy.”

When he finally pulls away, Dustin looks up at him with tear-filled eyes. “Eddie, how? I watched you die…” He choked through tearful sobs.

Eddie pursed his lips together, wishing he had the answer. Because he remembers dying, he remembers telling Dustin that he loved him and choking on his last breath. He remembers thinking about you, wishing he could hold you again as he lost consciousness. “I don’t know, Dustin. I woke up.” That’s when Dustin sees that the wounds from the bats were gone, his eyes grow wide as he pulls you back at arms length to inspect you. Dustin mutters to himself while inspecting his scarred over wounds. Eddie takes a look around the basement, gingerly stepping inside with Dustin on his heels. Steve, Nancy, and Robin all take turns hugging Eddie but he doesn’t see you. “Where’s Y/N?”

Steve gives a look to Nancy before he turns to Eddie apprehensively. “She, uh, hasn’t been handling your ‘death’ very well. We’re lucky if she will even see us most days.”

Eddie’s ears perk up at that last word. “Days? How long have I been gone?”

Robin’s eyes are sad and her voice is soft when she speaks, “Eddie, it’s been a week and a half.”

“Shit…I need to go see her, she has to know I’m alright.” Eddie’s hand is already on the door handle when Nancy speaks up.

“Eddie, you’re still a wanted man. We don’t know how to prove your innocence with Upside Down top secrecy.” Her lips are pursed together before she continues. “I’ll go get her, but I’ll let you surprise her. Okay?”

Taking a shaky breath, he just nods. He goes and sits down on the couch to wait for you while Steve and Nancy are already heading out the door, keys jingling in hand. Eddie slumps against the back of the couch, closing his eyes while he rests his head there. Feeling the couch move as Dustin plops down next to him, Eddie peeks one eye open at him. “Why are you staring at me like that, Dustin?”

“Because you’re back from the dead mysteriously with no explanation why.” Dustin is then holding Eddie’s eyelid open and shining a flashlight in his iris, causing anger to settle in Eddie’s veins as he swats him away.

“Knock it off, Henderson.” He mutters through clenched teeth, his jaw set in irritation.

↞‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐↠

There’s a rapid knock on your bedroom door, not wanting to answer it so you groan as you roll back over in bed, bringing the cover up around you. This was your new normal since Eddie died, leaving your bed was a chore. Everything made you cry because it would remind you of him. Another series of rapid knocks, irritation settling in your features as you groaned louder. Kicking your blankets off as you rolled out of bed, stomping over to your bedroom door and swinging it open with the a loud, annoyed, “WHAT?!”

Your face softened when you saw Steve and Nancy at the top of your stairs, sheepish half-smiles on their faces. Rubbing your face tiredly as you let out a long huff. “Sorry guys. Didn’t know you were coming. I’m still alive. If you can call this that…but I’m okay as I can be. You don’t have to check on me all the time.” It was a speech that you had grown accustomed to having because your friends and your mother were only worried about you. It was no secret how in love you and Eddie were, you felt like a widow at the funeral that Wayne insisted on having.

“Y/N, we need you to come with us to my house. And I need you to just trust me.” Nancy said sincerely.

Feeling your throat constricting as an emotional ball made its home there, you tried to swallow it down. Nancy’s was a regular hang out spot and you had so many wonderful and painful memories there. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Nance.”

Steve puts his hand on your arm, a genuine smile on his face. “Seriously, you won’t wanna miss this.”

Looking back and forth between them, you scan their features for any sign of trickery. Anxiety seeping into your bones as you wonder what could be happening. Slowly you nod your head, turning on your heels while closing the door slightly so you can change into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. Even though it’s end of March, there’s still a chill to the wind outside and it’s’ still pretty comforting since it was one of Eddie’s old hoodies. Tears formed on your waterline as it still faintly smelled of him. When you opened your door back up, Nancy had a warm smile on her face

While you sat in the back of Nancy’s station wagon, you leaned your head against the cool window. Eddie’s scent was lingering in your nostrils and you were thinking about one of the dates you had with him last fall. It was just a movie date in his trailer, but he built a big fort out of the couch cushions, pillows, and blankets. The two of you made a bunch of snacks and cuddled while watching horror movies. He was wearing the same hoodie that you had on. Hugging the collar up into your nose, breathing in deeply, his scent was so faint but you could still picture his face, and oh god, hear his laugh.

Without realizing it, you had silently started crying. Steve had looked back at you and noticed your tears, so he put a reassuring hand on your knee, rubbing soft circles to ground you. It was something that Eddie used to do, your eyes shot open and once you saw that it was Steve, you swat his hand away. “I’m fine, sorry.” You muttered softly under your breath.

Once you three pulled up to Nancy’s, reluctantly you climbed out of the backseat of her car. Your anxiety was reaching new levels while you racked your brain as to what was going on. They refused to give any answers or hints, and every time you asked they would just say “You’ll see when we get there.”

