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aerynwrites · 5 years ago

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Misunderstanding - Agent Whiskey x Reader

Author’s Note: Idk how I feel about this one, but in my own defense I’m running on like four hours of sleep and didn’t get out of class until like 6:30 so i am running on fumes XD. Sorry for any grammatical errors, but I hope you guys enjoy! And as always feedback is greatly appreciated <3.

Requested...Yes! You are Agent Whiskey's partner. He flirts with every female except you, which is frustrating because you have a major crush on him. It is so obvious that he treats you differently that even one of your co-workers notices. You decide to request re-assignment because your stupid crush is affecting your work and making you sad. Whiskey finds out you are being reassigned. He begs you to stay, confesses his feelings, & says he was trying not to let his lusty feelings show because he respects you. (request by anon)

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Cursing, angst, fluff

/////

You sat at the large conference table in the Statesman headquarters, staring off into space as Champ gives a briefing to you and the other statesman agents. Some are there physically like Whisky, Ginger, Champ, Tequila, and yourself. While other agents, like Galahad and Eggsy two agents from the Kingsman, were attending the debriefing electronically using the glasses you all had. You were currently ignoring Champ in favor of looking at agent Whisky who sat further down the table. You had been harboring a rather large crush on the southern cowboy since you had joined the Statesman shortly after he had. So, it had been a very long few years of unrequited pining on your part. Jack Daniels, or better known as Agent Whiskey, was a well-known womanizer and flirt around the statesman headquarters. He would flirt with any woman that so much breathed or blinking in his direction. He consistently flirted with Ginger, even though she made it abundantly clear she was less than interested.

However, he did no such thing with you.

The only time he would so much as look in your direction was when you two were assigned together, which unfortunately happened to be a lot. At first you were excited to work with the well renowned agent, eager to get closer to the man you so admired. But the missions soon became a horrible ordeal for you since them were filled with nothing but small talk and professional conversations. You both would get in, get out, then Jack would immediately report to Champ the minuet you arrived back at base, leaving you in the dust. Frankly, it hurt. A lot. You tried to push your feelings aside, but seeing him flirt with every woman but you, made you feel horrible. It made your insecurities bubble to the surface a million times worse than what they were before. You constantly wondered what was wrong with you, why Jack seemed to like everyone but you, and it left you in a depressed state in the past few weeks.

You were finally drawn from your thoughts as Champ drew the meeting to a close and everyone stood to go their separate ways. Champ called both you and Jack to the front of the room as everyone gathered their things.

“Agent Whiskey, Agent Brandy, I need to speak to you for a moment if you please,” he waved he hand motioning you two forward.

You cast a quick glance towards Jack, only to see him not even look your way as you both approached your boss.

“What can we do for you sir?” you ask, your southern drawl heavy as you lean cross your arms across your chest.

“I have a new mission for the two of you,” Champ begins, handing you each a folder, “Doesn’t begin for a few days but I figure’ I’d go on ahead and give you the information now so you can be prepared.”

You felt your heart sink as the words left his mouth, another depression and tense mission with Jack. Before you could voice your objection, Jack spoke up and nodded his head towards Champ, “We will get it done boss,” he turned towards you now and gave you a curt nod, “Look forward to working with you again, Agent Brandy,” his tone is nothing but professional as he brushes past you and out the door of the conference room.

You feel your heart constrict in your chest as your eyes follow him out the door, before turning back to the folder in your hand, looking desperately for anything to ground you in this moment. Champ clears his throat and pulls your gaze to him once more.

“Is everything…good? Between you and Jack?” the use of Jacks first name tells you that Champ is truly concerned about the exchange that just happened, “I don’t think I’ve ever had that formal of an exchange with Agent Whiskey since he joined the statesman.” He looks at you seriously.

You just shrug your shoulders, “I don’t know Champ. He’s always treated me like that, nothing out of the usual here.” You reassure as best you can.

Champ just gives you a cautious nod before waving a hand, dismissing you from the conversation. You nod your head gratefully and turn to leave the room, your eyes falling on your fellow agent and close friend Ginger as she waited by the door for you. she gave you and understanding smile and followed beside you as you both walked to your quarters, which just so happened to be right next to each other.

“Thanks for waiting up Gin,”

She smiles and nods, “Of course, I wasn’t going to get ready without you.”

You look at her, brow pulled together in confusion, “Get ready for what?”

Gin rolled her eyes pushing her glasses back up her nose, “The get together tonight, remember? Champ’s opening up one of the older barrels of whiskey for the Statesman’s anniversary?” she reminds gently.

You let out a low groan running a hand down your face, “Shit. Yeah, I completely forgot, and if I’m being honest, I don’t really want to go,” you say, as you both finally approach your rooms.

“Oh, come on, (Y/N)!” she whines, “Jack’s going to be there,” she wiggles her eyebrows at you.

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the lump forming in your throat at the mention of the agent, “Yeah that’s exactly why I don’t want to go. I’m sure he’ll be all over Rosé as usual,” you mutter bitterly.

Rosé was a new female agent who had been recently enlisted to the statesman, and ever since she touched down, Whiskey had been on her like white on rice. Flirting, sweet talking her, it was infuriating and made you want to cry all at once. So yeah, you could do without seeing that.

Ginger grabbed your arm gently, looking at you pleadingly, “Please, (Y/N)? we never get to do normal fun things anymore, and you know I’ve been looking forward to this since it was announced.”

You look at her for a moment, taking in her pleading expression, and let out a sigh before opening your door, “Fine, okay. Go get your outfit and come back over here to we can get ready.”

She gives out an excited noise before scurrying off to her room, leaving you standing there, immediately regretting your decision.

* * *

Lord were you right to regret your earlier compliance to come to this party.

You were currently sat at the bar, watching as everyone was drinking and square dancing out on the floor of the warehouse. You had been nursing the same glass of Statesman Whiskey that you had gotten at the beginning of the night, silently observing everyone else. You had of course seen Jack, since he was the first face you searched for when you entered the room, and your eyes hadn’t left him the entire night. He mainly stayed at the bar a few seats down talking casually with Tequila while they both had several drinks. You saw Tequila turn around, looking for someone when his eyes landed on you and he waved you over. You gave him a tight-lipped smile and held up your hand shaking your head, a silent no thank you.

He rolled his eyes before waving you over again and you sighed, standing to your feet. If you didn’t go now, he would come over there and drag you, over. You straightened out your knee length dress and pulled your curled hair over your shoulder as you approached, casting what you hoped to be a flirty look to Jack as you approached the pair.

Tequila threw his arm over your shoulder when you got in range and gestured to Whiskey, “Jack here was just telling me about the mission Champ gave y’all,” he said, “It sounds like an interesting one!”

You cast a curious glance to Jack who, for once, was looking directly at you, eyes roaming your body slightly. You felt your heart speed up at this small action, he was actually showing the tiniest bit of interest in you for once.

“Was he now?” you say to tequila, wriggling out of his grasp to stand between the two men, “What all did you tell him Jack?”

The man in question sent you a bright smile, eyes crinkling at the action, and you could’ve fainted right then and there. Yeah…you had it bad.

“I was just tellin’ him that you’re my favorite agent to work with is all,” he said simply, “we work well together, like a well oiled machine,” there seemed to be a suggestive tone to those last words, that had your hairs standing on end.

You opened your mouth to spout a teasing response, when an all too familiar and over powerful perfume filled your nostrils as Rosé waltzed into your little circle. She made a beeline for Jack and leaned heavily into him, as he made no move to reject her advances. You felt bile rise in your throat as you watch his gaze rake hungrily over her form and his arm snake around her waist.

“Hey there handsome,” Her sickly-sweet southern drawl sounded like nails on a chalkboard to your ears.

“Well hello Rosé,” Jack greeted, leaning in to take an exaggerated sniff of her hair, “Is that a new perfume?”

