#i feel like i read like a piece of fanfiction or something
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
Here are Hetalia fics I highly recommend! It was difficult to keep it to ten fics and, as you will see, I failed L(° O °L) I've tried to select a good range of style, length and genres, so there's something for everyone â¸(ď˝ĄË áľ Ë )â¸âĄ
The list is in descending order of publication date:
A Singular Affair â Part 1 & Part 2 by original_yazzy (England/Prussia) Single dad Arthur, struggling to raise his eleven-year-olds Matthew and Alfred, meets single dad Gilbert, also raising a young son, Ludwig. AU.
This was the first Hetalia human AU fic I read way back in 2009, and it has gone on to mould in my mind of Arthur being this incredibly multifaceted character. I still recall it most fondly.
The Consolations of Philosophy by orphan_account (France/Russia) So if I was a Russianist I would write a proper study in English on Franco-Russian relations during the Enlightenment, since the currently available ones are atrocious. Since I am not, however, HERE, HAVE PORN. With dancing and philosophers in.
A historical fic that has touched my soul indelibly. I don't think I'll ever forget the electrifying feeling of my first read. An absolutely gorgeous piece *chef's kiss*
The Timbered by sadlygrove (Egypt/Greece/Turkey) The dark voice of the Empire does nothing to detract from the beautiful green eyes, like the sea at dawn in both color and chill. Egypt dives in.
M/M/M 3some pwp with dp and possibly the hottest piece of erotic fanfiction I've ever accidentally stumbled across in the fandom's heyday. When I say I couldn't breathe!
Unwritten Rules by jedishampoo (America/France) France/US. France gives Revolutionary America some lessons in diplomacy. Sexy diplomacy.
Funny, sexy, and sweet - just an all-round fun smutty read!
Only This Moment by archestofenemies (England/France) France/England: Victorian gentleman Arthur winds up in the company of the handsome farmer Francis. Will he be able to keep from throwing himself into those muscular, sun-bronzed arms? No. De-anon from the kink meme, finished.
This is the quintessential FrUK fic for me! I don't know who I love more in this fic, Arthur or Francis - they both deserve each other (complimentary)! A joyful read, 11/10!
Untitled.avi by Delgumo (America/Russia) [no summary]
Okay, fair warning, this fic is not for everyone. I first read it on AFFN, and when I say it had me in a grip...!! It was my first real experience of reading a confessional/"unreliable" narrator-type of fiction that truly shook me like no publication has ever managed to do - and I think this would struggle to be professionally published, it is just so visceral and plain horrifying. Truly a difficult read, one I can't recommend to just anyone, but I couldn't leave it off this list as it has completely changed my entire perspective of what not just fanfiction but simply fiction can evoke in a reader.
No Need for Long Goodbyes by Delgumo (America/Canada, America/England, America/Liechtenstein) The pain from a life filled with sexual and physical abuse festers inside of Alfred, pushing him to lash out at the people he loves the most.
Bruh this fic will have you feeling feelings (and not all good) but damn if it ain't the best piece of longfic I've ever read! It probably says something about me that I can't quite explain, but Arthur is my favourite character in here. I'm sorry uwu
Snatch your happiness from the days to come by Mossy_man (China/Russia) Omegaverse self-indulgent porn in communist uniforms. God save the Tzar.
Post-WWII RoChu fic that yanked me back to the heyday of canontalia, and GOD it's just an absolutely rich and beautiful fic! The imageries are to die for! Love it so, so much <3
acuerdo by southerngothics (Southern Italy/Spain) Itâs still new to him; four months is an eternity for humans, perhaps, but perspective has shortened and condensed time into a coiled thing, folding over on itself until the entire stretch of it is thin as parchment. Four months is the blink of an eye. And the fighting has not stopped since he set foot upon that little island kingdom; he hasnât had time to truly process it all. That Romano is his now. That they are together. That every morning he will wake up and Romano will be here, and that every night Romano will be asleep in this bed. It still seems like the far-fetched dream Pedro had cooked up in hushed tones, away from the menacing glares of el Papa. Spain is convinced, somehow, that if he blinks, reality will throw its punch and heâll be back in Palermo, crushed under that damned Franceâs boot. In 1282, King Peter III of Aragon is crowned King of Sicily.
Another gorgeous piece of historical prose and a delightful, if disturbing, character study of Spain. How is it @torontofetish's first ever Hetalia fic in the year of our lord 2024? I need more from them!
My gentleness (is not for you) by Mossy_man (China/Mongolia/Russia) Our sex had always been full of misery. Of Mongolia's bitterness and China's sour resentment. But now when they are free from each other he can use another source of approval.
When I say I spent bloody years trying to capture China and Mongolia's relationship, and the one time I requested it of Moss and they delivered in spades... Biting my knuckle raw in envy at their talent, but also fuck writing I get to simply read this piece of pure perfection aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
Bonus:
Holiday fling by Mossy_man (China/Russia) For smuttyandabsurd.
A birthday fic for me, tailored to a personal degree of the author's view of me (apparently?), and a gift I shall cherish all my life ( ăŁËśÂ´ Ë `)ăŁ
Welcome to Feedback Fest 2025
Welcome to International Fanworks Day Feedback Fest of 2025! To participate, leave a comment under our post recommending 10 fanworks and spread the joy of fandom! Read more at: https://otw-news.org/yckvy6vh
English ⢠Bahasa Indonesia ⢠ÄeĹĄtina ⢠Dansk ⢠Deutsch ⢠ÎΝΝΡνΚκΏ ⢠EspaĂąol ⢠Français ⢠Italiano ⢠Magyar ⢠Nederlands ⢠Norsk ⢠Polski ⢠PortuguĂŞs brasileiro ⢠SlovenĹĄÄina ⢠ХŃĐżŃки ⢠Svenska ⢠Tiáşżng Viáťt
#hetalia fics#hetalia fic recs#aph fics#aph fic recs#hws fics#hws fic recs#fic recs#feedback fest#transformativeworks
115 notes
¡
View notes
Text
@flowwochair shakes you HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME IM IN TEARS
this literally destroyed my oh my gods how do go about my day after reading this
#i was reading this in class and making so many weird faces#THE GARDEN DATES THOUGH đ#my brain is in shambles#i feel like i read like a piece of fanfiction or something#lannes#duroc#junot#napoleon
38 notes
¡
View notes
Text
till all the seas run dry
"Oi! Are you Shimotsuki?" Turning to his left, he squinted a bit against the sun and leaned over the railing to see a young man around his own age, dark hair mussed and a huge duffel bag slung over his shoulder. His face was open and friendly and his bright eyes stared up at Zoro expectantly. "No, uh⌠she's in the shop," he offered, gesturing vaguely downwards towards the door. Then, his brain catching up, he continued, "are you⌠Garp's⌠new tenant?" Apparently the boy found the question amusing, because his face split into a huge grin and he broke into a peal of laughter. "Haha, yeah, I guess that's me!" he stated, still smiling up at Zoro. For some reason, it made Zoro want to smile back.
Roronoa Zoro, university student and florist, meets someone for the first time that he already knows.
-- relationship: monkey d. luffy/roronoa zoro rating: explicit word count: 27,976 chapter count: 7 tags: modern au, flower shop au, zoro is good at math, too many hidden references, mentioned nami/vivi, mvp sanji, developing relationship, angst and fluff and smut, most of the strawhats are just cameos so don't read specifically for them lmao, minor spoilers through wano act 1
#oh lord here we GO#one piece fanfiction#op fanfic#zolu#monkey d. luffy#roronoa zoro#one piece#ff#mine:fic#did NOT think i would be creating that tag in 2024 but here we are!!#did not think i'd be wanting to actually wanting to write again either!!#SENKA HAS DONE THIS TO ME AND I LOVE HER FOR IT BUT ALSO :RYUMASCREAM:#anyway if anybody wants to read my silly little attempt at a story about silly little pirates here it is i just have so many feelings#stay tuned for my next planned fic (yes ofc there's another) coming in like 10 years or something after i get past the research stage HGKJS#i have to post this before i go back in and convince myself i need to add more. or change phrasing again. or both-
32 notes
¡
View notes
Note
hey hi hello! first of all i'd like to say i took your patron saint uquiz and it. Changed my life unironically it's so good. i follow you now because every line in that quiz was a gut punch and i loved it. top tier hurt honestly
my question is this - i am a fanauthor. on the side i also write my own original fiction but i specialize in fanfic. Am I allowed to use your poetry for a reference folder? I wouldn't use your poetry in a fic without explicit permission and without linking back here of course, and I'd never use it for commercial work outside of maybe taking inspiration without copying, but I wanna have a ref folder of Things That Made Me Feel Things about a character. It's not planned to be public as of yet, it's just supposed to be a bunch of screenshots in my drafts, but I'd like to maybe one day make it public once the fic was complete. (I already have your blog linked in my drafts actually, so if it goes public I'm not gonna forget.) I just want to make sure you're comfortable with me using your poetry for fanfic of all things
It's cool if not and have a great day! I still think your poetry is great and evocative and all
hi, anon! you're all good, i prommy. so glad you like the quiz + the poetry, and i would always prefer people come and ask questions if they're uncertain! no trouble at all.
my general stance is that as long as it's clearly credited, i am totally cool with my work being used in personal projects. like you said, i've got a tag for the things that people make! i love to see what people create. if it's for a noncommercial creative project then i would say there's no need to ask beforehand (unless it would make you more comfortable to ask, in which case go ahead and i'll almost certainly say yes <3). my only thing is that if you post it, please tag me in it/send it to me so that i can reblog it here for people to see!
if there are any questions about using my work that anyone has, feel free to ask. i don't think i've got anything particular going on outside of common practice! same way you'd treat, like, a richard siken poem or smth: you wanna credit it so that people can find the source material, and make sure you're not using it for profit unless you have an understanding with that author. i trust you all to be decent about it <3 kiss kiss go out and make your cool little things so that i can be delighted and amazed with them
#extremely selfish motivations i think you should all go make things with my poems cause i love to look at them#collecting them on the blog like pretty rocks to look at every so often#except instead of rocks they are like. beautiful pieces of creative work.#i just think it's so cool that you can take one set of words and then use them to create something new. isn't language and art awesome#anyway trust you all! except that one person who copied my. quiz questions. of all things. girl come onnnnnnnnnnn#would've said you could absolutely use my quiz for inspo as long as you credited me somewhere... that's all that it comes back to...#anyway. i'm bigger than someone using my really unique and awesome quiz questions on uquiz dot com. (<�� affirmations)#do i need an FAQ? i feel like i'm assembling enough topics to warrant an FAQ.#something to think about...#ask#not poetry#OH MAN ALSO. FORGOT TO SAY IN THE ORIGINAL POST. fanfic is so totally cool with me. i write fanfic lmao#if you are an astute observer... and you know how to get to my main account... my ao3 link is there you can read me for filth#this is halfway a trick question cause my main account is so incredibly easy to find and if you've taken the quiz you saw it#unless you came here straight from like. uquiz. and didn't see the tumblr post. in which case WHOA.#... people know that it's just my main account posting the quizzes right. like the matching usernames make that clear??#just occurred to me that it might cause some confusion. whateverrrrrrr as i said no shame in fanfiction i love to see it haha#making no promises cause i am so bad at watching media and probably won't know what it's about anyway#but chances are pretty good that i'd read the fic if you sent it to me. non-zero for sure#(<â guy who wants to see people using his stuff for creative work so so so so so so so fucking bad)
6 notes
¡
View notes
Text
was supposed to write the advent calendar fics, ended up writing an extra scene for let me down slowly. woops. anyway! I hope you like it, it's Olli's POV, titled let go of my tears and you can read it on AO3 đ¤
#blind channel rpf#blind channel fanfiction#just fyi it doesn't really add much to the original story#so it's not necessarily the addition to this AU i was originally thinking of writing at some point but here it is anyway đ#i just needed to write this because ummmmm. because i was feeling a particular way đłđŚ#so yeah this was definitely inspired by something sort of unrelated to the fic. won't tell you what though đ#...she says as if she wouldn't immediately spill the deets if anyone asked lol#(should be an easy guess for @gloryforthegreedy at least if you think back to our latest dm convo đ)#in fact i wanted to write a different kind of fic inspired by *that* but my brain said nope so i wrote this instead!#just like my previous olli/allu piece this one too is kinda sad kinda hot#if you're in the mood to read about olli and aleksi jerking off: grab yourself a cuppa and a blanket and make yourself at home đ#if not: i wish you a pleasant evening â¨#i myself am at a point where i just want to read these two cuties do aaaaaall the stuff đ#(can you see me begging for filthy asks to enable me đŠ)#(i blame giulia's latest olli/allu. which y'all should read immediately btw)
11 notes
¡
View notes
Text
daring to be vulnerable and open about my work on tumblr on a tuesday afternoon
i have a strange relationship with april 6th where it is simultaneously the proudest achievement i have and also my white whale that i will forever be chasing
which is funny because looking back at it now, years later, i'd probably write it differently at this stage in my life? i think i've grown a lot as a writer and there are parts to me that read clunky or messy and i think i could have pushed things a lot further
but it's also like. idk, i'd never made a fic About anything before. I'd never even made a full completed piece of fiction? and then i went from "a few oneshots scattered over the course of several years and fandoms" to this fucking.... multimedia epic. this thing i updated in real time. this thing i learned to PROGRAM TWINE GAMES for. this thing i got reviews on that said it helped people deal with their own grief, that i feel like Actually spoke to people?
and that's a high fucking bar to reach! it was a very specific and precise fluke that came from a lot of things all at once- me processing my OWN feelings of loss and fear about the future after 2020. my own slow and delicate tiptoe into a new relationship where everything was uncertain and scary. my personal way of getting revenge-via-success after a year-long burnout inflicted by a really bad friendship that had a really negative impact on me creatively and killed all my confidence in my ability to finish things.
so it's like. weird having this relationship with a piece of my own work that is so Symbolic? weird having a relationship with my own creation where it is simultaneously My Testament To My Own Ability and also The Rival Whose Shadow I'm Always Chasing.
AND IT'S NOT EVEN LIKE... I don't necessarily think it's my best writing, you know? On a purely technical level, it's definitely not BAD but i've grown as a writer since then and I think I've learned new strengths and have continued to improve
but like. also.... it'll always be That Thing I Wish I Could Capture The Feeling Of Making Again. it'll always be that weird moment of lightning in a bottle where i made something really really cool and now everything i make afterwards has to take a backseat to this project i started on impulse in 2021 because i had a bunch of feelings
#personal#rambling#idk it's weird!#it's not like.... i dont think it's the best thing i'll ever make on a technical OR conceptual level#i think it's a lot of very raw and sincere feelings that i shaped into something really cool and interesting#i think going back and reading it sometimes i can see that i've already outgrown it#and that it was a product of its time#but i'll also always be going 'why can't i just randomly catch another feverish vein of inspiration that runs through something insane and-#-ambitious and challenging like this? why am i not Breaking The Mold every time?'#and the worst part is#i say all this and then have to take a step back#and remember i'm talking about a piece of fanfiction written about the manga where people punch each other with ghosts named after 70s musi#like right#this doesnt have to be that serious#it is a piece of fanwork about jojo's bizarre adventure
9 notes
¡
View notes
Note
I love your work so much and it makes me feel a certain way <33 BUTT im here to request something that I've been looking for đ¤đ˝
Toji x Fan-Fiction-Writer ! Reader? I'll get on my knees if required đŤśđ˝
đ
đ˘đđđ˘đ¨đ§ đđĄđ˘đŹ đđ˘đ(đ¤)đđ˘đ¨đ§!! | tĹji fushiguro
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/57f6d61b9f47ffd2f68fa9d2fd5fc53e/d33317a71dc08473-c4/s540x810/ae2f6e9feb00b93788a631a22a48bc727cd6cee7.webp)
đđ˛đ§đ¨đŠđŹđ˘đŹ: You know, some things are just not meant to be shared, such as fanfiction writing. And how the hell did your boyfriend, of all people, come to be the one to question you about your hobbies? You tell me, you dirty little writerâŚ
đđ¨đ§đđđ§đđŹ: Toji x fem fanfic writer! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern au! - the reader is mid/late 20s; Toji's in his mid-30s - humor - fingering (f! receiving) - oral (f! receiving) - clitoral play (licking, sucking and swiping) - deep impact position - degradation (slut, whore) - use of "Daddy" title - praise + humiliation - spitting - cervix fucking - little bit of rough sex - unprotected sex (psa: wrap the willy; don't be silly) - pet names (baby, cupcake, good girl, mama, princess, sweetheart, sweetie) - aftercare; taking a bath together - usage of a phone; erotic literature/writing - Toji teasing you to no end, the bastard, lol - reader wears glasses cuz why not, hehe - mention of drool/spit.
đđ¨đŤđ đđ¨đŽđ§đ: 5k (bless up)
đđŽđđĄđ¨đŤ'đŹ đđ¨đđ: bro. this idea cooked so bad, i just HAD to make a fic for it, lmao!! apologies for doing this months late, hope I did the prompt justice, and ty for loving my works~â
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/57f6d61b9f47ffd2f68fa9d2fd5fc53e/d33317a71dc08473-c4/s540x810/ae2f6e9feb00b93788a631a22a48bc727cd6cee7.webp)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/57f6d61b9f47ffd2f68fa9d2fd5fc53e/d33317a71dc08473-c4/s540x810/ae2f6e9feb00b93788a631a22a48bc727cd6cee7.webp)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/6f2e46e2e046e5c8118091682167cab0/d33317a71dc08473-19/s540x810/871e201c04dd22ccb670df11e8e4796f92f6f7b7.webp)
âNooo, stop, Toji, give it back!â
âHold on, baby, hold onâŚPhew, who knew ya liked wrtinâ dirty shit like this? The fuck is âpet playâââ
âOh my God, stop it!âÂ
This had to be, undoubtedly, the worst day of your life.
If thereâs one thing every human being on Earth has in common, itâs their love for the weekends. Theyâre amazing â have two whole days to retreat and relinquish the turmoil and stress after five days straight. Theyâre the days when you can choose whichever activity you want to enjoy your leisure.Â
Some people catch up on sleep, others watch a show or try to cook up a new dish, and some go outside and hang out with friends. But then there are those weekdays where itâs satisfying enough to spend your day inside the comfort of your home, delighting in a hobby.Â
The hobby you chose to indulge in this weekend was writing. And right at this moment, you regret it being the activity you selected.
Why? For one, it wasnât just any type of writing, like journalling or poetry. No, no; if it were, things would be easier for you to deal with now. Nope, it was fan fiction writing. The type of writing youâve known since middle school and decided to jump in and try for about a year. What started as a curiosity turned out to be a hobby that took up your infatuation to the maximum level: writing pieces every night, taking up requests from your following over six thousand followers, and serving as an outlet to project your fantasies onto the Internet.Â
What type of fantasies, you might ask? The type you read in a room by yourself or in the corner away from prying eyes, under a blanket with your phone exhibiting the dark secrets that corrupt your mind, or the type that only could be accepted on the Internet and not from the judgmental looks of those in the real world.
But, most certainly, not the type of fantasies you wanted your boyfriend to see!
âToji, please, give my computer back!â
âNah, hold on; I wanna see thisâŚOh, what a title; âFuck Me, Rail Me, Use Me, Daddyâââ
âTOJI, STOP!â
Perhaps writing fan fiction with your boyfriend occupying your apartment wasnât the best idea. But you wanted to get a draft donât by the end of this weekend, and you were almost done with it. You were typing up a storm in your bedroom, sitting at your desk while your man, Toji Fushiguro, was doing at-home exercises in your living room.Â
And you couldâve sworn you had locked your computer before going to the bathroom. All you know is that after flushing and washing your hands, you opened your bedroom door to a horrifying sight: Toji, sweaty from his routine in his sweats and wife beater, holding up your laptop that showed the exact draft that you were working on! No, no, NO! You almost tripped dashing to take the device, but the older man was too quick and effortlessly dodged your attempts while still reading the material. And now you know why you are hopping around your room trying to catch the man and stop him from reading more of your stuff.Â
Spoiler alert: your efforts were beyond futile, huffing and puffing in complete defeat on your bed. Your boyfriend was sitting beside you, still reading aloud while scrolling through your drafts, to your dismay. Your ears and cheeks harbored an unbearable heat that you could cry at any second, and you covered your face in case it were to happen. God, please kill me now!Â
âJesus fuckinâ Christ, how many of these shits have you written?â Toji inquires, his forest green eyes scanning every draft as if the list were endless. âHow long have you been doinâ this?â
âForâŚa while.â You can barely muster the confidence to utter an adequate response. How could I have forgotten to lock my damn computer?!
âHow longâs a while?â
âUhhh, aâŚa year?â
The silence was pinching your skin enough, but you donât know if you preferred it over the next thing he said. âWow, who wouldâve thought my sweet angel was a dirty lilâ thing writing filth like this?â Oh, you wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and die. You can practically sense the smirk on his stupid, handsome face, pulling the scar off his lip! And it hurts your being that he laughs at you grabbing a pillow to scream into oblivion. âWhat a horny minx.â
You removed the pillow to tell him off. âItâs not all my fault! Most of those arenât even my ideas; some of my followers asked me to writeââ
âFollowers?â God, would it have killed you to shut up? âSo you got people readinâ your stuff?â
Downcast eyes to avoid his surveying ones, âWâWell, yesâŚPeople like how I write, so IâŚ..Write whatever they ask me.â
âOh, wow,â raven eyebrows lift while looking at the screen, flipping through the notes of your drafts to your blog with your completed works. âSo over a hundred freaks like how freaky you write.â
âHey, dâdonât say it like that!â
âOh really?â You didnât like how he said that, nor when he pulled up one of your drafts to read. â⌠âYou spread your legs on instinct as she sucks on your chest, and the woman takes the initiative by sliding a hand down to yourâââ
âStop, stop, STOP!â You sit upright and try again to take the computer away from him, but Toji swiftly moves to the bedroom floor. Fuck! It was hopeless, so you groan in exasperation. âQuit it, Toji; you had your fun, so give it back!â
He didnât think so; finding something new about you made him curious to no bounds. And for it to be a bit of a suggestive side of you? Oh, how ashamed you were of him finding this out tickled him. âDamn, thereâs so much on hereâŚHave you ever written âbout shit weâve done?â
You couldnât believe he asked you that question â you couldnât believe you were in this situation at all! Are you serious ââly asking me that?!?â
âIâm not hearinâ a âyesâ or âno.ââ Now, this is just diving into a more profound level of embarrassment than you could handle. âDidâya?â
ââŚâŚâŚâŚâŚyes.â
âWait, frâ real?! Which ones?â
âIâm not telling you! Just give me my laptopââ
âHell nah,â his elbow is strong enough to keep you at bayâhow pathetic on your part being treated like a kid. âIâm curious to see what my lilâ sweetheart is tellinâ strangers âbout how we do our businessââ
âIâm not telling them anything!!â You retort. âI-I just use our experience as a means ofâŚreferences when Iâm writing,â thumbs find themselves fidgeting together. âItâŚIt helps when I donât know how to describe a feeling, orâŚ.what itâs like during certainâŚ..positions.â Was the room getting stuffy, or were you shrinking under the growing pressure of every word coming out of your mouth? Who knows.Â
âIs there stuff yâve written before that youâd like frâ us to try?â Oh, for fuckâs sake, this was too much, bringing your âhisâ hoodie up to shield you from this predicament. And it only worsens when he stares your way, having you close up the hoodie by the drawstrings and collapse to his shoulder. Toji chuckles at your routing self, wrapping an arm around you. âCanât even be honest frâ a second.â
âToji, pleaseeee,â whining doesnât help, the older man moving the laptop out of your lazy attempt to retrieve it. âGive it baaackâŚ!â
âNnm, nnm, donât wanna,â he places the device away to the ground and takes your hand with his. âNow I gotta read what weird shit youâve been keepinâ âway from me.â
You shake your head frantically. âPlease donât! Donât you think youâve tormented me enough today?â
âNow, why would I ever get tired of fucking with ya?â The smirk on his face is still present after you open the hoodie to sneak a glare. âShoulda thought âbout that and locked yâr laptop screen.â
âYouâre such a fucking assholeâŚâ his laugh at your words only proves your point, and you bury your face in his chest. This entire thing was so outrageous. How in the world were you this dumb enough not to double-check to make sure your computer was locked from prying eyes? What an amateurish move! Not even your closest friends know that you write fanfiction, so to have your boyfriend be the one to not only find out but bombard you with questions about your secret hobby is nothing short of humiliating. It canât get any worse than thisâŚ
âŚOr so you thought.
âHey,â you perk up to look at Toji. âYou said ya got followers askinâ ya what they want you to write, right?â You nod meekly, twirling your thumbs with the bottom of your shirt. âShow me some.â
Appalled, you gawk, âWhâwhy would Iââ
âI know you have favorites from the hundreds Iâve been looking at for the past five minutes. So, are ya gonna show âem to me, or am I gonna have to read every single one to find out?âHe didnât show interest in returning the laptop to you even after asking the question. âOh, donât look at me like that, baby; I bet ya can look it up on yâr phone or somethinâ.â
Your pout deepens in defeat as you begrudgingly stuff a hand inside the pocket of your leggings to pull out your phone to click on an app. Your thumb clicks and scrolls for a few seconds before you peer to him and say, ââŚI do have some favorites.âÂ
Jesus, it hurt to admit that to someone, especially with your him of all people, who is without a doubt getting an absolute kick out of this, the fucking bastard! This was beyond embarrassing; nothing could ever top this moment. Indeed, there is nothing else he could have done that could have made this predicament any worse than it already is. At least thatâs what you tell yourself to cope because Tojiâs grin on his face says otherwise. And what he says afterward makes your blood shift to ice.
âWhy donât ya read âem to me.â
Yup, you were killing yourself tonight.
âââ ââ
ââ
â âââ
âGo on; read that short one frâ me.â
âAhhââŚHahhh, âSitting here and thinkingâŚabout your favesâŚMmmm.â
For some reason, this felt so. Fucking. Wrong!
You already knew it was a bad idea for you to read your works to your boyfriend at his request. However, to be fulfilling said wish in this manner? The mortification had your ears ringing a thousandfold.Â
How would you have foreseen this yourself, face stuffed to the pillow with your phone held up by your right hand with your legs spread up and your bottom propped up? Who the hell reads like this?! And on top of that, your boyfriend is alongside you, his body behind you. The inability to see what heâs doing arises uneasiness in the soul, quivers sneaking up as you feel the rough pads of his fingertips greet the skin of your ass after sneaking inside the oversized hoodie.Â
Breath hitches at the slide of your panties, coming down for his hands to grope the flesh wholly. âTo..jiâŚâ his name leaves in shakes.Â
âCâmon, baby,â you swallow thickly at the cupping of your chasm. Toji chuckles at the twitch felt on his palm, âRead it properly, yeah? Word for word.â
Oh, fuck, your brows trench together. âTâŚâThinking about your faves pleasing you from behind. He knows he has to tease you a bitâTmmm,â his lightly hits your butt. ââB-By massaging your ass with his strong hands,â he does so, kneading your ass skillfully that has you involuntarily purring to his touch. ââŚâKeeping you still and relaxed so he can later feel you with his fingers andââ his forefinger and middle slowly come from your clit to the entrance, biting your lips. âNhhmm, hahhh.â
âGo on,â Toji scolds, the middle digit sliding up and down with a faint push. Your back quakes to the touch, fingers gripping the pillow. âWhat else is yâr fav doing?â
You inhale. âMmmmâŚâand circle one of them around to warm you upâââ spit gulped down again when Tojiâs digit did the exact thing as told. ââAnd then, when he knows youâre ready for him, he sneaks them insiââ Aaaiiii!â His middle finger is shoved into your vagina, and your toes instantly curl before he pushes the rest ever so slowly. âOh! Ohhh, fuckâŚâHeâŚthen comes to your shoulder and says to your ear to make you tingleâŚâ
ââŚâStay still, sweetie,ââ woah. You were not expecting that; you were too focused on trying to read your words, and Toji bending to your ear to read his part wasnât noticed at all. You only hope he didnât catch the clasp of your vaginal walls around his finger (he most definitely did), hoping the soft chortle meant nothing. ââGonna let me make yâ feel good, yeah?ââ Jesus Christ, his gruff voice relayed this so intimately to your eardrums that your heart was beating too hard.
Tojiâs finger goes faster, nearly having you almost drop your phone. Your face smooshes to the pillow from the scrape of his fingertip, biting on the pillowcase as he puts in the other finger. He whispers to your ear to keep going; unbelievableâŚSo you lift your head and try. âJ-JâŚâJust thinking about how easy he could make you cumâMmmph! Wi-With his fingersssâŚscratching and rubbing your insides so precisely until youâre practically begging to mess his hand upââŚâ
âOh, frâ real?â The perk of his tone makes you anxious. âWell, donâ mind if I do.â
The pace of his ring and middle finger increase, and you gasp sharply. The onslaught of rubs to your inner channel is enough to have your lower half writhe despite Toji keeping your legs grounded with his single one. Oh, fucking Christ, your glasses up to your smooshed cheeks the more you try to conceal your cries, proven to be trivial as the seconds go by.Â
âAww, whaddaya think yâre doinâ?â He coos with a kiss to your nape; you nearly shut down. His free hand takes your phone, âTryinâ to hide that cute voice of yârs from me? Fuck that,â he then removes his digits from your chasm as you yelp and makes you flip to your back. Oh, fuck no! Your hands go to cover your faceânope, Toji is quick to move them away. âLemme see you, mamaâŚNow, letâs see what else you should read frâ me.â He swipes your phone screen, âThis too wordy, this long as fuckâgoddamn, baby; you writinâ whole ass novels or somethinâ?â
âShut up,â you reply as your legs move, and Tojiâs left hand removes your undies.Â
âAh, this one!â He hands you back your cellular device. Your eyes catch the first sentence, and your face morphs into dread before staring back at him to meet his grin. âGo âhead,â he says cooly, spreading your legs by the knees.
