#save me mr morgan… | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

reidrum · 6 months ago

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wine or wine not | s.r

spencer reid x bau!reader

a/n: i think i love writing buildup to smut than actual smut, but i hope you guys like this lmk what you think. this was requested with the prompts "look at me when you come on my fingers" and "muttering compliments kissing down their body" and it was so much fun to write aaaaahh, my requests are open so please send more!!! guidelines in pinned <3

summary: you're hopelessly pining after spencer at a rossi party, and when you run into him in the kitchen when you're getting a refill and he asks if you want to explore the mansion with him, who are you to say no?

cw: 18+ minors dni pls, fingering, p in v, nipple play, soft!dom!spence, spencer being ridiculously hot its criminal, ooc penelope but it was for the plot, pining idiots, wine cellar sex wine cellar sex wine cellar sex, public sex, morgan and prentiss being dumb, rossi being a smug lil shit, a dumb ass title sorry i didn't know what else to name it lol

wc: 4.1k

★・・・・★・・・・★・・・・★・・・・★

these days rossi was always finding some reason to throw a party at his mansion. you’re not exactly sure what it was tonight, a birthday? an anniversary? regardless, you and the team appreciated the excuse to unwind, dress up, and have non murder related fun.

the sun is setting over the rolling hills the mansion is perched on, and you’re sat at a table with the girls— penelope, jj, and emily discussing penelope’s latest dating escapade. you’re trying hard to pay attention, you really are, but it proves to be difficult when you’re focused on the man showing magic tricks to the kids across the room.

you look on yearnfully as spencer pulls a coin from jack’s ear, all the kids are laughing and cheering and he has the biggest smile you’ve ever seen.

“hellooo?” penelope waves a hand in front of you dramatically, “i’m getting to the good part and you’re off in space!”

you jolt back to the present, “sorry pen, i’m listening i promise. so he shows up to your door with maple syrup and feathers?”

“YES, anyways so then he’s like i have a proposition for you…” penelope continues her story but you can’t help but zone out again. your eyes drift back to boy genius as he finishes another trick for little henry before rising up to his full height. it’s in that moment his eyes meet yours and softens as he offers you a small wave.

you return the gesture back which causes the girls at your table to look in the same direction and they come to a glaring conclusion too quickly.

“ah, that’s why you’re not paying attention. too busy ogling mr. houdini over there.” jj remarks.

“i am not!” you scoff.

“oh you so are,” emily says, “when are you going to let yourself feel your heart’s full content.”

“first of all, i can’t stand you. second of all, it’s not worth it. he would never feel the same about me.” you say as emily rolls her eyes.

this time penelope interjected, “oh don’t be so cynical. you haven’t even tried how could you even know?”

but you did know. it’s not that spencer didn’t like you, he treated you the same as any team member, but that was just it. you wanted him to see you as more. during cases you would try to impress him or make breakthroughs in the hopes he would tell you ‘good job’. a couple times you brought him coffee when you got yours, just to hear him say your name and thanks. work conversations rarely seemed to move past small talk, but you’re a little sure that’s on your part because he just made you so nervous. and like, he’s a profiler. so you’re sure to some degree he knows how you feel, and it just makes you regress into your safe hole even further because you think he’s being nice by not acknowledging it and saving you the embarrassment.

the girls knew about your harbored crush for a month now, since the last bau drinks night you got a little too truthful during truth or dare. you were much younger in comparison to your colleagues, so they offered their sympathies at your unrequited love and tried to get you to come out more and let loose.

which is one of the reasons you’re sitting in rossi’s living room, wine glass in hand, as morgan recounts the craziest date hes ever been on. the other reason, which you wouldn’t admit to anyone, was so you could admire your (not) lover from an acceptable distance and not risk embarrassing yourself.

so here you are, two glasses deep, rising up from your spot on the floor telling everyone you’re going to get a refill. your heels click against the hardwood floors all the way to the kitchen where you just so luckily run into the (your) man of the hour.

“hi.”

you were looking down at your feet as you walked to the kitchen, your head snapping up to meet the voice, “hi spencer.” you said softly.

“if you’re looking for more wine, i think emily just grabbed the last bottle,” you must have outwardly deflated as he continued, “that bad out there?”

“only so much wine can get me through penelope’s sexcapades and derek’s crazy one night stands.” you joke.

he chuckles back, “oh i know, why do you think i’m hiding out in here?”

you laugh again before an uncomfortable yet strangely comfortable silence falls between you both. unknowingly you both take turns gazing at each other, indexing the others features as if this moment would be the only chance you got.

you’re about to take your loss and leave when spencer speaks up again, “you know, i wouldn’t put it past rossi to have a secret wine cellar somewhere.”

“honestly, you’re probably right. what kind of italian just runs out of wine.”

spencer pauses slightly before saying, “do you want to see if we can find it?”

you look at his eyes again and catch a glint of mischief? concern that you’re wine-less? whatever it is, you take the bait.

“i’m game.”

—

rossi’s mansion was humongous. it was well known that he was loaded from his years in the bureau and multiple book deals, but holy shit, the rooms just seemed never ending, and none of them were a wine cellar.

“i don’t know spence, i'm starting to lose hope, and debating to revoke rossi’s italian card.”

you’re both in one of the many studies and are about to leave to find another room, when spencer notices a smaller door next to the study. he slowly opens it and peaks inside to find a descending wooden staircase. he looks at you with a smirk, “i think we just found it.”

he holds the door open and gestures you to enter first, following shortly behind you as he shuts the door. he makes sure to check that it’ll still open even after it’s shut, and you both relax a little seeing it still unlock. you move down the stairs, gripping the handrail and praying you don’t trip over your heels and fall to an embarrassing demise.

spencer descends a step behind you, trying so hard not to let his eyes wander down your bare back to the curve of your hips. once he steps off you both go in opposite directions to explore. you take in the vast amount of shelves and wine racks, taking note of how it seems to be separated by year and by type. running your fingers over the labels, you’re intrigued by a shelf with the year you were born, and pause in front of it. you reach up to a shelf that is just a smidge taller than you, hoping to grab the neck of an old wine bottle.

even in your heels you’re struggling, attempting little hops to try and reach. you’re about to give up when you feel a warm hand on your right hip, while an outstretched arm on your left seamlessly grabs the bottle and brings it down to you, “careful sweetheart, don’t wanna break that pretty head of yours.” spencer says lowly.

excuse me, what the fuck did he just say.

you inspect the bottle he so kindly brought down for you, but it’s a futile effort. you can’t even remember why you wanted to see it. all you can think about is your hands clamming up, sending threats to the wine bottle it’s holding. your mind is fogging up fast, and you’re trying to order your brain to say something instead of going mute while he’s still an inch behind you. with his hand on your hip still.

“oh god,” you start shakily, “you scared me spence.” you angle your body to the left so you can attempt to show how unbothered you are and look at his face.

good save (not).

he’s staring down at you with a hint of a smirk on his lips, like he’s keeping a secret from you. his eyes are intently focused on you when he speaks again, “just didn’t want you to get hurt. s’all.”

with his close proximity, you’re sure he can hear your heart beating through both of your chests, hell it was so loud they could probably hear it upstairs. he’s still got you caged in front of him when he continues, “any particular reason for this bottle?”

“yeah no, i just, wanted to see what bottles of wine he had from the year i was born.” you answer, watching as spencer moves back to give you space when you turn to face him.

he nods, “did you know that wine is associated with the greek god dionysus?”

“no i didn’t, actually.”