You heard her nasally voice reply but you didn’t comprehend the words as you hastily set your glass down on the bar and moved to leave the now suffocating circle.

“Hey, where you goin?” tequila questioned.

You had to blink back the tears pooling in your eyes and force down the lump in your throat as you pushed past him, “I forgot I have to go…talk to Gin about something,” you said lamely, “I’ll see y’all later.” You were out of sight before any of them could protest, and you missed the regretful glance that Jack cast your way.

You ignored Gin as she tried to stop you from leaving, and pushed her arms out of your way, walking briskly into the hallway and up to Champ’s office. By now tears were streaming down your face, but you could care less. Champ had seen you at your worst to you felt no shame as you barged into his office, makeup smudged and eyes red.

“What in the hell,” Champ sighed as you burst into his office.

“I want to be reassigned,” you cut to the chase, “I can’t-“ you choked on your words as you collapsed into the chair across from his desk, “I-can’t do it anymore Champ.”

“Do what?” the man asked, exasperated at having one of his best agents in shambles in his office.

You balled your fists up in the skirt of your dress and you looked at him, “I can’t work with Whiskey anymore. I can’t be around him. My feelings have gotten in the way of me doing my job effectively, so-“ you paused an took in a deep breath, “Can I please be reassigned? I heard a slot opened up in the Kingsman branch, I could go there.”

Champ didn’t say anything for a moment before finally speaking up, “(Y/N), you’re one of my best agents,” he explained, “You’ve carved a place for yourself here, are you sure your ready to give it all up?” he asks carefully.

You nodded curtly, “If it makes the pain go away, then yes.”

Champ gave you a look of regret, one that said he wishes you wouldn’t leave, but he also seemed to understand.

So, he heaved out a sigh and pulled some papers from his desk, “I’ll make some calls to the Kingsman branch,” he said quietly, “You should be good to leave within the week.”

You gave him a small smile and stood from your seat, “Thank you Champ, it has been an honor working for you. Truly.”

Champ stands too and walks around the desk, pulling you into a firm hug, “The pleasure is all mine Agent.”

* * *

You packed the last of your clothing into the suitcase on your bed, flipping it closed and zipping it. Your transfer had been approved without hesitation. Since the whole poppy incident, the Kingsman have been severely undermanned, and they eagerly accepted the help of a senior agent. Eggsy, who you had come to know quite well since the incident, had called you to tell you how excited he was for you to be part of the team, and if made you smile a genuine smile in what feels like months. It was nice to know that at least someone was excited about your presence. When Gin had found out about your transfer she was destroyed, heavily upset her best friend was leaving, but she understood, nonetheless.

“it will give me an excuse to come to London more often,” she had said teasingly.

You had told her to come and visit as much as she wanted, welcoming the company.

A loud knock from your apartment door drew you from your thoughts and you set the suitcase on the ground, “coming!” you called, as you walked towards the door.

You assumed it was Gin, coming to see if you had forgotten anything, “Gin, I promise I didn’t forget anything, how could I with your –“ as you swung the door open, it was not Gin on the other side, but instead it was Jack, looking very upset and confused.

“Jack?” you breath, “What are you doing here?”

“Is it true?” he blurted, one hand now resting on your door frame, “Did you request reassignment to the Kingsman branch?”

You purse your lips slightly before crossing your arms over your chest, “Yes, it’s true. I’m leaving in a couple hours,” you say casually, “But I don’t see what business it is of yours.”

By now any feeling you had for the man were buried under contempt and sadness, you had hoped to leave without having to confront him.

Jack stood straighter, “Why? You can’t leave, I won’t let you.” he said firmly.

You scoff, “You ‘won’t let me’?” you question, “You have no control over what I do. And last I checked I didn’t think you’d even care that I was leaving,” you say, bitterness lacing your words.

Jack seemed taken aback, as if someone had punched him in the face, “You thought I wouldn’t care if you left?” he breathed, shock written plainly on his features.

Now it was your turn to be confused.

“Well why would you?” you ask, “you never even give me a second look. You can hardly talk to me on missions besides small talk and mission details. You don’t flirt with me; you don’t even act like I exist. And here I am pining over you like some school-girl because I fell in love with someone who won’t ever love me back,” you voice had risen several octaves by now, buried emotions finally coming to the surface, “Why don’t you just go on back to Rosé, since you two seem to be so close.” You spit.

You expected Whiskey to laugh at you, belittle you for even thinking those things, or lecture you and tell you how unreasonable you were being. What you did not expect, however, was two warm hands grabbing the sides of your face and two rough lips colliding with your own. You immediately responded to the kiss, hands resting on his shoulders momentarily before sliding up to the back of his neck. You relished in the moment, the moment that you had been imagining for so many years, that you almost whined when he pulled away.

“Wh-what the hell was that?” you gasped, your confused eyes meeting his sincere brown ones.

“The truth is,” he pauses, eyes dancing across your face before he continues, “truth is – that I’ve had feelings for you the moment you walked through those doors,” he admits, “But I not only had feelings for you, but I respected you. respected you too much to treat you the way I treat other women,” he explained.

You looked at him, and you relaxed your shoulders slightly, giving him an exasperated look, “So you’re telling me- that you felt the same about me this whole damn time,” you begin, “But you wouldn’t even look at me and basically treated me like I didn’t exist because you love me and respected me?” you reiterate his main points, trying to understand.

He sighs and looked down at his feet sheepishly, something very out of character for him, “Well it sounds stupid when you say it like that.”

You let out a chuckle and smack his shoulder playfully, “Well it was stupid, you idiot,” you give him another quick kiss, “We could’ve been doing a lot more of that if you had just treated me like everyone else,” you wink.

Whiskey gives you a wicked grin before picking you up and wrapping your legs around his waist, as he enters your apartment, closing the door behind him.

“Looks like we have a lot of catching up to do, don’t we?”

Yes, yes you did.

///

Permanent Tags: @lord-wolfgen @petalduck

#agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey #jack daniels #jack daniels x reader #kingsman #statesman

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thejamesoldier · 5 years ago

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A Single Frayed Rope

AO3 Link

Chapter 2

A/N: Hey guys! Sorry for the long gag between updates! Should have some marvel stuff updated next!

Chapter 3 - Horseshoe Overlook I

Horseshoe Overlook ~ May 1899

The tree Kieran and you are tied to feels like a cheese grater against your back.

Every time you flinch or breathe too heavily the bark chafes against you and its agony. You haven't sat or laid down since the mountain cabins and only a lady who you have learned is called Mary-Beth comes to feed Keiran and you small rips of stale bread or sips of water regularly. She does it quickly and when the least amount of people are watching, but you're grateful for it. It's the first display of genuine kindness you've been shown since...traveling. Time traveling.

Yeah you still haven't come to terms with that.

Most of the camp has come by to take stock of the two of you, some to antagonize and demean while others offer small tokens of food or coffee if you both are looking particularly pitiful that day. Some of the gang have beaten Kieran and to your horror beat you too, some have dropped food just out of your reach, tossed their still lit cigarette buds at your faces, talked to you like you were the worst scum of the earth. You had never been in a situation where nobody...cared, nobody cared what was done to you and everybody relished in your discomfort and pain. These people were cruel, the kind of cruel you read about in history books and news headlines and watched in movies. The kind of cruel you believed you'd never have to experience like your ancestors did.

"Mercy! Please!" Kieran moans to a passerby, his voice a racket in the quiet foggy morning and effectively wrenching you from your thoughts.