ââŚâPicture this: your favorite coming to your room and seeing you on your bed and striding to you to taste you,â you inhale deeply at the blow of air on your wet southern folds. ââHe crawls up to you while youâre busy scrolling on the phone, busying himself with placing kisses to your stomach and down to your undies. Heâll then take them off and spread your legs for him, greeting your privates with his tonââGhhhâŚ!â Toji licks your slit leisurely; you gulp at the muscle perching between the lips of your labia. âHahhh, shitâŚâThe smell and taste of you are so inviting he can barely keep it together, virtually inching to stuff his face with your pussy. He kisses it, lips petting your clit,ââ he does so, and you chew your bottom lip. ââThen his tongue goes excruciatingly slow to e-explore your folds,â your exhale is shaky as Tojiâs tongue laps and swirls; fuck, I canât do thisâŚ
The older man, on the other hand, flips a switch and goes to town. You knew this was a bad idea; if thereâs one thing Toji loved doing more than fucking your cunt, itâs eating it out. He pushes your legs up by the knees for easier access, the angle perfect for him to propel his mouth onto your entrance. You shriek, his nose frequently grinding the hood of your cunt as his scarred lips and tongue suck and lick you feverishly.
ââTahhh! Ohhhshit, noâŚ!â You cry, throwing your head back to the pillow. âAhhnn, Tojiii, stopâŚnot too fastâOooh!â
He spits, mixing his saliva with your slick as he laves. âMmmph, shit, taste âo good,â Toji pushes his face further as he sucks on your clit, and you nearly choke on your sob. âYeah, yeah, let âem out; scream like a real whore.â You jerk, but his hands firmly keep you down. âKeep goinâ, cupcake, finish yâr reading.â
âKhhh, God, I canât,â you gulp when emerald eyes peer toward you. ââŚâBefore long, heâs too overwhelmed by you that he canât take it anymore, stuffing his face between your legs and having you cry out his name in prayersâyour phone is no longer a priority.ââ Jesus, you can hear his grunts along with the lascivious sounds coming from below; heâs so fucking turned on. ââNow he has your attention, playing with yourâŚpussy like a toy just to hear you squeak.â Â
âFuck yeah,â he groans as he sticks his fore and middle digits into you. Fingers go to and fro frantically, and your free hand grabs his raven hair. âChrist, yâ sound so fuckinâ hot. More, gimme more,â a long and harsh kiss to your clit makes you want to arch so bad. âGood girl, good fuckinâ girlâŚâ
You hiss at the graze of your vagina; keeping your eyes open is hard to do. Lips go agape, and your noises fly out with no restraint. Your legs tremble, impending in a wish to close from the curl of Tojiâs fingers. Your senses become too keen, your nerves heightening with every massage of your walls, lick and slurp of your slick and clit.Â
âOhooo, nhhmm, fuck, Tojiiii,â another suck to your clit has you grip the sheets. âStooop, please; Iâm gonna cummâŚ!âÂ
However, your boyfriend has another idea in his head. âOh no, you donât, princess,â his fingers leave you hurriedly with a squeal. He yanks for your phone once more to find yet another piece of yours for you to read, giving you so little time to recuperate. Until he scoffs with a smirk, âOhh, read this one aloud next.âÂ
You take the device returned to you cautiously, scanning the first few words that catch your eye. Curiosity snaps to apprehension, âW-wait, no, please!â Begging wonât work, but it doesnât hurt to try. âPlease, Toji, look for someââ
âAht, aht,â the click of the tongue shuts you. âCâmon, sweetheart, that ainât what yâre callinâ yâr fav right now.â He squeezes your thigh, âWhatâs my name?â
âToji, pleasââ
âMm, mm,â he pinches you, a warning. âTry again.â
Excitement Nervousness flicker through your soul, breathing tardily as you muster to answer. âSorryâŚDaddy.â The title burnt your tongue when it left your mouth, and the smile lifted Tojiâs scar even more.Â
âGood,â he praises. âNow read.â
ââŚOne of my followers asked about writing a post about deep impact, so itâsââ
âDeep impact?â He questions while spreading your legs. âThe hellâs that?âÂ
âI-Itâs a, uhh,â you push up your glasses. âA position where youâŚkinda, like, sit on one of my legs and lift the other to your shoulder.â
Black eyebrows rise. âOhhh, somethinâ like this, huh?â Sturdy hands find your ankle and lift your leg to his shoulder, and Toji then moves to have your other leg in between his. Your lips flatten when the groin of his pantsâaka, the pitched tentâtouches your hole. He whistles, âOh, now I got a new favorite to add frâ later.â His words arenât meant to jest, so you frown as he snickers. âAlright, what did you write for this?â
You lick your lips; why? Toji uses his free hand to bring his sweats down, not surprised by the lack of underwear as his erection springs out. His cock is standing and ready for you, the precum oozing out alluring your eyes and your lip bitten by excited teeth. Of course, your vagina is clenching to a voidâanticipation is a hell of a drug affecting your entire figure.Â
âDonât get too distracted, mama,â he caught you eyeing him, lifting the hem of his wifeâs beater to bite down on. Your ears and cheeks scorched at the sight of his abs and torso. âRead those words.â
Your gaze flickers to your phone while Toji lines his dick to your entrance, a gulp at the kiss of his glans and your inner labia. ââŚâDaddy has you propped in a deep impact, a position catered to mutual pleasure and closeness. He taps you with the tip to have you excited, then slowly pushes himself into yourâMmfff!âŚy-your warmth,â reminding yourself to maintain a steady breath; Toji pushes his cockhead into your slick as youâre distracted. A few seconds fly by, and he slips right in; a gasp exiting your puffy lips indicates so. ââHâHe gently shoves every inch and stretches you out,ââ his girth is lethal, your eyes rolling up the further his tip goes, scrapping your texture and your opening suiting for his length. ââA-And, it feels so good to have him making you full and goodââHoohh?!?â
Thatâs it, thatâs what you were anxious aboutâyou felt the jab of his tip on your cervix. You freeze instantly, too shocked to breathe as the hit was spontaneous. Your body locks down for a quick second to process what happened.
Toji notices your tightened grip and hisses, âFffuuckin, shitâŚ! So tight,â his hips go sluggish, and you feel his veins and shaft brush nicely with your insides. You sneak a glance at his flashed abdomen; the flex of his abs as he pushes his pelvis in waves is a sight to seeâenough to put you in a trance.Â
You continue. ââHis hip work is pleasuring, having you wail and cry out f-for moreâŚthe sensation of Daddyâs dick venturing inside and hitting your sweet spots is enough to make your toes curlâNhhaaaâŚâ
He can sense you gripping on him more; fuck, it feels so good. His thrusts go a little faster, forming a minimal medium. You exhale through your nostrils at the change of pace, and grazes against your walls become periodic and long-lasting the deeper he goes.
 âDaaah, ahhh, f-fuuck,â you whimper aloud. âTojiii, yâ feel so gâNnnmm!?!â You nearly swallow your tongue from the sudden pound of him, the rub of your G-spot too abrupt to predict.Â
âWho?â God, you know heâs getting a good kick out of this, the fucker. He pushes his cock to the hilt, and it takes everything in your power not to babble from the overwhelming intensity.Â
âDaddy, daddyyy, donâtâŚ!â Correcting yourself as his fingers dance around your unattended clit. âIâm sorry, you just feel so good..â
Thatâs more like it. âGood girl,â he bends closer, his knees spreading further apart. He pushes the leg on his shoulder so that the angle is plausible for him to rut harder. You shriek and squirm to his enjoyment, âKeep readinâ.â
ââY-âŚYouâre cries become more shameful the harder and faster he goes,â Toji stimulates for a harsher pound; another hit to your cervix has you winded. Despite your gasping for air, he doesnât relent, and you jerk to undulate to another poke. âSh-shiiit, JesusssâŚ! âHe pistons so hard, so deep, itâs difficult even to think straight when all you can think isâââ a choked sob from a slow pull before a devious snap of the hips. âA-All you câan thinkâŚAhahh!â Another nudge to your G-spot; this is so hellish!
The culprit scoffs softly. âThink âbout what, baby?â He swipes and pinches your clit to have you jolt and whine. âTell Daddy the rest.âÂ
Fuck, I canât take it anymore! The phone slips your hand, barely missing your head. âDaddyyy, I canât!â
âWhy? Whatâs wrong?â Another pinch to the bud pairs with a poke to your delicate womb. Oh, heâs such a dick! âDonât wanna read frâ me?â He chuckles aloud at you shaking your head ânoâ. âWhyâs that?â
âC-Cuz, if you keep going, Iâll,â a head thrown back at another nip on your clitoris. âAhh, I-IâllâŚ!â Shit, you can feel it, the climb rocking your bones to entail your soon climax.Â
âWhat? Ya wanna cum on Daddyâs dick instead of readinâ like a sweetheart,â donât believe the words; his faux disappointment doesnât match the merciless thrusts and the devilish grin. âWanna act like a whole slut and cum on me?â
âYesss, yes, pleasee!!â You donât care anymore; you want to let it out. âPlease, Daddyyy, I wanna cummm!!â
âHeh, what a nasty girl you areâNnnmm! Fuck, just milkinâ me dry, begginâ frâ it, huh?â The same fingers he used to play with your clit come to your lips to shove inside, forcing you to taste yourself. âGo âhead, mama; let yârself go, be the slut you really areâŚHahhh, shit, câmere,â he grabs for both your wrists with his free hand after taking off your glasses and propels you towards him at the same time as he pounds. Holy fuck, this position was getting rougher, pulling you in and hitting your cervix with accurate hits that youâre whining and twitching. Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck! Itâs too much, itâs all too much to bear, so itâs no wonder you climax in seconds.
You cry with the breach of your crescendo, your inner muscles contracting around the cock, hitting your womb. Your nerves are now peaked as the air is sensitive to your skin, and you feel so out of breath, everything happening all at once that you canât keep up as you thank Toji in babbled prayers, still sucking on his fingers as your vagina flutters and coats him of your essence.
âGood job, cupcake,â he comes closer and removes his digits. âCanât beat the real thing, right?â He cups and massages your cheeks before spitting into your mouth.Â
You donât even flinch, too fucked out to even care, just moaning to his lips as he brings you in for a passionate kiss as his hips keep going until heâs done and satisfiedâŚ
âââ ââ
ââ
â âââ
âUghhh, I canât believe I just did thatâŚâ
âPfft quit whininâ. Donât act like ya didnât enjoy it.â
âI hate you so fucking much, you know that?â
âWhatever yâ say, Ms. Novelist.â You grumble at the name before he brings the washcloth to wipe down your neck. Â
You and Toji were now in the bathroom, your nude bodies squished together, with the warm water cleansing you both. Hair and skin damp, your back meshed to his front as you sit between his legs. The soft yellow lighting basks the bathroom with a warm glow as you two bathe in relaxation, a needed state after the excitement prior.Â
You snatch the washcloth before Toji wipes your face clean off. âWhy did you have to be so nosy, looking at my laptop for what?â You wipe his arm that rests on the rim of the tub.Â
He rolls his eyes, knowing heâs in for a lecture. âWell, if ya didnât want me to see, shoulda locked the shit.â
âThat doesnât excuse the fact that youâre nosy as hell! Couldâve just looked somewhere else or left the room!â
âHmph, well, when you see the words âDown and Dirtyâ all bolded and big and see another tab with a pic of a rimjob, who wouldnât stopââ
âOkay, okay!â It would be best if you threw the cloth at him for chortling; such an indecorous personality for someone supposedly older than you. âYouâre insufferable.â
âRight back at you,â he whispers to your ear and kisses your cheek. You sigh softly from his lips, resting your head on his shoulder while he pecks your chin. The hand in the water finds your thigh to grope and massage, and you moan at the touch and unwind.
Tranquility fills the cozy space between you two as the silence settles in, the humid air comforting to your nose and eyes, and the drip of the faucet plucking into the tub water is a soothing sound to cajole you into a dormant plane.Â
However, even when relaxing, it doesnât stop the bothersome feeling of asking Toji something. And where better than with you in his secure embrace? âToji,â his name has him open an eye to look your way. âYou donât think IâmâŚweird, donât you?â
He raises a brow. âExplain.â
âLike, donât you find it weird that me, your partner, indulges in hobbies that areâŚyou know, like that,â now your eyes trail away from his gaze. âWriting about fictional fantasies and such, looking up erotic material and stuffâŚâ
A few seconds fly as he scoffs. âBaby, Iâve been lookinâ at porn way before I met youââ
âThâThatâs not what I meant??â
âBesides, itâs nothing more than just writinâ shit that doesnât exist. Hmm, if anything, now I know yâre just as big of a pervert as I am.â
Anxiousness transitions to peeve. âYou are soââ
âDo you like what you do?âÂ
The question takes you aback; the immediate serious tone switch wasnât expected. ââŚI..yeah.â
âAre ya hurtinâ anyone?â
âNoâŚat least I donât want to.â
âAre ya hurtinâ yâreself?â You see what heâs doing, the glint shining from his viridian orb.
âNo. IâŚlike this hobby.â
Finally, a small smile contorts that scar of his. âThen I donât mind it. Itâs what ya like to do, so do whatever, sweetie.â He comes to kiss your nose and rest his forehead with yours. âI like ya beinâ a lilâ weird anyway.â
âJackassâŚâ And there you go, falling in love with him again. You cup his cheek, kiss the other, and repose onto his shoulder with a blissful sigh.Â
âNow,â you blink back to him. âCanât lie, think you gotta start callinâ me âDaddyâ from now on,â like a scratched record, your heart stops, especially with his mischievous smirk. âWhere can I read the rest of yâr stuff at?â
âThatâs it,â you ignore his annoying bark of laughter as you try to squirm out of his hold. âLet me out of here, get me out of this fucking tub.â
âHaha, hey, quit it; yâre spillinâ the water!â
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/57f6d61b9f47ffd2f68fa9d2fd5fc53e/d33317a71dc08473-c4/s540x810/ae2f6e9feb00b93788a631a22a48bc727cd6cee7.webp)
Š đđ¨đŹđĄđ˘đ đŤđđ˛2024 â reblogs + comments are appreciated wholeheartedly â header art by rororogi morgera + dividers by @/cafekitsune + @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more.
#đŻđđđđ Ëââ§ę°á â ŕťęą â§âË đžđđđđđ: đđđđ#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk smut#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#toji x reader#toji fushigro x reader#toji smut#toji fushiguro smut#toji fushiguro x you#toji x you#fushiguro toji x reader#fushiguro toji x you#fushiguro toji smut#toji fanfic#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen fic#jjk fic#anime smut
3K notes
¡
View notes
Text
conflicted spaces
Arthur Morgan x fem!reader
a/n: He doesnât get TB in this. Why? Because this is fanfiction and Iâm god and fuck canon (I just finished the game, Iâm emotionally distraught and needed this)
Warnings: brief attempted SA
Summary: Your father is a gambling man and youâre always the collateral. He refuses to pay the wrong man and now youâre being dragged across country roads to a man youâve never met. Arthur Morgan, an outlaw down to the bone, is in charge of making sure you get there in one piece. Except, he doesnât feel right selling a woman off like sheâs property.
Youâre done being a doormat and letting the men in your life tell you what youâre worth. Youâve got three days to escape him, but youâre not prepared for the reality of the real world.
âPut your hands where I can see âem, cowboy.â Arthurâs shoulders tense and he curses under his breath. His hand darts to the revolver on his hip, but the second his fingers twitch towards it he hears a hammer being pulled back. The cool barrel of a gun digs into his neck and he raises his hand in surrender.Â
The man behind him lets out a familiar laugh and tugs him around. Arthur rolls his eyes and glares at Dutch. âThe hell are you doing?â
Dutch clears his throat, still laughing slightly. âRelax, Arthur, but if I had been an OâDriscoll youâd be dead right now.â Arthur doesnât point out that the only thing they have to worry about out here are the Lemonye raiders. Heâs more focused on why Dutch is even out here. Rarely does he leave Shady Belle to traverse the streets of St. Denis.Â
None of them are particularly fond of the place. If he wanted to step in horse shit every other step heâd go to a stable. At least those smell better. Dutch slings an arm around Arthurâs shoulder, tugging him away from the saloon he was heading towards.Â
âYouâre gonna have to save the cheating for later, Arthur, I need you for something.â
âYou know I donât cheat,â Arthur jokes and Dutch grins at him and itâs nice. This is familiar to him. This feels right. Dutch has been odd lately, the jobs heâs been taking, the risks heâs been imposing, none of them feels like the man he knows.Â
Now, Arthur would follow Dutch straight into hell without being asked. But he canât abide by how heâs putting their people in harm's way. Heâs felt like a stranger more often than not and heâs been doubting the people he shouldnât. Right now, though, he can see the man he knows in the teasing curl of his lips.Â
âWhatâdya need?â
Dutch pauses in front of a tailor and pats Arthurâs chest. âI need you to look prim and proper for a party weâve got tonight.â
Arthurâs brows furrow cynically and he scoffs. âSomeone invited us to a party?â
Dutch hesitates, a stiff smile on his face. âWell, letâs just say someone is interested in our work.â Arthur wants to question him further, heâs hiding something from him. But Dutch is pushing him towards the door of the shop before he can argue. âAnd get a haircut, we need to look presentable not like a bunch of mountain men.â
Arthur watches as Dutch leaves, something heavy weighing down on him. Dutch doesnât usually tell people about his plans beforehand. At least not every step of them. But this is odd, heâs definitely hiding something and Arthur isnât sure he wants to know what.Â
With a resigned huff, he heads into the tailor. He has to mentally prepare himself for being stuffed into a starched collar and a stiff suit for the rest of the night. He hates these damn parties, hates having to pretend like he knows what the hell is being said.Â
Most of the people that attend are educated or pretend to be. And when he lets it slip that heâs more likely to shoot a gun than read a book they turn on him like jackals. You canât let them see that youâre different than them or youâll never get a word in edgewise.Â
The only part he enjoys is the booze and robbing them of their money. Itâs not like they earned any of it. Most of it was made by breaking the backs of the people they mock for being too poor to afford a fancy suit.Â
Arthur takes a deep breath and looks for the cheapest suit he can find in the overpriced shop.Â
âNow,â Mr. Craneâs hand tightens around your bicep and he jerks you closer to him. You keep your face impassive, not letting him see just how much heâs hurting you. But you can feel your skin being stretched to its limits by his clammy fingers. âYouâre going to behave tonight. Iâve got a few gentlemen Iâd like you to meet.â
He looks at you expectantly but you keep your mouth firmly shut. His eyes narrow and he jerks you around roughly. âUnderstood,â you force the word out through gritted teeth. Youâre trying to breathe as little as possible, not wanting to smell his cigar-laced breath any longer.Â
Finally, after a tortuously long moment, he releases you. You take ten steps back, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles from the silk skirt heâd forced you in. You glance out the window of his office, watching as the workers scramble to set up the tables for tonight. You can hear cooks in the kitchen, shouting out orders for the food for tonight.Â
Everything must be perfect. Mr. Crane never fails to deliver on his extravagantly indulgent parties. The man himself is the very embodiment of greed. You glance over with a disgusted sneer as he sinks himself into his leather chair and pulls out a wad of cash.Â
He catches your eye and sends you a sickly sweet smile. âThis,â he waves the money at you and you track the movement boredly. âIs how much youâre worth, sweetheart.â Your brows raise in amusement and you scoff. More than you thought he would put up for you.Â
You wonder who heâs going to have transport you. Heâll need you out of the city soon, your father is starting to catch onto whatâs happening. It took him long enough. Youâve been missing a month, youâd think he would have put two and two together faster. Then again, heâd never been very interested in you beyond what you were worth to others.Â
âWhen will I be able to meet these gentlemen?â You ask, taking a step towards him. Your eyes dart towards the letter opener on his desk and for a brief moment you picture yourself strabbing it into his fattened jugular.Â
But he flicks his wrist and like magic the door opens, his men coming inside and standing resolutely by your side. âNot anytime soon, my dear.â He looks to the men surrounding you and you take in a sharp breath, wishing youâd just taken the chance when you had it. âMy associate is feeling quite tired, take her back to her room, please.â
They grab you by the elbows, even though it's entirely unnecessary. You wouldnât run, and even if you did you wouldnât get far with the chains he has hidden under your dress. A punishment for the first time you snuck from his home. Youâve been well behaved since then but he doesnât trust you.Â
Youâre whisked away without another word. The trek of the stairs is a slow one. Theyâre forced to help you navigate by lifting your skirts and not tripping on the chains. It no longer brings you any satisfaction to cause a hindrance in any of their days.Â
Before, you would think of being an annoyance as a small victory. But itâs not, it never was. It was just a way for them to keep you complacent by allowing you to think youâd done something for yourself. You believe your father used to do the same thing.Â
Itâs just another way of keeping you quiet.Â
When you make it to your rooms, they shove you inside. Like clockwork, you hear the jingle of the keys and then the lock clicks. You sigh and take a step towards your vanity, working on touching up your hair.Â
You think the worst part of this must be how well youâre treated. You have meals made by a private chef. Your quarters are decorated more lavishly than they ever were at your fatherâs house. Yet, you hear the suffocating tick of the clock as it counts down your doom.Â
Youâre not entirely sure what their plan is with you. You know your father had made a promise to Mr. Crane involving some land. Or perhaps it had been a wager. But as always, you were collateral when your father refused to pay up.Â
You know Mr. Crane wants you out of town so that he has more time to negotiate with your father, to call in the interest he owes him. You also know the only reason your father is interested in finding you is because youâre meant to marry the son of a business partner in two months. The money heâll get from that will be enough to finally pay off his debts.Â
Except, now, Mr. Crane tells you that should your father refuse to pay youâll be married to one of his associates. And the deal heâll make from that will be enough to cover what your father has refused to pay.Â
No matter what, youâre going to be married off to some man youâve never met and yet again be a quiet trophy on a shelf. Itâs a very convoluted situation, one which makes you think leaping from a window might be a better fate.Â
None of the men your father or Mr. Crane is in business with are particularly kind. Theyâve got more skeletons in the closet than there are in the graveyard. You doubt youâll live a very happy life with whoever they pick for you.Â
You slump forward onto the vanity, trying to fight off the burning feeling in the back of your eyes. Youâve known this would happen for years. Even before Mr. Crane had you kidnapped, you knew that this would be your destiny. You would never get to be one of the free-spirited women who fought for the right to choose. You would always be forced into this role.Â
Yet, being so close to it coming to fruition makes you feel choked and suffocated. You can feel the noose around your neck tightening, the hangmanâs fingers twitching as he waits to see you drop.Â
You dig your nails into your palm, taking in a deep breath and fighting back the wave of despair. Where there is doom, you also see a sliver of hope. Your next journey will be a long one. Heâs hiring someone to have you transported to an area further up the map.Â
If you play your cards right you might be able to escape while youâre traveling. If youâre incredibly smart about this, thinking with your head and not your heart, you might have a shot at freedom.Â
You take in a deep breath, reapplying your makeup and resolving yourself to another night of mindless entertainment. But you hold onto that fleeting feeling of hope. You have a shot, you just have to take it.Â
Arthurâs heard of these parties before. Some Mr. Crane fella that likes to blow all his money on food and booze. He indulges his guests and when theyâre weakest, gets their secrets from them. Heâs a snake and everyone knows it. Yet, missing his party is social suicide. They have no choice but to go and indulge in him.Â
Arthur had never had any interest in meeting him or doing any business with him. But Dutch had informed him thatâs exactly whatâs happening tonight. Theyâll mingle for a little while, maybe scout some other jobs, and then Mr. Crane will invite them up to his office for a private discussion.Â
Dutch still hasnât told him what exactly their business with him is. He brought Hosea along tonight so he has to assume itâs not going to be anything violent. But he canât think of anything else they could be good for.Â
âAlright, gentlemen,â Dutch places his hands on Hoseaâs and Arthurâs shoulders, a scheming smile on his face. âTry not to embarrass me.â He slips behind them, heading up the stairs of the home. Hosea and Arthur share a brief look before they split up, blending into the background of the garden.Â
Arthur lurks near the bar, he knows he should be talking to these assholes, possibly learning something useful. But he canât be bothered. He orders a whiskey, gaze surveying the partygoers. Theyâre all loud with painted faces and fake smiles. Not a goddamn person here seems to be genuinely interested in anything theyâre doing.Â
âFirst time?â The soft voice beside him catches him off guard. He glances to the side and is surprised to see that youâve slipped past him. He hadnât even noticed you slide up next to him. You laugh at the look on his face and itâs the first thing here that seems real. âSorry, itâs just that look on your face, I recognize the disappointment. Youâve never been to one of Craneâs parties before?â
âNo,â he clears his throat, still recovering from the surprise. âUh, I canât say I have.â
You suck on your teeth, narrowing your eyes at the people passing by. âTheyâre not worth the effort. Everyone who leaves here leaves carrying his debt on their back.â
Arthur chuckles a little, lips twitching up into a small smile. Heâs surprised by your frankness, most people like to hide behind passive-aggressive digs. He appreciates the straightforward attitude. âThen why are you here?â
You shrug and Arthur finds himself enchanted. He shouldnât be, heâs never been one for romance. He finds women pretty and heâs been in love before, but heâs never bought into the idea of love at first sight. Or any of that mushy stuff that Mary Beth devours in those books of hers.Â
But you are absolutely gorgeous, dressed in a silk dress thatâs so expensive heâs sure he could buy two new horses with it. Your fingers and neck are decorated in dainty jewels that you fidget with as you stare down at your drink. When you set your eyes on him again he thinks he might have been struck by Cupidâs arrow.Â
âI donât have a choice,â you finally answer, sending him a stiff smile. âWhat about you? Why are you here?â
Arthur suddenly remembers himself, remembers why heâs here and what heâs supposed to be doing. The fog in his head dissipates and heâs disappointed in himself. Pretty women have never done anything except get him in trouble.Â
âBusiness,â he answers vaguely. Your eyes narrow and your brows twitch in discontent. Something like realization dawns on your face and you back away from him. The easy attitude youâd carried yourself with is gone, replaced by a vague look of distrust.Â
âRight, shouldâve known.â You let out a rough sigh and Arthur canât help but feel like heâs said the wrong thing. âI suppose Iâll be seeing you again soon.â You slip past him before he can ask you what you mean. He hears the faint sound of metal clinking as you walk back up the stairs.Â
Something silver flashes under your skirts but he canât get a good glimpse of it. He feels unsettled as he turns back to the bar. The whole interaction was odd. From how stricken he was with you to how cold you turned.Â
He doesnât know what you saw in him but it was probably for the best that you left when you did. Neither of you needed the trouble the other would bring. He shakes his head, downing his whiskey and muttering nonsense to himself about not thinking with the wrong head.Â
Itâs not that much later that Dutch is appearing on the balcony and silently motions him forward. Arthur leaves the bar behind and slips up the same stairs youâd disappeared on. Dutch says nothing as he leads Hosea and Arthur through the house.Â
The mansion is a maze more than anything. Arthur loses track of all the turns they take and the winding staircases they descend. Finally, Dutch stops them all in front of two large oak doors. He raps once on the door and then lets himself in.Â
A large, balding man with a shiny head is perched on top of a leather chair. He looms behind his desk, fingers steepled as he greets them all with a false smile. âAh, gentlemen, so nice to finally meet you.â
Dutch grins and motions to Arthur, âThis is the man who will be doing the transporting, Arthur.â Arthurâs eyes narrow in confusion but he says nothing as Dutch moves to Hosea, âAnd this is my associate, Hosea. Heâs a lot better with money than I am, Mr. Crane. You understand.â
Mr. Crane lets out a boisterous laugh that makes Arthurâs ears hurt and nods his head, his cheeks jiggling with the movement. âThat I do! Well,â he waves them forward when they linger in the doorway too long, âcome in, come in.â
Arthur closes the doors behind them as Mr. Crane lifts himself from his desk. There are two couches positioned in front of an unlit fire. He takes one of them and Dutch and Hosea take the other. Arthur perches himself on the armrest of their couch, eyes surveying the office like it might reveal the truth of their visit.Â
âI trust Mr. Van der Linde has kept this all quiet?âÂ
âHe has,â Arthur grouses.Â
At the same time, Dutch says, âOf course, Mr. Crane. I promised confidentiality and Dutch Van der Linde is nothing if not a man who keeps to his promises.â Crane nods, looking satisfied and Arthur holds back a laugh at how easily he seems to trust Dutch.
âGood, good.â He dips his hand inside his jacket and Arthurâs palm instinctively drops to where his gun should be. Of course, theyâd had to give up their weapons before they came into the party, if he does has a gun Arthur canât do a damn thing.Â
But he doesnât, instead, he pulls out the thickest stack of cash that Arthur has ever laid his eyes on. A loud thud resounds through the room as he slams the bills on top of the table between them. Arthurâs eyes widen and Hoseaâs jaw nearly drops at the sight of it all.Â
This would be enough to get them out of St. Denis tonight. Shock sours quickly into suspicion. What the hell has Dutch signed up for? âNow, this is the first half. This is simply for accepting the job and,â he gives them all severe looks, âfor your silence.â
Arthur shifts uncomfortably on his perch and waits for Mr. Crane to finish. âThe other half will be given once the package has been safely delivered.â Thereâs a certain lilt to his words when he says package that has Arthurâs hackles raising. Whatever is getting delivered is not going to be good.Â
Crane turns towards the bookshelves on the wall and calls out, âDarling, wonât you join us?â Arthur figures the man must have lost his mind, they should just take the money and leave. But thereâs a loud creak and something like metal gears grinding together. One of the shelves pops open and the panel swings forward.Â
You pop your head out, glancing towards Crane and then taking a step forward. Arthur, without even thinking about it, finds himself sitting up, and brushing some of the dirt off his pants from the ride over.Â
At first, heâs so confused by seeing you again that he doesnât realize why exactly heâs seeing you again. Then you glance towards him, a knowing look on your face and it clicks. Youâre the package. Youâre what heâs meant to be transporting.Â
He glares over at Dutch, when exactly did they get into the business of trading women?