“it’s really interesting,” he moves forward a tiny inch, “they call him the patron god of wine, but a lot of people often forget that he’s also the god of fertility and ecstasy.”

oh. “ecstasy?” you whisper confusingly.

“yes, he believes when you drink wine it gives you emotional and physical pleasure.”

“how does that even work?” you nervously laugh.

spencer reaches his arm above your head, never breaking eye contact, and grabs two wine glasses by their stems, “you wanna find out?”

with only so many words, you give another nod. he uncorks the bottle with ease and pours out two glasses, with his having a little less than yours, most likely due to his slow but steady return to drinking casually. clinking your glasses, you take a big gulp hoping it’ll satiate the building nerves. but you’re watching the way his fingers wrap around the glass, his veiny hand showing prominently and you’re unable to focus on anything else.

“you know, i’ve been running something of an observation the last few months.”

you take another small sip, starting to feel less nervous, “oh yeah, what about?”

“you.”

it took everything in you not to spit your drink out all over his suit.

“me?”

he nods after another sip, “i’ve been watching you, and not in a creepy way i swear. but i’ve been keeping track of your habits; how you take your coffee, your tells when a case gets too much, things like that,”

that didn’t seem overtly terrible to you, you knew spencer was an observer of his environment, always seeking out patterns to aid his predictions. you’re about to speak when he cuts you off.

“i’ve also been noticing how you seem to change, when i’m in your presence.”

you feel like the sweat and nerves are just oozing out of you at this point, and he continues his verbal taunt.

“i’ve seen your breathing rate get faster,” he moves a step forward, “how your cheeks rise with the faintest red, kind of like right now,” another step forward, “and how you try to avoid looking directly at me because you think i’ll find out everything if you do.”

the room has to be at least a thousand degrees at this point, heart beating so fast it’s probably gone to the moon, and your brain just unable to have any coherent thoughts at the realization that maybe you weren’t as subtle as you thought.

he takes one final step to close the gap between you and delicately places two fingers on the pulse point of your neck, “i couldn’t figure out your heart rate from afar,” he pauses to count, “but now that i know it, i can come to my conclusion.”

the air in your lungs has all but escaped, nowhere to be found. “and wh- what is your conclusion d- doctor reid?” your voice betraying you by dripping with anticipation.

“that i make you nervous. do you agree? do i make you nervous?” he says while you feel the hot breath of his whispers ghosting on your lips.

your mouth opens to say something and then shuts, because what the hell are you supposed to say? any and all logic has left the room, but the last working neuron works to make an unthinkable conclusion of your own. there is no way.

spencer moves his fingers to grip your chin between them, guiding your face to look directly into his copper eyes, “i asked you a question angel, do i make you nervous?”

you’re cornered, “y- yes.”

“why’s that?”

“spencer..”

“is it because you’re thinking of me the same way i think i about you?” his thumb starts tracing the outline of your lower jaw. he’s pressed right up against your chest, his other arm covertly moving to snake around your waist. the way you lean in subconsciously towards him, paired with your silence is all the confirmation he needs.

the pad of his thumb traces your lower lip, dragging it downwards a little. there’s a hitch in his breath when his eyes flicker from your lips back up to meet your eyes again. he quietly mumbles, “can i?”

your eyes widen slightly, relishing in the way his arms are holding you firm and steady. this was about to really happen. you’d been pining after him all this time, believing you were destined for unrequited love. but as spencer stands in front of you, looking at you as if he’d been poisoned and the only antidote is your lips, you can’t help but wonder if there’s been a similar weight on his side that’s been holding him back too.

so you nod once again, and trust your voice this time,

“yes.”

you’re fully expecting him to go into it full force, and kiss you like a man starved. but he lets the premonition bubble for a little longer as he so agonizingly leans down and closes the gap, teasing you with the ghost of his lips on yours without making contact. he waits a moment, and just as he predicted your subconscious betrays you again and you impatiently lean up in an attempt to meet your lips together. spencer can’t help but smile before he softly pressed himself against you.

the feeling of his mouth on yours is something you can only describe as cosmic, like a star exploding into a supernova, emitting a powerful and luminous show of energy. it’s all consuming, the light reaching every neuronal end of your body and electrifying it ten times over. your hands reach up to tangle in his curly hair and he lets out the faintest whimper, spurring you on to grab it more earnestly.

spencer loses all restraint. his hands begin furiously mapping out your body, running up and down your back, reaching down to grasp a handful of your ass. he moves his hands down further to grip your thighs, effortlessly lifting you to sit on the counter behind you. spencer slots himself between your legs and continues kissing you, his mouth marking a hot trail to your neck as he mutters between, “is this okay?”

“please don’t stop.” you moan softly.

his fingers move to deftly slide the straps of your dress off your shoulder, mirroring the movement on the other side while continuing to work his down your neck. he slides the dress far enough down to expose your chest, immediately taking the swollen nub into mouth and running circles around it with his tongue. you let out a sharp gasp at the sudden warmth, whimpers leaving your throat. he repeats the motion to the other one as you cradle his head closer in an attempt to keep him there, as if spencer had any plans of leaving.

he moves his mouth back up to meet yours again, in a lust filled attack sending shock waves straight to your core. you move your fingers to work the buttons of his dress shirt and spencer moves his hand further south and under the hem of your dress, something you don’t notice until his thumbs are rubbing circles onto the plush of your inner thighs. it makes you falter on his last button as he pushes your legs farther apart, inches closer to where you desperately need him.

spencer looks directly into your eyes as his thumbs reach up to hook onto the side of your panties and slowly move them down your legs. he groans outwardly at the resistance caused by your slickness, “all this for me, baby?”

you’re rendered speechless watching spencer and his ministrations but he continues, “you are so goddamn beautiful, you know that?” his fingers are less than an inch away from your cunt, “i see you walk around the office in those tight pants, your hair and makeup all done, and those blouses jesus,” he reaches your entrance and dives in to collect your wetness, you brokenly moan as he begins to spread it all over. “couldn’t tell if you hated me for the longest time.”

“c- could never hate you.” you whine.

“i know baby,” he slides his middle finger into your hole, “just imagine the fun we could’ve had if we figured this out earlier. but it’s okay, we have all the time now.” he sets a steady rhythm before inserting his ring finger, actively working you towards a barreling orgasm.

“spencer, fuck, oh god.”

“you’re so fucking wet, bet you’re gonna come soon, right? gonna make a mess on my hand?” he baited.

you’re in shambles, one hand deathly squeezing onto one shoulder the other turning white from the grip you held on the counter. the moans won’t stop falling out of you, he works his fingers so skillfully within you it’s impossible to hold any resolve when he curves upwards and hits that spot.

your head tilts back, reeling from the intense pressure coil building inside you, the peak about to hit you any moment now. spencer uses his free hand to move your head back down, “look at me when you come on my fingers.”

that was all it took for the white hot to ravage through you, engulfing every sense and leaving you breathless. he continues moving his fingers through your orgasm, watching as you come back down to him. you don’t waste a second reaching for his belt to unfasten it, slipping your hand down to palm him through his boxers. he moans in your ear as he feels you slip inside, your small hand moving up and down, and getting impossibly harder when you take your hand back up to spit on it to then return to your movements.

you take the moment to lean into his neck and leave bites of your own, finding his sweet spot right behind his ear and sucking hard. spencer’s hands have taken a spot on your lower back beneath your dress, pressing so hard with his fingertips you know there’ll be evidence of this night tomorrow.

“spence..” you mutter in the crook in the neck.