You try to tamper down the brittleness threatening to shatter your chest and allow your senses to distract you from your fear. The abuse has become so regular you eventually reached a point where you began trying to anticipate their cruelty, desperately trying to find a pattern to it. And in doing so you unintentionally became an expert on these people. At first you started discreetly observing how they treat each other, how each person does their chores, how they act when eating together or singing together. Then you learned each of their names and cataloged their habits, committing every little interaction and detail to memory. You have to know the enemy to defeat them, or in your case simply survive them. Apart from your rapt daily assessment of your captors, there's not much else for you to do other than suffer. Though you choose to do it silently unlike Kieran for you fear if you open your mouth god knows what will come out of it. Plus the second you allow yourself to truly indulge in your fears, is the moment you lose your ability to be present in any given situation and survive it.

The passerby Kieran is wailing to is a big heavy set man who you've guessed is the camp cook, or something like that. Pearson is what everyone calls him. He is always one of the first to wake, preparing a communal coffee pot which he sets by a fire pit that burns a couple paces in front of Kieran and your tree, and then sets to work on various chores like chopping up fresh game or tanning leather, before starting on a stew of some sort for dinner. The smells of food, actual hearty food, has been the worst torture thus far. You've shit and wet yourself more than you'd care to keep track of and it makes you wish for death more than wading through miles of hip deep snow did. You're constantly terrified your body will shut down without your consent too, rendering you unconscious and unprotected. You hadn't slept a whole week after you were first tied to the tree, and you've barely done so since. It's been about three weeks now.

Pearson doesn't even look your way, much to Kieran's disappointment, and continues on with his routine deaf and blind like everyone else is to your pain. You don't know why Kieran's trying so hard. I mean yeah you want mercy too but from the welcome you've been given, you seriously doubt begging for scraps of kindness like Kieran is will give you much favor when they do eventually decide what to do with you. You want to think it couldn't hurt to try, but with these kind of people you figure compassion is a tall order to expect of them, let alone ask of them.

"When is this gonna end!" Kieran cries to no one in particular as he sags against the tree and hangs his head. His defeat you feel in the core of your being.

"Speak! Don't cry, boy." Someone barks suddenly, making you both jump at being addressed directly as it usually foreshadows bruises and split lips.

A figure appears out of the heavy morning fog like a menacing monster from a story book. Reality soothes your strained imagination when you recognize the man as Arthur as he bends down over the fire to pour himself a cup of coffee. A strange kind of relief twists in your gut -- at least it's not Bill. Bill had yet to take up on his promise to 'break you for his own' and 'make you squeal'.

"Speak. About your gang." Arthur stands to his full height once he's done with the pot, walking lazily over to stand in front of the both of you with all the causal menace of a great predator.

Blowing gently on the hot beverage Arthur settles his weight in one hip before taking a measured sip from the steaming tin cup, his free hand adjusting his ammunition belt that hangs low on his hips. When he brings the cup away from his face and swallows with a soft hum of contentment, Kieran drops his head at the display and starts honest to god sobbing.

"I can't..." Kieran whimpers, his lungs working against the tightness in his throat.

"Boy," Arthur warns, violence coloring his eyes as he just stands in front of the both of you and sips. He knows Kieran and you are close to breaking, knows it and relishes in it.

Fucking bastard.

"Excuse me?"

Your heart jumps when you realize you had just said that out loud. Dread promptly drains all the blood from your face.

"Wanna say that again?" Arthur turns his full attention to you as Kieran heaves around tears that won't come because the both of you are too dehydrated.

Your first instinct is to cower, to submit, to survive, but there's something severe in the way Arthur makes you feel as he glares at you. A dare. A threat. And now that you've opened your mouth, the first time doing so since the mountains, you can't stop yourself from repeating with perfectly articulated diction,

"Fucking bastard."

"First time you've spoken since the mountains and that's what you choose to say? Aw that's not too smart. Not the language of a lady, is it?"

As you press your lips together your chin gives a violent quiver at the clear implication in his tone. Your eyes grow guarded and your fear swiftly resurfaces and makes itself known by twisting your gut into knots. Arthur locks you into a staring contest you can't escape from. Unfocused, directionless rage holds court in his eyes, looking like its lived there unchecked for some time -- grown rotten -- though the rest of his expression speaks to a more complex range of emotions you don't know him well enough to decode. Of all the people in the gang, Arthur you know the least about. He's a ghost. He's rarely in camp and when he is his stays are short. This makes Arthur and his actions impossible to predict. Which makes Arthur the most dangerous. What you are able to gather though besides the undercurrent of rage, is an unimaginable need to unleash said rage on anyone or anything. You refuse to be the excuse he needs so you shut up and just stare back, unsure of what you are attempting to prove or accomplish by not looking away. What you gain by facing all that rage.

"Woah, hold your horses," Comes a new voice as another monster emerges from the fog.

It's the man with curly black shoulder length hair, the one with the authority, the one that everyone seems to listen to without question. Dutch is his name. Your first impression of him pleading in that cabin in the mountains with the man you've remembered to be Hosea, contradicts the swaggering asshole he presents himself as to Kieran and you. Though he's a swaggering asshole to everyone but these people...this gang. His gang. You made sure to pick out the leaders and sort out the hierarchy first.

Dutch saunters up to stand beside Arthur followed by that horrible wretch Bill.

"It seems the cat has got our friend here's tongues." Dutch continues in a colorful drawl, "I was thinking Mr. Williamson could have a word."

'The pleasure of breakin' you for my own is gonna be so much fun.'

You violently shove away the memory of Bill's promise before it shows on your face. You pretend you don't remember the fact that they took the metal cot from the mountain cabin with them, and that Bill is probably itching to stretch you out on it and torture you for information you didn't have.

"You ready to talk boy?" Bill snarls as he gets up in Kieran's face before turning his eye on you and giving you a toothy sneer, showing off all of his yellowing teeth, "What about you? You ready to share?"

"I told you mister," Kieran all but whimpers as his eyes jump between all three men with a desperation you are currently trying to swallow. Bill swings his attention away from you, "I told all of you. I don't know nothin' okay? Th-they ain't no friends of mine. I've just been ridin' with 'em for awhile --,"

"Horseshit!" Bill interrupts with a loud curse, causing you to flinch so harshly against the tree you slice one of your raw fingers on a peeling piece of bark. Arthur almost startles because of how badly you startled. He notes the steady stream of blood dripping down into the grass from your fingers tied behind your back. His eyebrows furrow. He says nothing. "You see we heard that part so how about you tell the truth."

Bill turns to you for an answer, receives none, then turns to Dutch.

"Dutch what do you want me to do?"

"Hurt them so the next time they open their mouths, it is to tell us what is goin' on!" Dutch nearly shouts, causing you to involuntarily shut your eyes and shake as your fear gets the better of you despite your efforts to be brave. They all pick up on your fear now, blatant as it is in the wake of such a threat of violence. "Ah who am I kiddin'," Dutch lowers his voice to almost a hush, tone growing oddly intimate as he pushes his face closer and closer to yours, "O'Driscolls won't open their mouths, unless to tell a lie."

There's a beat of silence as Dutch eyes you up, then Kieran -- determining how hard it'll be to break you.

"Screw it. Let's just have some fun!" Dutch turns to Bill and scissors his fingers, "Geld him."

"Oh yeah!" Bill whoops as he bounds off to get whatever torture instrument they have ready.

Dutch turns to you then as Kieran's panic rockets alongside yours, "Arthur,"

Arthur has been quiet this whole time, so you jolt when he adjusts his weight between his feet at being called upon. He's standing closer to you than you thought.

"If you'd be so kind," Dutch says as he holds his hand up in a clear gesture for Arthur to back hand you across the face. You can't even look at Arthur, at either of them as Kieran's wails fill your ears and your heartbeat suffocates the breath in your dry swollen throat. Your eyes close again and like when you were young, you somehow hope that if you can't see what is trying to harm you, then it can't see you either.

Arthur hesitates.