Hosea voices his doubts in a much calmer manner. âIf I may, sir, why does she need to be delivered so discreetly?â
Mr. Crane laughs and your face twitches unpleasantly. You grimace, glaring at the back of the manâs head with something like murder in your eyes. He doesnât know what heâs done to cause such a visceral look of hate and he doesnât want to think about it. This whole situation is bothering him. Youâre not here willingly, which means youâre not going to be transported willingly either.Â
None of this makes sense. Dutch would never have taken a job like this before, even when they needed the money. And thereâs no way in hell a rich man like this one would want to pay a couple of grungy outlaws so much money. Thereâs got to be some sort of trick in all of this.Â
Cran clears his throat, âSheâs a daughter of a, well,â he frowns and struggles for the words. âLetâs just say weâre in a hostile competition for a lot of land. This land, boys, could be very beneficial in expanding my business. Heâs not interested in selling and, well, desperate times, desperate measures.â
You scoff, laughing slightly at him and rounding the couch. Dutch ignores you, Hosea looks uncomfortable, and Crane continues prattling on without missing a beat. âShould her father not pay me, she will be married to the associate youâre bringing her to. Heâs promised me enough land and money to cover what I lost to her father. And if he does pay, sheâll be returned in time for her wedding here.â
Arthurâs eyes dart towards you and you send him a bitter smile. It makes him shift where he sits, hating the way your eyes bore into him. âI just need someone who's not afraid of getting their hands a little dirty to make sure she behaves while sheâs delivered to my friend,â Crane glances over at Arthur. He asses him, the bulge of his arms in the suit and the scars on his face, whatever he finds must be satisfactory because he smiles over at Dutch.Â
Arthur stands, ready for Dutch to tell Mr. Crane that theyâre not in the business of selling women off. But Dutch doesnât, he smiles at Mr. Crane and reaches for the money, passing it off to Hosea to count. âWell, I do believe my friend Arthur is just the man for the job.âÂ
âI think youâre right, Dutch.â He stands up now, pot belly nearly bursting the buttons of his shirt, and reaches for Dutchâs hand. âPleasure doing business with you.â
Dutch smiles and takes his sweaty palm, âYou as well, sir.â Dutch walks towards you and holds his arm out. âThis way, my dear.â You glance between him and his elbow before rolling your eyes and reluctantly placing your hand on his arm. You follow him silently and obediently, no fight is left in you. Hosea follows after you both, a concerned look on his face.Â
Arthur remains in the office, standing dumbfounded and staring at the doorway youâd disappeared through. Heâs struggling to process what just happened. Arthur has helped people get home safely before and provided protection. But heâs never been one to traffic a hostage.Â
Crane glances up, finally noticing him still standing there. He walks past him, patting his shoulder as he does and giving him an approving smile. âDonât be afraid to take care of her should she get out of hand.â Heâs nearly out the door but he looks back and adds, âJust donât bruise her too much.â
Arthurâs fingers twitch for his revolver once more and heâs never wanted to shoot a man more. But he knows Dutch is waiting for him and heâd never make it out of here alive if he started a fight right now. Reluctantly, he makes his way out of the manor and towards where youâre all waiting for him.Â
Heâs fuming by the time he stops in front of Dutch. Heâs trying to help you onto his horse and Arthur finally realizes what the metal sound he heard earlier is. There are chains around your ankles and you canât maneuver yourself on the saddle.Â
His eyes narrow and he glares at Dutch, âWhat the hell are you doing? Weâre selling women now?â
Dutch glowers at the tone of Arthurâs voice. You watch them both passively, fiddling with the rings on your fingers and looking unbothered by the entire situation. âWatch yourself, Arthur,â thereâs a clear warning in his tone but Arthurâs too upset to care.Â
Theyâve done a lot of bad things. They werenât good men. But this was just going too far. âWe need this, Arthur. You want to get out of here, you want to keep our people safe?â Arthur let out a deep exhale, gritting his teeth together and nodding reluctantly. Dutch huffs, âThatâs what I thought. Weâre not selling anyone, Arthur. Itâs a simple delivery.â
His jaw clenches as he watches Dutch struggle to help you again. âItâs not going to work,â you inform Dutch. You lift your skirts, flashing him the chains he hadnât seemed to notice yet. Neither of you gets a chance to say anything as Arthur pulls out his gun and shoots the lock off.Â
He feels a little guilty at how startled you look. Your eyes widen until they look like they might bulge out. Your hands fly up to cover your ears as the sound rocks through you. It breaks violently through the silence of the night.Â
Dutch turns and gives him a stern look, âHave you forgotten the meaning of subtlety?â Arthur can tell heâs trying not to shout and drag any more attention towards you all.Â
Arthur glares at Dutch, something wicked brewing in his stomach. âThe lady wouldnât be able to ride a horse like that.â He mounts his horse and rides off without a look back. He canât stand to be near you or Dutch any longer.Â
The reality of what theyâve turned into hits him like a bag of rocks and it makes him irate. Theyâve never been these people. Never traded a person off like they were an object. Heâs sure plenty of people in camp would have a problem with this. But he doubts Dutch will let them know the truth until the job is done.Â
And by then, everyone will be too happy with the money to complain. Dutch is nothing if not good at saving his ass. Heâs hitching his horse as the rest of you ride into camp. He lingers by Diablo, resting a hand on the thick neck of the shire while Dutch helps you off the saddle.Â
His eyes narrow in on the way Dutchâs fingers glide along your waist as you jump down. You take a step back the second your legs are steady sending Dutch a dirty look that almost makes Arthur laugh.Â
He starts towards Dutch, ready to try and reason with him again. But he holds his hand up and walks away, not even giving him a chance to speak. Arthur lets out a rough sigh as Hosea comes up behind him.Â
He pats his shoulder comfortingly, âYou should get some sleep, Arthur. Youâll ride with her to Strawberry tomorrow morning.â He almost walks off but he whispers a quiet, âIâm sorry,â before he goes.Â
Arthur glances towards you but youâre looking around the camp, eyes lingering on Javier as he sings by the fire. He swears he almost sees you smile but it's gone as quickly as it came. He takes his hat off, running his hand through his hair and letting out a tired sigh.Â
âAlright, come with me,â he starts towards the house. It takes a minute to realize youâre not directly behind him. When he looks over your shoulder he sees you with your skirts lifted, tiptoeing through the mud and trying not to get your pretty skirts dirty.Â
He rolls his eyes, storming back towards you. Your eyes widen at the look on his face and you stumble back a few steps. Undeterred, he bends over, throwing you over his shoulder and walking towards the house.Â
Your hands claw at his back, desperately grasping onto his shirt so you keep your balance. He storms up the stairs, ignoring the alarmed looks he gets from others in camp. He can already hear them whispering, wondering who you are and why heâs dragging you into his room.Â
They can make up whatever the hell they want. Arthurâs too pissed off to give a shit about rumors tonight. He drops you unceremoniously onto his bed and storms back out. He heads downstairs, rooting around in one of the chests for some extra clothes.Â
You wonât be able to ride to Strawberry in those ridiculous clothes. Youâll need some pants if youâre going to sit on the horse properly. He tucks the outfit under his arm and makes his way back to you.Â
When he opens the door your hand immediately darts away from his shaving kit and shoves itself under your butt. His brows furrow as he catches a flash of silver in your hand. He places the clothes down on the end of the bed, eyes drifting towards his shaving kit. Sure enough, his razor seems to be missing.Â
He lets out a sigh and you tense up, hand clenching around your prize. He briefly debates taking it from you. But he figures you should be allowed a modicum of comfort. Even if you did try and use it against him itâs dull, he hasnât sharpened it in a while and you wouldnât be able to do much damage anyway.Â
He lets you keep it, leaving you on your own without another word. He can hear the exhale of relief you let out when he walks away and it makes him feel just a little better about this. At least youâre not completely terrified.Â
You change into the clothes Arthur gave you. Theyâre a little big, but you appreciate the pants. Itâs much better than the ridiculous dresses Crane had you in. You collect your dress and toss it out the window of Arthurâs room, watching it sink into the mud pit below. It brings you some satisfaction to see Craneâs pretty silk getting ruined.Â
You take off the jewelry youâd been given and stuff it into your boots. If you did manage to escape while you were traveling with Arthur then you were going to need some cash. You could sell off the jewels and hopefully, it would be enough to keep you comfortable.Â
It feels nice, to wear real clothes. Not being dressed up like a doll for once. You envy some of the women here, who can wear what they want. There is an appeal to the outlaw life. As long as youâre on the right side of it, which, currently, youâre not.Â
You slip out of the house before anyone has a chance to retrieve you. The whole night you were curled up around a dull razor with your eyes wide open. Spending a night surrounded by outlaws isnât exactly restful.Â
You figure you might as well try and walk around before youâre on the back of a horse for the rest of the day. There are more people up than youâd expected. Luckily, you donât see Dutch around anywhere. You donât feel like having to deal with any more of his false charm or empty apologies.Â
The same man youâd seen strumming his guitar the night before is asleep next to the dying fire. A blonde woman catches your eye, sheâs walking past some other women in dresses. Theyâre still asleep but she looks like sheâs been up for hours.Â
Thereâs a bit of blood on her pants and you briefly wonder what sheâd been doing. âWho are you?â She asks, surveying you from head to toe with suspicion in her eyes.Â
âA package,â you tell her bluntly, walking past her towards the only lit fire of camp. She follows you, a wry grin on her face as she watches you pour yourself some coffee.Â
âYouâve got a real attitude, I like it.âÂ
You huff out a laugh, taking a sip of the burnt coffee and giving her a brief smile. âIâm sure my future husband wonât.âÂ
She rolls her eyes and scoffs, waving you off. âHusbands, good for nothing. I loved mine but he was useless as a sack oâ flour. Youâre better off without them.â
Your smile turns strained and you look down at your feet, at the boots that arenât your own. Youâll never get to dress like this again. Or speak like this to a woman who isnât afraid to voice what's on her mind.Â
âYes, well,â you shrug and meet her eyes again, âI donât seem to have much of a choice.â
Her eyes narrow and she frowns, âWhatâs that supposed to-â
âMrs. Adler!â Dutchâs voice booms from across the camp and forces the others awake. Most of them grumble, but theyâre quick to get started on morning chores. âI see youâve met our guest,â he says your name with a flourish that almost makes you laugh.Â
Heâs a good actor. Heâs especially good at covering up his mistakes. âYeah, whatâs going on, Dutch? Who is she? Why donât you guys ever let me in on this stuff?â She fires off questions rapidly, you almost donât catch them all. There are clearly underlying issues here other than your unexpected presence.Â
âIn due time,â he assures her, laying the charm on thick. But even you can tell heâs full of it. Heâs not planning on letting her in on anything unless it benefits him. âAnd this is our guest, her fiancee has paid us handsomely to provide her safe passage back to him.âÂ
He walks towards you, laying a hand over your arm and squeezing slightly. You give Sadie a stiff smile and let him lead you away. âI do believe itâs best that you just wait for Arthur, dear.â He gives you a look that lets you know itâs an order, not a suggestion.Â
Still, you play along, âI think you might be right, Mr. Van der Linde, thank you for the hospitality.â You run a tired hand over your face, sitting down on the stoop of the house and finishing off the rest of your coffee. Dutch watches you for a while, never straying too far from where you are and intercepting anyone who asks about you.Â
He spins quite the romantic tale of your lost love and how he desperately wants you back. You wish it were true, that you were living out some wonderful fairytale and were about to be reunited with the love of your life. Instead, it feels like one long walk to the gallows.Â
The wood creaks behind you and you donât need to turn to see who it is. âReady?â Arthur asks and you figure he means, ready to leave freedom and happiness and the will to live behind?Â
No, âSure,â you toss the rest of the coffee into the grass and leave the mug on the stairs. You get to your feet and let him lead you towards the horses. He shares a brief look with Dutch as you pass by him but it doesnât look entirely pleasant.Â
He makes his way toward a towering black shire and your eyes widen in horror. âWhatâs this?â
He works on saddling the horse up, not paying much attention to you. âThis is Diablo.â You take a step closer and the horse starts huffing, swinging his neck towards you with his lips pulled back. You jump back a step back, eyeing him warily.Â
Arthur glances over and lets out a low chuckle, âHe wonât bite. Heâs just curious.â
âMhm,â you give him a disbelieving look. âYouâll have to excuse me for being wary, Iâve not met a lot of horses.â
Arthur looks a bit shocked by your admission. âReally?â He questions, sounding doubtful.Â
You give him a brief smile and nod. âHard to believe, I know, but Iâve lived a very sheltered life, Mr. Morgan. Havenât had many opportunities for exploring on my own.âÂ
He opens his mouth, looking like he wants to say something. At the last second, he stops himself, instead taking a step closer to you. You flinch away from him when he reaches for you and he lets out a sigh. âYou canât spend the next three days terrified of him, come on.â
He coaxes you forward and you reluctantly step closer to the beast. He chuckles at the scared look on your face. You donât appreciate how much amusement heâs gaining from this. âCome on,â he mutters, taking your wrist and leading you closer to Diablo.Â
The damn thing is named Devil, how could you not be terrified of it?Â
âHe wonât bite, I promise.â You donât trust him but he doesnât give you much of a choice. He presses your open palm to Diabloâs nose and you wince, bracing for him to lash out at you.Â
But he doesnât, he lets out a soft knicker and it seems like he doesnât even care that youâre there. You let out a relieved laugh, running your hand tentatively over his muzzle. Itâs shockingly soft and oddly squishy.Â
He doesnât seem to mind as you awe over him. You smile and glance over at Arthur but it drops when you see the odd look on his face. He seems perplexed by your reaction and you canât fathom why. âYou really never have ridden a horse before, have you?â
You shake your head, âNo. I told you.â
He purses his lips and nods. You donât know what it is about this thatâs bothering him and you donât care to ask. If he doesnât believe just how strict your upbringing has been then fine. âAlright, come on, we need to get a move on.âÂ
He leads you around to the saddle and helps you up on the back of the horse. Itâs beyond odd, sitting on something in pants. Getting to spread your legs freely is something you are going to greatly enjoy during this journey.Â
Arthur takes off without much warning and you yelp, throwing your arms around his waist to steady yourself. He glances over his shoulder at you but says nothing. You turn your head, watching as the camp gets smaller and smaller.Â
The people mill about, greet each other, and break bread together. It hits you suddenly, this will be the last time you get to see people being free. If you donât get out, if you canât escape, your life will be filled with starched collars and powdered faces. Youâll never have a genuine conversation with someone again. Youâll be turned into pretty jewelry hanging off the arm of a man you never met.Â
The ride to Strawberry is three days at least. You have three days to get your plan together and to escape. You almost feel sorry for Arthur and the repercussions heâll have to face losing you. But not sorry enough that youâre not gonna try.Â
Arthurâs speed evens out and you let your arms relax, easing away from him slightly. Your wrist jolts against the gun on his hip and you eye it curiously. If you had a gun there would be no doubt you could escape. You see Arthurâs fingers twitch on the reigns of the horse and you move your arms higher up his torso.Â
You doubt youâll be a quicker draw than he is. He is an outlaw after all. You donât think heâd have many qualms about delivering you to your fiancee with a few extra holes in your gut. Your mind drifts to the razor in your pocket and you consider it for a moment.Â
Youâre sure youâd be quick enough to just whip it out and slit his throat. You sigh and dismiss the thought. You were a lot of things but you were not a murderer. There are lines you canât bring yourself to cross. Besides, as wicked as what heâs doing to you is, you know heâs a good man.Â
It was an instinctual feeling. Mr. Crane and your father were both horrible, evil men. They knew nothing but greed and would never be satisfied by all the riches they reaped. They were the type of men you looked at and knew deep down that there was nothing left to save.Â
Arthur has undoubtedly bad things. You donât become an outlaw without spilling some blood. He was weathered and rough from a hard life, but that didnât mean there was nothing good left in him. You wonât have his blood on your hands, no matter how much you might want to get away from him.Â
As grateful as Arthur is for the silence, it is odd. Heâs helped a few ladies find their way back home before and for some reason, they seem to think heâs the best listener in the world. It seems everyone who rides with him wants to tell him their life stories.Â
Youâre completely silent, though. He has to keep looking back just to make sure you havenât fallen off the back of the horse. Youâre pretty complacent, following along with whatever Dutch said and coming along quietly. You seem beaten down, the fight dragged out of you.Â
He wonders what Mr. Crane had done to you. A few times, heâs seen just a glimpse of the spark that used to be there. But it was snuffed out before he got a chance to know it. He almost wishes you would talk. It would distract him from what he was doing right now.
It didnât feel right, bringing you along to marry a man youâve never even met. He has to keep reminding himself that it would have happened no matter what. Ladies like you are always sold off into a profitable marriage. The only thing heâs doing is switching up who the fiancee might be.Â
None of that makes him feel better, though. He should be helping you, not dragging you away to your worst nightmare. But, his people come first. The amount of money Dutchâll get from this will be enough to get them all out of here. This could finally be the last score.Â
You gasp behind him and he whips his head around, immediately expecting someone to be following along beside you both. Maybe your fatherâs men or just some raiders. But he doesnât see anything except a herd of deer running through the trees.Â
His brows furrow in confusion and he glances back at you. Youâre watching them like theyâre something spectacular. Arthurâs always been a fan of the quiet beauty of nature. He appreciates them in ways most folks donât understand. But youâre looking at âem like you just found God.Â
âNever seen deer before?â He teases, chuckling a little at your reaction.Â
You startle, not realizing he had been watching. You clear your throat and look away from them sheepishly. He almost feels bad for ruining the moment for you. âNo. No, I havenât.âÂ
He knows it's possible, but itâs astounding to him that someone truly lived their whole life in the city. It just doesnât seem right. Cities are full of shit, smog, and bad people. Not even having a moment out of that your whole life seems like torture.Â
âIâll just enjoy it while it lasts,â you mutter, eyes darting back to the tree line. But the deer are gone and you donât look very interested anymore.Â
âRight,â he shifts forward, the air between you awkward. Heâd only meant it in jest. He didnât mean to remind you of what was about to happen to you. He doesnât like the silence, not this time, it feels wrong. It makes him stew in his shame and thatâs a nasty feeling.Â
Selfishly, he prods you for more. âA few days on the road, youâll be eager for the city again.â
You laugh but thereâs no humor to it. âI very much doubt that Mr. Morgan.â
âArthur,â he corrects, âjust call me Arthur.â
âRight,â your tone remains cold, âwell if you donât mind Arthur, Iâd like to ride there in silence.â
He's got no other choice but to comply. If you donât want to talk he wonât make you. He just wishes he could make this a little easier for you both.Â
Camping is something. You donât have a word for it. Itâs nice to be out in nature and embrace it for the first time in your life. But you really would not mind the comfort of your bed right now.Â
Rocks digging into your spine and head do not make for a good nightâs sleep. Youâve been lying in front of the fire for hours, flipping around uselessly. It doesnât matter how much you shift, the rock stays digging painfully into you.Â
You let out a loud huff, flopping onto your back and glaring up at the starry sky in defeat. At least the view is nice. In the city, you canât see the stars. The smokeâs too thick and you never get a good look at them.
Out here, they almost feel fake. Theyâre so bright and beautiful, you thought the paintings in the museum had always been exaggerating just how breathtaking a night sky can be. But you were wrong. And you hate that thereâs a potential future where youâll never get to see this again.Â
âWould you quit squirming so damn much?â
You shoot up, resting on your elbows and glaring over at Arthur. Heâs got his hat over his eyes, arms crossed, and looking like heâs been asleep for the past few hours. You hadnât realized youâd been keeping him up.Â
âSome of us arenât used to sleeping outside,â you hiss, throwing yourself back down to the ground. He doesnât say anything for a while and you figure thatâs the end of it. You clench your eyes shut, counting sheep in your mind and trying to force yourself asleep.Â
You hear boots crunching across leaves and your eyes fly open. Arthurâs standing over you, hands propped on his hips as he glares down at you. âCan I help you?â You snap when you get tired of the staring.Â
He scoffs and shakes his head, kneeling to be eye level with you. Youâre startled by the proximity, an odd heat creeping up your neck. âCome on, Iâm gonna tire you out. Maybe then youâll get some sleep.â
You gasp, astonished at the audacity of his suggestion. âExcuse me?â You demand, tone incredulous.Â
His brows furrow before he shakes his head and rolls his eyes. âNot like that,â he grouses. âGet up,â he doesnât give you much of a choice. He places his hand under your back, shoving you onto your feet. You stand with a slight stumble, glaring at him as you brush dirt off your shirt and pants.Â
You canât help the snotty tone of your voice as you ask, âWhat are we doing?âÂ
âHuntin,ââ He answers gruffly, going over to the horse and taking the bow out of his saddle.Â
Your brows furrow as you recall the few stories your father told you of hunting bison. âArenât you supposed to use a rifle?â
He shakes his head and nods towards the treeline. You glance back at the fire before reluctantly following him into the dark forest. The moon is full enough that it provides just enough light for you not to be terrified of whatâs lurking in the underbrush.Â
âGot a friend,â he tells you, kneeling and glancing at some tracks on the ground. âTaught me how to hunt properly. Bows are quieter, less disruptive, and they provide quicker, cleaner kills.â He looks back at you and motions towards the arrows, âLess pain for the animal.â
Your face slacks with something like astonishment. All youâd heard from your father was the thrill of the hunt, the satisfaction of the kill. He never mentioned keeping anything from the animal, using it for meat, or about how long it took for them to die. Youâd never thought there was anybody who actually cared for the creatureâs comfort as it died.Â
You suppose thereâs going to be a lot about Arthur thatâs different from the men you know.Â
âArthur,â a twig snaps behind you, and your eyes widen. You drop your voice to a whisper, not wanting to draw too much attention towards you both. âI donât want to kill anything,â you hiss.
âHa!â He barks out a laugh and you purse your lips in irritation. He stands and looks at you, chuckling again before shaking his head. âI wouldnât be so confident in your huntinâ skill, kid.â
You click your tongue and glare at him, âDonât call me that,â you snap. Itâs the same patronizing nickname your father loved to use on you and you detest it. He raises his hands in surrender and you roll your eyes at the smirk on his face. âThen whatâs the point of this?â
He shrugs and heads further into the trees, you have no choice but to follow along behind him. âFigure you should be taught a few skills before I get rid of ya.â
You want to argue with him that thereâs no point. If you are given to Craneâs associate, youâll never set foot in the woods again. However, if you do manage to escape him, learning a few survival skills wouldnât be a bad idea.Â
So, you keep your mouth shut and let him lead you through the forest. âHow do you know where to go?â You ask, trying to figure out what it is he keeps looking at in the mud. He waves you forward, moving you so youâre standing directly in front of him.Â
âYou see that?â You have to squint, relying solely on the light from the moon, to make out what heâs pointing at. There are some tracks in the mud that look vaguely like hooves. âItâs buck tracks, you can tell by the size.â He kneels and when you donât follow he tugs you down by the sleeve. âYou canât rely on just the tracks, though. You have to look for other signs of âem.â
You glance around, noticing some crushed twigs and grass a few feet ahead. âLike that?â You point towards it and he huffs in amusement.Â
âCaught on quicker than I thought.â
You feel vaguely offended by that but donât bother voicing it, just glare at his back as he gets up. You walk silently through the forest, letting Arthur show you which tracks to follow and which to avoid. Youâre not comforted by how many cougar prints you find. You stare up into the branches always expecting something to already be looking down at you.Â
Miraculously, no wild cat chooses you for dinner as you track the buck down. You find him near a small stream, antlers dipping into the water as he takes a drink. Heâs got to be one of the most gorgeous creatures youâve ever seen.Â
Youâve lived your whole life in St. Denis. The most youâve seen are overworked carriage horses and mangy dogs. No life slips through the cracks of that place. Thereâs just smoke and misery. This is nature, real beauty. Itâs breathtaking, the way the leaves ripple in the wind and the starlight reflects in the water.Â
You canât imagine seeing this and wanting to tear it down to put up an oily machine that contributes nothing to the earth but death. It just makes you hate your father more. It also makes you more resolved to not be forced back into that life. You canât do it. You canât have this one taste of freedom and then let it go without a fight.Â
Arthur pulls the bow out and nocks an arrow. You glance between him and the buck and rapidly shake your head. âNo,â you hiss, âI donât wanna kill it.â
He rolls his eyes and moves you in front of him. You donât have much choice as he places your hands on the string and guides you into the right position. âRelax,â he murmurs in your ear as you fight against his grip. âYou ainât gonna kill it.âÂ
It doesnât bring you much comfort, but if youâre going to make it on your own, sometimes youâll have to do something you donât like. âNow,â his hand drifts down your bicep and you suck in a sharp breath. âDonât hold it too long, youâll get tired.âÂ
Itâs dawning on you just how close you both are. Youâre kneeling on the ground with him behind you, essentially cradling your body to him. Youâve never been this familiar with a man before, itâs making your brain short-circuit. You can hardly pay attention to what heâs telling you.Â
He lifts your elbow slightly and points you towards the left. âYou need to keep your arm steady even after you let go or your aim will be off. Take in a deep breath and release on the exhale.â You give him an apprehensive look, still not wanting to hurt the buck. He just nods and thereâs something in his gaze that lets you relax slightly.Â
You release the string and the arrow flies over the buckâs head, burying itself into the tree behind it. Its head shoots up and it turns towards you both before dashing off. You let out an astonished laugh, glancing down the bow and then back at Arthur.Â
âMy god, Iâve never shot anything before.â
âCongratulations, youâve killed your first tree,â he remarks dryly, but you see the glint of humor in his eye.Â
He gets to his feet and offers you a hand up. You smile up at him, undeterred by his attitude. âThank you for this,â you tell him earnestly. He gives you an odd look but nods anyway. He doesnât understand just how important this is to you. Knowing how to do something like this is the difference between life and death when youâre on your own. Of course, he doesnât realize youâll be making an escape attempt soon.Â
He retrieves the arrow from the tree and you run your hand over the curve of the bow. You wonder just how much heâd miss this if you took it from him.Â
Arthurâs tearing down the camp and youâre standing by Diablo, feeding him some apples. You stroke absentmindedly over the horse's muzzle, watching Arthur intently. Heâs too busy pulling the tent apart to be paying attention to you.Â
You got better sleep last night than you did at Craneâs. He was right, hunting had tired you out. You were eager enough to sleep that you didnât even feel the rough ground underneath you. He seems to be a little more lax about his watch over you.Â
Something about last night must have eased him into a sense of comfort that youâre not going to run. Thatâs his own fault, though. You glance over the curve of the hill, noticing a carriage that will be passing by soon enough.Â
You look back at Arthur and ease slightly away from Diablo. Arthur is still collecting the blankets and rolling them up. He turns towards the dying fire and tosses the rest of the coffee out. You take another step back and he keeps his back to you.Â
Slowly, you release Diabloâs reigns, giving him one last apple before you turn on your heel and run down the hill. Your foot slips out from under you and you let out a loud yelp as you go flying headfirst down the grass.Â
You land on your back with enough impact to make the breath rush out of you. But your descent is still going and youâre flipping over headfirst into the road. You slide forward, the dirt scraping up your chin as you cough and try and catch your breath.Â
âLook out!â You roll out of the way just before the carriage rolls over you. Someone shouts your name from the top of the hill and you see Arthur glaring down at you. He starts towards you and you scramble to your feet.Â
âStop!â You scream, waving your arms wildly and chasing after the carriage. The man gives you a bewildered look as you throw yourself at him. âPlease, sir, Iâve been kidnapped, you must help me get back to my husband.â
The man looks behind you, sees a very angry Arthur bellowing out your name, and moves to the side. âHurry up,â he urges, giving you a hand on the bench beside him. You let out a relieved breath, taking his hand and throwing yourself the rest of the way up.Â
He whips the horses, hurrying them along all the while Arthur is yelling after you. Itâs not hard to believe that he would kidnap you. He looks half-crazed as he follows along behind you. You turn over your shoulder, giving him a brief wave and a smile. âThanks for the help,â you tell the man beside you. You offer your hand and name.Â
He glances down at it but doesnât take it, instead looking forward and ignoring you entirely. Something uneasy settles in your stomach but you push it aside. You blame the feeling on the adrenaline still pumping through you.Â
âWhere are you headed?â You ask, glancing into the back of the carriage. You notice some moonshine and a crate full of guns but decide not to question it.Â
âSaid yer husbandâs waitinâ for ya?â He demands, completely ignoring your question. You stare at the side of his face but his expression isnât giving anything away. He comes to an intersection. You see a sign pointing towards a town and figure heâs going to take it, but instead, he pulls onto a smaller trail leading to the woods.Â
âUm,â you clear your throat uncertainly, glancing back at the sign. âYes,â your voice cracks and you know you sound like youâre full of shit.Â
He laughs and the sound sends chills down your spine. You rip your eyes off of him, looking down at the horses and suddenly realizing just what youâd gotten yourself into. âYou sure about that, little lady?â
Something cold digs into your side and you gasp quietly, looking down to see a gun pressed against your ribs. âYou scream, run, or do anythinâ to piss me off and Iâll put a fourth hole in ya.â When you donât say anything he digs it harder into you. âUnderstand?â He growls and you can do nothing but nod your head.Â
You want to move, want to shove him off the side of the carriage and make a run for it. But you canât, youâre frozen solid. Youâre so petrified with fear you canât even blink. You think youâre holding your breath, as if taking in air is going to set the gun off.Â
He grins, a blackened curl of lips over rotted teeth, at your obedience and comes to a stop in the trees. âWhat are you doing?â You whisper, staring at the secluded area with a newfound sense of horror.Â
âShut up,â he snaps, his voice echoing through the quiet of the woods. You hear no birds or animals and you feel so alone it makes you want to cry. He gets off the carriage and turns towards you. âDown,â he demands. Your eyes dart towards the reigns of the horses and he pulls the hammer of the gun back. âDonât even think about it.â
You lift your hands in the air, slowly slipping down the seat. He doesnât appreciate you taking your time He grabs the front of your shirt, jerking you further into the trees and tossing you to the ground.Â
You let out a rough groan at the impact, blood staining your shirt as your elbow slips across a jagged rock. Itâs like something is snapped loose in your mind. He comes stomping towards you, kneeling between your spread legs and it finally clicks.Â
You lunge forward with a shout and he rears back in surprise. You wonder how often someoneâs actually fought against him or just let it happen. You donât want to die, you donât want to get shot by this scum, but there are a lot of things worse than dying.Â
You grab the arm holding the gun, jerking it around, and knocking it out of his hand. âYou bitch!â He hisses, bringing his open palm down across your cheek. The smack rings through the trees and ricochets through the air. Your head whips to the side so hard you think you might have snapped your neck.Â
Blood dribbles out from your lips, your teeth having bitten into the fat of your cheeks. You spot the gun nearby, the silver of the barrel glinting from under the leaves. Just as you reach for it, heâs wrapping his hands around your ankles and dragging you back towards him.Â
You feel like screaming as your hands desperately grasp at the dirt underneath you. But thereâs not enough air to scream. You dig your nails into the mud, feel them split against the rocks, and kick at his chest hard enough to make him lose his breath.Â
His grip on you loosens and you throw yourself at the pile of leaves. Hands groping for something solid. Just as he flips you over you wrap your hand around the handle of the gun. You pull the trigger and the bang is deafening.Â
Your ears ring and your hands are trembling from the recoil. His jaw goes slack and he tumbles on top of you. You let out a grunt, breath pushed out of you by his weight. You scramble against his chest, something warm making your hands slip as you struggle to roll him off of you.Â
You glance over, waiting for him to spring back up. But thereâs something dark pooling around him and sinking into the dirt below. Thereâs a hole in his chest and his eyes are already flattening. You fall back against the earth, staring up at the trees above you.Â
The sounds rush back to you all at once. The birds singing, deers prancing somewhere in the distance. You hear a stream rushing nearby and let out a stunned laugh. Thereâs a smile on your face but thereâs nothing to be happy about.Â
You think you might be in shock. Mind still trying to catch up to what just happened. You glance down at the gun in your hand and toss it to the side, not wanting it near you anymore. Only a second later do you reach for it again.Â
You struggle onto your hands and knees, checking over yourself for any injuries that you might be numb to right now. The only blood on you is from the dead man on the ground. You keel over, hands on your knees, and suck in a deep gasping breath.Â
You stumble back, limping towards the carriage. You dig around in the back of the wagon, tugging out a giant hunting knife and walking towards the horses. You cut them loose, keeping the rope on one of them and tugging yourself onto her back. You tuck the knife in your belt and nudge her side, leading her forward gently.Â
You don't even have time to process the fact that youâre riding a horse on your own. Your body is moving on autopilot. You can only think about getting ahead, getting away. What just happened will hit you later. You slump against the neck of the horse, adrenaline leaking out of you and exhaustion catching up.Â
Heâs going to find you and heâs going to kill you. Leaving while he had his back turned. Getting on some carriage with a man youâve never met before. How dumb do you have to be? You canât trust people out here. Not when there are gangs, raiders, hell, heâs encountered a few cannibals.Â
For all he knows, youâre already dead and heâll be delivering a body to the train station. The thought makes him curse and urge Diablo forward. Itâs not hard to follow the tracks of the carriage, what concerns him is when they lead into the forest instead of the town.Â
âGoddammit,â he mutters, âthe hell have you done woman?â He leaps off Diablo, figuring it will be easier to track you on foot. He follows the paths of the wheels, finding the wagon abandoned and the horses cut loose.Â
His brows furrow in confusion as he wanders around the side and spots a lump in the leaves. All he can see is the bottom of a boot and blood splattered across the orange of the fallen leaves.Â
His stomach plummets and he races towards it. But itâs not you buried under the foliage, itâs the man who offered you a ride. âWhat the hell?â He kneels, brushing the leaves off his chest and frowning when he sees the blood splattered all along his chest.Â
He doesnât need to look long to figure out what killed him. Heâs sure the bullet buried in his heart did the job. Arthur curses and stalks away from the man. There are prints where the horses were but there are too many to tell which one you might have taken.Â
Heâll have to rely on instinct to find you. Youâre becoming a real pain in the ass for what was supposed to be a simple job. Still, he canât help but be a little relieved that it was a stranger and not you lying dead on the ground.Â
He turns back onto the road, taking the turn into town. Someone on horseback rides past him, they look disgusted by something up ahead and it makes alarms go off in his head. He urges Diablo forward, running the rest of the way into town.Â
An unsaddled mare lazily eats some grass as the sound of a rushing river meets his ears. Diabloâs hooves sound off against the wood of the bridge. He finally sees what disturbed the other rider so much.Â
Youâre sitting on the railing of the bridge, legs dangling dangerously over the edge as you stare down into the crashing waters below you. Arthur gets off his horse, approaching you slowly. He doesnât want to startle you and have you go tumbling over the edge.Â
He calls out your name and you glance briefly over at him. Blood is splattered across your neck and the front of your shirt is soaked with it. He knows it isnât yours but it still puts him on edge. âWhatâre you doinâ kid?âÂ
You donât answer him, âDid you follow me?â He eases up beside you, straddling the railing so he can catch you if you slip. He nods and you let out a rough sigh. âIs he dead?â
He scoffs, âSure as shit hope so, donât know how someone would survive that.â
A manic laugh bursts through your lips and you double over your head falling into your hands. Arthur surges forward, steadying you before you dive headfirst into the river. âAlright, letâs go,â he quietly urges you around. You donât put up a fight, letting him maneuver you how he likes.