“yeah baby?” he whispers back.

“can you fuck me now?”

he preens at your boldness, and wastes no time pulling his pants and boxers down enough to fully free himself. he pulls you closer to the edge of the counter before pulling his length out and giving it a few strokes. he lets it glide between your folds, gathering your wetness as lubricant as it hits your clit. both of you are panting hard realizing the anticipation has led to this moment. spencer positions himself at your entrance, never breaking eye contact with you, and watches your face drop into a perfect ‘oh’ as he pushes in.

spencer is absolutely wrecked as he hears your breathing pick up, reveling in the vice grip your cunt has on him. you’re no better above him as you’ve broken eye contact to stare at where the two of you connect, watching as he disappears into you and the feeling of being so full overtakes you and you’re letting out soft expletives. he bottoms out and stalls for a minute, waiting for you to signal that you’re okay for him to move. in the time he’s waiting, he takes a moment to really look at your face, how absolutely ruined you look, your cheeks are deeply flushed, hair flying in every direction, and he can’t help but tell you, “you look so pretty.”

your eyes soften as you gaze back at him and nod slightly, and he pulls back all the way to ease in again experimentally. once he hears you moan out loud at the movement, and feels you tighten even more around his cock, he loses any and all restraint he’d been holding onto this entire night.

his hips pick up the pace in harsh snaps to your core, sending ripples of pleasure all over you. your arms are wrapped around his neck attempting to pull him impossibly closer to you, “spencer…fuck…” you drawl with a whine.

“i got you baby, gonna take good care of you, promise,” he says back in between grunts. the sentiment causes you to squeeze on his cock again as he attempts to continue, “if you keep…fuck…keep squeezing me like that i’m n- not gonna last long.”

one hand in his hair and the other leaving dark red scratches on his back, you feel your second orgasm of the night hastily creep up on you. he can tell you’re close and quickens his pace as he thumbs your clit. you moan his name out once more before reaching your peak, feeling like your body is on fire as he continues to fuck you through it.

spencer feels his own release building up, “wh- where should i..?”

“inside, i’m on the pill just please come inside me.”

it was more than enough for spencer’s movements to stutter as he released his hot load in you, groaning out loud as he finished.

he slows to a half, still hilted inside of you but softening post orgasm. you’re both breathing heavily as you look up at each other and take in the other’s fucked out faces. spencer presses a chaste kiss to your forehead before resting his own on it, “that was..”

“intense,” he quirks his eyebrows at you, “in a really really good way.” you add quickly.

he smiles down at you, “i wasn’t kidding, what i said earlier. i think about you an embarrassingly high amount each day. i’d love to take you out and make this a real thing.”

“yeah?” you gape incredulously, “thought i was the one embarrassing myself if you were able to notice all those things i did when you were near me.”

he laughs, “no, no it was endearing, definitely made it easier to be as forward as i was tonight knowing you wouldn’t freak out.”

you’re about to respond when you hear the door to the cellar open, you’re both hidden from view but know it’s only a matter of seconds before someone catches you. you both look at each other in panic as spencer pulls out of you, tucking himself back in and zipping up his pants. you grab your panties from the floor and begin to pull them up your legs when he notices his come dripping down your thighs. he swiftly gathers the release on his fingers and shoves it back inside you, causing you to let out a near pornographic moan as he pulls up your underwear all the way.

“did you guys hear that?” a voice sounding like emily said.

“see this is why i don’t do big houses like this, too many creepy ass noises.” morgan.

“mansion,” rossi corrects, “and for a couple of profilers, you both are stupid if you don’t know what that sound was.”

your eyes widen to match spencer’s, you’ve been caught.

“was it a mouse or something?”

“no more like, bunnies,” he joked with an innuendo, “come on, i found the bottle i was looking for, let the bunnies do their thing so they can leave and go home to do whatever it is bunnies do.”

“you’re a weird old man david…” emily muttered.

the door closes and you both let out a big breath, and burst into a fit of laughter, “how the hell are we gonna show our faces to him on monday?” you whine.

“that is a monday us problem,” he starts, “but right now, i think it’s time for me to take you home.” he winks.

two stuffed bunnies show up on yours and spencer’s desk on monday. you’re both redder than a tomato as rossi chuckles when he walks by. prentiss and morgan are still confused.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fanfiction #bau team #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #matthew gray gubler #mgg

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xneens · 1 year ago

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three cents

you butt dial your boss during a girls night … the girls night where you told them you’d fuck aaron hotchner for three cents.

Girls' night out was wild, no one knew where you would end up. One night, you ended up on a boat and the next you were on a train to NYC. After getting thrown in jail with Emily, JJ, and Penelope during another night out, you all vowed to keep whatever happened during the night a secret from everyone, specifically Derek Morgan. Derek Morgan who had bailed all four of you out of jail, Derek Morgan who teased you relentlessly for weeks after.

After a long case, Emily suggested another girl’s night which all of you agreed on, desperately needing a celebratory drink after saving a little girl. It was around one in the morning when you got back to Quantico and though Aaron gave you the day off for tomorrow–or well, later today–all four of you decided to crash at Emily’s and drink to your heart’s content.

Popcorn and Hersey kisses lay on Emily’s coffee table, bottles of half-empty wine and jello shots litter the floor and you’re all giggling about whether to prank Derek by getting phone cases with a picture of him shirtless. You’re all on board and Penelope is getting them custom-made through a website she’s found.

“Speaking of Derek’s abs.” JJ drags the ‘s’ creating a hissing noise. She turns to you, grinning. “I’ve wanted to ask ever since you went to that Doctor Who convention with him. Do you like like Spence?”

You giggled, taking a small sip of wine, thinking about the genius. “Noooo. Spence is my friend. And he runs with his gun like it’s weighing him down. Besides, I only went to that Doctor Who convention because he went to see Barbie with me. He’s, like, too young for me, too.”

“He’s older than you.” Emily points out, smirking, knowing full well you liked older men. “He’s adorable and sweet.”

“Spencer is definitely cute and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t had a sex dream about him,” you confessed, smiling as the girls burst out laughing. “But he’s too … inexperienced. I like my men like I like my wine. Old.”

Your phone had been on mute since you entered the plane, not wanting to abruptly wake anyone up if they were resting, so not a single person in the room had heard your phone ringing or Aaron’s multiple “hello’s” trying to get your attention. All of you were oblivious to your boss listening in to the conversation.

“Is Rossi too old for you?” Penelope asked, inciting another round of giggles.

You nodded, finishing off your glass of wine. “Just a bit. I’ve seen pictures of him when he was in the Marines though, and I definitely would’ve been the fourth Mrs. Rossi back then.”

Emily cackled, a bit of red wine spilling from her full glass. “Okay, I have a question. Would you guys fuck Hotch for ten million dollars? Be honest here.”

“No!” both JJ and Penelope spit out. They all turned to you, grinning like madmen.

You shrugged, filling another glass. “I’d do it for three.”

“Damn, three million? That’s–“

“Nope,” you smirked, taking a sip.

Emily paused, head tilting in confusion. “Three … hundred thousand?”

“No.”

“Three thousand?”

You shake your head, grinning at the confused woman. “Nope.”

“Three hundred?”

“No.”

Emily’s eyes widened, jaw-dropping a little further as you denied her guesses. “Three dollars?”

“No.”

“THREE CENTS?” JJ was the one to shout, mouth dropping open when you giggled and nodded.

Penelope threw a pillow at you, and you giggled, dodging it, nearly spilling your drink in the process. “Hey! This is supposed to be a judge-free zone. I’d suck and fuck Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner for three measly cents.”