“Well, we’re here. Now will you tell me what’s going on?” You say a little defiantly, your arms tucked under each other and into your sides. Nancy just tugs on your arm and drags you around to the basement entrance, which was odd because normally you guys went in through the front door. The moment’s leading up to her opening the door felt like it was in slow motion. She hurries inside and Steve follows, while you’re the last one in. With your heart thundering in your ears with each step, you slowly step inside. Subconsciously you had shut your eyes before stepping over the entry way, but you talk yourself into opening them. And that’s when you saw your dark chestnut curled, chocolate eyed, metal head sitting on the Wheeler’s couch.

↞‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐↠

When Eddie saw you step in, he immediately rose to his feet. He wanted to gauge how you’d react to him first before overwhelming you. However, every nerve ending of his was on fire with need to wrap you in his arms and kiss you. He watched as a mixture of emotions flashed across your features — disbelief, horror, sadness, happiness, anger.

“Baby…” Eddie started as he slowly stepped towards you.

Instinctively you flinched away from him, which isn’t unlike what he had expected. He knew it was a lot of information to take in at once. That’s when he notices you’re wearing one of his old sweatshirts, he smiles softly. “I always liked my hoodies better on you, dollface.”

Your face dropped with realization, tears welling into your beautiful ocean pool eyes, spilling onto your cheeks as you finally came to believe that it was actually him. “It’s me, baby. It’s really me.” Eddie said, tears forming in his own eyes. That’s when you leapt across a bean bag chair that was on the floor in front of you, running straight for his arms. Almost knocking him down as you jumped into him, his arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace. Silent, body racking sobs filled the both of you as you reunited. Without even realizing it, the gang had quietly left you alone downstairs. They knew you needed a moment together.

Eddie’s hands were tangled in your hair as he was peppering kisses all over your face. Your skin tasted salty and sweet from crying, but Eddie kept kissing like his life depended on it, which it felt like it did. “I missed you, so much.” You muffled in between kisses.

Eddie pulled back to look at you, love and admiration twinkling in his eyes. “I know, babygirl. I am so sorry I left you alone like that. I promise I won’t ever do it again.” He holds your face between his palms, his hands warm against your skin — the cool metal of his rings sends a shiver down your spine. “It was the stupidest thing I could have done, and I’ll never forgive myself for it.”

Your hand rose up to cover his on your face, a little quiver to your lip as you talked softly. “Eddie, I’m not angry with you. I understand why you did it…it was just so painful to see you like that.” Closing your eyes as you relived seeing him bloody, lifeless, lying there in a pool of his own blood. It causes a shiver to run through your body, enough to make your blood run cold. “You were dead, I saw it with my own eyes. Steve had to pretty much drag me back because I wanted to stay with you.”

Eddie presses a tender kiss to your forehead, closing his eyes tightly as he imagines how you must feel. Murmuring softly against your skin. “It’s okay, I’m here. I don’t know how, I don’t know why. But I am here baby.” When he pulls back again to look at you, there’s this mutual understanding in the air. The both of you were thankful to have this moment again, one that you were both so sure would never happen. Why waste it on the “why’s” and “how’s” of it all?

He dips his head down to kiss you, it’s soft and a little unsure at first. However, it doesn’t take long for both of you to melt into it, your lips meshing together perfectly. His tongue traces along the seam of your lips before slipping between them, exploring your mouth like it holds a treasure for him. A small whimpering moan comes from your throat that drives Eddie absolutely wild, his own moan escaping from deep within him. He takes his hoodie off of you, marveling at your beautiful skin. The tips of his rough fingers ghost over your collarbone and over the supple skin of your full breasts. It causes goosebumps to form in their wake, Eddie watches as you arch into his touch with half-lidded eyes, your lips parted with heavy breath from your arousal. The corner of his mouth turns up into a smirk as he watches you react to him, it was always his favorite part of making love to you.

He began trailing kisses from your lips, along your jaw, and down the column of your throat. Eddie stops at your pulse point, sucking gently at first but then your soft mewls drive him wild with desire. His teeth graze along your bruising skin and he has to make himself pull away, panting softly before he does the same thing to the other side of your neck. Your hands were tangling in Eddie’s curls, encouraging him to keep going with your soft moans and hums of approval. Eddie continues his descent down your body, kissing along your breasts until he reaches one of your already hardened nipples. He peers up at you from under his curls as he sucks the sensitive teat into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue and even nibbles ever so gently to make you jump at the sensation. He smirks with his mouth full of you as he continues to suckle, your head rolling back on your shoulders with your eyes pinched shut in pleasure. He breaks away from you and murmurs hotly against your skin. “Damn, baby. I’m barely getting started. Miss me that much?”