He gets you on your feet and leads you back to Diablo. You latch onto the horse's reigns immediately, stroking your hand over his mane. Your silence is concerning. Arthur doesnât know what your regular behavior is, the most heâs seen of you, you have been quiet. This is different, though. Heâs seen this sort of quiet in women before and it never ends pretty.Â
âYouâre alright, come on,â he tries to keep his voice low so he doesnât set you off. He keeps his hands light as they land around your waist, giving you help onto Diabloâs saddle. Your gaze is distant and you move like someone else is controlling your body.Â
He collects the mare youâd brought along with you and leads both horses into town. Heâll have to get a saddle for her, she already seems attached to you. And maybe taking a horse with you into the city will let you escape a little.Â
The town, at least, is on the way to Strawberry so he doesnât have to worry about being too far off schedule. Though, thatâs the least of his concerns right now. His eyes keep darting up to you. Waiting for you to try and bolt again or finally break down. It doesnât look like anything is going on in your head, you seem completely distanced from the situation.Â
Itâs a good thing for him. He canât handle a distraught woman. Heâs not a kind enough man for it.Â
He hitches the horses in front of the hotel. You turn in the saddle, staring down at him and waiting for a hand down. You slide easily through his hands, landing in the mud with a dull thud and heading up the stairs of the hotel without prompt.Â
He huffs and follows after you. He doesnât know how to explain the blood on your clothes away and hopes he wonât have to. The man running the place, thankfully, doesnât have many questions. He looks disturbed but keeps his qualms to himself when Arthur slips him a little extra cash.Â
Arthur guides you up the stairs with a light hand on your back, opening the door of the bath for you. âAlright, hereâs your room key. Iâll be out for a while so, just,â he sighs, taking in the blank look on your face and shaking his head. âTry not to cause any more trouble.â You nod and close the door behind him.Â
Thereâs no worries that youâre going to make a run for it again. Heâs sure whatever happened in those woods was scarring enough to make you want to go back to the city and never see country folk again. He wouldnât blame you, there are some nasty people out here. Himself included, but he could never imagine hurting a woman like that. It just ainât right.Â
He heads to the shop across the street, buying some new clothes for you that actually fight properly. The horses are brought to the stables and he goes ahead and gets a paper for your mare under your name. Diablo will be faster tomorrow if he doesnât have to carry the weight of two people. You might make it to your handler in time.Â
Arthur still doesnât feel right about this whole thing. Leaving you with a man youâve never met feels even worse knowing what happened to you today. He doesnât think you being so calm about it all is a good thing. Shouldnât women react?
Dutch likes to tell him women are a more sensitive breed. Heâs seen some tough ones in his life, but this seems like the time to be in hysterics if there ever was one. He heads back to the hotel, planning on just leaving the change of clothes in your room.Â
He passes by the bath and hears an odd sound seeping through the cracks. Frowning, he presses his ear up against the door. A man passes by him, giving him a disgusted look as he goes into his room. Arthur sighs but he stays where he is.Â
Itâs clearer now, youâre crying and itâs hard to listen to. It's the type that makes it hard to breathe. That sort of crying makes your ribs ache and bruise. Itâs wrong to keep listening to such a vulnerable moment. So, he does what he planned, drops the clothes in your room, and then heads to bed himself.Â
Sleep comes easier than he thought it would. Itâs not as restful as heâd been hoping but it draws over him faster than it normally does. Heâs always been a light sleeper, though. It comes from years of having to be on guard in case some OâDriscoll is gonna try and slit his throat while heâs asleep.Â
When he hears the door creak his hand is already on the trigger of his revolver as he shoots up in bed. The glow of the lamps outside illuminates whatâs clearly a womanâs form. But he canât see your face until you take a step further into the room and the moonlight provides some light.Â
âArthur?â You whisper his name, peering into his room. âAre you awake?â
âI am now,â he grumbles. With a sigh, he shoves the gun back under his pillow and runs a rough hand over his face. âWhat'd ya want?â
You let out a low breath and rock back on your heels. âIâm sorry,â you mutter. âI just, I canât sleep. I keep thinking heâs gonna creep out of my closet or bust through the door, I-â
You cut yourself off but he can hear the emotion thickening your voice. He clenches his eyes shut in irritation, arguing with himself over what heâs about to say. âYou wanna sleep in here?â He mumbles reluctantly.Â
You close the door immediately, practically running towards his bed. âYou donât mind?â
Youâre not really giving him a choice, but heâs not going to say that to you. âNo.â He grabs a pillow and blanket off the bed and rounds the end of the mattress. You frown as you watch him toss everything to the ground.Â
âWell, whatâre you doing?â
âWhatâs it look like?â He snaps, angrily gesturing towards the floor. âIâm givinâ you the bed.âÂ
You bite your lip and he feels horrible instantly because you look like youâre about to cry. Heâs not trying to be rude but you woke him up in the dead of night. Whatâd you expect him to say?
âI was sort of hoping we could share the bed.â
His eyes widen and he glares at you in disbelief. âYou mean-â
âNo!â You cut him off with an aggrieved sigh. âYou fool, thatâs not what I mean at all. I just donât want to be alone, alright?âÂ
âLook,â he scoffs and shakes his head. âI donât think Iâm the man you want to bunk with for company, alright. Iâm not that kind of guy.â You glare at him and snatch his pillow and blanket off the floor.Â
âDonât be so damn stubborn.â You aggressively fluff the pillows, throwing the covers back and gesturing towards them, your brow set in anger.Â
âRight,â he huffs, âIâm stubborn.â He reluctantly crawls into bed and you follow behind him. Itâs not that he minds sharing a bed with a pretty lady. Heâs just not the sort of guy you should be coming to for comfort.Â
He doesnât think he can provide whatever it is you need at this moment. But you seem to think otherwise as you inch towards him slowly. He lays on his back, arms under his head as he watches you out of the side of his eye. You think youâre being subtle, slowly moving into his side until youâre flush against him.Â
He doesnât say anything to object and you donât bring up the proximity. He doesnât want to admit it but it is nice having someone else beside him. Heâs so used to camping out on his own. He hasnât had anyone beside him in a long while. He lost interest in women of leisure a long while ago. And ever since Mary, heâs given up on any sort of intimacy.Â
He hates to admit it, but he finds himself easing towards the warmth you provide. The second you feel him reciprocating youâre inching a tentative hand around his waist, cuddling closer to him. He recognizes it for what it is.Â
Heâs always been looked at as someone who can protect, at least by the gang. Heâs their muscle. To most others, he incites nothing but fear. It should be the same for you. But after what happened today, you just see someone who can keep the monsters in the dark away.Â
He doesnât mind being used like this. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and waits until he feels you settle to ease into sleep again.Â
Arthur figures you should both get breakfast in town while youâre here. He reasons you should enjoy a hot meal before youâre on the road again. You donât point out that you know heâs just trying to ease you into the day.Â
You appreciate it, honestly, but yesterday wasnât your first run-in with men like that. Itâs become incomprehensibly normal in day-to-day life, even for a city girl like yourself. Youâd cried everything out in the bath once youâd scrubbed your skin raw.Â
You donât think Arthur will ever understand just how much his presence helped you last night. If youâd been on your own, jumping every time you heard the wood creaking outside, youâd have driven yourself over the edge. He protected you, even if there was nothing to be protected from.Â
You donât think he gives himself enough credit. Ignoring the situation youâre both in and what heâs taking you to do, heâs a good man. While the caliber of the men youâve met is questionable at best, heâs one of the best ones youâve ever known. At the end of the day, he disagrees with the whole situation, but heâs doing this for his family. Thatâs admirable in its own way.Â
But, god, does he have poor conversational skills. âSo, yesterday.â You glance up from your toast, brows raised in question. He clears his throat, eyes darting between you and his food like he canât choose what to focus on. âThat man, did heâŚâ
He trails off and you feel your hackles rise. âDonât worry,â you hiss, a bite to your words, âIâm still pure for my husband. Your pay wonât be docked, if thatâs what youâre worried about.â
His hand clenches around his fork and his eyes bore into yours, âThatâs not what I meant,â he growls. âI wasnât worried about that,â he snaps, âI was worried âbout you, woman.â
You take in a deep breath, actively biting your tongue from saying something spiteful. He wasnât being rude, thatâs just what youâre used to. âIâm sorry,â you concede lowly. âNothing happened,â you repeat without the attitude.Â
âWell,â he huffs and goes back to his breakfast, âgood,â he settles on dully.Â
âGood,â you agree quietly, pushing the rest of your food around. You find your appetite dulled and you push the plate away. You lean back in the booth and stare out the window. The horses seem to be getting on well enough. âDid you name her?â
Arthur gives you an odd look and you nod towards the mare hitched next to Diablo. He swallows the food heâd been chewing and takes a swig of his coffee. âNo, figured youâd want to do it.â
Your brows furrow and your lips quirk in confusion. âWhy?â
âSheâs yours, ainât she?â He grouses.Â
You shake your head, âNope,â you tell him, popping the p. âI just took her so Iâd have something to get me to town.â
âYeah, well,â he sounds less sure of himself and heâs looking like he made a mistake. âI thought sheâd be nice for you to have with you in the city. A way for you to get around without relyinâ on someone else.â
You canât help but smile, something in your chest easing away at the kind gesture. âI appreciate it,â he lights up a little at your approval, but you crush it in an instant. âBut I canât keep her, I wonât be allowed to. Iâve tried to have my own horse before, hard to control something that can get away from you,â you tell him blankly. Thereâs no emotion in your voice because itâs something youâre used to.Â
He looks slightly horrified at how blunt you are. He canât comprehend not having that freedom but he fails to recognize that heâs got a leash of his own. You doubt a man like Dutch would ever let his main asset just run off to wherever he wants to.Â
A few people walk into the saloon, the women giving you odd looks when they see the pants on your legs. You smile cheekily at them, reveling in what you know will be a short-lived experience. Youâve never been on the receiving end of a judgmental look like that.Â
Youâve always blended in. Been the perfect wallflower for the men in your life. You were never something to gawk at or cause trouble. Itâs a relief to stick out for once, to break the mould for the first time in your life.Â
Arthur clocks the interaction and chuckles. âMissinâ the skirts yet?â
âNot one damn bit,â you tell him, smiling as you take a sip of your coffee. âIâm going to miss being able to run around without having to lug an extra four pounds of fabric behind me.âÂ
âYa know, you could just wear some pants, youâve got a choice.â
You grin patronizingly at him, propping your head on your chin and watching him finish the rest of his breakfast. âYou donât know city men very well, do you?â
âGlad for it,â he grumbles, distaste clear in his tone.
A laugh breaks through your chest, the first real one in a while. âIâm going to be marrying one, Arthur. I wonât have a choice in much of anything anymore.â You can tell he wants to object, tell you thereâs always a choice.Â
Heâll never truly understand whatâs going to happen to you, though. Youâre no longer human once youâre married. Youâre cattle and property, meant to be bred and shown off. You accepted your fate a long while ago. And after youâre failed escape attempt, youâve realized this is what you were always meant to be. Thereâs no point in fighting fate.Â
âDonât apologize or argue,â you tell him, no spite or bitterness in your tone, just the honest truth. âI donât mind anymore, really. What place is there for me in this world, anyway? I canât exactly take care of myself.â
âYou did a damn good job yesterday,â he snaps back quickly. He doesnât seem too keen on the way youâre talking about yourself. But youâre not lying. Yesterday was a wake-up call. If you let yourself get screwed over by a hillbilly that quickly then how were you ever going to make it on your own? In your defense, you were raised to be dependent, you never had a chance.Â
âSure, but that was a one-off incident. Iâm not going to run again, Arthur. Thereâs no point. And thereâs no point in fighting against the way things are, theyâre never going to change for me.â You take in a deep breath, the easy mood ruined by your sincerity.Â
âIâm just gonna wait by the horses.â
You slide out of the booth, leaving Arthur to stare pensively at his plate. Youâve nearly slipped through the door when Arthur calls out, âYou should name her.â You pause at the doorway, glancing back at him. Heâs settling the bill at the front and you walk back out to the horses.Â
The mare picks her head up as you walk towards her, ears perked and tail flicking. âHey, girl,â you run a hand over her muzzle, admiring the sleek silver of her coat. âI guess I should name you.â
You run a hand over her mane and swing yourself onto the saddle. âHow âbout Bullet, itâs how I got you, anyway.â A dark joke, but it eases the macabre feeling hanging around you.Â
Arthur walks out of the saloon, tucking his money away into his bag. He lifts himself onto Diablo, glancing over at you with a knowing glint.Â
âName her?â
You resent how smug he sounds. âBullet,â you answer reluctantly.Â
âBullet?â He questions, tone incredulous.Â
You grin at him, âItâs how I got her.â Thereâs a slightly stunned expression on his face before it slacks away into something more amused.Â
He shakes his head and nudges Diablo forward, Bullet follows alongside him eagerly. âClever,â he mutters.
âNot really,â you snort, running a hand over her neck lovingly. âBut I think it works for her.â
âYour husbandâs gonna have his hands full with you,â you know he means it in jest. The lightness of the conversation turns into something heavier. Realization sinks over both of you and the smiles slowly drop away. âI-â
âHow much further to Strawberry, anyway?â You effectively cut off whatever train of thought he was going to follow, distracting you both from the truth.Â
âHalf a day,â he tells you, frowning when you refuse to meet his eye again. Half a day. Thatâs all youâve got to enjoy the last bits of freedom you have. Youâre gonna take your damn time getting there, thatâs for sure.Â
You slow down from the steady trot Arthur had led the horses into, easing Bullet into a slow walk. Youâre slowly getting the hang of riding a horse. Itâs easy when sheâs so intuitive. By god, though, your ass is sore.Â
Arthur shoots you a questioning glance at the slow pace and you shrug. âMight as well take the time Iâve got left.â
âYouâre actinâ like youâre on death row,â he chuckles.Â
âArenât I?â He falls silent and you donât know whatâs bothering him but you donât have the energy to inquire.Â
Heâs slowing you down on purpose, he knows it and you know it. Neither of you says a damn thing about it but itâs bugging him. He shouldnât be this bothered by a job. He knows how to separate himself from what he does. He just canât this time.Â
Thereâs something about you that glows. Youâre sitting beside him on the peak of a hill, overlooking the roads below you, and laughing as you make up stories for the people that pass by. Itâs a far cry from the beaten-down woman heâd seen at Craneâs house.Â
Even after what happened yesterday, you somehow manage to seem happier. Thereâs nothing about it that makes him happy. This feels like the last goodbye of someone who knows theyâre going soon. The last bout of happiness before they just give in.Â
Youâre not gaining your spark back, youâre just giving in to what you think is inevitable. But it doesnât have to be inevitable. You could fight back you just refuse to. Heâs sure growing up the way you have, you donât think it's possible to stand up for yourself.Â
But you donât have to give in like this. You donât have to roll over and let someone else dictate your life. Which is rich, coming from him. Heâs practically Dutchâs lap dog now. Even when he disagrees he still follows along behind him.Â
He shouldnât even be thinking like this. He canât criticize you for not standing up for yourself when heâs the one thing standing between you and freedom. âNot hungry?â You nod towards the uneaten meat on his knife.Â
He shakes his head, plucking it off the blade and passing it to you. You give him an odd look before popping it in your mouth. âYa know,â you mutter around a full mouth. You take a moment to swallow it down before smiling over at him. âIâve grown up with private chefs my whole life, but thereâs is something infinitely more satisfying about this.â
He takes his hat off, running a hand through his hair. He snorts at your comment, âI find that hard to believe.â
âNo,â you shake your head, insistent, âI mean it. Being out here, hunting the game myself, I donât know, itâs nice.â You shrug and lean back on your hands, gazing across the way at the trees and river.Â
âYou can always get a bow and go hunting.â He speaks to you like it's a cut-and-dry truth that youâre just not accepting. Your face screws up and you give him an annoyed glare.Â
âNo. I canât,â you tell him again. Where your words were patient before, he can tell youâre growing irritated at how much heâs pushing this.
âYes, you can,â he snaps. âYou donât have to keep yourself boxed up in some manor in the city. Get out, woman, do something with your life!â His voice echoes through the air and you flinch back from it, lips pulling down into a sneer.Â
âYou know, thatâs really easy for you to say, Arthur. You have a goddamn choice. Sure, I grew up with a silver spoon in my mouth, little miss rich girl crying about being pampered.â
He lets out a rough sigh, âThatâs not what I meant-â
You cut him off, getting to your feet and glaring down at him. âYou got to grow up with a choice. What to do with your body, your life, your career. You get to have an education if you want it. Every goddamn door is open to you. You donât get hated for not wanting to have a family. You get to choose. And as much as you insist I can too, you will never understand the position I am in.â
You kick dirt over the fire and head back towards Bullet. âItâs a double-edged sword, Arthur. Sure, my life might be comfortable, but itâs never really gonna be my life.â He stays there on the ground, too stunned to get up.Â
You glare down at him, impatiently waiting for him to get a move on. This isnât how he wants things to end. He doesnât want you to go off thinking heâs just some ignorant fool. But he is, much as he denies it, heâs always been a fool.Â
He should never have thought he could make a difference in your life. Not when heâs the one backing you into this corner. He could have helped you escape the very first night he saw you. But he was too selfish to let you go, now youâre both paying for it.Â
He mounts Diablo and you both head back to the roads silently. Youâre moving faster now, leaving him behind if he lingers in one area for too long. Youâre too pissed off to enjoy the rest of your day and he hates that he ruined it for you. You, at the very least, deserved a slower journey towards your future.Â
Youâre in Strawberry before heâs ready, heâs sure you arenât. âHey, we could-â
âI think thatâs him.â You cut him off before he says something stupid like spend another night in town before you go. Heâll miss you, he thinks. Odd, heâs known you such a short time but itâs been so different having someone beside him as he rides. It was nice, what he wished he and Mary could have had.Â
Arthur follows your gaze and lets out a tired sigh. Sure enough, some prim and proper ass is standing in front of the ticket station, foot tapping impatiently. Heâs got a large bag beside him, gaze wandering around expectantly. He doesnât doubt the man who looks like heâs got a five-foot stick up his ass is Mr. Craneâs associate. Heâs got the same slimy glint.
You slide off Bullet and Arthur follows suit, taking the reigns of both horses and leading them towards the platform. The manâs eyes narrow in on you before lighting up. He calls out your name and itâs like a mask being dropped over your face.Â
The spark is gone once more, a subdued and demure smile resting on your face as you wave at him. âI apologize for my dress,â you tell him as you walk up the steps. âPants were more conducive to such a long ride.â
He takes your hand, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles that makes Arthur roll his eyes. âNo apologies necessary, I brought you a change of clothes. I figured you would be less than put together after such a journey. Iâm only sorry I couldnât accompany you.â
You scoff and nod along, âOkay,â you mutter, not believing a word of his bullshit. You take the bag from him and move towards the saloon to find a room to change in. They both watch you leave, though the other man with a much more devious glint in his eye.Â
Arthurâs hands tighten on the reigns of the horses, anything to keep him from reaching for his revolver. Heâs already getting a bad feeling about this. Thereâs nothing trustworthy about the man in front of him.Â
âMr. Finch,â he holds out his hand and Arthur gives it a distrusting look before reluctantly shaking. Finch attempts to squeeze the life out of his hand but Arthur can barely feel it. He tightens his own grip and revels in the way Finchâs face blanches.Â
âArthur Morgan.â
Mr. Finch looks him up and down in the same way Crane had. He sees a commodity, not a person. âI trust,â he drawls, ânothing unsavory happened.â
Arthur feels rage bubbling in his gut. The only damn thing he cares about is whether or not youâre âpure.â Not if you were okay or injured during the journey. If he told him that heâd punched you out for talking back Finch would just ask if you were bruised.Â
âSheâs fine,â Arthur grits out.Â
âOh, good, good. Glad everything went smoothly.â Finch has a way of talking heâs found most self-important men do. He draws everything he says out, and forces you to listen to him speak. Makes you pay attention so he can pretend he has power for a moment.Â
His gaze darts behind Arthur and he turns just in time to see you slipping out of the saloon. The dress Finch has provided you is ridiculously large. It poofs out at the waist in a way that makes Arthur wonder how youâre going to fit into your seat.Â
You look beyond uncomfortable. Grimacing as you join them again. You try and plaster a smile on but itâs a struggle. You look to Arthur, a finality on your face that makes him want to throw you over his shoulder and run. Heâs doing this for the others, he reminds himself. Theyâll be on a boat to Tahiti in a week.Â
âThank you, Mr. Morgan, for everything.â The smile you leave him with is real, if just barely. Something lurks under your words that Mr. Finch will never understand and Arthur knows it will drive him crazy.Â
âLetâs go,â Finch grabs your hand, looping it through his arm and tugging you towards the doors of the station.Â
âWait!â Arthur calls out, feeling foolish when you both look back at him with perplexed expressions. âYouâll be wanting Bullet, wonât you?â
Mr. Finch answers for you with a condescending tone, âShe wonât be needing a horse, thank you.â You give him a knowing smile, turning away and slipping through the doors of the station and onto the train.Â
Arthur stays rooted where he is, something crawling up in his chest and rooting around restlessly. The whistle blows and the wheels start cranking slowly forward. Arthur just barely catches a glimpse of you through a window as the train chugs past.Â
âShit!â He hisses. He tugs himself up onto Diabloâs saddle and urges him after the train. He was born a fool, heâs always going to be a damn fool. But heâd have to be a complete moron to just let you go.Â
Mr. Finch keeps a painfully tight grip on your elbow, jerking you through the passenger cars and practically throwing you into your seat. You land with a thud, your arm bouncing against the window painfully. You keep a stoic expression, trying not to let him break you so soon.Â
He takes a seat beside you, straightening out his jacket and tugging on his tie. Something white flashes in his jacket pocket and you lean forward, perplexed when you realize what it is. âWhat is that?â You question, not quite believing your eyes. Finch glances down at the thick wad of cash in his jacket and grins.Â
âOh, this? Mr. Morgan must have forgotten to collect the rest of his payment.â He sends you a condescending smile and you flinch away in disgust. âHe was too enamored with my fiancee to pay much attention, Iâm afraid.â
âThatâs his money,â you snap, the volume of your voice catching the attention of a few other passengers. Finch sends them apologetic smiles, making you seem like a mad woman. âHe earned that!â You object, eyeing the money warily.Â
His hand snakes out, gripping you tightly around the arm and dragging you towards him until your noses are nearly touching. You nearly gag at the smell of his cigar-infused breath. Itâs not like when Arthur would smoke one, you didnât mind that. But this was making you sick to your stomach.Â
âLet's get a few things clear, I will not be dealing with an obstinate wife. You can either get yourself in order or Iâll do it for you.â
Your lips pull back in disgust and you jerk yourself out of his grip. Heâs not as strong as he pretends to be and youâre not going to be scared into submission again. âIâm not your wife yet. My father still has time to pay.â
He laughs at you, spittle flying from your lips and sprinkling across your cheeks. âHe has time to pay, but that doesnât mean heâll be getting you back, sweetheart.â Your eyes widen with the realization and you want to throw yourself off the side of the train.Â
You never had any chance to get out of this situation. Mr. Crane was always in control of it all. To even think of having a hope of getting back home was foolish. To believe for a second that you were going to escape this had been utter idiocy.Â
He sees the crestfallen expression and sinks into his seat with a satisfactory look on his face. He thinks you to be subdued. But now youâre nothing more than a cornered animal with no other choice of escape. Youâve got nothing left for you, nothing to hold onto.Â
As much as youâd thought youâd bonded with Arthur, you were still nothing more than a job to him. You were nothing more than a commodity to be traded between men. You would never have a say over your life.Â
You have nothing, you doubt you ever actually had anything left for you. You glance over at the man beside you and feel a cool dread blanket itself over you. Nothing left to lose.Â
Thereâs a solid weight tucked into the bodice of your dress. Its cool metal has been warmed by your skin. Its handle curves around your ribs and it only has one bullet left. You reach down the front of your dress, fingers curling around the revolver youâd stolen from a dead man.Â
Finch glowers at your inappropriate behavior âWhat are-â You pull the gun out, turning it on him. He jumps back in shock and throws his hands in the air on instinct. âPlease-â you revel in his pathetic pleading only for a moment. Pulling the trigger a second time is surprisingly easy. The screams that ring out through the train car are less enjoyable. âShit!â He cusses, hands coming up to try and staunch the flow of blood pouring from his stomach.Â
You slip your hand into his blazer, stealing the money before he can object. You run out of the passenger car, leaping to the flat car with all the cargo. It will take a few minutes for them to catch onto what happened and figure out where you went.Â
You donât know what youâre going to do now. Youâre stuck on a moving train, thereâs nowhere for you to hide. You hadnât thought when youâd shot him, you just wanted that smug look on his face to disappear.Â
âWhere is she?â You hear the guards shouting out your name, flipping over crates to find you. Theyâre still at the front of the train, but you donât have long until they start moving back here.Â
God, what have you done?