“Okay, I’d understand if you said Derek but Hotch?” Emily exclaimed, shaking her head at the thought. “He’s like twenty years older than you!”

“Exactly! That’s part of the appeal,” you replied. You were sure by tomorrow no one would remember your confession–though you were positive you wouldn’t either–and that they wouldn’t tease you too much over it. “He’s the literal definition of a DILF.”

The girls laughed at your words, JJ having to clutch onto a pillow to control herself.

“And!” you continue. “I was working out with Derek once and Hotch came in the gym with gray sweats and his dick looks humongous. It was a huge fucking bulge. I think I saw it twitching.”

Penelope slaps her hands over her ears, playfully grimacing at your words while Emily chugs the remains of her glass, absolutely baffled. You didn’t mind, sex and boys were common conversation topics during girl’s night (and sometimes when Emily would catch you making eyes at someone.

The rest of the night continued the same, though less talk about Hotch’s big dick and more on whether you all should make more jello shots. By the time you’re coming up with an answer, it’s five in the morning and all four of you are knocked out from the alcohol in your system. Even in your drunk state, you knew you’d wake up to a pounding headache.

When Derek calls in the morning, telling everyone about a new case, you’re all moody and grumpy. Hotch wanted everyone in even though he had given the day off, so no one was jumping for joy especially not in your hangover state.

Despite drinking the most, Emily drives the four of you back to the BAU, mumbling obscenities under her breath on the way. When you enter the elevator, Derek is there, causing all of you to groan at his presence. One look at you and he laughs loudly, knowing what had transpired the night before.

You wish you could shoot his foot.

In the briefing room, Hotch apologizes for having you all come in on your day off, pausing to glance at you before presenting the case. Truth be told, you hadn’t paid that much attention to it, your headache taking up your attention. Fire, serial arsonist, fifteen dead, Seattle.

“Wheels up in thirty,” Hotch announces, walking across the table. As the team filters out of the room, he calls your name. “In my office, please. I want to discuss something with you.”

Confused, you follow him to his office, pushing through your headache to think about what he could possibly want to speak to you about. You come up blank, even more confused when you see him lock the door to his office as you enter. “Did I do something wrong?”

Hotch shook his head, moving past you to his desk. He picks up something and turns around. In his hands are three pennies, and he’s holding them out to you. “Three cents.”

You’re getting deja vu on the words, and it’s not until several seconds of standing in silence and confusion that it clicks. Three cents. You blush, looking at the pennies. “I don’t understand.”

“You said you’d suck and fuck me for three cents,” he smirks at your shock, placing the coins in your hands.

“What–”

Hotch unbuckles his belt, causing you to stop mid-sentence. “You’ve got twenty-eight minutes to suck my cock. Get to work.”

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner smut

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thatsmzbitchtoyou · 2 months ago

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I.T. -Oneshot

Word count: 3082 *Took some inspiration from Garcia & Morgan from Criminal Minds.

“Get me in there, babygirl,” Bucky grunted.

“Yeah, yeah, give me a second sweet cheeks,” Y/N said, her fingers clicking away on her keyboard. She could hear Bucky’s metal arm pounding into the door, trying to break in to free Sam from a trap that he’d accidentally fallen into. The building was rigged to blow within just a few minutes, and they needed to get out fast. She glanced at the screen, showing him scowling at the door then looking towards the camera, like he knew she was watching him.

“Quit staring at my ass and open the damn door!” he griped at the camera.

Y/N smirked as she typed the final code in and the door slid open. “But it’s such a great looking ass,” she whined teasingly.

“Would you both knock it off and help me, please?!” Sam yelled.

Bucky ran into the room and undid the straps holding Sam down to the chair he was in, helping him get his wings back on before they both ran out of the room. “Turn right,” Y/N said. They turned right and booked it down the hallway toward the nearest exit. “The Quinjet is ready but cloaked, so run straight out the door about 50 yards then step up.” They both grunted in affirmation. “God I love hearing men moan in my ear,” she smiled.

“For fucks sake, Y/N,” Sam groaned, but Bucky laughed.

“Don’t give me any ideas, babygirl,” Bucky said lowly.

“Shut up!” Sam yelled at him before they both jumped into the hidden Quinjet, the door closing fast behind them before it lifted off then headed back to headquarters.

“What’s wrong, Sammy baby?” Y/N said in a sing-song voice.

She could see through the camera in the Quinjet as Sam looked up at it and flipped her off. Bucky knocked his hand down, making Sam huff indignantly, then looked at the camera with his signature, dead sexy smirk. “Take us home, Mama.”

“Mmh, I love it when you call me Mama,” Y/N replied.

“Stop it!” Sam screamed.

***

“Hey, babygirl,” Bucky greeted her later that night.

“Hey, sweet cheeks,” Y/N greeted him back, turning in her chair. “Hey Sammy baby–”

“No,” Sam said, holding a finger up to her. “Just check my wings, please. I’m not in the mood for this weird, flirty banter right now.”

“Jeez, you get caught once and you’re all Mr. Grumpy Gills,” Y/N frowned at him, taking the pack from him and setting it on her desk.

Sam rolled his eyes. “I’m going to bed,” he groaned, turning from the room and quickly walking out before anything else could be said.

“What’s up his ass?” Y/N asked Bucky offhandedly, her hands opening Sam’s wings and checking them over for any issues.

“He’s just butthurt he had to be saved,” Bucky scoffed. “He’ll be fine.” He walked around the desk to stand next to her, his metal arm flinging over her shoulder. “So, have you thought about my offer?”

It was Y/N’s turn to roll her eyes. “Buck, what do I need training for? I’m I.T., just sitting here, behind a desk, far away from the real action.”

“Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t know how to defend yourself,” Bucky retorted for the hundredth time. “Please, babygirl?” He squeezed her shoulder and made her turn to face him, giving her his best puppy dog-eyed, pleading stare.

Y/N tried not to be swayed, but his big, baby blue eyes were too much for her. She whined again, stomping her feet. “Alright, fine.” Bucky’s bright smile blinded her. “But you have to make it worth my while,” she said with a wicked smile, her eyebrow arching at him.

“Mmh? And how’s that?” Bucky said, his smile matching hers.

“I’ll train with you as long as you wear that way too tight tank top,” Y/N smirked dangerously. She and Bucky had a teasing, flirty relationship from the beginning, but lately it had been pushing a lot of boundaries, both of them seeing how far the other would go.

Bucky leaned down, nuzzling her nose with his. “Just for you, babygirl,” he said quietly. She gasped as he kissed the tip of her nose, then squeezed her one more time before releasing her and walking out the door. “See you tomorrow, 7:00 a.m. sharp!”

“Seven?!” Y/N scoffed.

***

Y/N regretted the training the moment it started. Now she was four weeks of sessions in, and as much as she could tell she was getting a little stronger and getting the moves down better, the real endurance came from her sanity being tested each time as Bucky walked in with his Winter Soldier swagger, workout joggers and the tight tank top she had requested. She was kicking herself now for that request, since it did nothing but distract her, building a pool of jittery, sexual tension in her gut that was exacerbated by their flirty banter.

“Come on, babygirl, strategize. How do you get out of this?” Bucky asked as he pinned her arms behind her back, his weight on top of her as she lay on the floor.

“Ugh, I don’t,” Y/N grunted, squirming against his hold. “I think you just like manhandling me.”

Bucky laughed then leaned down to her ear. “You have no idea,” he whispered suggestively. “Now think. What can you do?”