He hesitates too long and something shifts in Dutch's eyes then. It's small and Arthur doesn't notice because he can't pull his gaze away from the woman shivering in front of him. What kind of a man beats a cowering helpless woman, Arthur thinks to himself.

What kind of man would ask you to do that? A tiny voice deep in his mind furthers.

Arthur can feel Dutch scowling at his hesitation, though he remains silent until Bill returns with a pair of hot iron tongs. Dutch and Bill cajole the O'Driscoll boy about losing his balls and Dutch goes on about eunuchs in Rome or something, but Arthur can't do much else but watch the woman try to breathe. He hears it wheeze a little whenever she inhales and it makes something in his gut twist uncomfortably. Bill snapping the hot tongs inches from the boy's crotch catches Arthur's attention and he finds himself whiplashing back into the present, not realizing he'd been transported from it in the first place.

"You sick bastards! What do you want from me!" The O'Driscoll cries out as he squishes himself as far back against the tree as his bindings allow.

"Well, you are going to talk," Dutch says, his bravado restored as Arthur's attention returns to the present at his words, "The only question is now, or after we got these little fellers off?"

"Okay! Okay! Listen! I know where O'Driscoll's holed up and you're right, he don't like you any more than you like him. He's at Six Point Cabin, I'll take you there! Serious, I don't like him. I mean I like him even less than I like you -- no offense."

Dutch scoffs, "None taken."

He then puts a hand on Bill's arm, and Williamson lowers the tongs.

"Okay then partner," Arthur starts, "Why don't you take a few of us up there right now."

Arthur turns to Dutch and nods, "I got this Dutch. Should be fun!"

As he moves around Bill and begins to untie the boy, Bill says, "Well what about the whore?"

Arthur's fingers slip on the knot he'd been working on. He grunts his frustration and pulls his hunting knife out, cutting clean through the ropes in one deft swipe.

Dutch hums to himself, appraising the woman with something entirely wicked gleaming in his eye.

"Do what you want with her. She might know more... personal information on Colm than the boy. Women I have found are always harder to break, so don't go easy on her."

Bill cackles at that and starts to move towards the woman and Arthur can't --

"Dutch," Arthur hears himself interject, chest tight, "Lets leave her alone for now. Brute force ain't gon' work on this one anyway, I can feel it. She seems the smart silent type."

Arthur sees something foreign swirl in Dutch's irises, something he's never seen there before -- can't identify -- which is strange because he knows Dutch better than he knows himself, but its then that Arthur realizes he'd subconsciously moved to place himself between Williamson and the woman. Shuddering breaths sound quietly from behind him and it makes him clench his teeth.

"Plus," Arthur forces out of his tight jaw, "I think Williamson should come with me to shoot up the O'Driscoll's our friend here will be leadin' us to." Arthur nods his head at Bill, "Go grab Marston and tell him he's ridin' with us."

Bill looks to Dutch,

"Go with Arthur," Dutch says, "We'll leave the other O'Driscoll here to contemplate her options."

Arthur turns then, actively choosing to ignore the subtle complexity of what just happened, as he hauls the O'Driscoll boy along threatening him the entire short way to the hitching posts.

Across camp Hosea had been watching the whole exchange. His eyebrows dig low into his gaze when he catches the undecipherable look Dutch gives Arthur's back.

The second you're left alone, you feel exposed in a way you hadn't before. With Kieran gone you find your fear has tripled. There is no one to share the horror with, no one to exchange small whispered words of comfort in the middle of the night, no one to just be there beside you. It's just you, freshly re-tied to the tree, by yourself and vulnerable. It hits you then how truly alone you are, and you realize that you literally don't know anybody. Even if you escaped or were miraculously let go, you couldn't reach out to anyone not because there's no cell phones or any means of getting in touch with someone, but because no one you know has been born yet. You are alone in the world, alone like you've never been before. You have no one.

You have no one.

The punch of devastation lands swiftly against your chest. The feeling takes your breath away and despite all your success in not showing your true feelings thus far, your face crumples and your head, suddenly much too heavy to hold up, lowers to hang. And like a button was pressed your lungs heave dry sobs past your lips. You're so distracted with your sorrow you forget to stifle your noises.

"Miss?"

Your head shoots up and a painful gasp wrenches open your cinched airways.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to startle you."

It takes your eyes a moment to settle on the tiny figure before you. The sun has journeyed over the sky some since Arthur took Kieran, so evening shadows have begun casting themselves low along the ground. The young boy Jack's shadow stretches all the way to your feet. Your heart settles some from its frantic galloping when you take in the boy's face. Curiosity holds most of the real estate on his features at the moment and you try to soothe yourself as he prepares to talk.

"I was just wonderin' if you were alright?" Jack has his hands knotted together like he knows he's doing something he shouldn't be. You figure talking to the camp prisoner fell under things his mother Abigail would firmly disapprove of.

"I'm okay Jack, go back to your mother. She'll want you near since its getting darker." You manage to say after wrestling your heartbeat and breathing back to normal.

Jack scuffs the tip of his small worn shoe against the dirt, eyes down, head cocked a little as he thinks.

"I just heard you makin' sounds I make when I'm really sad," Your heart clenches at his innocence, at the free kindness of a child, "And I just wanted to tell you that I hope you feel better."

With that Jack quickly turns and scampers away -- only to run smack into Javier who happened to be walking by.

"Woah!" Javier exclaims as he trips over the small kid and Jack tumbles to his knees with a small 'oof', "Slow down Jack,"

Jack mumbles something to Javier you can't hear (you assume its an apology), before Javier helps him to his feet and watches as Jack sprints off in the direction of his mother. Javier looks after Jack for a moment before retracing the boy's initial direction and finding his eyes landing on you. Your heart stops and you immediately lower your gaze. Besides Arthur, Javier is the hardest to get a read on, the hardest to predict. Even towards his own gang members the man keeps people on their best behavior and at a distance. You feel him deciding whether or not to come over, a few throbbing beats go by then -- thank god -- you hear him walk away towards one of the main campfires where most of the camp is collected. Everyone is currently eating dinner and you're grateful the beginnings of a song is enough to coax the man away.

As you sag against the tree you can do nothing but hope for Kieran's return...if he returns at all.

What if Arthur kills him? What if Bill or John kills him?

What if Kieran is set free or escapes and never comes back?

You're especially terrified of that. Of him choosing to leave you even though you wouldn't blame him if he did and would probably do the exact same if the situation were reversed. You know you're just being selfish and awful but you can't help it.

You have no one.

"You're free!"

Your head jerks up at the sound of a familiar voice a few hours later and the loss of tension in the ropes holding you hostage. You don't have the ability to respond as your lungs decide to freeze solid in your chest while your mind works to digest his words. You near collapse as the meaning of them finally settles.

"Wha --," You start with your eyebrows low, chest tight, and scarcely believing what you're hearing.

"Just what do you think you're doin'?" Kieran and you both jump at Arthur's booming voice as he manifests out of the murky evening shadows to loom behind Kieran.

Kieran pivots, "I-I-I thought you said I was one of you now? I th-thought --,"

"I said you's apart of us now, not her."

"But I told you she ain't an O'Driscoll! I told you she --,"

"Just because she ain't an O'Driscoll don't mean she's not a spy." Dutch boasts as he exists his tent, approaching the situation with a very unfriendly look in his eye that does not bode well for you.

You shrink back against the tree, no matter how much the action hurts your back and savagely kills your hope.

"The second you're told you're allowed to live you try settin' our prisoner free? That ain't makin' me too happy boah," Arthur grits through his teeth at Kieran who is quickly backing away from you, arms thrown up in surrender.

"That's not what I meant!" Kieran rushes to explain as you stare up at Dutch who watches you cower before him, "I didn't mean no offense! Promise! I thought --,"

"Well it don't matter what you thought! You may be travelin' with us now but you is still an O'Driscoll, you still hold no respect or position in this gang let alone have the freedom to choose whether or not to release goddamn prisoners!"