You just know, if you made it to that train station, you were never going to make it out. His men would be waiting there to transport you. Youâd be watched every second of your life, you canât do it again. You canât be locked in a gilded cage, thatâs not a life worth living.Â
Thereâs no escape for you. Nowhere left to run, nowhere to hide. You glance over the left side of the train. Thereâs a slight dip into a deep ravine. The crashing water looks almost peaceful from up here.Â
You donât know if it would be a quick death but you know it would be merciful compared to whatâs waiting for you at your last stop. You keep your eyes on the water, see yourself taking control of your life for the first time, and take a step up on the rail.Â
Someone shouts your name from the right side of the train and you gasp, arms circling wildly as you almost go toppling over the edge. They shout your name again, panic laced in the tone. This doesnât sound like Finch or any of the other guards. You whip around and find Arthur riding his horse beside the train.Â
âWhat the hell are you doing, woman?âÂ
Your brows furrow in confusion and your eyes dart between him and the ravine. âJumping! What the hell are you doing?â
His gaze narrows and he shouts to be heard over the rumble of the train tracks. âStopping you from being a goddamn fool. Get over here!â You hear the guards getting closer as they storm down the rest of the train.Â
You donât have long to make a decision, you can already see his horse struggling to keep up with the speed of the train. Thereâs a bridge coming up in a moment, he wonât be able to go any further and they wonât be able to come after you.Â
Itâs a split-second decision, one that has you pushing off the railing of the car and rushing towards him. You donât have time to doubt yourself or plan this out further, you take a running leap off the train, towards his outstretched arms.Â
He barely catches you in time, jerking on the reigns of the horse and bringing him to a sudden stop before all three of you go tumbling into the water. Shots fire off on the train, but theyâre gone before they can do any real damage.Â
Your chest heaves as you dangle from his arms, fingers digging into his shirt desperately. Your heart is pounding so hard against your chest that you almost canât hear what heâs saying, but you get the gist of it.Â
âThe hell were you thinking? Trying to jump off the damn train! Youâre a fool, woman.â He tugs you onto the saddle the rest of the way. As much as he tries to sound angry you can feel his relief in the way he squeezes you close to him.Â
âThank you,â you whisper, head sinking into his neck and breathing in the familiar scent.Â
He sighs, struggling between yelling at you more and just enjoying the fact that he got to you before you did something neither of you could recover from. âYouâre welcome, just,â he pauses, holding you a little closer, âdonât be so damn stupid again.â
You laugh and itâs a little wet as tears start to pool in your eyes. âIâm not planning on it.â You sit up, easing away from him and glancing over your shoulder. You watch as the train grows smaller until you can only see a plume of smoke and nothing more. âWhat the hell are we going to do?â
He sighs and turns the horse around. You maneuver yourself around, facing forward and pushing back against him. âI donât know. Dutch ainât gonna be happy about you cominâ back with me.âÂ
You bite your lip, a hundred different possibilities swirling through your head. Youâve never been able to make a choice before, faced with it, youâre overwhelmed with options. You canât pick one so you blurt out the first coherent thought you have.Â
âWhat if we donât go back?â
Arthur stills behind you, âWhat?â His tone is low and filled with something you know means heâs ready to say no.Â
âJust for a little while,â you rush the words out quickly, trying to fight for a chance to get him to listen. âWe can send this to the camp,â you tug out the wad of cash youâd stolen from Finch and Arthur barks out a laugh. You feel his chest tremble behind you and it makes you grin.Â
âDid you steal his money?â
âYour money, technically,â you correct, grinning over your shoulder at him. âBesides, he doesnât need it anymore.â He gives you a concerned look but you just wave him off. âWe can send the camp some money and go off on our own for a while.â
âI donât know, kid.â
âDonât call me that,â you interrupt, glaring at him. âItâll only be for a little while, Arthur. Come on, Iâm free for the first time in my life, enjoy it with me.â
He looks uncertain and you know itâs an odd notion to him, putting himself first instead of the camp or Dutch. Youâre sure heâs never done it before. Breaking away from them instead of going about like the loyal soldier he is.Â
âJust a little while?â
You nod, turning just enough to tuck the money in his pocket. âJust a little while,â you swear.
âJohn Marston!â You frown, turning away from the oven and glancing out the window. Arthurâs grinning by the gates of the horse pen, leaping over the wood, and walking out to greet someone. You abandon the stew, heading towards the door of your home.Â
Outside are two horses, one with a woman and her son, and an abandoned one. The owner is currently bringing Arthur into a brief embrace, John, you presume. Arthurâs told you about him a bit. They werenât always close but it was getting better before Arthur went away.Â
Sometimes you feel bad, having dragged him away from everything he was familiar with. You meant it when you said you only wanted to be gone for a little while. You knew if you went back immediately there would be hell to pay with Dutch and youâd both be put to work.Â
Youâd be going from one owner to another. All youâd wanted was a few weeks on the road on your own. But a few weeks turned into six months and then a year, and it was Arthur telling you he couldnât go back. He couldnât stand what the gang was turning into. What Dutch was turning into. All youâd given him was an excuse to finally get out before it all blew up.
You walk down the steps of the home Arthur built, wiping your hands off on your apron. You give a brief wave to the woman you assume is Abigail. She waves back, slipping off the horse and helping Jack down.Â
Arthur pulls away from John, turning towards you and motioning you forward. John gives you an apprehensive look. âDo I know you?â
Arthur gives him your name, throwing an arm over your shoulder and pulling you in closer. âThat job Dutch got from Crane.â Johnâs face lights up with recognition and he smirks.Â
âI see,â he shakes his head and gives Arthur a knowing look. âItâs always a woman with you, isnât it?â You snort at how aggrieved Arthur looks. âWell,â John turns towards you and smiles, ânice to finally meet the woman that got him under control.â
âNice to meet you too,â you smile lightly at him, pulling away from Arthur. âAre you going to be joining us for dinner?â
âNo, heâs not,â Arthur answers at the same time John says, âI would love to.â
Arthur and John share a look you canât understand. You glance past John and wave Abigail forward, âCome in, please. Iâd enjoy the company.â
âForgive my obstinate husband, he tends to linger where he ainât wanted.â She brushes past him and you lead her inside your home. Leaving Arthur and John to bicker outside. Jack stays outside, smiling up at Arthur. You know heâs missed the boy, youâre sure heâs okay entertaining them for one night.Â
Abigail helps you set the table while Arthur and John catch up over a bottle of whiskey. Arthur tried to pull out a cigar but youâd shut that down quick. Heâd had a cough a little while ago and the doctor advised cutting down on tobacco if he wanted it to go away. You know itâs hard but youâre cracking down on how much he smokes.Â
âWe got the money you sent,â Johnâs telling Arthur as they come over to join you all at the table. Jack eagerly hops into the seat beside Arthur before you can snag it and you grin. âDutch blew it all and wouldnât tell us on what. He kept saying we still needed another score.â
John shakes his head and the distant look in his eyes makes your stomach churn. âYouâre a lucky bastard you got out when you did, Arthur, truly.â
âHosea?â Arthur questions and you grimace at the look on Johnâs face. You can see Arthur deflate as John shakes his head.Â
âThere was a bank robbery, Molly told the Pinkertons we were going to be there, he didnât make it.â
Arthurâs hand clenches around the fork and you wish you could say something that would make him realize itâs not his fault. âI should have been there,â he mutters.Â
âWouldnât have done anything, man. Hosea had given up in the end. We all had. It was so damn divided, the family was gone.â
âStill.â Arthur insists, glaring down at his plate like it had offended him.Â
âNo,â to your surprise itâs Abigail that snaps. âDutch was gone and that bastard Micah just kept pushing him over the edge. The only thing you would have done is get yourself killed. Youâre damn lucky Arthur Morgan.â
Youâre sure heâll still blame himself later. Reason a hundred times over that had he been there something would have been different. Even if it was him on the other end of the gun heâd be happier knowing someone else hadnât died when it could have been him. You couldnât stand that these self-sacrificing ideals Dutch had drilled into him were still present.Â
But you know Abigail and John help ease the guilt slightly. Itâs on Arthur to let it go entirely, though you doubt that will happen anytime soon. John picks up on the change in mood, heâs reluctant to let the night sour so soon.Â
He turns towards you with a look that makes you feel like you need to prepare for trouble. âSo you did all that to escape getting married. And then you marry this moron?â He motions towards Arthur and you canât help but laugh.Â
âJohn!â Abigail snaps but he only smiles at her. You can see the way she fights the twitch of her lips and it makes you smile in turn.Â
You correct him, âWeâre not technically married-â
âMight as well be,â Arthur argues, glaring at John. You reach across the table, taking his hand in yours and gently squeezing. You canât help but laugh at him.Â
âYeah, we might as well be,â you agree. âBut it was never about not wanting to be a wife. I just wanted to have a damn choice. Thatâs what I got out here. I can hunt or cook. Sew or go out and make some money. And itâs a lot nicer being a wife out in the country than it is in the city, Iâll tell you that much.â
âHereâs hoping,â Abigail mutters. She glances towards Arthur, âThatâs why weâre out here. We got word from a few people that you might be lurking around here. Johnâs thinking of getting a house, really settling down.â
Arthur sighs, leaning back in his chair and glaring at John. âThatâs why youâre here? You want a handout,â he accuses.Â
âNo!â John snaps. âDammit, Arthur, why you always gotta assume the worst of me?â
âBecause itâs usually true,â Arthur mutters. âIf thatâs not what you want then what is it?â
John purses his lips and lets out a spluttering breath. âA loan,â he lands on, struggling to find the right word.Â
Arthur barks out a laugh, slapping his hand on the table and poking a knowing finger into Johnâs chest. âI knew it!â
John swats his hand away and glares. âLook, Morgan, I only need a little. Just to buy some animals, get started on the house.â
âWhatâd ya want Marston, my whole damn house?â
Abigail lands a gentle hand on your arm and nods to the porch. âTheyâll be at it for a while.â You nod and leave the table, following her to the swing out back. She settles down on it with a sigh, gazing out at the trees that line your home.Â
âYouâve got a nice life out here.â
You smile fondly, âI like to think so. Weâre thinking about getting a few cows, maybe starting a proper ranch.â
Her face lights up at the idea and she laughs. âThatâs what John wants. Itâs unbelievable how similar they are, theyâre too thick-headed to see it.â
You can still vaguely hear them bickering inside the house. You peer inside and see Jack sitting at the table, watching them both with an entranced expression. You canât help but grin at the look on Arthurâs face. Heâs laying into John but he looks happier than youâve seen him in a while.Â
You know heâs missing everybody, has been for a long time. Maybe if Abigail and John are close by heâll have that sense of familiarity again. âThe others,â you start, turning back to Abigail. âCharles and Sadie, what happened to everyone else?â
âA few of them are living good lives, some of them arenât. Most of them are drifting, not ready to give up the outlaw life just yet.â
âItâs hard to watch the world change while youâre still stuck in the same spot.â You brush some hair out of your eyes and smile at Abigail. âMe and Arthur are gonna help you and John. But Iâd like it if you were both close by. It would be nice to have someone familiar near us, weâre pretty lonely up here.â
She gives you a brief smile back, âI think that would be nice.â
Johnâs voice picks up from inside and you jump, âOh thatâs a load of bull-â
Abigailâs smile drops and she leans over your shoulder to shout, âWatch it!â at John. You laugh when you see the perturbed look on his face. She motions towards his son and Arthur gives John a smug look.Â
âYou gonna help him?â You ask Arthur as you settle into bed later. He opens his arms, pulling you into his embrace once youâre settled under the covers.Â
âJohn?â You nod, brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes. âYeah, âcourse Iâm gonna help him. But thereâs nothing wrong with jerking him around a little bit first.â
You roll your eyes and shake your head, tucking yourself under his chin. You almost think heâs asleep but then heâs speaking up again. âWe should really do it.â
You pull back, brows furrowed in confusion. âDo what?â
Thereâs a certain look in his eyes that causes something to swirl in your stomach. Itâs not an unpleasant feeling, just an excited one, âGet married.â
You give him a bewildered look, shaking your head in disbelief. Nearly five years youâve both been living out here and heâs never once mentioned getting married. You never thought you two actually needed it. You always knew what you were to each other, how much you meant to one another.Â
You were each otherâs salvation. Thereâs no telling what graves you would be laying in were it not for Dutch bringing you both together. You hadnât thought he wanted to be married, he always told you heâd given those dreams up. âYou really mean that?â
He shrugs like itâs the easiest decision in the world. âMight as well, right?âÂ
You shake your head, but thereâs no fighting the way your lips curl up. âYouâre a fool, Arthur Morgan.â
He nods, dipping his head down to press a gentle kiss on your temple. He treats you so gently, it makes you want to cry. But then he goes and says something ridiculous like, âYeah, a fool for you,â and he makes you laugh.Â
You tug him down, lips nearly touching his. âYes,â you whisper, âIâll marry you.â You were always scared of living a life like this. Being tied to one man for the rest of your time on earth. But heâs not some city man looking to make you into a pet. He lets you live, breathe, and be free. Heâs a partner not a warden and thatâs all youâve ever wanted.Â
end. â I do not own the characters or the game Red Dead Redemption 1/2, but this writing is my own all rights reserved Š not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.
#Arthur Morgan x reader#arthur morgan x you#arthur morgan imagine#Arthur Morgan#rdr2 x reader#rdr2 x you#rdr2 imagine#rdr2#red dead redemption 2#Red dead redemption 2 x reader
2K notes
¡
View notes
Text
~ Scarred For Half A Life ~
DP Phan Fic.
[âYou want to see a danger? You should see me in a crown.â]
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/4cfef783c6d6deb46666184b048fe5d5/ab0c31831dd8af44-2d/s540x810/883d22147a962a425876c4fd08e12c026a28e05e.jpg)
So uhâthis is a scene I have in mind for my story. Because of the song, yes!
I mean, I already wrote it down, to add later on into the story! And I was really enthusiastic about it, so I drew Danny with a crown. An ugly crown (because itâs made out of paper). [sketch lurking at the bottom]
If you want you can read and follow it! ButâBEWARE!
âââââââ
Genre: Angst / Hurt And Comfort (and a little Horror)
AU â OOC
Trigger Warning: Emotional Distress â Violence â Graphic Content
Rating: M
âââââââ
Summary:
Danny had been captured by the GiW once again, or so he thinks. Leaving him feeling utterly helplessâvulnerable. There was nothing he could do. What will happen to him? And why again? (Summary might change as the story goes on)
âââââââ
So, this is a piece of that potential chapter:
âWait! Donât move. I want to take a picture!â Jazz exclaimed, her voice brimming with excitement as she reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone.
Danny groaned, rolling his eyes. âSeriously? A picture? What are you, my dad?â
Jazz ignored his protest, already angling the camera toward him. âCome on, Danny, itâs your birthday. Let me have this.â
He sighed, slouching slightly. âFine, but make it quick. And donât expect me to smile like an idiot.â
Jazz smirked. âOh, donât worry. Youâre already an idiot. The crown just completes the look.â
Danny couldnât help the small grin tugging at his lips as she snapped the photo, capturing him sitting there with the gold paper crown tilted slightly on his head, a mixture of amusement and irritation in his glowing green eyes.
âThere,â Jazz said triumphantly, glancing at the picture on her phone. âPerfect. Iâm definitely keeping this one.â
âââââââ
And a piece of the scene with the song in my head that plays in the background:
âPhantom,â she said icily, her voice like a blade. âYouâre not my son. Youâre a danger. I was merciful letting you stay this long.â
That was it. That was the final crack that shattered the fragile restraint Danny had been holding onto. His aura flared violently, glowing with an intense, cold light that filled the room, making the shadows dance erratically on the walls.
âYou wanna see a danger?â Danny growled, his voice dropping into something almost inhuman, vibrating with power as his feet lifted off the ground. His white hair swirled beneath the gold paper crown, caught in an invisible wind as the room seemed to grow colder by the second.
Dannyâs arms hung by his sides, his fists clenching tightly. A brilliant green energy began to materialize, steam curling off his fingers like fire, licking up his forearms in tendrils of raw power.
âYou should see me in a crown.â
A burst of cold ectoplasmic energy erupted from Dannyâs palms, shooting straight toward Maddie with icy precision. She dove to the side, flipping the table over in one swift motion to shield herself. Plates shattered, the pancakes splattered across the walls, and the dining room filled with a deafening roar of energy.
âââââââ
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/6913a4cf0b48bb2fe2eadd29e72bc984/ab0c31831dd8af44-3a/s540x810/023a78b0a855f4ddce95f6b4d4b9c2456897ac3b.jpg)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/7ea3f4a733a93045444c1a77a731633c/ab0c31831dd8af44-2a/s540x810/634f1e61fd0732b444e64ad0daeaf19a5bcae2ea.jpg)
As for my own commentary about my DP drawingâŚ
I hate drawing hands, and I donât like to draw shoes. Maybe because I just canât!! Iâm not good at drawing mouths either, or I was just having a bad day at drawing. And we are definitely not going to talk about the nose. I have zero idea what went wrong with coloring/painting, and I couldnât fix it at that moment. Maybe I was hurrying it, donât care. I wanted it out of my head! And I really wanted to share this, because I like it for once, something of my own. As for the style, still searching my own, trying things out, so at the moment, I have no idea what Iâm doing. Might redo it later.
#danny fenton#danny phantom#danny phantom fanart#dp fanart#phandom#digital art#digital illustration#procreate#fanfic#digital drawing#crown#you should see me in a crown#fanfiction#angst#depressing shit#hurt/comfort
902 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Okay, I need to rant. Fuck AI. And I mean seriously. FUCK. A.I. I know Iâm probably preaching to the choir here, but more people need to be talking about this, and thereâs no point in me saying that if Iâm not willing to talk about it too. AI has done nothing but ruin our communities and defile the art that millions of hands have spent millions of hours creating. Fanfiction is a work of passion. Drawing is a work of passion. Voice acting IS A WORK OF PASSION. AI has no passion. It takes the soul out of the things we love and cherish. It steals what we as a collective community have lovingly crafted, and it shatters it to a thousand pieces, spits on it, curses its family, and throws it in a flaming dumpster to be eaten by rats. It is despicable and disgusting.
I won't lie, or pretend Iâm a perfect saint. I myself was a user of Character AI until somewhat recently. And as ashamed as I am to admit that, I feel itâs necessary to own up to my own faults. But after seeing the damage it causes, I canât in good conscience even consider touching that site. Many of us write because it is our passion. Many of us because it is our job. And many of us because it is our *friend*. AI steals the writing of your favorite creators WITHOUT PERMISSION and mashes it together like Frankensteinâs fucked up monster to create storylines that arenât even fucking coherent. Not only that, but Character AI uses whatever you respond to it with to teach itself as well, which means that the company has access to whatever you chat about, and free reign to do whatever they want with it. They also make absurd amounts of money from it, which in comparison, fanfiction writers, who spend countless hours writing stories for our favorite characters, more often than not charge nothing. And the ones who do charge, tend to have reasonable, if not highly lenient prices for their labor.
Which leads me into another side rant. SUPPORT WRITERS THAT YOU LIKE. Itâs really not that hard, it takes two fucking seconds of your time and it makes someone's day. Reblog. Share with your friends. Like. Comment. Just let the writer know that you saw it, and that you liked it. The amount of fanfic writers I have seen get completely discouraged from writing because of lack of engagement is astounding. Iâve seen several posts on Tumblr or Twitter or Bluesky talking about creators that were incredibly popular but never knew it due to lack of engagement is appalling. If you can rant about your love for their work on Discord, you can rant about your love for their work in the comments. Just fucking copy paste it. Tell them how much you love it. Show them support. Especially the ones that donât charge. Because for those of us that donât, our only payment, is your feedback. Even constructive criticism is greatly appreciated by damn near every writer I can think of. Because even that shows that you read it, absorbed it, and thought about it enough to have something to actually say about it.
The same thing goes for artists and voice actors. You see a drawing or animation you enjoy? Comment. Like. Share. You see a character in an anime or a game and you love their voice? Go check out their voice actor, maybe they do some other cool stuff, and you might just discover your new favorite series or streamer. A perfect example is Alejandro Saab. I became a fan of his through his astounding performance in several series dear to me, and lo and behold, heâs also a streamer I enjoy. Same story with Aleks Le, or Ray Chase. Yuri Lowenthal, Lizzie Freeman, Landon Mcdonald, Zeno Robinson, the list goes on. But seriously, itâs not that much effort to just show a little love to the creators you enjoy. The people who breathe life into the seriesâ that we all hold dear. AI does not breathe that life. Using AI, and supporting those companies, will destroy those pillars of our community. And if that happens, the AI would crumble too, it would have no new information to use. SO really, whatâs the benefit? Iâll tell you. There is none.
Stop using AI. All it does is bring harm and slowly kill our community. Itâs disgusting, appalling, and downright fucking egregious.
Thank you for coming to my TedTalk.
#tokyo rev x male reader#mikey x reader#persona 3 x reader#tr x reader#draken x reader#x reader#ai#character ai#sag aftra#voice actors#ai art#bsd x reader#bungou stray dogs#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen#gojo x reader#geto x reader#nanami x reader#Dazai x reader#chuuya x reader#alejandro saab#cyyu#persona x reader#art#writing#voice acting#percy jackon and the olympians#percy jackson#astarion x reader#fuck ai
573 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Milked for Every Last Drop ~ // đĽđ
Francis Mosses x M!Reader // đđ
HC's [NSFW]
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Holy smokes the THINGS I WANNA DO to THIS MAN--
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/96ee2503b15baaecdccac072c76f43ca/b524f6557cb59ed3-d9/s540x810/3a40acf8e06b0cf2383e6fcd098115d3bd37d2e0.jpg)
(That glass is NOT stopping me đđđĽđ¤¤)Â
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  Â
  âThinkinâ about how this manâs the biggest fucking cum slut in the whole mf complex. Heâs the milkman, but most people donât know Francis doesnât mind being milked himself.Â
After a long day of dropping off cartons of milk heâll drag himself to your office at the lobby. As a doorman, you often donât get home until very late at nightâ if you ever even make it home. Resigned, Francis has to come to you if he wants his thirst satiated.Â
      Heâs such a goddamn slut, whoring himself out, whimpering and fucking SQUELING as you pump his swole cock for every last drop. He whines an ungodly amount. All it takes is your strong hand wrapped around his pretty dick for Francis to be reduced to a simpering, sobbing mess. A huge crybaby too.Â
Like puddy in your hands, heâd make such a mess,â youâd need to lay towels down everywhere.Â
In your office, shutters down after a long winded day at work,â fingers expertly rubbing up and down your husbandâs twitching cock, cum flowing as you physically have to hold him up lest he fall off the couch,â which has happened in the past,â the pathetic mutt shaking so much has done the small, old couch in your office in.Â
One time you were going down, sucking sloppily at his hard-on on the office couch when all of a sudden it brokeâ fucking gave out like Francisâ weak legs. While you were rather amused your husband was quite mortified, intent on controlling his spasming body.Â
You disliked how tense his body became during intimacy,- so much so you made sure the next time you fucked his brains out and pounded his pretty ass into the bed you made him come so hard he tore his vocal cords and felt tremors ripple throughout his entire body for the rest of the week. He never tried to deny you of his pleasurable reactions again.Â
[Additional HCâs <3]Â
Heâd give you sloppy toppy under your desk while you work (just pray you can focus enough to not terminate the wrong person đ)Â
Loves it when you swallow his cum and kiss him immediately afterwards; like pouncing and sloppily slamming your lips to his, swirling your tongue all around, watching him come undone at the taste of himself on his tongueđđ
Heâs lactose intolerantÂ
Certain men can struggle getting aroused, especially if they have a medical condition, are on certain meds, or have depression / anxiety. 1950âs and mental health being nonexistent poor darling canât properly talk to a professional about his inner turmoils, and sometimes he struggles getting erect. No matter how much you both try, he just physically canât. Really self conscious of it too, he feels utterly pathetic (and not in that good way). You reassure him you donât mind, and you love him for him, as your charmingly sleep deprived milkman <3Â
           *A/N: Dunno what it is but thereâs something so attractive in pleasuring a man who canât get erectâ I read a Geto fanfiction on here about it and it awoke something deep within me. Really need to find that one again, itâs a gorgeous piece.Â
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/bbf2725af388a7ceb6af28eb9b9000f2/b524f6557cb59ed3-f3/s250x250_c1/83b0d29e6f4c9474c76150941c7c0aa9c0cb55b8.jpg)
#Francis#francis mosses#smut#milkman#milkman x reader#male reader#x reader#thats not my neighbor#francis mosses x reader#francis mosses x you#thats not my neighbour milkman#francis mosses x male reader#milkman x male reader#francis mosses thats not my neighbor#tnmn
1K notes
¡
View notes
Text
whoever recommended âsincerely notâ by @saintobio saying its a wholesome fic thats happy. count ur mf days. i feel like ive emptied all the tears in my body, im going to be mourning over this for the rest of my life. no other ff is comparable to it. it felt like my heart was ripped out every chapter, something would happen and the relationship would move backwords. ESP THE LAST CHAPTER I WAS RUINED. I spent 20 minutes trying to see if this was rlly the end. ( insaw the word âfinaleâ and still searched i was grieving)
when i saw y/n got married to toji i was happy but it was more of a bitter happy. my heart feels emptyđ𼲠i think i js lost myself and will defin go insane. where is the wholesome fanfic i was promisedđ this made me spiral uncontrollably, in circles and leaked litres of tears. i feel like ive js lost a piece of myself reading that. i cant go sleep bc of it, im mourning over a fanfictionâšď¸đ and idec.
im so upset theres no other ways of describijg this feeling. my soul is upset and so is everything in me.
edit- i think i js found oart two of it âsicnerely yoursâ im was so flipping stupid but my feelings were validđĽ˛â
wdit pt2- sorru im stupid i didnt clarify but ik toji n her arent married as of so far that ice read up to, the marriage was on hold ig rn but anyways live love shoko frđ
this gon be the bedtime story for the next nightđŤ
idk if this isba spoiler oh yh edit htw but i hate akemi idk, its goving sera all over again and i cant w itđĽ˛đ
update
i act like sera idl akemi idk who the bd isđ and i hope everything ends up good bc no one is w no one and we r freeđĽ˛đ
edit- i js read through this and i sincerely apologize for this outright disaster of writingđ i was too in the moment of my grief and clearly so despondent that i lost my ability on how to function and writeđĽ˛đĽ˛
470 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Masterlist
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/db9f68cfb62788b864791614996522b3/acbfbeeeab5bef22-c8/s540x810/635866c2634b26e4fdbdadf3e673de8f67f63a63.jpg)
Welcome to my Masterlist! (Updated December 1, 2024.)
Here you'll find all my fanfiction in one place, where I explore characters, relationships, and the worlds they live in. Whether it's diving deep into emotional conflicts or adding new layers to the stories we love, my writing is all about giving you fresh perspectives and heartfelt moments. Whether you're here for angst, fluff, or something a bit more steamy, there's a story waiting for you.
I hope you enjoy reading these as much as Iâve loved creating them! Feel free to browse through the links below, and donât hesitate to reach out if youâd like to chat about the stories or characters.
⨠Happy reading! â¨
If you'd like to support here is the link to my Ko-fi
â¨â¨â¨â¨â¨â¨â¨â¨â¨â¨â¨â¨â¨â¨â¨â¨â¨â¨â¨â¨â¨
Requests - Please Read Before Sending In a Request
** This blog is intended for readers 18+. Minors DO NOT INTERACT. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given on any writing that needs it**
KINKTOBER 2024
Kinktober 2024 Masterlist
This was my wild dive into the spicy world of Kinktober! Throughout October, I challenged myself to post a new piece every day, each one exploring different kinks and themes with a mix of heat and heart. Whether you're here for the steam, the characters, or just a fun escape, I hope you find something to enjoy. Each story pushes boundaries in its own way, so please read the tags and warnings before diving in. Enjoy the journey, and thanks for checking out my Kinktober 2024 collection! đĽ
GLEN POWELL
Glen Powell (and His Characters) Masterlist
Whether itâs Glen Powell himself or the unforgettable roles he brings to life, this section is dedicated to all things Glen.
From standalone one-shots to multi-part series, youâll find stories exploring the charm of Glen as an actor and the personalities of his iconic characters, like Jake Seresin from Top Gun: Maverick and Tyler Owens from Twisters.
Whether you're in the mood for quick reads or something a little more in-depth, there's plenty here to dive into. Enjoy the journey, and feel free to leave your thoughts! đ¤
TWISTERS
Twisters Masterlist
Welcome to my collection of stories inspired by Twisters! Right now, the focus is on Tyler Owens, one of the main characters whoâs brought to life in ways that explore his depth, relationships, and adventures beyond the screen.
As this section grows, you might see stories featuring other characters like Scott Miller and Javi Riveraâso stay tuned! Whether you're here for Tyler or curious about future tales, I hope you enjoy these stormy stories. đŞď¸
TOP GUN: MAVERICK
Top Gun: Maverick Masterlist
This list is all about the thrill and tension of Top Gun: Maverick. Most of my writing here dives into the cocky charm of Jake "Hangman" Seresin, but youâll also find some pieces centered around Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, with more stories potentially featuring characters like Robert "Bob" Floyd in the future.
Whether you're into Hangmanâs swagger, Roosterâs heart, or curious about the rest of the Top Gun crew, thereâs something for every fan of the high-flying action and drama. Strap in and enjoy the ride! âď¸
WRESTLING
WWE & Professional Wrestling
Step into the ring with my collection of professional wrestling stories! Most of my writing here is centered around the superstars of WWE, but you'll also find a few pieces featuring wrestlers from other promotions.
Whether you're a fan of the drama, athleticism, or the larger-than-life personalities in the squared circle, thereâs something here for you. From intense rivalries to behind-the-scenes moments, I hope you enjoy these tales of wrestlingâs finest. đĽ
404 notes
¡
View notes
Text
beautiful boy | cillian murphy
do I know anything about labor and the process? no đ pls remember this is fanfiction and idk anything about childbirth
barbenheimer series
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/fc0ec3508523cf73d95080c10b67b292/9e975a117e04450f-5c/s540x810/9b12490a5c6ce5205e3ddff1ddf9b076de9a3d97.jpg)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/9a3d9cb19d58e8de8e6328754020669e/9e975a117e04450f-58/s540x810/7f9451660fb824c0302aaa557896aef1be6f999c.jpg)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/e6c29171b7346ccf4e209c7ceae26da4/9e975a117e04450f-bc/s540x810/f853051d5683fa1011734a8af0706fe72ba1d9ff.jpg)
The day Y/n began to feel ill, she had an idea of what was going on. Of course she did some math and realized her period was late. Cillian was still filming in the uk so she was alone in their cottage. A little family owned market was close by so she decided to walk there to buy a pregnancy test just to make sure. The owners already knew her and Cillian, they were nice people that brought great comfort to her.
While she was there, she figured she might as well get some groceries that she needed. As she browsed the aisles for spices and other items, she got a text from Cillian.
C â¤ď¸
i should be done filming soon. i miss you.
She quickly replied.
Okay, Iâll pick you up from the airport. I love you more â¤ď¸
After she payed for her items, Y/n walked back to her cottage. She put away her groceries rather than immediately take the test. She didnât want to get her hopes up so she occupied her mind with something else.
It wasnât until she thought about Cillian, thatâs when she decided that it was time to take it. She grabbed the small box from the bag and walked to her bathroom. She read the instructions over and over again until she ripped open the box.
âItâs going to be fine, youâre going to be fine.â Y/n whispered to herself.
Y/n was early to the airport the day Cillian was scheduled to come back home. She couldnât contain her excitement. It had been months since they last saw each other and she desperately wanted to feel him close to her.
She finally spotted him wearing sunglasses and a hat, his outfit reminded her of the crappy disguises superheroes wore when they were under cover.
âWell hello Tommy Shelby.â She said in a flirty voice.
âYouâre hilarious.â Cillian replied. He placed his hands on her cheeks and kissed her on the lips. âLetâs go home, Iâve missed you too much.â
Cillian wanted to drive, but Y/n wouldnât let him. After all he did come back from a long flights and months of filming, he needed the rest. Eventually Y/n and Cillian made it back home. He quickly took notice of the garden she had made while he was gone.