A soft groan leaves your lips as his lips leave your body even momentarily. A little exasperation is in your voice as you look down at him. “Always miss you, baby. Jus’ need more. Need all of you.” There’s a whine of desperation in your voice that pulls at Eddie’s heartstrings. He smiles softly at you before placing a soft kiss on your lips.

Whispering softly, “Okay, baby. I got you. You want more?” When you nod so eagerly, it warms his heart. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he lifts you by your ass. His hands squeezing and rubbing your plump cheeks through your jeans as he brings you over to the couch. “We gotta be quiet, baby. I know you’ll be a good girl and stay quiet, yeah?” Delicately he brushes your hair out of your face, caressing your cheek and brushes his thumb over your swollen, kiss-bitten lip.

Nodding your head, you whisper back to him. “I promise, baby. I’ll be a good girl, just please keep touching me.” There’s that desperate whine again, it causes Eddie’s crooked grin to twist up on his lips. He leans over you and begins kissing down your stomach, relishing when your back arches and soft moans escape your lips the lower he descends. His teeth graze against your skin as his fingers fumble with the button on your jeans. Hooking his fingers into the denim and the lace waistband of your panties, he slowly slides them down your thighs, groaning when he sees your slick folds.

“Mm, so wet for me. So perfect.” He places soft kisses along your pelvis, your hips arching as he slides your jeans all the way off. Smirking against your skin as you inhale sharply, his hands massage your thighs and hips. He licks a long flat stripe up your wet slit, teasing you while being desperate for a taste of you. A guttural moan leaving his throat as he savors that familiar sweet taste. “If we had more time to be alone, darling. I would fucking devour you.” The whimper you made was making it harder not to, but he reluctantly stands, positioning himself between your legs at the edge of the couch. Unbuckling his very fashionable bullet belt, smirking down at you as you pinch your pouty pink lip between your teeth.

“Such a good girl, being so ready f’me.” His thumb rubs circles around your swollen bud, causing you to moan softly, legs spreading wider apart as Eddie’s free hand pushes his pants and boxers to his feet. He palms his length while he dips his finger between your slick folds, stretching you open slowly so that he could get you ready for his thick cock. A soft groan leaves his lips when you clench around his digit, he curls it upward to rub against that oh so sensitive spongy spot on your walls. Grinning in delight as you writhe with pleasure beneath him. “Mm, babygirl. So fuckin’ tight.” A gasp followed by the most pathetic whimper leaves your lips as Eddie slowly retracts his finger. It almost makes him chuckle as he lines the tip of his very swollen cock with your soaked entrance. “It’s okay, baby. I got you.”

Eddie’s arms hook under your thighs, keeping you spread open for him as he slowly sinks himself into your tight heat. Stopping every inch or so to allow your pussy time to get used to the stretch from his intrusion. Your grip on him causes Eddie to grunt and moan as he eventually he bottoms out inside of you. It makes him whimper when he feels your walls clench around him while your pussy throbs. Going slowly at first until he can breathe through his intense desire to cum, he slowly pistons and rotates his hips until he creates a steady rhythm. His skin snapping against your slick covered thighs and ass as your arousal drips down your body.

A symphony of quiet moans, grunts, and wet skin slapping together fill the basement of the Wheeler’s house. What the two of you don’t know is occasionally, Steve will walk by the door at the top of the stairs to see if you two are finished yet. When he hears that you are indeed not yet done, he makes a face and walks back to the rest of the group just shamefully shaking his head. “Didn’t need to know that’s how either of them sound like…” Steve trails off as he shudders. “Freakin’ lovebirds, man, I swear.”

Eddie pulls out momentarily to lay with you on the couch, he positions himself carefully between your legs and sinks back into your tight heat with a groan. One of his hands is resting next to your head as he props himself up to keep his weight off of you. The other hand, brushes your hair off of your sweaty face. He peppers kisses on your lips and murmurs in between his grunts and breathy pants about his love for you. When he notices your hand laying next to your face, his fingers slide along your wrist, across your palm to intertwine his fingers with yours. Keeping a firm grip on your hand as it pushes into the plush couch.

Sensing that you’re getting close, Eddie thrusts harder but slows down his pace. Rotating his hips to brush against your tender spot, edging you closer to your release while chasing his own. He smiles against your lips as you make him kiss you to stifle your moans. After a few more thrusts, he can feel you coming undone underneath him, your body contracting and milking his cock for his seed. He rams his cock one final time as his body shudders, his cum pulsing out in thick ropes while filling you entirely. Breaking the kiss you two were sharing, he leans his forehead against yours, panting softly with his eyes closed so that he could bask in this orgasmic afterglow with you for a moment.

Giving you a final kiss before he slowly pulls out his softening cock, he pushes himself off the couch to get dressed. He was already collecting your clothes for you as you shakily sit up. A soft chuckle radiates from Eddie’s chest. “You okay, babydoll?” Your eyes are glazed over, a stupid sex-dazed grin on your face, it warms Eddie’s belly to see you this way.