Kieran stumbles on something as he'd been backing up from a slowly advancing Arthur, and he trips and falls. He scrambles to his knees and stays there.

"Please sir I didn't mean nothin' by it! I'm sorry!"

"What is it you want Miss?" Dutch drawls as he addresses you. Arthur turns his attention towards you at Dutch's words.

"What?" You whisper, not able to manage a stronger tone.

"What is it, that you want?" Dutch repeats with diction so sharp it could cut.

You know this is probably a trick question, but you're too scared and your mind is too scattered by panic to think of anything clever.

"I want to go home." You reply in hushed devastated defeat.

"And where is home exactly?"

You pause at this, unsure of what to say.

Ah yes I'm from the future and I don't know how to get back! I've time traveled you see and have no idea where I am, what year it is, or who the fuck you people are! Also time traveling is apparently a no shoes no shirt no pants kind of service and you loose any recent memories on top of it! I don't know where I was when I traveled, if I did anything specific or was with anyone when it happened. I remember everything up until the big black space in my memory! Very confusing I know, but if you'd be so kind as to not burn me alive for witchcraft and send me on my way that'd be great!

"Where are you from?" Dutch demands again, moving closer to you and becoming more menacing as you hesitate.

"Up north mostly." Is the weak answer you end up going with.

"Where up north, mostly?" Dutch immediately furthers.

Your mind goes blank when Arthur moves closer to you, both men crowding you into a corner, pushing you back into the tree with each step towards you.

"Why won't you tell us where you are from?"

You silently apologize to your family and friends, but mostly to yourself as you finally...after all this suffering...despite your promises to fight...

Silence reigns, signaling your choice to give up. These people want to kill you, hurt you, have been wanting to finish what they started and you're done denying the inevitability of your situation. You're done.

You hear the click of the safety before you register the hollow barrel of a revolver Dutch points straight between your eyes. No reaction claims your body though, no emotion runs through your heart, no clever escape plan tries to desperately form in your mind...just emptiness and a hollowed out feeling you assume used to be your agony.

"I'll ask you one last time, where are you from?" Dutch pauses then adds, "And who do you work for? Is it the Pinkertons? You have a contract with them?"

"Who?" You find yourself breathing out on a weak exhale, unable to do anything else but stare through the barrel of the weapon aimed at you, past Dutch, and into the nothingness you would soon join.

"They say they'll pay a handsome sum if you bring us all in?!"

Your face smoothes out as Dutch becomes more impassioned. Here it comes.

"You workin' with the law?! You an agent from Blackwater?!"

"Dutch --," A new voice attempts to interrupt. The older man, Hosea, appears at Dutch's flank. His eyes alight with alarm.

"How much money they offerin' you?! They holdin' your secrets hostage?!"

You close your eyes. Any second now.

"Dutch!" Hosea yells, but Dutch remains undeterred.

"You apart of a network?! Huh?! Are there people you workin' with?! Do you have people?!"

"I..." The world crystallizes into glass around you, immortalizing the moment, "I have no one." You whisper, voice collapsing as your soul wrenches itself free with each breath, preparing to depart. "I have nothing. I am no one." In this time.

A feeling so volatile and destructive ignites in your chest then and it reminds you of dying stars. You fall to your knees.

Arthur feels violently uncomfortable as he watches the woman once again dissolve into misery, not even afraid anymore just...done. She's given up. To see someone let go like that makes Arthur cling to his desire to stay alive even more fiercely than he already does. The simple cosmic irony of giving up in a world where dying happens so easily anyway is wrong -- unnatural, it goes against everything Arthur knows.

Two graves. Ten dollars.

Arthur's chest seizes as his reality spins, no one should give up like that. But its not until Arthur sees the look on Hosea's face that the true severity of what they're doing to the woman sinks in. Arthur feels like a hole has just been punched straight through his chest, leaving a gaping gory mass of space where his heart should be as he realizes the look on Hosea's face is disgust.

Disgust.

And its aimed at Dutch.

An inhale forces itself past Arthur's lips and burns in his chest when Hosea steps in front of the woman, and slowly crouches down before her.

"Wha -- Hosea," Dutch attempts to explain, affronted and just as shocked as Arthur by the look he'd been given, "I had to get the truth out of her! You know how watched we are these days. It was for the safety of the gang! I had to do it for us!"

Arthur thinks that's a good reason, he'd do anything for the gang too even if the method didn't sit well with him and it cost him hours of sleep at night, but Hosea doesn't even bother to respond as he starts murmuring soft things to the shaking woman on the ground.

When you hear the safety click back on and Dutch smoothly holster his weapon, a surge of sensation overwhelms you. It feels like breaching the surf of a raging ocean, sound-sight-smell-touch-breath-life roaring at you from all sides. The high that comes after surviving hits you hard -- your soul resettling in your body -- accompanied by a few choice emotions; surprise in yourself is one of them, relief is the most prominent, but that disturbingly detached sort of defeat still lurks in the middle of it all.

You realize with a start that you just evolved, you were presented with an opportunity to fail -- your life literally on the line -- and you survived, even if just barely. A man, Hosea you think, is crouching in front of you, voice gentle words soft trying to coax you away from the emptiness as Dutch rounds on Kieran.

"Whats your name?" He inquires delicately, a kind of respect lining his tone that wasn't there before.

The only hard confirmation you have that you are no longer a prisoner.

Fuck him, you seethe as suddenly that void in you is lit up and replacing it -- manifesting from it -- is insurmountable wrath that burns through what's left of your reservations, fuck all of them.

Eyes a riot of chaos and emotional carnage, you lift your gaze up to Hosea. You watch him take in your expression, watch him as he realizes how dangerous it was to mistreat you. He falls silent, weathered face dropping from its genuine sympathetic plight to one of poorly masked weariness.

You say your name and its a promise, "Y/n."

Arthur knows then that if they don't make her one of them, have her truly believe she has a place in their gang, she would find a way to kill them all.

He witnesses as her will rises from the ashes of her defeat like a phoenix, sparking an invisible fuse with an unpredictable and inevitable explosion at the end of it. Her rebirth is the most magnificent, humbling, and terrifying thing he has ever witnessed. It puts him in sheer trembling awe of her, the kind of awe he gets when watching a bear fight off a pack of wolves single-handedly and win. The kind of awe that leaves him speechless, that appeals to his own unyielding will and tells him he doesn't stand a chance, not really, not if its important, not against her.

He sees the fury take hold of her, relishing in its newest host, and the twisted part of him that's sick with violence grins.

Unable, or more like unwilling, to process the swath of emotion currently attempting to suffocate him, Arthur tears his gaze away from her -- away from her fury that threatens to ignite his own, and heads straight for Sabine before getting the fuck out of camp.

Thoughts? Share them if you’d like! xxx

Chapter 4

Masterlist

#A Single Frayed Rope #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x y/n #arthur morgan x fem!reader #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #my works #my writing #thejamesoldier

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sad-sweet-cowboah · 6 years ago

Text

Pretty Little Black Dress

So this is a combined piece, from the nonny who wanted reader wearing a dress that Arthur appreciates too much, and @r0xy-w0lf who asked me to make one where reader takes Arthur to a club!

Warnings: Alcohol mention/use, cursing, suggestive themes and smut

Payday.

Your favorite word.

After being told you were given a bonus with today’s deposit, you were giddy with excitement, your mind immediately launching into a multitude of plans that you and Arthur could do to celebrate. You’d gone out to dinner last weekend, and already it seemed as if the steakhouse was getting a little stale. No good movies were out either.

And then it hit you: the bar. The one place you hadn’t taken him to yet, not knowing how far he’d go with the drinking. During the weekends it turned into a hot spot for the young adults of the town. Not a bad place to have fun and get cheap drinks. You knew Arthur wouldn’t say no.