âYouâve been busy.â Cillian got out of the car. He opened the trunk and got his luggage out. âAre those red poppies?â He pointed out.
âYeah. I also planted tulips and daisies.â Y/n pointed to the flowers that decorated her front porch.
Cillian then saw the light blue flowers next to the poppies. âForget me nots, your favorite.â He smiled.
âYou remember?â Y/n asked. She had told him about her favorite flower many dates ago.
âI never forgot.â Cillian replied. âHa, forget me not, I never forgot.â He tried to joke.
âFunny.â Y/n chuckled lightly. âCome in, I have a surprise for you.â
âOh?â
âItâs not what you think.â Y/n rolled her eyes playfully.
Cillian opened the door allowing Y/n to walk in first. He saw their home completely normal so it wasnât something like a new furniture piece or art work that she had bought.
âOkay, wait here.â Y/n instructed. She walked to their shared bedroom and came back with something in her hands, Cillian wasnât sure what it was. âI never told you I was feeling sick when you were away, I didnât want you to worry and i most certainly didnât want you to leave your work and fly back just for me. I had an idea of what was wrong with me so I went to the market and got a pregnancy test and itâs positive.â She nervously said. Thatâs when she showed Cillian the pregnancy test.
Cillian immediately pulled Y/n into a tight embrace, burying his face in her shoulder. âOh, I love you so much.â
âWeâre going to be parents.â Y/n whispered as her eyes filled with tears.
As they held each other, Cillian knew that his life would never be the same. But he also knew that with Y/n by his side, he was ready to embrace the journey of fatherhood.
MONTH 3
âPeople are starting to ask questions. What do I say to them?â
âTell them you donât know me.â
Her assistant, Joli, had been on the phone with her for the past hour. Y/n had finally told Joli about the pregnancy. Only a few people knew, obviously both of the parentsâ families and close friends, but apart from them, no one knew that Cillian and Y/n were going to be parents and they liked it that way.
âYou know I canât do that. Listen, I love you and Iâm happy for you and Cillian, but are you really going to step away for good?â Joli asked.
âNot entirely. Iâll just take a break.â
âY/n, no one has seen you for a while.â Joli stated. âBut when you decide to come back, Iâll be here. If you or Cillian ever need anything, let me know.â
âThanks, Joli.â Y/n smiled. Joli was always her biggest supporter.
âYouâre going to be an amazing mom.â
MONTH 7
Y/n loved her quiet life. She was living in a cottage starting her family with the love of her life. What more could she want?
Her stomach was growing everyday and it amazed her every time. The gender was going to be a surprise so all the baby clothes and furniture was gender neutral. She even wrote down some gender neutral names that her and Cillian might like.
âHere,â Cillian came back from the kitchen with a glass of cold lemonade. âLet me know if you want a refill.â
Y/n and Cillian were enjoying some time in their garden. All this time at home, Y/n picked up a new hobby and in no time, the couple had their own garden.
âThank you, my love.â Y/n replied as she grabbed the glass from Cillianâs hands. âIâve been thinking about the name Rowan, cute or not?â
âRowan, Rowan . . . Rowan Murphy-L/N.â Cillian tested it out. âNot sure. Can you imagine yourself yelling the name Rowan like what if our child is running and you have to yell their name for them to stop. Rowan! Hmm, I donât know.â
Y/n began to laugh at Cillianâs words. âThatâs how you decide if the name is good or not?â
âItâs a good way, just try it.â Cillian encouraged.
Y/n hesitated a bit, but cleared her throat. âRowan! Rowannnn!â
âSee? Now whatâs the verdict?â
âThe verdict is . . . We have to find another name.â
JULY 21ST, 2013
Cillian was thankful that he didnât have to work that day. It was all going good. Y/n was in the final days of pregnancy and everything was ready for the arrival of baby murphy. Around 2PM was when Cillianâs driving skills were put to the test.
âFuck! Fuck! I hate this! Iâm never having kids again!â Y/n groaned. âHey, did I ever tell you how much I love you?â
âNot recent-â Cillian said as he kept his eyes on the road. They were only two minutes from the hospital.
âI hate you right now! But I love you so so much, but I fucking hate you!â
âLove you too, baby.â
Soon, Y/n was being taken by nurses to labor and delivery. Cillian made sure to call both of the families to let them know that in a matter of minutes, he would be a father and Y/n would be a mother.
âAre you Mr. Murphy?â A nurse asked. âYour wife is calling for you.â
Wife. He loved the sound of that.
Cillian quickly ended the call with his mother and ran to Y/nâs room. âHey, Iâm here.â He grabbed her hand, placing gentle kisses on it.
âDo our parents know?â Y/n asked.
âI just got off the phone with them. Theyâre so happy for us.â He smiled.
Thankfully, a C-section wasnât needed. Baby Murphy entered the world crying. He was perfect in the eyes of his parents.
âCongratulations, itâs a beautiful boy.â The nurse announced.
âA boy.â Cillian whispered to Y/n. âOur beautiful boy.â
âAlex. His name is Alexander or Alex. I like it.â Y/n said, completely out of breath.
âAlexander Murphy-L/N. That sounds perfect.â Cillian smiled.
TAGLIST
@leclercloml @butterfly-skinnylegend @rockerchick05 @equallyshaw @agustdpeach @celesteablack @hnybitches @ietss @probablypossesedbysatan @kittyrumbl3r @electrobutterfly @knpgituloh @butlersluvbot @captainwans @bellstwd @theekileypage @marti-su @multifans-things @ceruleanrainblues @litterallnobody @jackierose902109 @sinarainbows @cosniffee @thatgirlthatreadswattpad
#barbenheimer series#cillian murphy series#cillian murphy one shot#cillian murphy x reader#cillian murphy imagine#cillian murphy fanfic#cillian murphy#actress!reader
560 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Chokehold - Noah Sebastian x Reader (+18)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/c84889f10bcd2384bca7878aaf7a57d6/cf3a997c59f0a213-19/s540x810/810ce281cd042b37ccac23c225c9c1d9a4633427.jpg)
Author's Note:
Heyy, I've had this idea in my head for a while now and it took me some time to finally write it so I hope y'all like it!!
I'm new to this fandom and this is my very first Noah Sebastian fanfiction, but I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Disclaimers: as any other content in this blog, this is a highly NSFW smutty story so if you're not into this kind of explicit content I advise you not to read it. Here you'll have a bit of plot and lots of porn, unprotected p in v (be safe out there), oral (f receiving), Noah being a giver, alcohol and lots of explicit descriptions.
English is not my first language, so forgive me for any mistakes I eventually skipped while proof-reading it.
I wrote it to Sleep Token's "Chokehold", "Take Me Back To Eden" and "The Summoning", and also to Bad Omens' "The Death Of Piece Of Mind" and "What It Cost", so if you're into listening to something while reading, I recommend you these songs.
WC: 4.7K
Enjoy your time here and if you enjoy it, feel free to leave it a like and/or to reblog the story, your feedback is what keeps me writing!!
End of Author's Note
-0-
You were Bad Omensâ photographer for the tour, the one responsible for taking all the pictures the fans would go feral online, especially Noahâs, and you couldnât help but to keep giving them more material, because even though youâd never admit it, youâd also secretly had a deep crush on him.Â
The guys from the band and the crew would often joke about how Noahâs pictures were the best ones and how you privileged him over the rest of the band, but you always dismissed the subject by saying that it wasnât your fault he had the better angle since he was the lead singer. It was true in some aspects, yes, but your skills for taking fantastic pictures no matter how challenging the circumstance was were undeniable, so in the end of the day, it wasnât hard to reach the conclusion that Noah was your favorite.
You often caught yourself admiring the pictures you took of him, his perfect angelical features in contrast with his tattoo covered skin, the way his eyes would catch the lens like he was staring right into your soul through the camera separating you.
But that was all coming to an end tonight.
Theyâd just played their last concert of the tour and youâd all agreed to make a small (kind of) party to celebrate it at the boysâ place.
You felt bittersweet towards the event. You were happy to be partying with them and being able to enjoy the moment without the concern of taking the perfect pictures. But on the other hand, you were sad you wouldnât be seeing the band daily anymore and youâd miss them because youâd gotten attached to them and to their jokes, and also (and obviously) because you wouldnât be seeing Noah anymore.
Your flight home for the morning after the party was already booked and youâd already checked in to save you some time.
So you sighed when you walked inside the big house in front of you. You, like always, held your confident and unwavering poise before everyone, but deep down you were uneasy. Was this the last time youâd be seeing him? In how long? Or ever?
You couldnât hear the sounds of your heels clicking on the wooden floor because at each step you got closer to the party where loud music was blasting and you soon found the small crowd of people in the main living room already having their own fun.
You felt an arm hooking on yours and suddenly Folio was pulling you through the people towards the rest of the band and you couldnât help but to smile at the unexpected gesture.
Your heart raced and your cheeks burned as you got closer to Noah, whoâd been watching you from the moment you arrived, but you played it cool like always as you got to them and Ruffilo immediately put a bottle of beer in your hand.
Noah couldnât take his eyes off you.Â
You didnât know that, but he also had a strong crush on you and all of the band knew it. He always told them it was just a small crush and they should ignore it just as he did (or tried), because he wanted to keep it professional between you two.
But when you got to his sight and he saw you wearing that black leather crop top, with thin straps on your shoulders, just a zipper on the front imprisoning your breasts and highlighting your cleavage, along with a high-waisted skinny black skirt molding your curves and, mainly, your ass, bare toned legs on display and black boots on your feet, he was done.
Youâd spent the last months practically living together in tour buses and stuff, but you always wore larger, baggy dark clothes thatâd cover your body and blend you with the rest of the crew, so how well you looked caught not only Noahâs attention, but everyone elseâs, the difference tonight was the fact that Noah just wouldnât stop staring.
You felt confident, you knew you looked hot and secretly youâd chosen your clothes just for him, to impress him, to catch his attention. And your mission was successfully accomplished.
âHey prettyâ Noah reached his right arm out and pulled you to him in a side hug before kissing the top of your head.
âHey handsomeâ
That exchange wasnât new for you, it was like that every time you met, but this time, the way his lips lingered longer in your forehead as you inhaled his scent deeply got you very aware that something was different tonight. Was it because you were parting ways?
When he let you go he searched for the flustered expression you always had in your face when he did that, but sensed some apprehension instead, despite the grin forming on your lips.
Another thing you didnât know is that Noah learned over time how to read you and he loved how cute you looked every time he got a shy smile out of your lips.
He loved how flustered you got when he gave the camera the looks he knew got you weak on your knees, because every time he did that, he saw how you unwittingly licked your lips as you checked out the pictures youâd just taken. And no, you didnât have that same reaction over the pictures you took from the rest of the band, no matter how incredible they were.
âGonna miss me now that the tour is over?â You teased him, taking a sip from your beer.
âMiss you? Why? Weâre not going anywhereâ Confusion splattered across Noahâs face as he had his full attention on you.
âYou remember I live on the other side of the world right?â
His jaw visibly tensed when he finally processed the information you just brought him.
âFuckâŚâ Noah was frustrated âBut youâre still coming for the barbecue tomorrow, right?âÂ
âUh⌠Nope⌠My flight leaves early in the morning actuallyâŚâ You felt guilty as the words came from your lips, the intensity of his glare over you stealing your breath as Noah looked like heâd just been stabbed.
âNo, you canât do that⌠Are you saying this is our last night with you until God knows when?â
He took a big gulp of his own beer, his knuckles white due to the hard grip on the bottle and on the counter behind him, until he sighed in defeat.
âCome on, itâs not like weâre never seeing each other againâ You nudged him trying to cheer him up âAll you gotta do is hire me as your photographer againâ You winked at him and took another swing of your beer, but you didnât miss the way he watched your lips wrapping around the bottle.
âYou say it like weâve fired you, but you forget you wonât get rid of us, and especially me that easyâ
âLike Iâd want to get rid of youâ You rolled your eyes.
âYou couldâve waited a little longer to go home though, are you that tired of looking at my face?â He teased, the smirk on his lips making you weak on your knees.
âTired of looking at a catch like that? Neverâ
âYou think Iâm a catch? Good to knowâ The way his eyes burned as he looked at you up and down again raised goosebumps on your skin.
âYouâre insufferableâÂ
âAnd youâre a terrible liarâ He grabbed your hand âNow come on letâs have some funâ
The rest of the band along with other guests had gathered around the sofas in the middle of the room, all of them paying attention to Jolly, who was explaining the rules of the drinking game heâd just invented.
After a few drinks, beers and shots in, you along with anyone else got loose and the games that were tame at first got wilder as the night went on.
âTruth or dare, come on, never gets old and Iâm dying for some revelations tonightâ Folio spun an empty bottle in the center of the coffee table in front of them âbottom asks, top answersâ
The bottle finally stopped spinning and you had the first round: Rufillo to Jolly.
Jolly chose dare and Rufillo made him drink 5 seconds of tequila.
Another spin. Folio to you.
âCome on honey, truth or dare?â He made the question with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
âTruthâ
âLetâs heat things up a bit then: of the people in this room, who would you make out with?â
Your cheeks burned red with his question as all eyes were on you and the room went silent waiting for your answer. Yet you werenât shy, the alcohol in your system had you bold at that point.
âNoahâÂ
âYet you always deny heâs your favoriteâ Folio pretended to be offended.
You winked at Noah, who was sitting by your side, eyes narrowed in you as he raked them over you, visibly satisfied by your answer.
A few more rounds went by until the bottle landed on Noah.
âTruth or dare, buddy?â Folio had evil intentions in his eyes again and of course Noah wasnât going to be spared.
âDareâ
âI dare you to take a body shot on the person you find the hottest in this roomâ
Noah left his place by your side as the boys brought him salt, a piece of lime and a shot of tequila. When he got up you felt your heart sinking in your chest with the realization he might choose another girl, but when he knelt in front of you, you lost your breath.
Noah rested his tattooed hands on your knees, uncrossed your legs and pulled you towards him, to the edge of the couch, the way he manhandled you catching you off guard as he was now between your legs and your skirt rose higher, getting dangerously shorter.
Heat pooled in your panties as you watched him lean you backwards and prepare you for the body shot. He placed the small glass of tequila in your cleavage, poured salt on your neck and the piece of lime between your lips.
âMay I?â He splayed his hands on your thighs as the smug on his lips grew wider.
Since your lips were occupied by the piece of lime, you only nodded, watching him lick his lips as he leaned closer towards your neck.Â
Noah took his time on licking the salt off your neck, swirling his tongue and kissing your skin in the process, then made his way down to your chest where his nose brushed against the valley of your breasts as he wrapped his lips around the shot glass to down it, and for last came up for the lime on your lips, his own ghosting over yours as he took it with his teeth, eyes locked on yours as he teased you in front of everyone, fingers sinking on your thighs as he seemed to be holding himself back.
Rufillo cleared his throat loudly and Noah quickly stood on his feet.
âFuck Iâm dizzyâ Was all you could muster as you got up as well all flustered, pulling your skirt down as you headed for the kitchen for some water.
You were so aroused you didnât know what to do with yourself. Your core ached between your legs as you pressed them together hoping for some friction. You chugged down a glass of cold water in a vain attempt to ease your nerves, but it wasnât water you were thirsty for.
The feel of his tongue and lips on your neck still lingered, tingling, and you wondered what he would do to you if you werenât surrounded by people.
âThirsty?â Noah materialized behind you, practically caging you, but also keeping some distance.
His eyes were darker than usual, burning holes in yours as he waited for your answer, and you both knew very well that âwaterâ wasnât the subject, and since this was your last night with them, with him, you werenât running away anymore.
âBeen the whole tourâ You fired back at him and he took a step closer.
âSame on my partâ He cupped your cheek with one of his hands, his fingers entangling with the hair on your nape while his thumb traced your lips âItâs a shame we waited this long⌠If you only knew all the ways Iâve had you in my mindâŚâ
His husky voice sent your shivers straight to your pussy at his confession, and you wanted nothing but to have at least a sneak peak of what heâd had in his head. If only he could know whatâs been to yours as well.
âWell now I canât seem to understand why are you taking so long to show me?â
âIs there someone in a hurry?â
âSince I have a flight in the morningâŚâ His hand slid down to your neck, choking you.
âAnd who says youâre getting into that plane tomorrow?â You couldnât help but to moan when he tightened his hand around your neck just enough to make you melt into his grip âLetâs get out of hereâ
He let go of your neck and grabbed your hand, guiding you upstairs towards his bedroom. You stood in the middle of his room waiting for his next step as he locked the door behind him, the predatory gaze sending shivers down your spine as he checked you out once again.
âYou are so fucking beautifulâ
You couldnât help but to blush at his confession as he stood in front of you, both hands cupping your face, admiring your delicate features.
âIâve been wanting to do this since the first day I laid my eyes on youâ He licked his lips, his eyes shifting from your lips to your eyes.
âFucking kiss me, Noahâ
âThought youâd never askâ
He crashed his lips against yours and you felt your body going limp in his arms as he deepened the kiss. You let your fingers trail their way through his dark soft hair as his tongue explored yours, devouring you. He kissed you passionately and his hands roamed free over your body, you nibbled his lower lip and he pulled your hips closer, making sure youâd feel how hard he already was, pressing against your belly.
âIf you donât tell me to stop now, I wonâtâ He gasped, his restraint holding on by a thread.
âWho says I want you to stop?â Your hands slid down his chest to the hem of his shirt âI want your everythingâ You pulled his shirt upwards and he took the cue to help you take it off.
Your fingertips traced the tattoos on his body in admiration, every inch of him pure perfection in your eyes.
He kissed you again and guided you backwards to his bed, making your body collapse on it just as you felt your calves hitting its edge. Noah hovered over you, the thin chain around his neck dangling over you, almost touching your face as his hand ran up the side of your body from your outer thigh.
When he reached your ribcage, his fingers changed their path to the middle of your chest, to the zipper of your crop top, and you held your breath as he opened it slowly, eyes trained on you as the leather piece slowly slid off your breasts revealing them to him, nipples hard and sensitive on his full disposal.
âFucking amazingâ
Your lips met once more as he splayed one of his hands on one of your boobs, fondling it and pitching your nipple between his tattooed fingers. His body stood between your legs and you whimpered when he rubbed his clothed manhood against your aching center, covered only by helplessly damp lace panties.
His lips trailed kisses down your jaw towards your neck, where he now, very aware of your sensitivity in that area, covered your skin in with kisses and angry love-bites, clearly intending on marking you as his.
Your manicured nails ran up his back as his lips now peppered kisses down your clavicles to your chest, his mouth immediately latching on one of your breasts, suckling and nibbling your nipple, to then soothe the small sting with the softness of his tongue before switching his attention to the other.
You arched your back, legs spreading wider apart as you surrender yourself completely to his mercy, small cries of pleasure escaping your lips as you watched him, mouth and hands full of your boobs, the ache between your legs almost unbearable as you desperately needed him there, filling you.
âNoah pleaseâŚâ You pleaded as your legs tried to pull his hips to grind against you with no avail.
His voice was raw, deep and filled with lust: âPlease what?âÂ
He teased, lips now traveling lower on your body, stopping only to give him enough room to take both your skirt and panties at once, throwing it randomly in his room.
âI need you to tell me what you want babeâ He nibbled the skin right below your navel, and the realization of how close he was to your intimacy sent stronger shivers over your body as he kissed your inner thighs âFuck youâre drippingâ
âI need you inside me, pleaseâ You whined as his lips got closer to your hot center, his eyes admiring how glistening wet you already were for him before he blew his breath on you, making you quiver at the sensitivity.
âI will princess, but I need to taste you firstâ
Noah spread your legs wider apart and his tongue ran flat over your pussy, collecting and tasting all the arousal he could get, moaning against you as he finally got to taste you. His skilled tongue on your clit got you seeing stars in seconds as he worked on building your orgasm, and you prayed the music downstairs was loud enough to keep the rest of the party from hearing you, because you just couldnât hold yourself back.
âYou taste so fucking goodâ
Noah ate you like a starved man, feasting on you, taking pleasure in watching the sexed expressions on your face and how you helplessly writhed below him. He added a finger inside you as he kept working on you with his mouth, his long finger immediately finding the magic spongy spot inside you that made your legs shake around his neck as the pleasure knot forming on your lower belly threatened to explode violently at any second.
You tried to hold it back for as long as you could, but when he combined the work on your clit with his tongue along with a precise flick of his wrist, he forced the orgasm out of you in strong white hot waves of ecstasy, making you lose your senses for a few seconds as he rode your high.
Yet Noah didnât stop.
Still eating you, he held you firmly and flipped you both on the bed, making you sit on his face. Your faltering legs threatened your balance, but his firm grip kept you up straight.Â
You looked below you and the scene alone almost made you cum again. The pussy-drunk look on his face, the disheveled hair, the way half of his face was covered in your slick, dark eyes glossy as he looked up meeting yours as he kept lapping, sucking, overstimulating you on purpose.
âOh my fuck N-NoahâŚâÂ
âFuck my face babeâÂ
He growled against you, fingers sinking on your ass cheeks as you, still shaky, followed his command and started to roll your hips back and forth, allowing you to control the pace, the pressure, and to use his face on your own will.
You felt your climax blossoming inside you again as he kept devouring you, drinking in every drop he could take from you, his nose rubbing against your clit while he fucked you with his tongue.Â
âOh fuck⌠NoahâŚâ Your orgasm bubbled up inside you again, but you were not ready for it yet, you were sure youâd collapse on top of him if he gave you another one in such a short time.
As if reading your thoughts Noah stopped, keeping you from falling apart so soon, but on the other hand edging you as you were so close to jumping off that cliff again.
You got off of his face and moved down his body to remove his pants and underwear, hurried, dying to feel him. He propped himself on his elbows and watched you undress him with shaky hands, the fucked out expression on your face making him want more of you.
Your jaw dropped when his cock sprung free, rock hard against his belly, head glistening with precum, the size and thickness doing justice to his height, and your throat went dry to the thinking of how he would feel inside you, stretching you.
âItâs all yoursâ He grinned, watching you admire him.
You straddled and pulled him up to kiss you and your taste still lingered on his tongue. His arms wrapped around your back and waist bringing you closer, and you took the cue to rock yourself against his shaft, coating it with your arousal, mixing it with his precum, the friction making him groan against your lips.
You pulled his hair, tilting his head back exposing his neck, and attacked it with your lips and tongue, all while you now teased the head of his cock with your opening, pretending youâd finally let him in, threatening to finally join your bodies, but skipping it every time, his digits digging on your flesh with his impatiency.
âYouâre gonna make me beg for it now?â He peppered kisses on your chest and collarbone.
âYou tell me⌠You want it that bad?â You whispered in his ear and nibbled on his earlobe.
Thatâs until he took control over you again and held your hips in place, lining himself with your entrance, all while he pulled you by your hair with his free hand, pulling you away from his neck, making you look at him, eyes so dark with lust and oozing such a primal desire you felt like prey.
âI doâÂ
He caressed your cheek with his thumb.
âNow eyes on meâÂ
He instructed and you immediately obeyed. With one of his hands still on the back of your head and the other on your hip, the tip of his cock met your pussy and Noah pressed you down on him, merging your bodies slowly. His name came out of your lips in such a sinful pitch that made him throb inside you, the vision and the feeling of you, flesh and bone, being endlessly better than he couldâve ever imagined.
Your arms snaked around his neck as he bottomed you out, you felt so full and stretched, your whole body was on fire, ignited with desire, and when you got used to his size you started to move on top of him, slowly increasing your pace as you rode him, stealing grunts of pleasure out of him every time you intentionally clenched around him and fucked him harder, your skin slapping against his as his fingers dug into your thighs.
He was so lost in his own moment he didnât know if he should look at where your bodies merged, at your boobs bouncing in front of his face or at your sex glazed eyes. His lips captured yours once again as you rocked your hips back and forth, that very specific motion almost making you both snap.
âFuck youâre gonna make me cumâÂ
He whined and rolled you both, laying you on the bed as he got on top of you, switching positions so he could last longer, to feel you longer, to fuck you longer. He pushed himself inside of you again and all at once, at the new depth he reached with that position turned you into a moaning mess as he now set his own pace, but making sure that with every thrust he stimulated that very spot he found earlier inside you.
âNoah oh myâŚâÂ
You couldnât finish your sentence as that postponed orgasm emerged again like a tsunami, washing away all of your senses as it bursted from inside out, hard, making your pussy clench desperately around him as he rode your high, taking every bit of his restraint to ride you through it without unloading inside you, cock throbbing in need, and just as he felt your body becoming jelly under his he pulled out of you, cumming on your belly in long hot spurts as he stilled over you, cheeks red and eyes rolled back.
He glued his forehead on yours, breathing still heavy as he came back from his own high, admiring how impossibly beautiful you looked at that very moment.
âThereâs no fucking way Iâm letting you into that plane tomorrowâ
#fanfic#fanfiction#smut#romance#noah sebastian#bad omens#nick folio#nick ruffilo#nicholas ruffilo#jolly karlsson#self insert#joakim karlsson#noah sebastian x reader#noah sebastian x you
474 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Thomas Hewitt/ Reader
đđĽđđą đŚđ° đŠđŹđłđ˘, đąđŹ đ°đŹđŞđ˘đŹđŤđ˘ đ´đĽđŹ đĽđđ° đŤđ˘đłđ˘đŻ đĽđ˘đđŻđĄ đŹđŁ đŚđą? đđ˘đłđ˘đŻ đąđđ°đąđ˘đĄ đąđĽđ˘ đ°đ´đ˘đ˘đąđŤđ˘đ°đ° đŹđŁ đŚđąđ° đŤđ˘đ đąđđŻ?
Written in third-person limited POV, focusing on Thomas. Content tags: Neurodivergence, Cannibalism, mentions of rape, Canon typical violence, self harm, Mommy issues, child abuse (mentioned), good vs. evil with nothing in between, religious trauma. Author notes: I honestly intended this to be short and to the point- but here we are. I read a lot of Thomas/Reader stories where Thomas is portrayed as neurotypical and I don't know why it bothers me so much- it's just fanfiction after all, but I wanted to write a short "love" story where Thomas is violent and scared and lonely. He's nonverbal, he's mentally disturbed but not 'slow'. His world is very black and white and full of violence, so that got me wondering- what would love look like for him? What would happen if this man, who has only ever known darkness, met someone who was nice to him? Fair warning, lots of rambling ahead. I also just want to say that I am Autistic and that influenced a lot of this story- from the way that I write, to how I portray characters, to certain interactions. So if anything seems weird to you, I apologize- my mind works in weird ways. If I need to clarify anything, just shoot me a message. I would love to talk about the writing process and why I included certain things. Important: This is about 15k words and NOT even half of it. I had to cut it into pieces, will update the rest in another post.
Thomas brings the axe above his head, his breath ragged as he swings it down and cuts the piece of firewood in half with a low grunt. Heâs hot, even though itâs the middle of winter- the weather low even with the sun that hid behind the clouds- and his shirt is sticking to him uncomfortably, the sweat doing nothing to cool him down.
He lodges the axe into the tree stump, grabbing the two pieces of wood and throwing them in the wheelbarrow before he wipes his forehead with dirt covered hands. It was the last chore of the day, and he was tired and sore- a tightness in his shoulders that seemed to spread all the way down to lower back and made him want to get in bed. His mask is damp and tight against his face, the skin underneath irritated. He wants to go inside and change, the thought of taking a shower was frustrating but he knew that he needed one. He could smell himself- bitter with sweat and the slightly suffocating scent that seemed to stick to chickens now clinging to him from when he had cleaned out the chicken coop. His nails were lined with dirt- hands and arms caked in grime. It made him feel heavy and slow.
Uncle Hoyt would drag him to the back and hose him off if he saw him, and he hated that more than he hated cleaning himself off- the feeling of water on his skin something he had never got around to liking. He could handle other things- blood never seemed to churn his stomach, or when Momma or Uncle Hoyt used to ask him to go clean out the pig pen- back when they could afford to have pigs, they were empty now, the whole farm seemed to get emptier and emptier as the months passed- he hadnât thought that shoveling pig shit into a bucket was all that bad. But he had trouble smelling sometimes, especially with the leather pressed so tight against the place his nose had once been.
He takes the handles of the wheelbarrow, filled with enough dried out wood for the weekend- maybe Monday, if the weather stayed where it was at- and began to haul it towards the house. Momma would need some in the kitchen, to boil water and heat the ovens for Supper when she got back from town. Heâd have to check the fireplace on the main floor- sometimes even on the coldest days of winter that room stayed warm enough that if they were to turn on the fireplace itâd be too uncomfortable to sit in. He would wait until Uncle Monty asked for more- he didnât like it when any of them made decisions for him, more so now that he was stuck in that wheelchair.
There were no fireplaces upstairs, just piles of blankets to layer and hope they did enough to keep them warm. Sometimes it would be enough for him, but there were nights that even with two or three of the ones Momma sewed together for him; he would still lay awake, teeth chattering from the cold. Itâs why he hated the cold- he could manage the heat, but winter was unpredictable even in the deep south of Texas.
Uncle Monty is in the living room, asleep in his chair as the TV keeps playing, almost as loud as his snoring. He walks past him, noticing the almost empty fireplace. His footsteps are heavy and loud from the metal on his shoes as he carries an armful of wood into the kitchen. He sets it down on the dining table, right on the white plastic cloth momma had set out before she had left, dirt falls onto the floor and he makes a low, grumbling noise of frustration, hoping that she didnât see it when she got home.
He had forgotten the plastic mat last time and gotten her favorite tablecloth dirty -the mud staining the light blue cotton forever. He didnât see why it was such a big deal, Momma had once told him that life was messy, thatâs how one knew that they were living it, but she had been so angry at him then- sending him out with the bucket and soap, shouting about the mud he had tracked inside their house. Supper had come late that night- Hoyt growing angry at him. He liked it when it was ready and waiting for him when he got home- shouting at momma that working men werenât supposed to wait for food.
He had gotten into an argument with him that night- he didnât like it when people were mean to momma. Uncle Hoyt had called him a bad name- making his blood boil.
He didnât want that to happen again. He didnât like how badly he had wanted to hurt Uncle Hoyt at that moment. Momma said that family fought all the time, but he had to be careful not to do anything that he would regret. Maybe he would regret it when his blood stained his clothes, but part of him wasnât so sure. He liked him better when he was Uncle Charlie. Uncle Hoyt reminded him of the bad men.