“‘M perfect, baby.” Smiling up at him while you take your clothes from him. He helps you stand and hold onto him for support while you get your jeans and underwear back on. He even helps you put his hoodie back on, his fingers raking through your hair to fix it. A sweet smile on his lips before he gathers his jeans and pulls them back over his hips. Grabbing you by your cheeks, he pulls you into him to kiss your forehead before he yells upstairs.

“Alright, Harrington, you perve. We’re done.” He smirks at you when you hit his shoulder.

As Steve descends the stairs, the rest of the gang in tow, he has an annoyed look on your face. “Thank god we gave you two some space. Because that was disgusting.”

Eddie just laughs, “Oh, c’mon, man. Just because you don’t know how to please a lady right, doesn’t mean it’s disgusting when I do it.”

A furious blush creeps into your cheeks as your hands instantly go up to cover them, Eddie just giggles and wraps you into his arms, burying your face in his chest to let you hide there. Steve continues with a scoff and a smug look on his face, “Gross, Munson. Just so you know, I please the ladies plenty.”

Robin makes a loud vomit-like noise. “BLEGH. Can you two please quit having a masculine metaphorical dick-measuring contest?”

Eddie just grins as he looks around at his friends, and you of course who was just radiating with laughter at everyone’s antics, a hint of blush still lingering on your adorable cheeks. His heart felt warm, he still wasn’t sure how he was brought back. At this very moment, he couldn’t care why or how. He was just happy to have you in his arms again and hear your beautiful laughter.

As quick as the thoughts about this beautiful moment entered his mind, they are quickly shut out by a hair-raising chill on the back of his neck. It causes Eddie’s arm to raise up as his palm rubs against it, feeling the goosebumps already risen there. There’s a tingling whooshing sound filling his ears while everyone’s voices drown out. A look of panic and fear washes across Eddie’s face as he looks around the basement. Something was happening, or someone was coming…

#eddie munson #stranger things #joseph quinn #fanfic #fanfiction #eddie munson pov #stranger things 4 #eddie munson x reader #pov

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allzelemonz · 1 year ago

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Romeo and Tybalt: Sean MacGuire X Male Reader

Pronouns: he/him, Reader is referred to as ‘man’ and ‘lad’. Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: M/Smut, violence Warnings: Sean never shuts up, Sean is loud during sex, top Reader and bottom Sean, Reader is an O’Driscoll, smut, anal fingering, handjob, anal sex, kissing, marking, yes the title is a Shakespeare reference Summary: Being stuck in a cell with a member of a rival gang doesn’t turn out how you might expect.

That idiot that got you caught is going to pay when you get back to camp. Billy was never very bright but he could’ve at least stayed and fought. It’s in the past now, you’re stuck in a cell and there’s not much you can do other than relax on the bench and wait for an opportunity.

“Come on ya filthy pigs!” A man yells from upstairs. “Ya cowards can’t handle me without tyin’ my hands.”

The stairs creak as the deputies bring him down the stairs. Gray suit, red hair, unmistakably that Irish idiot that runs with the Van der Lindes. MacGuire, if you remember right. You know he’ll see the bandana around your neck that they didn’t bother to take, an almost universal sickly shade of green that identifies your loyalties to Colm O’Driscoll. They’re rough with him, much more than they were with you. Probably because he has yet to shut his mouth.

“Ya ain’t gonna hold me long, boys.” He says as they untie his wrists and shove him inside.

They rush up the stairs and lock the door behind them, not interested in dealing with the mouthy outlaw any more than they have to. His gaze wanders to you and it lands on your bandana quicker than you thought.

“O’Driscoll.” He hisses.

“Van der Linde.” You state plainly.

“Fuck off.”

You laugh a little at that. “Straight to the point then?”

“Yer sick fuckin’ dogs, the lot a’ ya.” He says, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the wall.

“Just making money. We are outlaws after all, MacGuire.”

“Course ya know my name. Probably got little spies everywhere.”

You shake your head. “You’re just stupid enough to make yourself known.”

“Stupid, am I?” He chuckles. “Me?”

You smile. “Never met a bigger idiot.”

“Oh, fuck off, fuckin’ O’Driscoll.”

“Make me.”

He stands up straight. “I just might.”

You sigh, standing from your somewhat comfortable spot. “Come on then, Van der Linde. Let’s get this over with.”

He runs at you and you catch him, forcing him back against the wall. You grapple for a bit before he manages to knock you on the ground but you pull him down and get over him, beginning to land blows to his face. He catches your wrist and you can feel his breathing beneath you. Against your better judgment, you stop and sit back on the floor to let him sit up. He glares at you, a hand cupping his jaw.

“You gonna shut up now?” You ask, catching your breath.

“Lucky I don’t got a gun, O’Driscoll.”

You groan, leaning back against the wall. “We’re gonna be in here for a whole night, MacGuire. Let’s forget the O’Driscoll versus Van der Linde before we kill each other.”