Y/N squirmed again, then got a scandalous idea. She relaxed the upper half of her body, her hands twisting to grip his hands holding her and squeezing them, while she arched her back and pushed her ass up and into his groin, grinding against him. Bucky gasped, his hands loosening enough that she was able to pull them out of his grasp, twist around and maneuver herself to flip him onto his back. Her hips sat squarely on top of his hips as she straddled his lap, her hands grabbing his wrists and pulling them above his head, putting her full weight on him. She grunted and smiled when she finally overpowered him. “How does it feel being manhandled, huh?” she panted above him.

Bucky’s eyes were wide, his mouth agape and his own breathing heavy as he stared up at her. Y/N suddenly realized the position she had put them in, and her triumphant smirk fell as she started to panic. She let go of his wrists and started to sit up, which only made it so she could feel something hard against her core. Before she could try to move off of him Bucky quickly hoisted himself up and pushed her onto her back, his hips settling in between her legs as he laid on her front and pinned her wrists above her head with his metal hand, his flesh elbow keeping him hovering over her. “As much as I love you manhandling me, I can’t keep doing this anymore,” he huffed, his gaze flickering across her face.

“Doing what?” Y/N whispered.

“Do you want me?” he asked, his eyes focusing on her lips.

As much as her heart was pounding with her anxiety, she felt herself nodding. “Do you want me?” she asked.

Bucky smirked and slightly rolled his hips into her, pushing the proof of his desire into her, making her lightly gasp. “Fuck yeah,” he answered. He leaned down and kissed her deeply, pulling another gasp from her. Y/N felt like she was melting as his lips seemingly injected a deep calm through her skin, overriding the anxiety and letting her relax into the desire she had been feeling for so long. Her legs instinctively lifted and she hooked her ankles behind his hips, pulling his lower half into her firmly as she kissed him back. He hummed against her lips, letting go of her wrists so he could wrap his arms around her, and she took the opportunity to cup his face in her hands, her fingers scratching at his beard gently.

She angled her head to deepen the kiss further, opening her mouth to lick at his bottom lip. Bucky smiled and opened his mouth to her, letting her taste him, his tongue indulging in hers. “Fuck, babygirl,” he groaned, slightly pulling away so he could start kissing her cheek and down to her neck, sucking a spot just beneath her jaw as he dry humped into her. “I wanna have you. Can I fuck you? Huh? Please babygirl I can’t–”

“Take me to bed, sweet cheeks,” Y/N said, her fingers scratching up into his hair, making him moan.

Bucky pulled them both off of the floor, carrying her out of the personal training room they were in and walking down the hall to the elevator. Y/N took her turn kissing, licking and sucking along his neck, her legs wrapped tight around his waist. When it finally opened up to the personal quarters floor he marched out, holding her tight. If there was anyone there, neither of them noticed or cared. He reached his room and shut the door loudly, locking it then caging her against it, his kisses incessant and needy. Now that they were in private his hands started to roam more, feeling down her back, her sides, then kneading her ass cheeks. “God, you feel so good,” he groaned. “Taste so good,” he said, licking at her jaw again. Y/N whined at the urgency she could feel building in her belly, her nails scratching at his back. “Fuck, you sound good, too. Hearing you flirt with me in my ear during missions. Your voice getting breathy and sexy, calling me all kinds of sweet things. Jesus, you drive me crazy!”

“Can you blame me?” Y/N breathed with a smile. “With your sexy ass?”

Bucky huffed a laugh, his breath fanning her collarbone before he pulled her away from the door and turned to walk to his bed, laying her down on it gently before he started pulling off her clothes. Y/N helped him as best as she could until she lay naked beneath him. He stared at her in awe, his hands slowly and gently feeling her up. “So beautiful,” he whispered reverently. Y/N smiled sweetly at him, then tugged at his shirt. Bucky quickly undressed himself, and her eyes widened. The tight tank top didn’t do him justice, and getting to see him in his full naked glory was almost overwhelming.

“Goddamn, Barnes, you need a license for that thing,” Y/N said, looking at his cock.

Bucky doubled over laughing before climbing up the bed to hover over her. “Only you could turn some sexy time into a joke,” he chuckled, kissing her chest and massaging her breasts in his hands.

“No joke, I’m actually a bit afraid you won’t fit,” Y/N said, smiling but genuinely feeling hesitant and worried.

“I’ll take care of you, babygirl, don’t stress,” Bucky murmured as he lazily kissed and licked at her nipples, making her squirm. His flesh hand felt down her stomach, over her hips until he nestled it in between her legs, his fingers stroking over her lower lips. His breath stuttered when he felt how wet she already was, and his thumb rubbed at her clit as his other fingers prodded at her pussy, dipping in one slowly, then after a while another.

Y/N’s breathing quickened, her stomach flinching at particularly deep thrusts of his fingers and at how his tongue flicked over her nipples. She started to grind her hips into his hand, her hands holding his head against her breasts, tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck. She could feel the orgasm building rapidly. “Buck…I…oh my god!” she nearly shrieked.

“I’ve got you babygirl, cum for me,” Bucky grunted against her breast, sucking her nipple harshly into his mouth.

He added a third finger, stretching her to get ready for him, then as her pussy relaxed his fingers curled inside her and his thumb flicked her clit just right, making her stiffen then moan loudly as she finally fell apart, her hips trembling as he helped her ride out her orgasm. Bucky moaned as well, his deep voice vibrating into her breast. When she stopped shaking he gently pulled his fingers out of her and brought them to his eye level. He stared at her slick on his fingers, then looked her in the eyes as he stuck them in his mouth, sucking her off of himself. He groaned and she exhaled sharply, her desire coming back full force. “You’re delicious, babygirl,” he said quietly. He hauled himself up and positioned himself between her legs, his flesh hand gripping his cock and pumping it as he rubbed the tip through her pussy lips. “You ready?” he asked, glancing up at her.

“Yes, please sweet cheeks,” Y/N begged, her hands reaching down to his hips and pulling him forward.

“So desperate for my cock,” Bucky smirked. “Fuck, you gonna be let me fill you up, babygirl?”

“Yeah,” she nodded frantically, her ankles hooking behind him again and trying to pull him in.

“Whose pussy is this?” Bucky asked, slapping his cock on her clit.

“FUCK! YOURS! It’s your pussy!” Y/N yelped, her breathing getting more erratic with how desperate she felt to be filled. “Please, Buck, don’t tease me anymore. I’m gonna lose it.”

“Good,” he said, his voice getting lower and raspy. “That’s just how I want you.” Without warning he thrust into her, shoving all of himself in. Y/N’s back arched at the mix of pleasure and slight pain from the stretch, sucking in a deep breath like she’d just come up for air. Bucky shuddered above her, his flesh arm slightly shaking as his face twisted in deep desire. “Holy shit,” he breathed. “You feel amazing. God…fuck…how do you feel this good?”

Y/N was jittery again, still shaking from how much the pleasure was rippling through her lower half and up her spine. She’d never felt so full, so whole before. Her hands slid up his back, feeling every dip and curve of muscle. “Bucky,” she whined.

Bucky shivered again, his head hanging low. “Babygirl, if you keep saying my name like that, I’m not gonna last,” he said, his hips rutting into her. She whined low in her throat, and he finally braced himself differently and thrust again. He set a hard but steady pace, each snap nearly making her eyes roll back in her head. He leaned down and hugged her tight against him again like down in the training room. He kissed her deeply, immediately tasting her again, making her head swim. Y/N felt delirious. The fact that she was here, in this moment, surrounded completely by everything him, was overwhelming in the best way.