You got home after stopping by the mall to purchase something for the both of you, walking in the door, arms laden with shopping bags.

“Arthur!” you called out in a sing-song voice.

His dirty blonde head poked out from the kitchen. “Hey Y/N, welcome home!”

You smiled at him, trotting up to place a kiss on his lips. “You wanna do something tonight?”

He blinked in slight surprise, and then noticed the bags in your arms. “Sure…what did you have in mind?”

“Remember that bar you wandered into a few weeks back?” when he nodded, you continued. “I think it’s about time you and I go to it.”

His face lit up, a grin spreading across his lips. “Great, I could definitely use a drink or two.”

“As long as you don’t go overboard,” you warned. “Remember that night in Valentine with Lenny?”

His grin turned sheepish as he held up his hands in mock surrender. “I ain’t goin’ overboard, I promise.”

“Good,” You said, and pressed one of the bags into his arms. “Now go get washed up and change into this.”

“Uh…” he fumbled with the bag to open it, glancing at the fabric folded neatly within it. “Alright, I guess.”

You smiled at him once again, heading to the bedroom to change yourself.

Fifteen minutes later, after carefully applying makeup, fixing your hair and making sure your new outfit fit just right. It was a little black dress, the fabric clung to your curves and stopped more than halfway up your thighs. The plunging neckline not shy about exposing a decent amount of cleavage. The sides had a sheer mesh pattern that ran up your hips and waist. You completed the look with a pair of stilettos that had been sitting in your closet for at least a year. You had a jean jacket on, adequately covering your upper torso for now.

You found Arthur waiting in the living room, leaning up against the wall with his arms folded, his head tilted down as if deep in thought. As you made your presence, he stood straight.

Accustomed to seeing him in just flannels and jeans or the outfit he’d come in, seeing him in such a refined appearance caused your heart to skip a beat.

He had on a nearly skin tight black t-shirt that hugged his muscles in every right way, the v-neckline dipping to expose a gratuitous amount of chest hair. He also had a jacket of his own, black with the sleeves partly rolled up. His black jeans were somewhat tight as well; showing off the curvature of his cute ass. He customized the look with his own belt and cowboy boots, which still gave it a country touch that didn’t seem too out of place. He’d done his hair as well. It’d grown a couple of inches from the swept fade he’d originally come with, but he was able to style it in a way that looked nice enough, parting it to the side in a neatly combed sweep.

He was admiring the view before him as well, his gaze slowly taking every inch of you from bottom to top. “Damn…” he murmured, a hunger reflecting in his eyes.

You smiled, cocking one hip. And he couldn’t even see the full extent of your outfit. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Mr. Morgan.”

“They ‘sposed to be this tight?” he asked, tugging at the fabrics. “Feels…kinda awkward.”

“If you drink enough, that’s not gonna bother you.” you pointed out.

He gave a half shrug, tilting his head in a way that told you he probably agreed. “So, you all ready?”

“Hell yeah,” you grinned. “Let’s go.”

Twenty minutes later, you pulled up to the familiar bar that already had multiple cars parked around it. It took you a few more moments to find a spot, parking just a block away. As the two of you walked, Arthur offered his arm and you took it, smiling at his gentlemanly action.

You were just yards away when you could hear the music blaring from within its walls, the door constantly opening and closing as people walked in and out. You passed by a couple of others standing outside for a smoke and chatter, heading into the bar.

It was certainly packed; the bar having a large crowd surrounding it with others on the dance floor, moving their bodies rhythmically to a fast paced rap song. The lights were dim, casting a golden glow across the walls.

“Huh, this ain’t much different than a saloon,” Arthur observed, having to speak up over the music. “Only the outfits and music’s different.”

You giggled a little, moving toward an empty bar table off to the side. He followed close behind, smoothly ducking between others. You shrugged off your jacket, slowly, revealing the rest of your outfit. It was priceless to see Arthur’s eyes go wide.

“What?” you feigned an innocent tone.

“That…don’t leave much to the imagination,” he responded, rubbing his scruffy chin. “Back in my time, the skirts would be floor length…”

“Ah don’t sound like an old man, Arthur!” you giggled, lightly smacking his shoulder.

He gave you look a confusion. “I didn’t realize that made me sound old, but-”

“Never mind,” you sighed, glancing back toward the bar. “I’m gonna get us drinks. What do you want?”

“Shot o’ whiskey,” he responded automatically. “Better be good.”

You nodded, stalking over slowly, making sure to put on a show for him as you walked. You could feel his eyes on you as you crossed the dance floor to the bar, squeezing through to get the attention of one of the bartenders. You ordered his shot as well as an Amaretto sour for yourself.

Moments later, you made your way back to him, drinks in hand. He only had his focus on you, not that you minded. Sliding him a full shot glass, he took it with a smile and downed it within seconds, practically licking the glass clean as he slammed it back onto the table.

“Damn, that’s good,” he rumbled. “Missed a good whiskey.”

You began to sip your drink, your hips idly swaying to a nostalgic hip-hop song that played over the speakers. You weren’t sure if Arthur could dance, let alone somehow figure out the rhythm to this music to even attempt. It didn’t stop you from moving, though. And it didn’t stop him from staring.

You wandered closer to the dance floor, keenly aware that he was right behind you. It wasn’t long until his hands found your waist, his fingers twitching as if testing the fabric itself. The image of him ripping your little piece to shreds to get to you ignited a fire deep in your core.

Ignoring it, you stepped away and continued to dance, turning to face him. He didn’t move, only watching you with the same look of hunger he gave you before. This was going to be fun; teasing him the way you did. He leaned back on the table, his attention never leaving you. The expression on his face said it all; if he could have you right now, he would.

But you wanted to have fun, get a good buzz going and dance until you were tired. And may, just maybe, let Arthur have his way with you when you got home.

You finished your drink, and took a break from dancing to buy another round. As you skirted the outside of the dance floor, you felt the sharp sting of a smack on your backside.

Jumping in surprise, you turned, half expecting to see Arthur, instead it was some random guy, sporting a toothy grin as he nearly shouted at you, “That’s some fine ass you got!”

You could smell the alcohol on his breath. He was definitely drunk, and despite the annoyance that rose within you, you were going to let it slide.

“C-care to join me and my…my buddies?” the drunk guy slurred, reaching for your arm. “We can-”

Arthur was quick, but you were quicker.

Cutting the drunken fool off, you grabbed his hand, twisting it in a way to lock his wrist in an uncomfortable position. He doubled over immediately just as Arthur stormed up, the anger on the cowboy’s face replaced by confusion and surprise to see what you’d done.

“Touch me again, and I’ll shove my foot up your ass.” You growled, keeping your grip firm.

“Ow-ow!” the drunk cried out, failing to escape your hold. “O-okay! I’m s-sorry!”

You released him, watching him stumble on his feet for a moment, grumbling profanities under his breath. Arthur shot a dirty glare at him, and you saw the fear form in those drunken eyes before he scampered off.

“Moron,” Arthur growled, shaking his head before looking at you. “You okay, darlin’?”

“Just fine.” you said evenly, letting the annoyance and slight panic you felt earlier die down.

“I didn’t know you could do that…whatever that was.” He sounded impressed.

You gave him a small smile. “I’m capable of handling myself, Arthur. Don’t think I’m a damsel in distress now.”

“Didn’t say you were,” he replied, wrapping his arms around you. “Hell, I can appreciate a lady that knows how.”

Your smile turned into a smirk, placing your arms on his shoulders as you pressed to him, giving him a tender kiss. He groaned softly, his hold on you tightening as he deepened the kiss slightly.

And just as soon as you started, you backed away, amused by the disappointment in his face. You held up one finger, turning toward the bar again.