He laughs. “‘Fraid I’ll best ya next time, are ya?”

“Just don’t wanna deprive the town of a good hanging.”

He shakes his head. “Suppose we could go without bein’ at each other's throats.”

“Say that again.”

“What?” He asks, looking up at you.

“Throat. Say it again.”

“Fuck off.” He waves, turning so he can lean against the opposite wall.

You chuckle. “I’ve heard plenty of Irishmen in the gang, but they don’t say it like that.”

“O’Driscoll’s ain’t worthy a’ bein’ Irish.”

You put your hands up. “Fine, fine. Whatever you say, MacGuire.”

“Sean.” He says. “Call me Sean.”

You give him your name and it sounds strange when he says it, not the accent but the fact that a Van der Linde knows your name now.

“So what did you do, Sean?”

“Bounty hunters.” Sean groans. “Bloody army of ‘em. You?”

“Friend got in a fight, ran off.”

“O’Driscolls.” Sean laughs, shaking his head.

“Billy’s not so bad. Dumb but not a bad guy.”

“An O’Driscoll not bein’ a bad guy? I find that a little hard ta believe.”

You laugh lightly. “Fair enough.”

Sean looks over you. “Ya don’t seem so bad, I suppose.”

“Is that right?”

He shuffles, leaning his head back against the wall. “Easy on tha eyes at least.”

You sit forward, looking over Sean. He’s not bad looking for a Van der Linde, definitely better than most of the O’Driscoll boys. He has a bruise forming on his jaw, but other than that he has a softened edge about him.

“You’re not bad yourself.” You mutter.

Sean tilts his head forward again, meeting your eyes. “Damn good chance we’re both hanged tomorrow.”

You nod. “Very good chance, yeah.”

He clears his throat. “It’d, uh, it’d be a shame to waste our last night. Wouldn’t ya say?”

“Scandalous, Sean.”

He grins, scrambling over to you. “I don’t really bloody care.”

He presses your lips together as he settles himself in your lap. His hands hold your face as your rest on his waist, happy to let him do the work. It doesn’t take long at all before his hips rub against you and he tries to make friction for himself.

“I think you like the scandal, Van der Linde.” You whisper.

He hums, more focused on trying to feel something good. You push him back roughly so he lands on the ground and your hands make quick work of his pants. Sean scrambles to get his shirt off as you undress yourself. He pulls you on top of him so he can kiss you and run his hands over your bare chest. You bring your hand down to tease him, slowly stroking him and earning a moan. He brings a hand to his mouth and sucks at his fingers before he lifts his hips so he can prepare himself. You’re content to watch him for a minute before you press encouraging kisses to his neck, making sure to leave a few marks for him to remember.

“Fuck me good, will ya, O’Driscoll?” He says, a groan to his voice as he fucks himself on his fingers.

“You want that, Van der Linde?” You smirk, looking down at him as he squirms from the squeeze you give his dick. “You wanna get fucked on a cell floor by a member of a rival gang?”

“God, yes.” Sean moans, removing his fingers so he can pull you closer.

“Not afraid of what your boss’ll say?” You ask as you spit on your hand to slick yourself up before aligning with him.

Sean laughs. “Are you, big man?”

You chose not to answer because it’s very much a yes. Colm would shoot you the second he found out. You’d be a traitor. So you focus on the needy man beneath you and slowly push inside. He squirms, so you hold his hips. He wines, so you move one hand to cover his mouth.

“Fuck, O’Driscoll.” He pants when you remove your hand. “Fuck do ya feel good.”

You lean down and kiss Sean to keep him quiet as you move your hips at a quick pace. You can feel his little whines against your mouth with every move you make so you only give him the occasional second to catch his breath. He starts to move with you, his hips meeting yours in time and you bring your hand down to jerk him at the same pace. The slick feeling, the little noises he makes, fucking Sean MacGuire may be a death sentance if your gang ever finds out but it is one of the best decisions you’ve ever made.

“Be quiet now, Van der Linde.” You whisper in his ear. “Don’t want the law to hear.”

Sean bites back a moan as you continue to slam into him. He wants to say something witty back, but he’ll scream if he does. He’s dizzy, utterly blissed, and close to his end. When suck another mark into his neck he cums with a hand over his mouth to stay quiet. You keeping pounding into him, fucking him for all he’s worth as he becomes more sensitive and he has to really hold his hand in place to keep the whines in. You bite at his skin lightly as you release, filling Sean entirely. He squirms under you, finally removing his hand and sighing in relief as you slide out of him.

He laughs, his hand slicking back his sweaty hair. “We can’t die now, we gotta do tha’ again.”

You press a soft kiss to his lips and he gladly returns with the same lasting gentleness. Then you pull away and sit back, letting Sean sit up with you.

“No one can know.” You say with a serious tone. “Colm would kill me.”