Her arms wound behind his back, her nails digging into his shoulder blades as the pressure built in her belly again. She tucked her face into the crook of his neck. “Sweet…ungh…cheeks, I’m gonna c-cum,” Y/N slurred, her mouth opening wide in a silent moan.

“Fuck yes, please, babygirl, cum on my cock,” Bucky huffed against her cheek, his hot breaths in her ear. He nibbled her earlobe as his metal hand traveled down her side to her leg, hiking it up just a little higher over his hip then giving her ass cheek a hard slap. She cried out as he hit that spot deep inside with the new angle, shaking against him as she teetered on the edge of the cliff of her pleasure. “That’s it, Y/N, my baby, my girl. My sweet pussy. Let me have it!” He pounded into her and she finally fell, screaming as she came, biting his shoulder as she spasmed and her pussy gripped him strongly. Bucky whimpered then shuddered hard, moaning loudly in her ear as he came. She could feel his hot cum filling her, and it made the aftershocks more intense, making her shiver violently against him. Her eyes rolled back as he continually rutted everything he had into her, slowing to a stop when he finished.

Bucky panted above her, trying to breathe normally again as his forehead rested against her cheek. “Holy fucking shit, babygirl, that was…god, I can’t even think straight,” he chuckled, kissing her face until he pulled away to look at her. Y/N was gone to the world, her eyes shut with tears streaming from the sides, her head lolled lazily to the side, her mouth agape and a small line of saliva dribbling down the side of her face. “Jesus, Y/N, did I fuck you dumb?” Bucky huffed a laugh in surprise, adjusting himself so his flesh hand could reach up and wipe her mouth and eyes. He tapped her cheek lightly and she hummed. “I’m sorry, babygirl, I didn’t mean to–”

“Don’t ever apologize for making me cum so hard I nearly fainted, sweet cheeks,” Y/N said, her voice gravelly from how hard she screamed. “Fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever cum that hard before in my life.”

Bucky laughed, kissing her face again and cupping the side of her face to look at him. She peeled her eyes open to see him staring at her with an adoring smile. She smiled back at him, her hands reaching up to run through his hair again. He hummed then kissed her lips sweetly. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” he confessed, his eyes looking hopeful but a little scared.

“Me, too,” Y/N replied. “I-I know we joke and flirt a lot, but I really like you, as more than just friends.”

Bucky’s smile widened and he let out a soft sigh. “Thank god,” he said. “I like you, too. A lot. Probably way too much.”

Y/N giggled and rolled her eyes. “So obsessed with me, sweet cheeks. I mean really, get a hobby.”

Bucky laughed, dropping his forehead on her shoulder as they both shook from laughter against each other. “Well, you’re my new hobby now, babygirl. So you better get used to me being utterly,” he kissed her neck, “and ridiculously,” he kissed her jaw, “obsessed with you.” He kissed her deeply again, pulling a low hum from her.

When he pulled away she smiled, then it twisted into something conspiratorial. “Sam’s gonna be so sick of us.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, making her laugh harder. “Fuck him.”

#marvel #smut #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes oneshot #oneshot #request #ask #anon ask

351 notes · View notes

javier-pena · 1 year ago

Text

embers

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

Word Count: 9.5k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You're engaged to be married to a man you've never met. Arthur Morgan is supposed to escort you across the country to meet him. You should keep your distance, but the dangers of the road bring you closer and closer together with each passing mile.

Notes: So there's this post ... and It has been on my mind for months so I had to write this exact scenario with Arthur, naturally. Again, this is way longer than it was supposed to be, but working on this fic allowed me to daydream a lot, so I can't complain. As always, I wouldn't have been able to do it without Dani @alexturner, who pushed me in the right direction and came up with the ending (because I'm not good at writing those)!!

***

You’re not pretty. At least that’s what everyone told you from the moment you could understand those words. Your mother, the maid she hired to look after you, the boys working for your father, the marm, the people in town. Since you were little, you’ve been hearing it over and over again. “It’s such a shame she ain’t pretty, what’s she gonna do with brains?”

The thing is, you also don’t feel very smart. If you were, you’d have found a way to leave your godforsaken town for one of the big cities in the east as soon as you could read the timetable down by the train station. You would’ve found a way to get out of this marriage your father arranged for you. Ambrose Longabaugh was his name. Ambrose Longabaugh. From what you have heard, he shares your lot: anything but handsome, but at least he has money.

No one was sad to see you go, save for your little brother, who held you tight and made you promise to come back if you didn’t like your betrothed. You had promised, knowing you were lying. It didn’t matter if you liked him or not, he was the man you were going to marry. You weren’t getting out of this. Your father had made sure of that.

Mr. Morgan is riding ahead of you, sitting in the saddle with his shoulders slumped, a cigarette dangling between his lips. You can smell the smoke on the crisp fall air, even though you’re trying to keep your distance. It’s not that he scares you – not as much as other men do, not as much as your future husband does – but you don’t like him very much. Your father is paying him to take you out west where Ambrose Longabaugh will one day take over his father’s cattle business. And Mr. Morgan is doing it without complaint, hardly acknowledging your presence. He talks more to his horse than he talks to you.

You let your eyes wander across the mountains around you and sigh. The first time you had seen them, your mouth had hung open in awe. Now you feel trapped by them. You can’t go back, and there’s only one way forward. You sigh again. No, you’re neither pretty nor smart.

“Break?” Mr. Morgan asks from up front. It’s only the fifth word he has said to you today; the others were good morning and let’s go.

“Yes,” you agree, not because you need it but because it gives you something else to do.

You stop near a small river with a shallow bank where Mr. Morgan can refill your waterskins. While he’s busy, you stretch your legs and pick up a few rocks from the riverbed to toss them into the water. The rushing of the water fills your ears, drowning out both thoughts and sounds. You take a deep, calming breath and close your eyes.

When you open them again, Mr. Morgan has taken off his lambskin coat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. He’s washing his face and neck in the cold water of the river, a wet stain forming on his collar, drops running down his lean, muscular forearms that are still tan from working outdoors all summer. Your face heats up with an emotion you don’t quite understand, and you turn away from him, pretending to be interested in some moss-covered rocks. You’re not supposed to look.

He startles you when he touches your arm lightly, making you turn around. You hadn’t heard him coming over the sounds of the river. His coat is back on, but you can see his neck glistening in a few places still.

“You shouldn’t wander, ma’am,” he says. That’s four more words for today.

You look around. “Indians, right?” you ask with a small laugh.

His face remains serious. “No. White men. Gangs. They like to hide out here.”

You watch his Adam’s apple move as he swallows and your throat immediately mimics his. “Then why are we taking this road if it’s so dangerous?”

He shrugs. You realize he hasn’t let go of your arm yet. “It’s fast.”

“My father –”

“Your father planned this route.”

You swallow again. “I’ll be careful, sir. Thank you.” He lets go of your arm then, and you walk back to your horse, your face now heating up with an emotion you definitely recognize: embarrassment.

You make camp later that day where the trees are standing close together. While he builds a fire, you pick at a pine cone you found on the ground. Somewhere in the distance you hear a howl, but you’ve learned that if it’s not loud enough to make Mr. Morgan look up from his task, then it’s nothing to be worried about. And he stokes the fire, eyes fixed to the flames.

After dinner, he hands you a small bottle and when the sharp taste of whiskey makes you cough, he smirks. So you take another sip, holding his gaze. He looks away first, pulls a torn-up pack of cigarettes from his coat, and offers you one. You accept, surprised.