An hour passed, you were a few drinks in while Arthur had at least four shots and a bottle of beer. The both of you were past the point of tipsy. Arthur began to dance on his own, though very out of rhythm. You laughed at his attempt, watching as he took a swig of beer, awkwardly stepping along the floor. You joined him, allowing him to grip your hips again. You were aware of some others watching you, though you didn’t care. His movement stopped as you danced against him, feeling his torso pressed against yours.

As the night wore on, both of you had another drink before stopping and sporting a decent buzz. You wandered between dancing by yourself and subtly grinding against Arthur, which you knew he more than loved. He wasn’t shy about his feelings in his inebriated state. He was getting a little more handsy with you, his fingers subtly brushing up your thighs, ghosting across your ass. You loved it as well, although the alcohol making you become a tease, you’d step away before anything else happened. Ooh, it was going to be a fun night.

Eventually the ache in your feet became too much, and you tiredly took a seat, leaning against the table as Arthur stalked over. He wordlessly kissed you, his hands yet again taking their spot on your waist. He’d stopped drinking at least a half hour ago but the taste still remained on his lips. He was definitely more affectionate in this state as well.

“Well, you’re not shy tonight.” you giggled as he pulled back.

“Just lettin’ everyone else know what’s mine.” he said, his eyes dark.

You blushed, the tone and his expression giving you all sorts of inappropriate thoughts. Arthur being possessive was a new side, unexpected but incredibly sexy.

“Wanna get outta here, princess?” he asked, that smile teasing. His hand ran down your thigh slowly, lightly.

“Absolutely.” You responded, hopping down from your chair and grabbing your jacket.

---

He pinned you against the wall, hardly containing his excitement the moment you entered your home. His lips were hard on yours, holding your face as he trapped you. Your arms were holding him to you, kissing him back with such passion. His rough hand found its way under your dress, taking no time in finding your core. He pulled your panties out of the way, yanking them down before returning to his prize.

His fingers formed rough circles against your clit, earning a loud moan into his mouth. You gripped at his jacket, peeling it smoothly from his shoulders as he tossed it off elsewhere. His other hand pushed aside the fabric, squeezing your now bare breast. His mouth moved from your lips to your jawbone, nibbling along, placing hasty kisses down the crook of your neck.

You sighed his name, running your fingers through his hair. You gasped as a finger entered you, working across your walls easily.

“This wet already?” he murmured against your skin, peering up at you.

“You surprised?” you chuckled with a sly grin.

He only smirked in response, dragging his finger across your delicate spot. Your hips bucked into his grip, another gasp passing through your lips. You reached down, pressing against the hard line in his jeans. He moaned quietly, pressing against your grip as if begging for release. You granted it, unbuckling his belt with ease, allowing his cock to spring free.

You held him in your palm, beginning to pump your hand along his length. His body shuddered from your touch, his deep voice growing louder as he thrust up into your grip. He certainly was impatient, and you were too.

He growled your name, prompting you to want him even more. You hitched your leg up, resting it against his hip. You were exposed to him now. He gripped your thigh, removing his finger to briefly line himself just before shoving himself deep within you.

Your head lifted up, swearing out loud as he wasted no time in pounding into you. He was relentless, the first time he’d gone this hard. And man, did you love it.

His face buried against your shoulder, biting against your tender skin. You hissed, the sting of his teeth only adding to your pleasure. You tilted your head back, crying out his name. Somehow this drove him much faster. Uttering a gasp, your hands clawing at the fabric of his shirt.

“You feel so good, Y/N,” he grunted against you, gripping you tightly. “Fuck!”

Your only answer was a whine, gripping at the fabric hard. He paused to remove the shirt, yanking it off easy to expose his broad, scarred torso. His skin was hot against yours, sweat forming as he continued his pursuit.

Strong, fast, burying deep in your core. You squealed as he hit your sweet spot, feeling a rush of pleasure course through your veins. His teeth abused your flesh, the pain hardly a bother as your body tingled with absolute ecstasy. You left marks of your own on him, his hiss bringing satisfaction to you.

You felt your peak growing quickly, your voice raising an octave as you cascaded over the edge. Your legs trembled as he refused to cease his movement, a small chuckle rumbling in pride. You praised him, your voice wavering as you came down from your high, his high-caliber thrusts rendering you breathless.

His head raised, staring directly at you as he reached down in between to play. While slightly overstimulated, your entire body shuddered. He held you trapped as you almost squirmed from his touch.

“H-hold on, I’m almost there,” he breathlessly groaned. “Can you do that, princess?”

You couldn’t muster a voice to answer, only giving a short whine and a small nod. Your arms were vice-like around him, your claws continuously scoring marks. His lips found their way back to your body, driving himself as if he had limitless stamina. You could feel his breath hitching, his voice cracking in his groans.

Sinful utterances graced your ears as his hips became flush with yours, letting himself spill completely within you. His muscles trembled as he held himself in, completely spent yet still holding you. With one weak thrust, he pulled out slowly, taking short, jagged breaths.

“Shit…” he murmured, resting his forehead on your shoulder as he released you. “I’m spent.”

You giggled a little, cradling his head as your fingers threaded through his hair. It took him a moment to catch his breath, finally standing straight slowly. His gaze on you was sharp, apparent that most of the alcohol had worn off at this point.

“I been…holding that in all night,” he said, a silly grin on his face. “That dress is somethin’ else.”

“Why do you think I wore it?” you answered, smirking at him. “Gotta say, I like it when you’re drunk.”

He hummed in response, rubbing his forehead a little. “Don’t let me get drunk too often, though. Can’t promise what else would happen.”

#Arthur Morgan #Arthur Morgan x reader #Arthur Morgan x reader smut

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rose-gold-romantic · 5 years ago

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Whatever It Takes:Chapter Three

A Loki x Reader based in the Tesseract fic universe! Avengers: Infinity War follow-up fic. Next in the Tesseract fic series. Links to Tesseract, Lokasenna, What Heroes Do, and Fidelity. Also to my AU Feel You.

I WOULD LOVE FEEDBACK! Want to be tagged in updates? Let me know!

@malignentmac @fandomsfanman @i-am-supermerwholoked221b @markusstrayya @sincereleygmg @pandaqua @person-born-winchester

Just a forewarning, this one has a major POV shift from the past entries, since Reader was Dusted at the end of Fidelity! Keeping with my recent trend in fic titles, it’s named after a track on the official soundtrack. I also constantly watch this Video, and recommend it to hype you up! @malignentmac @fandomsfanman @i-am-supermerwholoked221b @markusstrayya @sincereleygmg @pandaqua @person-born-winchester

The days passed with a harrowingly slow pace, every hour feeling as a lifetime. Everyone in the compound was on edge, in their own stage of grief for the fallen, and anxiety for Danver’s return. Over two weeks had gone by, with no answer from Danvers.

Thor had settled in to a pattern that seemed a stronger version of behavior that I had seen before. His sole focus seemed externally to be finding the rest of the Asgardians, but I knew that he was grinding his proverbial axe for a rematch with Thanos. The guilt that he carried with him was nearly tangible, and my attempts at reassurance went without response. Thor would not resume any form of normalcy until Thanos had been brought to justice.

One night, as I continued monitoring the system we had scanning for the Asgardians, the ground began rumbling beneath my feet. I looked up to see Steve and Natasha both running towards the front doors, and I followed suit.

Bruce and Rhodey were already outside, and we slowed to a walk as we watched a spaceship slowly float to the ground, Danvers carrying it as she slowly descended. Pepper Potts ran out to stand with us, tears welling in her eyes. As the ship rested on the ground, the boarding ramp deployed, and two figures shuffled out.

Nebula supported Tony as they came out of the ship, and Steve ran up to help support Tony.

“I couldn’t stop him.” Tony breathed, his body thin, weak, and doubtless shutting down from lack of food and water.