Sean’s smile falls. “So I’m just a quick fuck?” He asks. “Tha’ sure felt like more than a quick fuckin’ fuck!”

You shush him, glancing back at the stairs. “It wasn’t. I want to do this again. As much as I hate you Van der Lindes, I want to do this again.”

He relaxes slightly. “Come with me then.”

“Just ‘cause I wanna fuck you again doesn’t mean I’m betraying my gang, MacGuire.” You snap, then you take a breath. “I like you, but the O’Driscolls are my life.”

“I think ya wanna do more than just fuck me, big man.” Sean laughs, bringing himself closer to you. “I got a sense fer these things.”

You put a hand in his hair, tugging him towards you for a kiss, soft like the last one. “We gotta get out of here first.”

“Worry about tha’ later.” Sean says, climbing into your lap again. “I’m good fer another go.”

You smile as he kisses you again, a little more hungry this time. Your hand tangles more into his hair as you feel yourself hardening again. Then gunshots from upstairs make you both freeze. Both of you know what they likely mean, a breakout. You scramble for your clothes as Sean does the same, managing to get them on before two masked men come down the stairs.

“Sean? Ya down here?” One of them calls.

Sean rushes to the bars, his pants only halfway buttoned. You move slowly, acting natural and sitting back on the bench as you were when Sean first came. In your hand you hold your green bandana and you slowly stuff it into your pocket as a larger man with long hair comes to the cell.

“Let's get you out of here.” He says, looking over the key ring.

“A sight fer sore eyes, Charles.”

More shots ring out and you can hear a few familiar shouts from outside.

“You should hurry.” You say to Sean.

Charles opens the door and nods to you. “Who’s your friend, Sean?”

“He ain’t a friend.” He grins at you. “Ya heard the lad, let’s go.”

Sean pulls his friend up the stairs and you hold your breath, waiting for more shots. They never come, just footsteps running down the stairs. You stand and meet the familiar O’Driscoll faces, Billy at the front. At least he came back for you. At least he didn’t see Sean.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead redemption x reader #red dead redemption x male reader #x reader #x male reader #sean macguire #sean macguire x reader #sean macguire x male reader

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princessimotep · 5 months ago

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Tienes Mi Corazón - Chapter 6

~*~ 18+ content. Minors do not interact ~*~

A lot had happened since Javier’s confrontation with Micah. Things had turned bad back in Horseshoe Overlook when Pinkerton agents had revealed themselves to Arthur whilst he was on a fishing trip with young Jack. Dutch had deemed it best that they move camp for the safety of the gang members. Charles and Arthur found a camp called Clemons Point and it was more beautiful than the latter. It was well hidden and had a lake which stretched out for miles. Hosea reminded Miriam that she was more than welcome to stay until she figured out what she wanted to – so that’s what she did; she stayed. She concluded she was safer with these people than out on her own, escaping from her past. More importantly, Javier was the main reason she wanted to stay. With each passing day, the man filled her mind more and more. Thinking back to the rescue, the horse ride back from Strawberry, to him standing up to Micah for her… but not just those things. Little things influenced her infatuation of him. The way he would tie his bandana around his neck, how he stood tall whilst on guard duty. The way he would shave, leaving his goatee and moustache. How he would shine his boots, taking pride in his appearance. To Miriam, he was the best dressed in camp and most of the other gang members would agree. She even caught Sean one time telling Javier that vanity was a sin and Javier threatened him in that suave way of his. He had such an alluring appeal to her when he would subtly threaten people like that.

It was the first night at Clemons Point and everything had finally been set up by the best efforts of everyone. Once everything had been done and Miss Grimshaw was happy with the layout, Miriam was finally released and able to wander around camp. The wavy-haired woman rolled her head back and sighed in content as she made her way over to the water. The scenery was so tranquil. The crescent moon’s glow bouncing off the surface of the water making a most mystical haze. The stars twinkled, splattered like paint across the dark night’s glassy veil. She had only read about such landscapes in her books and it was truly breath-taking to see such sights in real life.

Normally, Miriam would be reading at a time like this however she decided to spend her free time to help a certain someone with a clothing repair. Earlier, Javier explained how his jacket had gotten a tear in the arm area and Miriam offered to help fix it. Despite his pleads of telling her she didn’t need to trouble herself, she insisted. She explained that she wanted to do this for him, she just needed to help Grimshaw with her chores and she’d get right to it. So that is why Miriam now had Javier’s jacket in her arms. Finding a spot a little away from camp, sat on the shoreline by the water, Miriam tucked her skirt neatly over her folded legs that were out to the side and started threading a piece of cotton through a needle.

“There you are.” A familiar warm voice spoke out, followed by his footsteps on the shore. “I thought you finally decided to leave us.” Miriam grinned at Javier’s words. She didn’t break her eyes away from the thread and needle.

“I couldn’t possibly leave you all. Not just yet.” Javier leant down, peering over her shoulder.