“Don’t let my father find out you’re corrupting me,” you tease.

He only makes, “Hm,” in response.

The smoke from the cigarette burns your throat, just like the whiskey, but this time you manage to suppress the cough. “Do you have family, Mr. Morgan?” you ask, watching how he uses a branch to stoke the fire.

“No,” is his simple reply.

Now it’s your turn to make, “Hm,” before you add, “No one you’re sweet on?”

You don’t really care about the answer, why would you? But when he gives you another, “No,” a careful one, it makes your heart pound faster. Until he turns the tables.

“What about you?”

“Oh,” you say, “I don’t know, I haven’t met my fiancé yet.” And you don’t want to be thinking about him right now.

Mr. Morgan looks at you, his head cocked to one side. “Come now,” he pushes, as if you’re being evasive on purpose. “That ain’t what I’m askin’.”

You sigh. “It’s not? I’m spoken for. I have no business thinking about other men.” You don’t mean to be so frank, but the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. And you can tell from the look on Mr. Morgan’s face that he still thinks you’re not honest with him.

“Hm,” he makes, and you dread what might be coming next.

“I’m going to bed,” you tell him, putting an end to your conversation. He opens his mouth to add something, but you don’t give him a change. You lie down and pull your thin blanket over your body, face hot with embarrassment. The last thing you see before falling asleep is Mr. Morgan staring at the flames, a quiet smile on his lips.

Later that night, you wake up to shouts. What pulls you from your sleep entirely is a gunshot that reverberates through the forest. “Mr. Morgan?” you shout, because he isn’t sitting next to the fire anymore and you can’t see him anywhere. Then you hear a sound that makes your blood run cold, a snarl, a growl, but animalistic, wild, unlike anything you’ve ever heard. You jump up from your bedroll, ready to run, but then you remember Mr. Morgan’s warning. It’s better to stay here, in the light of the dwindling fire, than to take your chances out there. “Mr. Morgan?” you try again, this time a hiss, as you frantically search the darkness beyond your camp. It gets so dark out here at night.

A shout is your answer, a deep, “Hey!” Short and fast. The horses whinny, and you’re only now realizing they’re stomping the ground, tearing up the soil with their hooves, the whites in their eyes visible, ears pressed tightly back. You try to swallow your panic, but it gets harder with every passing second.

Then something moves between the trees and Mr. Morgan stumbles back into the camp, a gun in one hand, a torch in the other. He has a wild look in his eyes too, just like the horses, but when they land on you, he relaxes, his face assuming its usual, stoic mask. “Mountain lion,” he says. “It’s gone.”

“What does that mean?” you ask, your voice trembling.

“Chased it off,” he explains. “It ain’t coming back here.”

“The horses …,” you start.

But he walks toward the fire, toward you. “You did good,” he says, dropping to his knees next to you, so close, too close. You can smell the gunpower on him, and the sweat; you’ve never been so close to a man before, not even your own father. “Here.” He hands you the whiskey again. “It’s gone, I promise.”

You wish your hands wouldn’t shake so much. He grabs yours with one to steady, his warm skin like fire against yours, unscrews the stopper with the other, not with impatience but oh so gently. You manage to take a sip on your own, but he watches you intently for any signs of distress.

“You’ll have to get used to it,” he says, stowing away the bottle. “This land out here … it’s wild.”

You nod. Now that the initial burst of panic is dulled, you feel tears sting your eyes.

“But you’ll manage.” His voice is so calming. “You’re a brave girl.”

*******

The hooves of your horse pound out a slow, steady beat against the hard ground. You’re tired, every muscle in your body is sore, but you push on without complaint, following Mr. Morgan up a winding mountain and back down on the other side. The days are so similar they’re bleeding into one – the mountain lion … did it attack three nights ago? Five? You don’t remember. All you know is that your heart picks up speed when he looks at you, that every evening your conversation around the fire becomes a little bit longer, that you wish you could go on like this forever, never to arrive at your destination.

Sometimes at night, when you can’t sleep but you pretend to, you can hear him sing, sometimes to himself, sometimes to the horses. Your heart almost flies out of your chest when he does it. He hasn’t touched you anymore since the night of the mountain lion attack, but you wish he would. Even though everything else about him confuses you, you wish you could feel his skin against yours again; such longing, it almost consumes you.

Is this what it’s supposed to feel like? Did your cousin feel like this when she ran off with that cowboy? Did your mother and father feel like this; is that why they got married? Are you supposed to feel like this when you meet your fiancé? Or is this something else entirely? Is there something wrong with you?

“Break?” he asks once the ground is beginning to even out.

“You know, you keep asking for breaks so much I’m starting to think you don’t want us to reach our destination,” you tease.

He just shrugs and stops his horse. You halt too and climb off, your legs steady when they hit the ground. It wasn’t like that in the beginning; the first few days he had to help you off your horse and you could barely stand. It’s astonishing what a difference a few weeks can make.

You stretch, then begin to walk up and down the path. It’s cold, sitting so still up on that horse, and you flex your fingers, trying to get some feeling back into them. Mr. Morgan, meanwhile, sits down on a tree stump to write in a leather-bound notebook. You’ve seen him use it before but you don’t quite know what it’s for. He’s probably tracking your progress or taking notes on the weather.

Careful to keep him in sight, you veer off into the underbrush, looking at the trees and the different kinds of plants growing on the ground. You pretend you can read the language of the forest, looking for tracks of animals or some mushrooms you might be able to eat. Just like you’ve seen Mr. Morgan do countless of times. When you do find something, you’re not sure what to make of it.

“Mr. Morgan?” Your voice is raised as you try to keep it steady.

You hear his footsteps immediately but you don’t dare to turn around, your eyes fixed on the sight before you. He stops next to you, and you can hear his steady breathing. The knot in your chest immediately dissolves.

“Hm,” he makes.

“What happened here?” you ask. Now the tremor in your voice is all too audible.

He hesitates just for a second, weighing his options, but then he says, “Some people were camping here, a family by the looks of it.”

“Where are they?” you ask, finally turning toward him. The cold, calculating look on his face sends a shiver down your spine.

“Ma’am …,” he says slowly.

“You can tell me. I can handle the truth.”

You look back at the burned-out wagon, the torn clothes hanging from tree branches, all that blood on a log next to a cold fire pit. You don’t need him to tell you. You just want him not to confirm your suspicions.

“They’re dead,” he answers. “Killed. For money.”

“All of them?” you ask.

He winces. “If there were women …”

“Can’t we help them?” You know you can’t, but you wish there was something you could do.

“Stay on the path next time,” he growls. “No more wanderin’ ‘round … ma’am.”

“Mr. Morgan …,” you try, but he’s already trudging back toward the horses.

You spend the rest of the day in silence, riding next to each other but avoiding each other’s gazes. You shouldn’t have called out to him; it was obvious what had happened in that camp. They were a group, and you’re just two people … your father couldn’t have known about the dangers of this journey, or he wouldn’t have made you go. He would’ve found another way. At least that’s what you’re telling yourself. Because you don’t want to even consider the other option and what it would mean. When the sun slowly disappears behind the mountains around you, dread settles onto your heart, the heavy kind you haven’t felt since you were a little girl, afraid of the dark.

Finally, Mr. Morgan stops his horse. “We camp here tonight. No fire.”

“It’s so dark,” you whisper.

“The darkness ain’t what’ll kill you,” he growls.