He tries not to think about it anymore when he heads back outside to grab a few more pieces of wood for the living room. He didnât like thinking back on the things that made him angry, sometimes he couldnât come back from them, and heâd end up doing something bad.
By the time heâs pushing past the double front doors, Mommaâs car is pulling into the dirt path off to the side of the house. Itâs an old one- rusting from the heat of too many summers, but momma didnât mind it.
 The car comes to a stop as he picks up another armful of wood and takes it inside.
Ever since Hoyt became Sheriff of the town, things had gotten better for them. There were never days where they went to bed hungry, the meat freezer down in the basement always seemed to have enough for them. If it ever ran low, a Hoyt always seemed to find a way to get it restocked. Momma had taken over the shop in town after the owner had passed away and Hoyt made sure that his son- one of the bad men- went right along with him. He had filled the bellies of those who still stayed in town, too hungry to care enough to question them. Sometimes she brought back what didnât sell that day and theyâd have themselves a little feast. There were days Uncle Hoyt brought a guest with him- always a woman-, other times heâd ask momma to bring his food up to his room- the muffled screaming drowned out by Montyâs TV show.
He liked to stay in the basement on those days. It was harder to hear the pleading and begging as Hoyt played too rough with them. He would always get stuck with getting rid of them afterwards and he was starting to dislike the chore.
By the time he finishes stacking the wood, Momma is calling out for him, the front door swinging open. He freezes- his shoulders squaring and his breath suddenly heavy as he looks up at the hall, hidden between a wall and the fireplace. There was someone with Momma. He could hear the footsteps- Momma walked with a purpose, heavy and loud like him. She said that she did it so God would hear her better, but he wasnât so sure that God was with them anymore. The ones that came after her were lighter, nervous.
He didnât like guests. Didnât like that Momma and uncle Hoyt had developed a habit of taking in strays that would just end up in the basement with him later. They would scream when they saw him- call him those names that made the anger come. Some of them liked to hurt him, momma taking him to the bathroom afterwards and stitching him up.
âYouâre going to love my Tommy. Heâs a little bit shy but heâs got the sweetest heart.â Momma says and he hears the other person laugh. Itâs a soft noise- gentle in a way that manages to make his heart race faster as he tries to crawl deeper into the tiny space. âHeâs here around somewhere⌠but letâs get you set up in your room then you can come down and help me with supper, okay?â
Another laugh, his heart racing uncomfortably in his chest. He didnât want Momma to find him, he was already so tired.
âOf course,â the stranger says, and she- the thought of a woman in the house irritates him- doesnât talk like Momma or Hoyt or Monty. Her voice is quiet, it doesnât drawl out. Heâs heard it before- she must be from out of town. âI would love to!â
For a moment, he feels bad for the woman as he hears them go up the stairs. He always feels bad for them at first. Momma said that his heart was too kind. Hoyt called him a pansy boy, in need of toughening up. He doesnât know why he feels bad, the guests were never good people- heâd always come to learn that, but it never seems to do anything to make the twitch of guilt go away from his heart. The steps grow quieter the farther up they go- until he hears Mommaâs muffled voice and then her footsteps coming back down.
She spots him, curled into himself in that tiny, dark space and she sucks her teeth, shaking her head. âThomas Hewitt, what in the lords name are you doing there?â
He feels embarrassed all of a sudden, getting caught like this. He makes a low noise in his chest, pointing to the firewood.
âCome on and get on out of there if youâre done then, weâve got company.â She comes down the rest of the steps and makes her way towards him. When she holds out her hand he takes it, a comfort that has his heart slowing down.
 âI need you to go and grab the rest of her stuff from the car- poor girl donât got no power in her home.â She says with a shake of her head as she pulls and helps him to his feet. âSheâll be staying with us until her electricity gets put back up.â
He shakes his head, this time the noise he makes is in protest, a deep groan of anger. He didnât want to. He didnât want her in his house.
Momma frowns, crossing her arms over her chest. âNow listen here Thomas, not everyone is as lucky as we are. Sometimes we have to help those in need.â
He wants to believe her- Momma wasnât one for lying, after all- but this isnât anything new. He knew how this would end; with the woman in their bellies and her screams in his head, keeping him awake at night. She would make a mistake and then sheâd end up in the basement, begging for her life.
It was like Momma had set her up to fail, like a game that promised a prize that would never come, and Thomas didnât want to play. Not this time. He shakes his head again, his way of telling her no.
Momma and Uncle Hoyt have a lot in common, no matter how sweet and gentle Momma tried to be, her anger was almost as bad as his. He doesnât like it when she gets angry at him- everyone was always angry at him- and he can see it in her eyes, making him bend his chin against his chest as he let out a whine, glancing down at the ground. She never hit him, but she would ignore him and that hurt a lot more.
âThen you go on upstairs and tell the poor girl that sheâs got to leave. I wonât be the one to break the bad news.â Momma huffs, stomping over to the kitchen. âTell her you would rather see her freeze than offer a small kindness.â
There it is, that harshness in her voice that makes him tremble, his heart picking up its pace until he feels like he canât breathe. He shakes his head again, digging his fingers into his arm. He didnât want to have anything to do with the woman. Didnât want to be forced to deal with her later but if this is what Momma wanted, then he would do it. He would make her happy.
He lets out another noise, smaller this time and turns towards the door. Part of him is angry- angry that he wasnât allowed to be angry without being punished. Angry that sometimes it seemed like he wasnât allowed to have a say when it came to things. He felt as if momma sometimes liked to hurt him on purpose- pushing and pushing until he snapped.
As soon as the thought crosses his mind, he feels the guilt settle in his stomach, hot and suffocating. Momma wasnât like the bad people. She wouldnât hurt him. Sometimes he just made her so angry- he knew that. He knew that he was difficult and stubborn and sometimes she got tired of dealing with him.
It wouldnât be long before the woman disappeared anyways- Hoyt will see her at supper and heâd take her upstairs. The screaming will start, and everyone will act like they couldnât hear it; Momma would knit, and Monty would turn the volume on the TV up until it was too much. Heâd end up sleeping in the basement again, picking at his skin until it was raw and bleeding- the crying twisting his stomach and threatening to swallow him whole.
He just had to wait until then. He would be good until then.
The trunk of the car was left open for him, and he finds the womanâs things waiting for him. Itâs not much- a simple backpack, filled with so many things that it ballooned uncomfortably. He grabs it, grunting at the fact that it was heavier than he thought, and slams the trunk close. The car shakes and squeaks at his aggression as he carries the bag inside. He doesnât like the fact that heâs touching the strangerâs things.
Heâs dirty- his fingers staining the bag- but heâs also dirty inside. Rotten from the anger, the bad heâs done. The bad he was going to do. He can feel himself soiling the items inside- turning them just as dirty as him as he walks into the kitchen and sets the bag down on the floor. Momma had taken the firewood he had left and put away the mat. He could feel the warmth of the fire even from where he stood across the oven- filling the room with the scent of smoke. He grunts, wanting Momma to turn around and see that he had done what she asked. He wanted her to smile at him- to ease the way his heart still hammered in frustration.
She turns, but the softness in her eyes isnât directed at him- she barely looks at him and his heart sinks further down into his stomach, tension building in the back of his neck. He can hear her footsteps now- the creaking of the staircase as she came downstairs. Heâs standing in front of a wall, the staircase on the other side. For now, he was hidden- but it wouldnât be long until she stepped into the kitchen, and he couldnât hide anymore.
âWeâre in here dear,â Momma calls out to her. âTommy hereâs got your bag for you.â
He sees her for the first time out of the corner of his eye- spotting her before she spots him, her eyes on Momma. Sheâs short- shorter than momma by a bit, and clean and well dressed. Her sweater is thick and colorful, the cuffs of her sleeves neatly folded against her wrists. Something there catches the soft yellow light of the kitchen- a thin golden bracelet halfway hidden beneath the fabric. Her jeans look like theyâve been around for a long time- a different shade of fabric stitched into one of the knees. Her boots are old and worn out, reminding him of his own.
He doesnât like this. He doesnât like this feeling that runs through him as he inspects her.
âI really like your house!â she says- voice light and full of excitement that made his mood worsen. âIts-â whatever she was about to say dies in her throat as she turns her head to the left and spots him for the first time.
He doesnât let her look at his face- turning his head to the side as he folds into himself, chin against chest. He doesnât like this- doesnât like that she stares at him without saying anything. He can feel her eyes on him- inspecting him- an animal on display. His chest rises and falls painfully, his breathing hard and loud in the silence. He can feel his hands twitch- his thumb nail grazing along the length of his finger.
âThis is my son,â Mommaâs voice is tight as she talks. âTommy this here is our guest. Donât you want to say hello?â
He shakes his head, his hands trembling. Something wet lands inside the sink and he startles. He hears Momma suck her teeth and he can see her in his mind- shaking her head like she does whenever he does something she doesnât like.
He doesnât like this. Doesnât like that Momma is getting mad at him, that the woman still stands there, watching him tremble in fear. He could already hear it- her laughing as she called him an idiot. They always called him something. They always laughed at him.
âItâs okay,â her voice shakes a bit as she breaks the silence, and she coughs and clears her voice. âI, um, Iâm a little shy myself so I know how hard it can be sometimes.â She speaks slowly, her voice almost a low whisper. She tells him her name. Tells him that itâs nice to meet him.
He doesnât say anything- not that he can, heâs never spoken a single word- but he nods his head, his eyes quickly glancing over at her. Sheâs still looking at him and his heart almost beats through his ribs. He expects her to be looking at him like they always look at him- filled with disgust and hatred, looking for any excuse to leave, to get as far away as possible from him- but he doesnât find that in her face.
He finds her mouth twisted downwards and her eyebrows pushed together just a tiny little bit, her eyes gentle and wide. She looked at him as if he was a dog out by the side of the road on a hot summer afternoon refusing help and she had been chasing him with a bowl of water.
She looks at him like there was nothing scary about him. Like he was a man, dirty from a long day at work and not a freak- poor and disfigured- a monster. He had never seen that look from anyone who didnât live in this house, and it scared him. It terrified him that someone would decide to look at him like that.
But as soon as he met her eyes she looked away, towards Momma- a smile in her voice.
âWhat are we making for dinner?â she asks, stepping farther into the kitchen and pushing her sleeves up towards her elbows- ready for whatever Momma tells her to do.
The tension disappears just like that, Momma laughing lightly as she places her hand on the womanâs back and pulls her close. âYouâre such a darling, helping me out like this. How about you start getting out the pots and pans? Theyâre over there by the pantry.â She pointed to the cupboards by the fridge and the woman nodded and went straight towards them.
With her back to them- Momma turned and looked at him finally. He could still feel his heart hammering away at his chest, but this was more manageable. He was still waiting for the names to come, for the screaming and the disgust to appear in her eyes. Sometimes when Momma was around people hid it a bit better, but he knew that it wouldnât be long until they couldnât hide it anymore.
He expects Momma to still be mad at him- blue eyes dark with anger- but instead she sighs and puts her hand on his shoulder, a silent apology that has his muscles relaxing. The woman pays them no mind- bending down to inspect the cupboard down there.
âGo on and take her bag up to her room and get yourself cleaned up, okay?â She tugs on the collar of his shirt before fixing his hair out of his face. Itâs damp from his sweat, but she doesnât flinch. âSheâs a good girl- try to handle her with care, alright?â Her voice is a low whisper- something the woman wasnât supposed to hear. It unsettles him as he nods along with Momma- not quite understanding what she meant. He doesnât know if heâs supposed to nod along with her or shake his head, but Momma doesn't wait for an answer, patting him on the cheek before she turns her head and calls out to the woman.
âHoney, Tommy is going to take your bag up to your room- is that alright?â
The woman rises from the ground, two pots neatly stacked in each other in her hands. âYes,â she says softly- her eyes meeting his. âThank you, Tommy.â
She smiles at him shyly and his heart begins to hammer against his ribs again. He feels his skin begin to burn- his flesh raw and exposed to her. Even underneath his mask he can feel himself heating up as he looks away, scrambling to grab the bag.
He needed to get away from her- from Momma and her words that he couldnât understand. He felt like he couldnât breathe with her here. He stumbles up the steps- feet so heavy against the wood that he swears he can feel the house tremble underneath him.
Momma gave her the room across his- the empty one where she liked to keep the extra bed sheets and towels. But itâs cleaner now as he turns the knob and goes inside, the curtains pulled open to let in the bit of light that still shone from outside- the sun close to setting. The piles of blankets that were on the bed are gone- the sheets neatly tucked into the space between the mattress and the boxspring. Thereâs a jacket thrown on top- red and faded, the cuffs ripped up on one arm.
He sits the bag right next to it- on the floor, wiping his hands on his jeans. It topples over and he lets out a grunt- fixing it so it sat upright again. He decided that he would stay up here until Momma called him for supper. He wouldnât go down to the basement while the woman was here- he was worried that she would be stupid enough to follow him down there. That would be the end of her. Blood and flesh and sinew torn from her bones for them to feast on.
Heâs careful when heâs leaving the room- closing the door gently so that it doesnât slam before he hurries off into his own- locking the door behind himself.
Here itâs dark, his windows covered in greased up newspapers. He didnât like it when it got too bright- when the sun shone through and reminded him of the mess around him. His room is small and cramped and full of things that he had hauled up from the furnace room so that he wasnât stuck going up and down all the time. Uncle Monty said that he sounded like a âgoddamned bulldozer,â stomping around the house when he was trying to sleep. So, it was better this way- even though sometimes he got irritated that there were too many things. But it meant not being bothersome, so he tried not to mind much.
He checks the door again- making sure that he had really locked it, pulling and twisting at the doorknob just to be safe. He knew that no one would come up here and go into his room- Monty was stuck on the first floor, Momma was with the girl in the kitchen preparing supper and Uncle Hoyt wasnât home yet. But he was always a little paranoid, just the tiniest bit afraid that someone would knock down his door and see everything about him that he had tried so hard to hide. Not even Momma was allowed in here. This was his- the only place where he could hide from everyone, where he didnât have to worry about anyone disturbing him.
He takes his mask off and itâs not quite the relief he was expecting- the leather inside has gone stiff, his face raw and tender and aching from all the sweat and dirt that had managed to get in. He can feel it as he runs his fingers across his face, a cut on the corner of his lips that wasnât there last time. It blends into the sores and scarred tissue already there, his skin long ruined. It shouldnât bother him- but as he opens his mouth and feels the skin stretch and crack, a drop of blood welling up and rolling down his chin- he gets upset, grunting in frustration. He had wanted to clean the mask and add some petroleum to try and soften it up so it wouldnât bite at his skin anymore- pinching and scratching and making the pain worse. It would have been something to do, something to keep him busy and distracted until he had to face the inevitable, but now it was something that he no longer wanted to do. Why would he? What would it change?
It was never this bad- but ever since his nose began to fall away, it only ever seemed to get worse- no matter what he did or how hard he pleaded for it to just stop and go away- nothing ever changed. There was no one there to listen to his pleas.
With a low groan of frustration, he tears his hand from his face, wiping the blood on the front of his shirt. He hates himself. Hates everything about himself. Momma liked to say that the bad people were liars, that people who were hurting only ever knew how to hurt others- but he knew that wasnât true. He was a monster. He saw it, looking back at him in the mirror- wild and ugly and evil, everything that he did not want to be. He hated taking his mask off- hated knowing that the man that existed underneath it was the same man that he was trying to escape from.
Coming here was a mistake. He should have stayed downstairs, should have gone out back to the barn- there he would have found something, anything, to do.
He takes a breath like Momma showed him, trying to push the anger away- down, down, down, until he couldnât feel it slithering through his veins and pounding in the back of his head. He just had to focus on something else-he liked it when he had chores, things to do that kept him busy and away from the bad thoughts. He takes another deep breath through his mouth- dirt and salt on his lips as he picks up the mask and tries to clean it off on his clothing. It does nothing but lift the dust off into the air as he places it on his face, tightening it too much across his head, leather digging into tender skin. He would take a bath, change his clothes, then sit in bed and wait. Uncle Hoyt would come an hour after the sun disappeared and then he would have to go downstairs. He didnât want to go downstairs.
He didnât want to feel the bad feelings anymore. The fear, the anger. The woman would look at him and his throat would tighten, and his heart would beat painfully. He hadnât liked that feeling- trapped in his own skin, unable to get away. Yet at the same time, he wanted her to look at him. No one ever looked at him.
He could still feel her eyes- soft and warm on his skin, simultaneously calming and worsening his anger. He was half embarrassed- covered in dirt and sweat stains, his clothing old and faded- Did she think that he was disgusting? He was always messy in everything that he did- always having to teach himself how to do things. Filth had never been a stranger. Had never bothered him. But he finds himself wanting to wash the grime and sweat from himself- even if he was just going to put the same clothes back on.
His stomach growls, empty and needy as he unlocks the door and roughly pushes it open- he finds the woman outside of it.
The door swings open, the gust of wind pushing her hair around as the door barely manages to miss her. Sheâs looking up at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly open- her arms up by her chest. It scares him, seeing her there and he makes a messy, garbled noise of surprise.
âSorry!â she speaks fast, her words all pushed together. âI was just trying to find the bathroom!â
He feels his heart beating in his throat, muscles tense and solid as he stares down at her. Sheâs so much shorter than he thought- he could reach out and crush her throat in his hand and it wouldnât take much force to do so. Heâs almost tempted to, his fingers twitching at his sides. Momma would get mad at him when he dragged her body downstairs- but she would forget eventually.
âIâm in your way- I,â she takes a step back, her eyes finally releasing his. âIâm sorry, Iâm just-â
He grunts. Low and short- his way of telling her to stop talking. Nothing she says is making any sense to him and the sound of her voice makes his heart hammer at his chest. Thunderous and loud and painful. It scares him how easily she does that to him. Such a small thing like her, carelessly walking into a house where God was nowhere to be found without a single ounce of caution. He could take her to his room, and no one would hear her scream. He could scare her more than she scared him.
She squirms in the silence like a rat stuck in a trap. She tugs at her sleeve, at her collar- his breathing loud as he watches her- watches her chest rise and fall with every breath, her eyes on the space between them.
 Another grunt and she startles backwards, looking up at him. This time, when her eyes meet his own, he doesnât cower even though his body tenses and he can already feel her pulse beneath his hand.
 His body is stiff as he steps out of his room and moves out of the way of the door- he has to turn his back to her and for a split-second, panic runs cold and fast through his veins as he remembers the woman who had stabbed him. The door slams close as he turns around quickly, eyes wide and wild as he looks down at her hands.
He expects to see a knife pointed at him- the scar on his shoulder aching from the memory of being sliced apart, the pain still there even after all the months that have passed since. He hadnât done anything to deserve that pain- the woman and her friends had attacked first, had tried to hurt his family. Uncle Hoyt had told him, so had Momma with tears in her eyes and blood splatters on her dress. They were bad people who wanted to do bad things to them, and it was his responsibility to protect them- to keep them safe. It hadnât mattered that his hands shook so hard with fear, and he could taste vomit at the back of his throat, vile and burning, he had to protect them. They were all that he had. He couldnât- wouldnât- lose them.
He was panting as he searched the woman and finds nothing in her hands, her eyes widening as she takes another step away from him.
 Was she scared?
Did she finally see it? The evil that radiated off of him that others seemed to see- always scared of getting too close to him- He was a disease on this town. A burden. Did he finally scare her?
Would she scream?
Was she going to hurt him- just like everyone else? Drive a knife into his flesh- a pain that would only last for so long before it faded into a memory that he refused to think of. A pain that wouldnât be so bad compared to the shame that churned his stomach whenever a stranger screamed when they saw him.
He waited- teeth clamped together as he stared her down in the heavy silence.
He watched as her lips part, lower lip trembling slightly. If she screamed, he would hurt her before she could hurt him. If she screamed, she would be nothing but a pile of bones, tossed into the fire by the time the sun rose tomorrow.
Scream, he thought, fingers twitching at his sides. Scream already and let this end already.
âYouâre scared of me, arenât you?â she whispers and her voice trembles even as she keeps talking. âI can tell- youâre looking at me like I just pulled out a gun on you or something.â She lifts her hands towards him and moves them back and forth, as if she was showing him that he had nothing to worry about. âBut my hands are empty-â
She lifts her hands, palms facing him, and wiggles her fingers. âIf it makes you feel better, apart from a kitchen knife I donât think Iâve ever held a weapon.â She smiles oddly at him- as if she wasnât sure how to do so, her eyes still wide and unblinking. As if she was worried that he would lunge at her at any second.
He doesnât like how his body seems to let go of its worries and fears so fast, his shoulders drooping and his heartbeat slowing down until itâs no longer pounding against his ears as the ringing slowly starts to disappear. He unclenches his teeth, the pain still lingering in his jaw and neck, and suddenly, heâs no longer thinking of hurting the woman- of how easy he would have snapped her neck. He still could, part of him even ached and begged for him to do it. To get it over with.
But he doesnât listen to that part of him that never truly seemed to go away- always begging for blood, for a voice that would finally be heard. Heâs staring at her hands instead, focusing on the tips of her fingers that are flushed pink. He notices the birthmark on her left middle finger- a tiny dot right underneath the crease of her knuckle. He notices all the tiny little lines that make up her palms and the way her thumb trembles lightly.
He did not like her.
He did not like the way something as simple as her hands was enough to draw his attention- his eyes seeking out the tiny little patterns between her fingers. He did not like how her voice could soothe him so easily when he wanted nothing but to crush her- to take her, to taste her flesh on his tongue and her blood on his lips.
He did not like how she called out to him as he just stared at her- stared through her, voice gentle with his name. It wasnât the same as when Momma said it though. This felt like a spell, a bad omen- Satanâs own voice whispering temptation in his ear. Sweet and gentle and unfamiliar.
She made him feel the same way he had felt that one night he had snuck upstairs to watch Uncle Hoyt and his new friend. He had pushed the door open just enough so that he could see but still stay hidden from the light. He hadnât made a single noise as he watched Hoyt undo his pants and pull the womanâs legs apart. He hadnât been able to see much from his hiding place, but what he heard had sent a shock of electricity through his body- blood boiling with need as he listened to the crying and the begging and the sound of something slick being hit over and over again. His stomach churned the same it had that night- tight and hot and restless for something that he could not give it.
He lets out a whine- deep and guttural and full of frustration. Go away, he wants to yell at her. Go away before you ruin everything.
âTommyâŚ?â she asks again, not understanding his plea.
He whines again and it takes him a second to realize that heâs scratching at his arm- digging his fingers into the old scars there and agitating the skin. It hurts. But that pain is familiar and calming and helps him focus on something other than the panic rising in his throat.
She was messing it all up.
 Itâs supposed to just be the four of them- Momma, Hoyt, Monty and him. Itâs always been just the four of them. There wasnât enough space here for her. She was too much of a change to get used to- too loud, too much. Even if he went and hid in the basement until Momma got tired of her, he knew that he would still be able to feel her through the walls, a choking weight in the air that would only poison him until he forgot what it was like to be ignored and cautious even in his own home. Heâd be able to hear her- hear her laugh, her steps, the tiny little noises she would come to make the more time went on. She would fill this house with her until she soaked the walls and filled in the foundation. Until everyone forgot that she had a stranger at one point- a spontaneous good dead in all the bad they dealt in.
And even then- what would stop Hoyt from taking her to the room where almost all of the women ended up in? From the emptiness of their bellies that might make them remember that she wasnât one of them- that she was the answer to their starvation?
He's sinking his nails in harder- the thin skin underneath breaks and he itches at the spot as if there was something alive and buzzing under the flesh. He doesnât feel the pain as the blood begins to gather underneath his dirty nails. He can see it, even in the dim light- but he canât feel it. Canât stop. He digs and digs and digs, hoping for the thoughts to stop- for the voices to stop telling him that he had to kill her. That if he didnât, he had to make sure that she never left- that this house swallowed her whole and kept her from running, from leaving them. Leaving him. If she tried to run, he could keep her in the furnace room; could tie her up and warn her that if she wasnât good, she wouldnât be able to stay.
He could be good to her. He would learn if he had to, would ask Momma to teach him to be gentle and kind. He would not make her angry, would not make her cry or scare her away as long as she listened to him. As long as she stayed with him.
Heâs lost, stuck in the farthest corner of his mind, in a future that would stop existing if he simply reached out and touched her. All he had to do was cover her face with his hand, she would be too surprised to fight him off when he pressed her against the wall and kept her there-the weight of him against her back. He could already feel her as she squirmed against him- her body unable to stand still as her lungs began to burn. He could already feel her warmth through his clothes, feel the way his heart would race as she sank her fingers into his skin, drawing blood from fear and desperation. His fear would seep into her flesh, make her lash out more. Her pain would become his and they would be inseparable in that moment.
 Itâs when he feels her- fingers cold and desperate as she prods and pulls at his arms, forcing them apart that he returns to reality- to the dimly lit hall, the heat of the fireplace already seeping through the cracks in the foundation. He can feel the way her arms tremble, her fingertips burning holes into his skin.
The womanâs eyes are wild when he looks at her, all wet and round- something in them, in the way she looks at him, makes his heart fill with lead- knocking against his ribs painfully.
âItâs okay!â she says, her voice panicked as she keeps repeating it over and over again, almost as if sheâs trying to convince herself- or maybe she thinks that if she says it enough times itâd become true.
âItâs okay, youâre okay,â she repeats, her eyes on his as she pulls his arms towards her. âWe just have to get this cleaned up and itâll be okay.â
He doesnât budge when she tries to pull him towards the staircase- instead, he watches as she stumbles over her own feet, her hands sliding down his arms.
âWe need to get this clean,â sheâs pleading now, tugging at him to get him to move. âItâs going to get infected if we donât and thereâs no doctor in town anymore-â the more she talks, the more hysterical she begins to sound, her voice growing higher. âI donât know where the bathroom is, but we can go down to the kitchen, Luda M-â
He doesnât let her finish, easily pulling his uninjured arm free from her. He didnât want Momma to know. To see the mess that he made of himself. She would yell at him if he was lucky- tell him that he was sick in the head, hurting himself like a damn fool again. Â But he knew that Momma wouldnât be kind like that- she would take one look at him, dripping blood on the floor and she would blame the woman for his pain.
He could already hear her yelling, the shrill sound bouncing through his head. Momma wouldnât care to listen, to see anything other than what she wanted. Momma was like that- kind and sweet and quiet until someone was stupid enough to go after the family. He was like her in a way, protective of them all. He liked to think that he got it from her- that he couldnât possibly be bad when Mommaâs blood ran through him, sweet and caring.
He couldnât let Momma find out. Not now- not when he had decided that the woman standing in front of him was worth more to him alive than chopped up into pieces that would fit into the deep freezer.
 With a grunt that shuts the woman up from her rambling, he grabs her arm. Sheâs soft and small under his touch- her sweater itching at his palm as he begins to pull her deeper into the hallway, into the darkness. Away from Momma. Away from a future he wanted no part in.
âNo, Tommy we have to go downstairs. I donât know what to do.â Her voice is shaky as she takes a couple steps forward before planting her feet and refusing to keep going. âYour mom might me better at this than me, please.â She pleads even as she begins to walk again when he refuses to stop.
He tries to tell her that Momma couldnât find out. That if she did then he wouldnât be able to protect her- to keep her safe. Momma would tell him to get rid of her and he always did what Momma wanted, even if sometimes he didnât want to.
He loves Momma. Loves her more than Uncle Hoyt or Monty. He loves her more than anything or anyone- even himself. He could suffer through any pain as long as Momma was with him- as long as she was happy with him.
He tries to tell her that he knows exactly what heâs doing, but all his words come out as a garbled mess of a groan, the muscles in his throat too weak to form any actual words. It frustrates him- hearing himself talk in a way that no one would ever understand.
He lets out a low howl, that frustration growing when she stops walking again. He has to be careful not to hurt her- he didnât want to accidentally pull her arm too hard if she was going to make this a habit. He just needed to get her to the bathroom. She had to wash off the blood on her hands before she went back downstairs. He could take care of his injuries himself- Momma had taught him how to clean and bandage cuts and bruises. Though he wasnât concerned with the open wound dripping blood down his arm.
Right now, he needed to get the woman to understand that Momma couldnât find out about this. That if she went down those steps, stained with his blood, then there was nothing he could do to keep Momma from lashing out. Facing her, he points to himself- finger beating against his chest twice before he points at her.
Heâs watching her- his eyes on her as she watches him repeat the action two more times. Her face is flushed, her eyebrows pushed together, and he begins to worry that sheâs not understanding him, that now that heâs let go of her, she was going to be stupid and try to push him back towards the stairs.
Letting out a small whimper, he grabs at her wrist. Sheâs pliant under his touch- her skin cool and soft. Touching her reminds him of the Cattle fences that were used back when the Slaughterhouse had been open. He had touched one by accident, not fully understanding why they had so many warnings signs- and just like back then, something hot and quick ran through him. Back then, the muscles in his fingers and arms had tensed and burned, taking away all his strength. But touching her, feeling the way his scarred thumb slid against the thin skin on her wrist- felt like a shockwave of warmth had run through him- intense and disorienting and addictive.
It scared him, but he didnât let go of her even though his brain was yelling at him to stop touching her. He couldnât. He had to keep her safe. Slowly, he began to raise her hand towards him, his mouth opening as he made a noise from the bottom of his throat.
He looked at her face as he pressed the back of her hand against his chest. She was already staring at him, her lips twisted into a frown. He couldnât look into her eyes for too long, something in him ached when he did, so he kept his eyes on her mouth as he tapped her hand against his chest. That same warmth that was spreading through his arm poisoned his chest. He could feel it in his throat, in the depth of his belly- It knocked around in his head until he was dizzy.
For a moment, with her hand on him and his eyes still glued to her lips, he forgets about the bad people who called him all those bad words. He forgets all of the evil that heâs done, all the screams that haunt him, all the blood that he can never wash off.
He finds the confidence to raise his eyes to her own and part of him is scared that in them he would find disgust at having to touch something like him. A smaller, quieter, part wonders if she feels it too- the electricity that flows out of her and through him. He wants her to tell him that she feels him in her- that heâs also warm and electric through her veins. He wants her to tell him that a real monster wouldnât feel the way he did- that if he really was a monster, the softness in her eyes wouldnât be affecting him so much.
Dropping his eyes, he taps his chest with her hand twice before pointing it towards him. He does it one more time before he lets go of her. He expects her to pull her hand away, but instead she lets it linger on his shirt, the dirt and stains not bothering her. He wonders if she can feel the way his heart knocks against his ribs.
âYou want me to follow you?â her voice cracks a bit as she takes her hand away.