“And why’s that?” Once she finally pushed the thread through the end of the needle, she looked at him with a coy expression.

“Well, you all just have… so many clothes to repair.” She flicked Javier’s jacket out so it was now across her lap. “You’d all have nothing left to wear if I were to go.” She joked to which Javier laughed.

“Ah so it’s my clothes that keep you here, hm?”

“Why of course Mister Escuella.” She teased, holding back a laugh. “You are the best dressed man in camp.” He cockily smiled, looking away.

“Well, I try.” He fiddled with his white sleeves, rolling them back into the crevice of his elbows. “Especialmente para mi chica.” (“Especially for my girl.”) Miriam looked at Javier, raising an eyebrow.

“I wish you would teach me more, Javier. I’d like to know what you’re saying to me.” Javier gestured his hands out, straightening his back. He tried to find an excuse to delay his teachings for her, after all, he still got drunk off that innocent and puzzled expression she would give him every time he spoke to her in Spanish.

“I’ll teach you if… you teach me something.” She scoffed looking around.

“Like what?” There was a pause. His eyes then shot to her sewing needle. He pointed.

“Teach me to sew.” She blinked a couple times.

“What, now?”

“Sí.” Javier then sat down behind her with his legs either side of her body. His closeness got Miriam nervous again. “With you as my teacher, I’m sure I’ll pick it up quick.” His body arched over hers, his head able to look over her shoulder to get a full view of her hands and lap. He took the needle from her hand, the thread falling out from the end. “What do I do with this?” Miriam smiled, shaking her head. Both her tiny hands grabbed onto his large one. He couldn’t help but adore the way they looked holding onto his.

“First you need to thread the needle.” His eyes dropped down to where the thread was and picked it up with his spare hand.

“This?” He gruffly asked.

“Yes. You need to push it through that tiny hole at the end of the needle.” Miriam let go of his hands so he could try and connect the two. He strained his neck forward, frowning at the difficulty of it.

“Mierda. How are you supposed to do this?” She smiled softly at his frustration.

“If you can’t get it through, you just need to wet the end.” Once again, Miriam held onto Javier’s hand; the one which was holding the thread, with both of hers. She looked at the small piece of cotton that poked out from his fingers and she placed her lips over it. The tip of her tongue poked out, soaking the thread with her saliva. Javier watched intently with his copper eyes. To him she had the most pretty little mouth. He fantasied putting his index and middle finger between her lips and how she would obediently run her tongue over them. He swallowed watching Miriam pull her lips away. She let go of his hands so he could thread it through which he successfully did after a couple attempts. After that she taught Javier the basics of sewing with her small hands guiding his big ones, he started to repair the jacket. Every time she would let go of his hands; Javier would make out he needed help just so she could hold onto him again.

God, he thought she looked beautiful between his arms.

“So… can you please teach me some Spanish?” Miriam hummed. He didn’t say anything, just smirked. She turned her head just a little to look at him. Their lips were inches away. “Or least just translate what you said earlier?” He let go of the fabric, leaning back on his hands to take a break whilst he cracked his neck. Miriam helped finish off the repair.

“What’s something you like?” She contemplated the question and looked up to the sky.

“Well… I like the moon and the stars.”

“What about them?”

“They’re… beautiful. They truly make me feel safe. At peace. Others find nights like these lonely, but I find them comforting. Whenever I’ve felt alone in the past… I always look up to the night sky. It makes me realise I’m not alone in this world.” Javier cocked his head to the side to try and see her face. The moon’s light sparkled against her skin. She looked as though she had been touched by an angel. To him, she had a sweet way with words. He leant forward again and pointed up to the moon.

“Luna.” Javier stated. She repeated the beautiful word. He then gestured out to the stars. “Estrella.”

“Es…strella.”

“Sí.” Without thinking about it, Javier’s hand went to her waist. “So, you could tell someone you really care about, this… tu eres mi luna y estrellas.” Miriam turned around in his lap, now on her knees looking up at him. She playfully raised an eyebrow.

“And what does the first part mean?”

“It means…” His middle and index finger held onto a few strands of her hair and placed them over her shoulder. “tu eres… you are… mi luna y estrellas… my moon and stars.”

“Tu eres… mi luna… y estrellas.” She repeated. His fingertips brushed over the lengths of her own fingers. She was too captivated in his gaze to notice. Javier’s eyes bore into hers.

“Sí.” Then something in her clicked. The way he was looking at her; it made her realise that he was saying those words to her. Her heart sped up in its beats. Her blood felt on fire as it rushed down her neck and chest, straight to her core. He was looking at her so serious. His eyes were hungry yet needing. Full of want. ‘Could he…’ She thought to herself, her heart swelling at the idea that this man could possibly feel the same way about her as she did for him.

“Javier…” He held tightly onto her hand, making sure she stayed.

“Miriam.” He sharply stated.