“Neither could I.” Steve replied, frowning.

“I lost the kid.” Tony confessed, his distress evident.

“Tony,” Steve said, his usually calm composure beginning to crack, “We lost…”

“Is um-” Tony’s question was abruptly cut off by Pepper’s embrace.

“Oh my god.” She said, tears now falling in relief.

“Let’s get him inside.” Rhodey said, “We can talk shop in the morning.”

When morning arrived, we all gathered in the boardroom, sitting and standing around the table. Thor continued to seclude himself and sat in a seperate area, the rolls he had once denied now being consumed.

“It’s been 23 days since Thanos came to Earth.” Natasha said, explaining Earth’s predicament to Tony and Nebula. “World governments are in pieces. The parts that are still working are trying to take a census. And it looks like he did… exactly what he said he was going to do. Thanos wiped out fifty percent of all living creatures.”

“Where is he now?” Tony said, sitting in a wheelchair as an IV bag continued to drip, “Where?”

“We don’t know.” Steve answered. “He just opened a portal and walked through.”

“With the space stone at his disposal, he could be absolutely anywhere.” I clarified, capturing Tony’s attention.

“Are you guys sure I’m not dead?” Tony said, gesturing to me. “Last time I saw you, you tried to kill all of us. Now we’re all buddy-buddy?”

“There were several powers at play at that time,” I said carefully, “I do sincerely apologise for the destruction and injury I caused in New York. Thor and I have both come here in hopes of restoring our people’s lives, though our search for the remaining still continues.”

“Speaking of Thor what’s wrong with him?” Tony asked, gesturing to my brooding brother.

“Yea, he’s pissed.” Rocket replied, “He thinks he failed. Which of course he did, but there’s a lot of that goin’ around here, aint there?”

“Honestly, until this exact second, I thought you were a Build-A-Bear.” Tony said, startled.

“Maybe I am.” Rocked mumbled.

“We’ve been hunting Thanos for three weeks now.” Steve said, attempting to re-center the conversation. “Deep Space scans, satellites, and we’ve got nothing. Tony, you fought him.”

“Who told you that?” Tony snarked. “I didn’t fight him. No, he wiped my face with a planet while the Bleeker Street Magician gave away the stone. That’s what happened. There was no fight.”

“Did he give you any clues, any coordinates, anything?” Steve pressed, our hope waning.

“I saw this a few years back, you know.” Tony griped, “I had a vision, I didn’t wanna believe it. I thought I was dreaming.”

“Tony, I’m gonna need you to focus.” Steve said, trying to prevent Tony from derailing the conversation further.

“And I needed you. As in past tense.” Tony said, his tone cutting and bitter. “That trumps what you need. It’s too late buddy. Sorry. You know what I need?” Tony stood up, shoving things off of the table. “I need to shave. And I remember telling you, Cap.”

Tony moved to hit Steve, but not before Rhodey and myself restrained him.

“Tony, Tony, Tony, stop!” Rhodey said, trying to calm his friend.

“Otherwise what we needed was a suit of armor around the world.” Tony continued, his tone harsher with ever word. “Remember that? Whether it impacted our ‘precious freedom’ or not- that’s what we needed!”

“Well, that didn’t work out, did it?” Steve said, his throat constricted and tight.

“I said, ‘we’ll lose’. You said, ‘We’ll do that together too.’ And guess what, Cap? We lost.” Tony spat. “You weren’t there. But that’s what we do, right? Our best work, after the fact? We’re the Avengers, we’re the Avengers. Not the Prevengers, right?”

“Okay, you made your point.” Rhodes stressed, “Just sit down, ok?”

“Nah, nah, nah.” Tony insisted, shoving Rhodey and myself away. “Here’s my point.”

“Sit down!” Rhodey repeated.

“She’s great, by the way.” Tony said, gesturing to Danvers as his breathing became more and more labored. “We need you. You’re new blood.”

“Tony!”

“Bunch of tired old mills!” Tony continued, “I got nothing for you, cap. I got no coordinates, no clues, no plan, no options. Zero. Zip. Nada. No trust. Liar.”

Steve’s face fell, Tony’s continued attacks wearing down his usually collected exterior. As the one-time friends continued to stare at each other, Tony ripped his ARC reactor from his chest, shoving it into Steve’s hand.

“Here, take this.” Tony spat through labored breaths, “You find him, and you put that on. You hide.”

Tony collapsed to the ground, exhausted after the stress of the argument.

“Tony!” Rhodey exclaimed as Steve, himself, and I all gathered around Tony to support him.

“I’m fine.” Tony breathed, “I…” Tony lost consciousness, and Steve and I carried him to a hospital style bed in another room.

Bruce set up a new IV for Tony, and Pepper came in to his room to be with him as Rhodey left and came in to the conference room once more.

“Bruce gave him a sedative.” Rhodey said, “He’s gonna be out for the rest of the day.”

“You guys take care of him.” Danvers said, “And I’ll bring Xorrian Elixir when I come back.”

“Where are you going?” Natasha asked.

“To kill Thanos.” Danvers replied coolly.

“Hey, you know, we usually work as a team around here.” Natasha said, causing Danvers to take pause. “Between you and I, we’re also a little fragile.”

“We realize that this is more of your territory.” Steve said, “But this is our fight too.”

“Do you even know where he is?” Rhodey contested, irritated.

“I know people who might.” Danvers replied, optimistic.

“Don’t bother.” Nebula said from the doorway. “I can tell you where Thanos is. Thanos spent a long time trying to perfect me. Then when he worked, he talked about his great plan. Even disassembled, I wanted to please him. I’d ask, “where would we go once his plan was complete?”. His answer was always the same: To the Garden.”

“That’s cute.” Rhodey scoffed. “Thanos has a retirement plan.”

“So where is he then?” Steve asked.

“Rocket, show them.” Nebula said, and Rocket nodded before leaping up onto the table.

“When Thanos snapped his fingers, Earth became ground zero for a power surge of ridiculously cosmic proportions.” Rocket said, a hologram of Earth appearing above the table. “No one’s ever seen anything like it… Until two days ago.”

The hologram shifted, showing another planet with a shockwave traversing the surface. “On this planet.”

“Thanos is there.” Nebula confirmed.

“He used the stones again.” Natasha said, inspecting the hologram.

“Hey, hey, we’d be going in short-handed, you know.” Bruce cautioned.

“Look, he’s still got the stones, so…” Rhodey added.

“So let’s get him.” Danvers suggested, “We’ll use them to bring everyone back.”

“Just like that?” Rhodey questioned.

“Yea, Just like that.” Steve said.

“Even if there’s a small chance that we can undo this,” Natasha said, “I mean we owe it to everyone who’s not in this room to try.”

My mind raced with the thought of having (Y/N) back with me, holding her again, being able to tell her how much I loved her. My heart ached for the chance, for the idea of being able to rectify the grave wrong.

“If we do this, how do we know it’s gonna end any differently than it did before?” Bruce countered.

“Because before, you didn’t have me.” Danvers explained, her composure cool and collected.

“Hey, new girl, everyone here is about that superhero life. Even the ex-villain over here.” Rhodey said, gesturing over to me. “And if you don’t mind my asking, where the hell have you been all this time?”

“There are a lot of other planets in the universe.” She replied, “And unfortunately, they didn’t have you guys.”

Thor rose from his bench, walking over to face Danvers. He held his hand up to summon Stormbreaker, and it flew across the room, soaring into his hands and missed Danver’s face by mere inches. She didn’t flinch, and instead smirked at my brother with a knowing look.

“I like this one.” Thor said, finishing the roll he had been eating earlier.

“Let’s go get this son of a bitch.” Steve said, nodding.

#loki #loki x reader #fanfiction #endgame #whatever it takes #marvel #romance #self insert #tesseract #rose gold romantic

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