He nods, grunting as he motions to a door off to the side behind him before he lifts his bloodied arm and runs his hand over the scratches- theyâve stopped bleeding already, his arm a mess of blood stains and dirt. Pointing behind here, towards the staircase he shakes his head, bringing his hand back towards his arm and covering the mess he made.
She doesnât say anything as she tries to piece everything together- her face twisting into itself as she thinks. He repeats the movement, groaning when he points at the staircase and once more when he covers the cuts. âNot safe,â he tries to tell her, âTake care of it here.â
Realization makes her eyes brighten, her features smoothing out. âYou donât want Luda Mae to find out?â
Itâs not exactly what he was trying to say but he lets it be, seeing as it was close enough. She could have thought that he wanted her to go down and grab Momma- and he was worried that with how small she was she would take off running before he could stop her. In trying to help she would run straight into her end.
The thought made his stomach drop- a sudden chill rocking through him.
âTommy- I donât know if I can do anything about thatâŚâ she pauses, and he watches as she reaches for him, taking his arm in both of her hands. Her touch burns him again, and this time he canât stop the small whine of delight from escaping his lips. Her mouth twists down as she inspects his arm- and he tenses, waiting for her to start yelling at him, for the bad names to come. But they donât- she stays silent, her eyes glued to his arm.
The damage isnât bad- compared to the collection of scars that line both of his arms, this was nothing. He had scratched a small hole in his forearm- breaking the skin and tearing apart the bit of muscle and fat there. He was lucky that he hadnât hit anything vital- that he had stopped when he did.
When he was younger, he had taken to cutting- tearing flesh from his body and slicing himself open as a punishment for his mistakes, for his bad thoughts. He had done a good job of keeping it from Momma until the night he had cut too deep, and the blood wouldnât stop. He had ran to her, howling in fear- bloody arm pressed against his chest. She had made Uncle Monty hold him down while she stitched him together, only a glass of whiskey to keep the pain away. She had yelled at him the entire time-first with tears in her eyes then when they had dried up and she had finished sewing his skin together- she had taken the belt and beaten him raw. When she got tired of beating him, she had told him that this was all Satanâs fault- that she had no choice but to beat the devil out of him. God was gonna soothe his pain, his fears, his anguish. He would see, Momma liked to say. She had kissed him on the forehead, and he swore he had seen the devil on her shoulder, laughing at him.
The pain hadnât convinced him to stop- he simply learned how to hide it better, how to keep things clean, how to stitch himself together on those nights that he fantasized about finding peace in death. He learned where to cut and how deep to dig- and eventually, Momma made herself forget it ever happened at all. Sometimes, he thought that she was afraid of God- of making him angry, of him turning his back on her. Itâs why he didnât tell her that every once in a while, he could feel the devil itself pumping through his veins. Taunting him.
The woman gently turns his arm, and he pulls himself from the memories, watching as her fingers caress his skin. Sheâs too trusting- doesnât she see the danger that sheâs in? How easily he could overpower her? This was a Godless house, no matter what Momma and Hoyt thought- he knew the truth. He knew that they were all rotten, inside and out. She would be ruined by them all if she stayed. He would ruin her with his sins-but his guilt wasnât strong enough to stop his desires.
âIt looks a lot worse than it is, doesnât it?â she asks him, but he doesnât answer- too busy watching the way she touches him- her touch making his breath deepen.
He likes the way she doesnât mind that his blood is on her hands- twisted into the tiny cracks of her bracelet. Sheâs careful and slow as she traces the tip of her index finger above the crater he had created in his flesh. Heâs almost tempted to push her hand down- to feel her flesh against the inside of his own, to have her hurt him before he could hurt her- but she moves her hand away before he can make up his mind.
âOkayâŚâ she sighs, not letting go of him. âShow me what to do.â
He grunts in satisfaction, the weight of Momma finding out and the woman being punished lifting from his shoulders. Slowly, he turns the arm she cradled in her hands so that he was grabbing her instead- his hand swallowing hers.
He tries not to think about it too much as he tugs gently and finds no resistance in her steps. He almost smiles- lip twitching against the leather on his face as he leads her to the bathroom. Inside him, the devil starts to dance in glee.
The room is cold as he pushes open the door and pulls her inside before he follows. He can feel the cold seep into his thin shirt, see it with every exhale when he turns on the light and shuts the door, dropping the womanâs hand. She shivers and he wants to know if itâs from the cold or the fact that heâs no longer touching her.
The light flickers and dies for a couple seconds, leaving them in darkness before it turns back on- low and yellow like all the others in the house. It makes the womanâs skin look sickly- washing her out as she blinks and tries to get used to the light.
âWe have to clean it,â sheâs already walking around him, towards the sink. Itâs a small one, too low for him to reach without having to bend his knees uncomfortably. Maybe thatâs why she pauses mid-sentence- was she trying to picture him, hunched over as he scrubbed the dirt and blood and sweat from his arms?
The thought of her thinking about him- caring about him- splits him in two, a feeling that heâs never experienced before.
âWhere are the towels?â she asks, turning around to face him. âIf we lay some down on the floor it should keep the mess down a bit, right?â
He doesnât tell her that itâs not a good idea- that a pile of soaking towels would raise questions that need to stay buried instead. So, he shakes his head, already closing the small distance between them.
The bathroom is small- all of them are. The tiles on the walls are a faded green color, some of them cracked- some of them are separated by mold- the caulk so old and weathered by age and neglect. He hopes that she doesnât see them- his blood warming in embarrassment as he tells himself that he would fix them later, before she realized that this house was falling apart right under their feet.
The toilet and sink and the bathtub are old- not quite as stained, but still the same faded shade as the tiles that surrounded them. Under the harsh yellow light, it all looked a mess. At least it wasnât like Hoytâs bathroom- with too many colors and carpet all over the floors that trapped the smell of tobacco and sweat and soap, the steam that seemed to linger and stick to the walls doing nothing to lessen the stench.
Heâs careful as he walks around her- suddenly aware of just how close they were. In here, with the door closed, being near to her seemed almost intimate in a way that he could not quite grasp.
He was used to being alone with people- usually they were screaming and begging, or already half-dead, delirious and confused from the pain and the blood loss. He was used to them thrashing and running and fighting back- hitting him with their fists, kicking him, throwing whatever they managed to get ahold of. They would always scare him when they did that- the pain eventually making him mad until he lashed out and hurt them on purpose.
They didnât seem to understand that he didnât want to make them suffer- that he was being kind- taking their lives quickly so that they didnât have to be so afraid.
He was used to the screaming, the name calling- no matter how scared or afraid he got, he always knew how it would end.
With the woman, he had touched her- she had touched him- without screaming, without her begging or flinching or trying to run away. Out in the hall there had been enough space for him if he needed to get away, but here it was just the two of them- existing in a space that no one else seemed to belong in.
It terrified him just as much as it thrilled him. It made him feel the same way as when he had to chased down someone that had slipped out of his hold- but this time his mind wasnât telling him to kill. This time, as he stood besides the woman, her eyes on him as he turned on the faucet and waited for the water to warm, something inside of him was telling him to chase her down in a completely different way- to keep her at his side.
Even if he had to chain her and train her- he did not want her to leave. He would not let her leave.
He remembers when he had first started at the Slaughterhouse, when he had been put to work with the cows- separating the babies from the mothers as soon as they were born. He would take them- carefully scooping them up in his arms, a child at the time, not knowing better, not knowing what it was that he was doing- and carry them to another part of the barn where he would drop them into cages so small that even he couldnât fit inside.
They would cry and shake, unable to stand, unable to realize what lay ahead of them. He would feed them scraps he had stolen from the feeding center- oats or barley or even handfuls of grass from outside- shoving his hand through and letting them eat from his hand. They would calm down, even though they could not stand fully- their heads hunched over and pressed against the metal. He would show them that even if they werenât going to live long- even if the world around them didnât seem to care for them- they werenât alone.
She did not have to be caged like them- though if he had to, he would keep her locked up if it meant keeping her beside him. Down in the basement where no one would hear her- where no one would disturb them, he would get her to see that he was a kind man, that he only wanted what was best for her.
She was already so much like the calves from back then- stupid and small and too trusting of him. It wouldnât be hard to break her, to convince her that it was all her fault- that there was nothing left for her outside this home.
When the water heats up- steam rising and filling his lungs- he runs his fingers under the stream. Dirt and blood stain the sink, the hot water turning his fingers pink. It hurts, but not enough for him to stop. He rubs his hands together, the water turning pink as it drains. He can feel her eyes on him as he scrubs the grains of dirt from his skin.
For some reason, it embarrasses him- having her watch him do something so mundane and ordinary. He almost swore that he could feel the warmth from her eyes on his skin- hotter than the water. It makes the simple task suddenly seem foolish, makes him feel as if this was the first time he was doing it and he wasnât sure if it was right or wrong.
With a grunt he tries to push the thoughts from his mind- cupping his hand and filling it with water before he splashes it onto his arm, onto the wound he had given himself. It makes a mess- water splashing onto his rolled sleeve and onto the floor, the sink too small to prevent the mess.
âCan I?â she says- and sheâs suddenly closer than he had thought, her body pressed against his side. He can feel her through his shirt, through the thick fabric of her sweater. He swears that he can feel the softness of her body, the beating of her heart, the blood rushing through her veins on his very skin. It makes his heart leap into his throat- the sudden touch making him want to push her head into the glass of the medicine cabinet or pull her closer- he wasnât sure which one he wanted to do most.
He stands still, body tense as she reaches for him, grabbing his arm and lifting it closer. She must have found the linen closet- an old, red washcloth in her other hand which she places underneath the running water. She hisses, pulling her hand away and opens the cold water.
âDoesnât that hurt you?â she asks- and thereâs no anger in her voice, no underlying judgement that has him tensing up, muscles rippling with dread that he had done something wrong. Momma liked to talk to him like that sometimes. She liked to ask questions that made him feel bad, that made him regret coming to her- guilty that he had bothered her. Hurt that she saw him as something bothersome.
He shakes his head, his way of telling her that no, it wasnât hurting him. If he had a voice, he would tell her that his skin is so damaged that he could barely feel it, that some days he even preferred it- he liked the way his skin turned red and pulsed in a way that was almost comfortable, soothing.
âThis will feel much better,â she holds her fingers under the water, and once itâs at a comfortable temperature she lets it run over the washcloth. âTell me if Iâm hurting you, okay?â
He nods sharply and she smiles at him- the corners of her mouth lifting. He expects her to rub the wound directly, desperate to clean it off before infection sets in. Instead, to his surprise, she wipes around the length of it- scrubbing gently at the blood matting the hair on his arm. The hand holding his arm is gentle, her fingers sinking into his soft flesh and holding him still.
He watches her- watches the concentration on her face that has her eyebrows knitted together as she wipes and rinses, repeating those two motions over and over and over again until his skin is cleaner- until the dirt is gone and thereâs nothing left to hide the many sins he carried on his skin.
She pauses- and he can almost read her mind at that moment. He can see it in the tension in her wrist, feel it in the way her fingers tremble just a fraction of a second before they dig a little deeper into his arm. The feeling of her nails scratching at him isnât painful, but it startles him just the same as if it were- a warmth growing in his chest that travels down to his belly and pools there- filling him with a different sort of sin.
He expects her to say something about the hundreds of tiny little cuts and bruises that sheâs unearthed- he can feel it hang heavy in the air- his lips tingling from anticipation. From the worry that she would open her mouth and ruin it all.
It would either be disgust or pity- and he wanted neither. The scars were his to carry- his own punishment for his terrible deeds. Uncle Hoyt always cringed and acted like he didnât see them- even though his mouth and face twisted as if he had eaten something sour. The pity always came from Momma- her hands on his as she prayed to God to take away whatever burdens he seemed to be carrying around in his heart. She wouldnât touch them- maybe out of fear, or anger, or maybe just like Uncle Hoyt, she was disgusted as well- scared that if she touched the scars, they would somehow ruin her as well.
The corners of the womanâs mouth are still twisted down when she glances up at him- her eyes too dark to read. He wonders what he looks like in her eyes- what is it that she sees in him that no one else seems to see?
He waits for her to talk- to break the tense silence thatâs choking him- but she doesnât say a word, dropping her eyes as she picks up the bar of soap thatâs been there for months. It almost slips out of her hand, and she lets go of him completely- his arm frozen in place, his body already missing hers. The tension disappears, as if nothing had ever happened, as if it had never been there to begin with. It rolls from the points of pressure that she had left behind on his flesh and up his arms. It moves in his veins, thick and syrupy- coating all of him in a feeling thatâs doesnât sit right.
Maybe he did want her to speak- to pity him after all. But the moment is gone, and he doesnât have a voice to bring it back- to tell her what he was feeling, so he lets the discomfort drown him just a bit as he watches her act like nothing wrong had happened.
She rubs the bar between her hands, underneath the stream of water and his heart sinks at the thought of her cleaning all traces of him from her skin- he wanted to coat her in all that he was- his scent, his hatred, the bitter taste in his mouth that never seemed to go away- he wanted her to have it all, to carry him even if they were apart for a split second. An extension of him- equally as fearsome.
âCome here,â she motions for him to bring his arm towards her hands, letting the bar fall into the sink. Her hands are covered in soap as she takes his arm in between them- gently scrubbing from his wrist to the inside of his elbow, where his rolled-up sleeve sat. At first, she doesnât touch the wound- and he can feel the hesitation in her fingers as she scrubs at his arm, circling around it. She scrubs at his skin, at the spaces between his fingers, taking his hand in her own and gently massaging it.
It's the first time anyone has done something like that to him- and while he canât understand why she was being so thorough when it would have been easier to just hand him the soap and let him do it, he has no intention of stopping her.
He simply watches and enjoys- his mouth twisted into the closest thing of a smile that he could manage underneath his mask.
âTell me if I hurt you, okay?â she says quietly, and it takes him a second to understand her words, his mind lost even to himself- her fingers lightly press against the cut as she speaks, drawing him back into reality. He tenses as she begins to clean it out, rubbing soapy water into it. It doesnât hurt- not with how light and slow she moves her hand, her finger dipping into the hole he had scratched open. He expects it to hurt or sting or startle him- but pain doesnât come. Instead, he groans in delight- enjoying the way her finger seems to be tearing into him, stretching his skin open. Itâs like sheâs making space for herself inside of him- forcing herself into the parts of him that held him together, sinew and muscle and blood- now poisoned with whatever sickness the woman had inflicted in his heart.
âSorry!â she says quickly, pulling her hand away from him. The once white bubbles between her fingers are now a soft shade of pink, mixed with his blood. It all disappears down the drain as she rinses her hand, drying them on the front of her jeans.
He grows frustrated at the fact that thereâs no way to tell her that she hadnât hurt him- that he wanted her to do it again. That the pain she caused him was almost addictive- sweeter than the whiskey Uncle Monty sometimes let him have whenever he was in a good enough mood to share.
The woman motions for him to rinse his arm, already cupping her hands together under the faucet and letting the cool water pool between her hands. He angles his arm awkwardly into the sink and she lets the water trickle from between her fingers over his arm slowly. He watches as she repeats the motion, rinsing his arm- itâs so trivial and boring, yet heâs in awe as she takes care of him.
Without a second thought, the woman is already devoting herself to the mundanity of life with him. He could see it as she turns the water off and tells him to wait- as if he would leave her side, as if he could do something so absolutely stupid- subjecting himself to an agony he had no intention of experiencing firsthand.
He hears the closet door open behind him, making him turn around and look at the woman as she rummages through old fitted blankets, washcloths and towels until she finds what she needs. With one hand pressed against the pile of folded towels she pulls one free, tossing it over her arm. âI donât know how long this has been here for-â as she talks, she moves onto her toes, stretching her arm out as she reaches for something on one of the top shelves.
He almost moves to help her, his body already swaying in place, eager to move, to make himself useful to the woman. But he spends too long trying to decide- her hand closing around whatever it was that she had seen earlier. She lets out a small noise of delight as she drops down to the balls of her feet, and it wracks through him, sending a shiver of warmth up his spine that spreads across his chest- tightening the muscles in his lower belly.
âExpired medicine and antibiotics are better than nothing, right?â She asks as he turns and faces him- lips curved up into a smile and he almost finds himself mimicking it- the corners of his lips twitching. He catches himself, hot embarrassment forcing his eyes to drop from her face- down to the small plastic medicine bin in her hands. It did not matter that he had his mask to hide behind, the way she looked at him made him feel as if she could somehow see through it- his face exposed for whatever ridicule and insults she would eventually throw at him.
 There are bottles of pills stacked on top of one another- the type that Momma used to give him when he was feverish. It would take his sickness as well as his hunger- leaving him too heavy to do anything but lay in bed until the heat of his body burned through the drug. There are other things as well- gauze and bandages, silver packages of pills he couldnât identify, the label worn off a long time ago- a bottle of Vaseline, faded from the years sits next to a glass jar of Vapor-Rub. Looking at it, he swears that he can smell it even with how far away from the jar he was- even though his nose hasnât worked properly for months, he feels the ghost of it wrinkle as he cringes from the offensive smell his mind reminds him of.
Momma used to slather him with it when he had first started working at the Slaughterhouse. He hadnât been used to the smell of it back then and every day he went back had been miserable. The scent of death and blood and shit had soured his stomach until he had gone and thrown up the oatmeal Momma had made for breakfast all over his worktable. All over the slab of meat he had been told to break down. He can still remember the taste of animal blood on his tongue after he had wiped his mouth- forgetting that his hands and arms and chest had been covered in chunks of offal. His boss had called him every bad word under the sun-some were words that he had never heard before, now fully engrained in his mind, tearing at his heart once Monty had told him what they meant.
When he had gone home that night, after scrubbing his station clean- the blood mixing with his waste underneath his nails, in the strands of his hair and in between the cracks of his boots, Momma had slapped him. She had been waiting for him on the porch, her face twisted down in anger, the blue of her eyes dark and cold behind her glasses.
She had called him a great big idiot- uncaring of how dirty he had been, of how hard he had silently prayed to God for the day to hurry up and end so that he could leave and go home. At one point, when the bell for Lunch had rung and he was forced to stay and catch up to everyone else- his boss throwing what Momma had packed for him in the garbage before spitting on it with a laugh- he had wanted to die, his chest burning every single time he brought the cleaver down. He had wanted to die right then and there- to stop existing all together. To be nothing but the air around him- free from the bad people, from the stares, from feeling like all that he did was somehow inherently wrong. No matter if it was an accident or not, no one ever seemed to care enough to listen to him.
Momma had gotten a call from the Slaughterhouse- telling her that because of his careless mistake he would have to be let go. Momma had told him, as she dragged him to the hose out back, that she had begged and begged and begged for them to give him a second chance. They couldnât lose his income, not with Uncle Monty getting less hours at his job and the Government cutting Uncle Hoytâs veteran checks so suddenly. They were barely making ends meet as it was- this would ruin them.
She had yelled and shouted, spraying him with cold water until he was a shivering mess, the blood no longer crusted over on his skin. He could feel the cold water pooling in his boots, making his socks stick to his toes. It hadnât even mattered to him then, his heart hammering away at his chest at the thought of never having to go back. Of not having to wake up so early to walk all the way to the other side of town in a place that he hated.
He didnât even mind when Momma had beat him, welts forming on his wet skin from the belt she kept exclusively for punishments. The pain was nothing in comparison to when Momma had told him that she had made sure that he had kept his job.
They were going to cut his pay, a little every check, until he paid off the cost of the half cow he had puked all over. But he still had a job, he was still able to help the family out- wasnât that good? Momma asked him, smiling at him like she hadnât just beat him tired.
 Momma warned him that he couldnât mess this up again. That there were no more chances after this- sending him up to his room with no dinner, his stomach already empty and rubbing against itself.
The morning after, when she had woken him up- his body sore from all the walking that he had done and the bruises forming on his back and legs- Momma had twisted open the jar of Vapor-rub for the first time, filling his room with the slightly sweet- minty smell.
She had bought it last night, right before the shop closed- with the bit of lose change she had managed to scrap together. Itâs gonna help you from making another mistake she said right before she shoved a finger full of it into his nose. It was thick, and cold, burning the inside of his nose as he moaned in pain, trying to push Momma away before she shoved more into the other nostril. She had smacked his hand away, telling him that this was for his own good. That this was only until he got used to it.
He had moaned as tears began to form, shaking his head- trying to empty his nose, the burning crawling up into his head and making his eyes water painfully. Every inhale he took through his mouth burned its way to his lungs. Momma only slapped him again- telling him that this was his fault. That he had to do this for the family.
âYouâre so selfish Thomas!â she shouted at him, holding his jaw and shoving another finger into his empty nostril. âThereâs no room for useless boys in this house, do you understand?â
He couldnât remember anything after that. His memories about that day lost to the pain he had put himself through. He remembers bits and pieces- the hunger. The burning. The anger.
He always seemed to remember the anger. Flashing through him- hot and cold, boiling his blood.
Something outside of his thoughts rattle and heâs once more standing in the bathroom, a man three times the size of the child that he had once been. Beside him, the woman had set the medicine bin on top of the toilet tank and was rummaging through it- the source of the noise that had brought him back.
Heâs tense, the muscles in his neck thick and tight. He doesnât like how he seemed to live more in his memories- constantly remembering all the things that he just wanted to forget. He didnât want to remember, to be reminded of the pain he carried.
The woman glances at him, holding a small yellow squeeze tube and a roll of self-adhesive medical tape in one hand. Their eyes meet and she smiles at him, even though he can feel the way his face is twisted down into a scowl- his eyebrows heavy over his eyes.
He doesnât mean to glare at her- to make her smile falter slightly as her eyes widen just a fraction. He could almost see himself in her eyes and he doesnât like the him that he imagines. Large and imposing- a thing that only knows how to hurt, how to cause fear. He waits for the woman to realize her mistake- to realize that she was trapped in a small room with a monster.
âGive me your arm?â she asks him, holding out her right hand. âLetâs get you all wrapped up, okay?â her smile is still small, and he can see the wariness in her eyes, but when he places his arm in her hand she doesnât flinch, she doesnât rush him- wanting to get this over with.
She pulls him towards her instead, slender fingers wrapping around his forearm as much as possible. She tugs, and he moves- lightweight in her hold.
Heâs aware of the muscles in his face- of how, even if heâs partially hidden behind his mask, his face sits. He makes himself relax- something that comes easy with the warmth of her hand on his body, easing the tension that he still carried from his memories. Her touch burned into him, filled him until he swore that he could feel her in his blood- pumping through his heart.
Her eyes donât leave his as she pulls him closer, and motions with her head for him to sit down on the toilet. âItâll be easier, that way you donât have to keep your arm in the air.â She explains, shuffling out of the way to make space for him.
Underneath his weight, the toilet squeaks and shifts as he does as told, awkwardly sitting down. Sheâs taller than him like this, his head at the same level with her chest, making him have to tilt his head back just a bit to meet her eyes.
Her smile had grown in the time he had looked away- and he canât help the heat that spreads across his face, his ears growing hot. Could she feel it? The warmth that she caused him? The uneasiness thrumming through him that had the tips of his fingers aching to touch her? To hold her like she held him?
âCan you hold this?â she asks, already dropping something into his expecting hand. It had been resting on his lap, calloused covered palm open and waiting- a beggarâs pose. The ointment and tape werenât what he had been waiting for, but he takes them, closing his thick fingers around them.
What he didnât expect was for her to lean over him with a mumbled âsorryâ, her hand falling onto his shoulder as she reached for something behind him- inside of the medicine bin.
He doesnât know what to do- his body freezing underneath hers as her neck grazes his mask covered face. It doesnât last long- maybe a fraction of a second before sheâs pulling away and dropping the hand from his shoulder, but it was enough.
Enough for him to inhale the light scent of her- woodsy and sweet and nutty- just the smallest hint of sweat underneath that. It reminded him of the baked goods Momma used to make for him on his birthday when he was small. It was comforting in the same way that it twisted his stomach with the pain of remembering something that used to make him so happy, something that had been taken from him so abruptly once Momma decided that he was too big to celebrate his birthday. Too old to be cared for.
The woman had been so close that he swore that he could almost hear the blood pounding through her veins. He had almost been tempted to turn his head and feel its pulse with his lips. To scratch her skin with his mask- the scent of her tainting it the same way it has already ruined his senses.
He could picture it- his teeth sinking into the warm and thin flesh she had so stupidly given him access to. It was almost scary- the way his mouth began to water at the thought of her blood on his tongue, raw flesh between his teeth. He wanted to fill his belly with it- to make her a part of him in a way that no one could take from him.
Would she taste as sweet as she smelled?
He swallowed down saliva, clearing the bad thoughts from his mind- scared that if he kept focusing on them, he would do something that he didnât really want to do. Â Something that he wouldnât be able to take back, no matter how hard he begged and prayed and tried to undo.
He didnât want to hurt her right now. No matter how hard his mind was telling him to do it- replaying all of the times that he could have done so. Showing him all of the ways that he still could.
He feels ashamed of his thoughts, of the temptation that he was barely keeping at bay- and finds himself unable to look at the woman as she rips open a piece of plastic, tossing it in the garbage can between the toilet and the sink. He keeps his eyes on the space between his legs, on her beat-up boots as she stands in front of him- sweet and unaware of what a horrible person he truly was. Of all that he was struggling to not do to her.
âDo you think Luda Mae is getting suspicious?â
The question startles him, reminding him of the world outside of the bathroom, outside of the woman in front of him.
âSheâs probably thinking I ran away; donât you think?â the womanâs laugh is small, feathery light. He doesnât know how to answer- not knowing how long they had been up here. There was a possibility that Momma had grown suspicious, or maybe she thought that he had snapped and taken care of her in the only way that he knew how.
Vaguely, he shakes his head. Whether itâs to disagree with her or to tell her that he wasnât sure- he letâs her decide on which one heâs trying to communicate. If Momma had been concerned, she would have come upstairs to check on her already, so he wasnât too worried. He shrugs, and her laughter fills his ears again.
âRight. If youâre not worried, then I wonât be either. I just donât want her to think that Iâve been a horrible guest- running off in the middle of helping her with dinner.â
He shakes his head again and this time its to reassure her that Momma wouldnât think that. At least he hoped that she wouldnât. The thought of Momma angry at the woman made his chest burn uncomfortably. An ache that slithered in the tight spaces between his ribs- hot and uneasy in its slickness.
âWell, whatâs done is done, lets just get your arm bandaged. I might need your help facing her again.â The woman likes to talk with a smile, heâs noticed. It was as if her mouth had no other way to rest- the corners turned up towards the heavens, towards her eyes that liked to seek him out- unafraid of what she saw, of what others liked to look away from.
He wondered if she was joking- if she was just talking in order to fill the silence. He knew people who did that- people like Hoyt and his old boss at the Slaughterhouse, who had to keep their mouths moving or they would stop existing all together. He liked to think that if he had a voice, he would be like that too- not quite as annoying, but loud enough that people were forced to look at him, to listen to what he had to say.
He would tell the woman that he would keep her safe. That he wanted to go down with her and show Momma that she had done nothing wrong. That if anyone was to blame, it was him. It was his fault that she had stayed away for so long. He would hide her away from Mommaâs anger- keep her tucked behind him- safe.
If he was being honest, he wasnât sure that he wanted her to leave just yet. They could stay here a little longer- everything behind that door non-existent. He could make believe that Momma was still at work, busy with too many customers- outsiders who were just passing by, headed for more than the meat hooks in the basement of this house. That for a bit his uncleâs Monty and Hoyt didnât exist. That the world was just for him and her.
That would be enough for him. He was almost tempted to ask God- to check and see if he was still paying attention to him after all that he had done.
The woman moves from in front of him and takes a seat on the edge of the tub, her knees rubbing against the outside of his thigh as she grabs his arm and places it on her lap. He can feel the buckle of her belt against his knuckles- his arm suddenly a solid weight as he feels the warmth that radiates from the space between her thighs.
 It crawls along his skin- up to his shoulder and through the space in his chest. It reminds him of the times that heâs stayed in one spot for too long, his limbs falling asleep. Though there was no uncomfortable pain this time- Instead it felt like a million little bugs were crawling around inside of him- a buzzing under his skin that he was unused to, but not disgusted by. It was something that maybe he could get used to.
It settles in his belly- thick and heavy and hot, stirring awake thoughts that felt too uncomfortable to focus on. Shamefully, he raises his eyes from the womanâs lap, trying to think of something other than the way her jeans clung to her thighs or how close his fingers were to the space between her legs- somehow hotter than the rest of her, the back of his hand burning pleasantly. He wanted to keep it there- to soak all of himself in her warmth until he knew nothing more.
He pushes the indecent thoughts from his mind, suddenly growing paranoid that the woman would find out what he was thinking about her. He didnât want her to think that he was disgusting. Rotten just like Uncle Hoyt, who was obsessed with playing with their food.
âIs this uncomfortable for you, Tommy?â maybe it was because the silence had gone on for too long, but the woman whispers her question- her voice only for him, distracting him slightly as she reaches for the things she had given him, plucking them from his hand before he even had a chance to register the movement- her hand too fast that he barely feels the way her fingers skim his palm.
Sheâs already twisted open the bottle of ointment by the time he shakes his head- the cap balancing on the edge of her knee. With a hum she nods- her eyes focused on her own hands even though he wants her to look at him again. He wanted her to ask him more questions- her voice tender and sweet whenever she spoke to him. He wanted her to distract him for his thoughts that liked to pull him away from her- and right now he wanted to stay right here, to not miss a single moment.
The ointment is cold against his skin- the woman squeezing a light amount right above the wound. He can feel it cleansing away all of his wickedness- her finger swiping at it until itâs in the deepest layer of his flesh, leaving nothing behind but an oily residue that coated her thumb. Without a pause she sticks a piece of gauze on top- taping it up until the gauze is well hidden under flesh colored medical tape.
He had found it in the pocket of one of the first of Uncle Hoytâs guests- setting it aside for Momma along all of the jewelry he had collected. Maybe it was for a reason that he had second guessed his decision to throw it away. Maybe that had been a sign from above that you were on your way- that God hadnât abandoned them after all.
The woman is gentle as she pats the covered wound and leans back a bit to meet his expectant eyes. What does she see in them- in him- that makes her look at him so sweetly?
âYouâre all set. Howâs it feeling? Itâs not too tight, is it?â
#texas chainsaw massacre#thomas hewitt x reader#leatherface#thomas hewitt#slasher fandom#slasher fanfiction#slashers x reader#slashers#slasher community#leatherface x reader#the texas chainsaw massacre
433 notes
¡
View notes