“THHHH…EEERREEE you two ARReeeee…!” A low voice belonging to a woman echoed across the shoreline. The couple pulled away from each other, looking at who it was. It was Karen and she was clearly in quite a drunken state. “I’ve been lookIN’… EVERYWHeeeeRRee for yoouuu.” Javier scowled, running a hand through his hair, stopping when he came to the band that held his ponytail.

“I think you’ve had too much.” He muttered with a hint of annoyance in his tone. Karen’s mouth went into an ‘o’ shape at the remark.

“What’s PISSED in yuuuurr BOOOts. HM?” Miriam smiled nervously, not wanting the two to get into any sort of conflict. She gave the fully repaired jacket to Javier.

“Karen…” Miriam got up, placing her hands on Karen’s arm to guide her back into camp. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“I DON’T neeeeed BaByInGG!”

“I know. But you want to end the night on a good note, right?” Karen slumped over, looking at Miriam. Slowly Karen broke out into a huge grin. She booped Miriam on the nose.

“Yuuuur a good friend.” Shaking her head with a small laugh leaving her lips, Miram helped guide the blonde to her tent.

After Karen had been settled down and passed out in her bed, everyone else had retired to their own tents by that time aside a couple members. Miriam was in her own tent, led down on her back in just her undergarments. It was raining outside and the sound of the droplets smashing against the tent soothed Miriam’s ears. The very sound gave her goosebumps and would often lull her to sleep. Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to fall asleep. Miriam’s mind was on Javier and the man was driving her insane. ‘Was that a confession?’ She’d think to herself along with many other impending thoughts. ‘Does he… like me? Like really like me?’’ ‘Does he do this to all the other women?’ ‘What if he’s just teasing me? What if… it’s some sick twisted game.’

Miriam panted at the idea. If it was just a game to Javier, it was the cruellest thing he could do. She rubbed her thighs together to relieve the desirable feeling growing between her legs. ‘God… I like him so much.’ Her hand trailed down underneath her undergarments, her middle finger touching her clit. She hissed at how cold her finger was compared to her core which was burning hot. Her middle finger went further down to her opening and she couldn’t believe how sopping wet she was from just thinking about Javier. She swiped her finger back up to her clit, coating it in her juices. She rubbed it in circles, toes curling at the sensational feeling that coursed through her veins. ‘Oh Javier…’

The cocoa-haired woman rolled onto her front, pushing her arm further down into her undergarments. She pretended it was Javier’s fingers instead of her own. After teasing her clit for a few seconds, she pushed her middle finger into her pussy. She could hear the squelch of her liquids over the sound of the rain. She gasped at the cold temperature inside her. Miriam pressed the back of her hand into the ground and angled her middle finger out straight so she could begin to ride it. She imagined Javier whispering words of Spanish in her ear before telling her how much of a whore she was being for him, getting all worked up like this.

“Javier…” She whispered. A small patch of drool formed on her folded-up dress coat she used as a pillow. Her hips rolled more into her hand, her palm brushing against her clit. She frowned, tears welling up in her eyes at the thought of him being so cruel to her whilst he pumped his fingers into her. She added her index finger, a couple tears rolling down her face. ‘Can you handle it, cariño?’ She imagined him whispering in her ear. ‘Or should I stop?’

“N-No! Don’t stop…” She begged to herself. By the Gods she could just imagine the smug look on his face, seeing her in this state over him. “M-Mmm… Make me come… Javier…” She arched her fingers into a hooklike shape to scrape against her g-spot. ‘Like this, cariño?’ “Y-Yes!” She panted harder, almost starting to hyperventilate. She grinded harder into her hand, going dizzy at the immense pressure building up in her core. Miriam’s chest went tight. “J-Javi… Javi…” Her back arched and she lifted her head with her eyes shut feeling her orgasm overtake her body. She badly wanted to cry out his name but she knew she would wake everyone up, even if the rain was loud tonight. All she could do was hang her mouth wide open and grind harder into her palm, feeling her clit twitch in undying excitement. The ecstasy shot through her body, all the way to her toes.

When it was over, she let out a huge sigh, shaking violently as she dropped herself onto her belly. She pulled her fingers out from her undergarments and looked at them seeing how wet they were. Her cheeks blushed into a violet glaze as she grabbed a rag that was beside a bucket. She wiped her fingers clean before soaking her hands thoroughly in the bucket. She even splashed some water over her face to make herself cool off from the intense experience. She had touched herself before but it had never been as wild as that. Just thinking of the man now, even after her orgasm, shot a hot arrow into her core. Miriam could easily get herself worked up again over him.

Trying to push her impure thoughts away, she laid down on her side and shut her eyes. She focused on the rain and smiled. Perhaps she didn’t just like him.

It might have been something more.

#javier escuella #javier escuella x reader #javier escuella x original character #javier #escuella #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #van der linde gang #javier's hands are sexy

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