You can’t sleep; of course not. So you watch him all night, sitting up straight next to you, not so close that you could touch him, but close enough so you’ll always see he’s there. He doesn’t sleep either but he sits very still, keeping his eyes on the path, making sure nothing evil comes out of the dark. And you wish all you had to worry about were mountain lions.

*******

Two days later, Mr. Morgan’s face is pale and you’re frozen through. You haven’t had a warm meal since you found that destroyed camp, and Mr. Morgan has barely slept. You haven’t talked at all, apart from the necessities. And still you haven’t left those mountains and woods behind you. At least the daylight makes you feel less afraid.

“Is it far still?” you ask when the silence becomes unbearable.

“A week,” he answers, looking up at the sky, “if it doesn’t snow.”

The weather is the least of your worries. “And how long before we’re past the mountains?” You hate them now as much as they awed you at first.

“Three days maybe.”

Three more days without warm food. You straighten your back. “Have you come this way before?”

“Yes.”

“Has anything ever happened to you?” You don’t know if you’d prefer confirmation or denial.

“You’re safe with me, so don’t you worry about that.” There’s something in the way he says it that makes your grip tighten on the reins.

“I’m not worried,” you lie. “Just curious.”

“Hm,” he makes before going back to observing the surroundings with caution. “Bad people are everywhere. Not just here.”

“That’s a grim way to look at the world.” You try for a teasing tone, but it sounds like you’re reprimanding him instead.

“You ain’t seen much of it then,” he replies.

“More than you know.”

He looks at you curiously, just for a moment. “You –” he starts, but a shout ahead on the path interrupts him.

“Hey!”

You almost jump out of your skin and stop your horse reflexively. That’s your first mistake. The second one is to shout, “Arthur!” Because it costs him valuable seconds, that distraction. He turns around to look at you, and then suddenly two men are on him, pulling him out of the saddle. Two more appear next to you, a young, handsome one with a dark mustache and darker eyes, and a man your father’s age, but scrawny, with a mouth full of yellow teeth that he exposes to you in an ugly grin. You pull on the reins and your horse dances nervously, ears pressed tightly against its head. And then you hear a shot.

A fifth man stands in the middle of the path, a smoking gun held high over his head. His thick, gray beard quivers as he shouts, “Everybody stay calm and no one is gonna get hurt!”

You look at Mr. Morgan for guidance and see him struggle against the two men who are restraining him by holding his arms tightly pressed against his back. His pants are dirty from where he hit the ground when they pulled him off his horse.

“Get her down from there,” the man with the gray beard barks, and before you can do anything, thin but strong fingers have closed around your arm and you tumble out of the saddle with a shout.

The man who is holding you stinks of rotting things and nicotine. He twists one of your arms until it is pressed flush against your back and uses his other hand to hold your chin, so you’re forced to look straight ahead at the man with the mustache.

“Pretty little thing, ain’t she?” he snarls, and the other man licks his lips.

“We just want your valuables,” Graybeard says to Mr. Morgan.

“We ain’t got any,” he growls.

“I’m sure you don’t,” is the calm answer as Graybeard starts going through the saddlebags of Mr. Morgan’s horse.

You roll your shoulders but the man with the rotting teeth only tightens his hold on you. His companion takes a few careful steps toward you. A lump is forming in your throat as you begin to realize just how dangerous this situation is. You try to kick back, like a horse, but you miss your captor. It only earns you a cruel laugh and a pinch to your cheek.

Somewhere to your right, you hear a dull thud and a pained groan coming from Mr. Morgan. You try to look at him, but you can’t move, not because you’re being restrained but because fear has taken over your body and you can’t do anything but relinquish control.

“Check her horse,” Graybeard orders, but the man with the mustache doesn’t move. He’s only a few steps away from you now, his eyes hungrily roaming over your body. “Now!” Graybeard barks.

“There isn’t -,” you start, but the man who is restraining you clamps a hand over your mouth. You could vomit when you taste his skin.

“There’s this,” the man with the mustache says, holding up a cheap necklace your mother gave you as a parting gift.

“Take it,” Graybeard orders.

“What about her?” the rotting man asks and shakes you.

“Her too,” Graybeard answers with a nod. “Shoot the man.”

“No!” you shout, even though it makes the disgusting man get more of his fingers in between your lips.

The man with the mustache stuffs your mother’s necklace into the pocket of his jacket, then walks over to you. You can hear the blood rushing in your ears as he grips your skirt and begins to pull it upward so your boots and then your drawers are slowly exposed. A hot tear rolls down your cheek but it only makes him smile.

“I bet you’re lovely.” His voice is deep, almost as deep as Mr. Morgan’s, but hearing him speak only fills you with revulsion. “I bet you’re all tight …” He lightly strokes your cheek, then uses his free hand to unbutton his trousers.

“No!” you shout again, but it’s muffled, and your feeble attempts to free yourself are met with an evil snicker.

Then you hear a shot and all the life goes out of your body. It’s done. You’re alone now. And if you’re lucky, you’ll soon be dead too. Two more shots ring through the forest, each one as painful as if you’ve been hit by the bullets yourself. The man with the mustache doesn’t even flinch. His trousers hang open now, and you can see dark hairs peek out from between the fabric, before he cups one of your breasts hard and licks a broad stripe up your neck.

The other man moans, low, wetly, and it’s the most disgusting sound you’ve ever heard. He lets go of you, but it’s too late; you can’t run anymore. A wet, dull sound is followed by another moan, and you know exactly what he’s doing. You’ve heard people talk about it, even though you don’t quite know what it means when a man touches himself. All you know is that you feel bile rise at the thought of it.

The man with the mustache freezes and looks behind you, his eyes wide with shock. Maybe they have a different bargain, maybe he wants to keep you for himself and feels threatened. But then, so fast he’s only a blur, Mr. Morgan rushes past you, grabs the man by his collar, and pulls him off you, landing a punch against his jaw. You blink a few times as both men go down, not sure if what you’re seeing is real or if it’s a vision your panicked brain conjured up to calm you. The man with the mustache lands a kick between Mr. Morgan’s legs, gaining the upper hand. He pulls a knife from his boot while he straddles your companion to pin him down, but Mr. Morgan doesn’t hesitate. He grabs the man’s arm and bites down until he lets go of the knife. You catch a glimpse of Mr. Morgan’s eyes and where you expected him to be all feral rage, he’s cold and calculating. It sends a shiver down your spine and you stumble back a few paces until you step into something soft that squelches on impact. You don’t have to look down to know what it is.

Despite the loss of his knife, the man with the mustache is putting up a good fight. He lands a blow in Mr. Morgan’s face, then scrambles off him, grabs the knife, and pushes himself upward. Mr. Morgan moves faster than you’ve ever seen him move, jumping up while dodging the glinting blade of the knife.

“Stay down, big boy,” the man sneers.

Mr. Morgan shoves into him with such force the knife ends up in the dirt again, right next to the two men. But this time, Mr. Morgan has the upper hand, landing blow after blow in the face of the other, grunting with grim satisfaction when he draws blood, continuing even when the man retches up blood and spits it in Mr. Morgan’s face. He doesn’t stop until the man doesn’t move anymore and his face is nothing more than a bloody pulp, entirely unrecognizable. Only then does he grunt in pain and rolls off his opponent, lying on the forest floor, breathing labored and hard.

*******

You make camp that night as far away from that spot as you could travel before the light faded. Mr. Morgan gets a fire going while you sit on a log, trying to hide your trembling hands in your lap. You haven’t cried yet but you know it’s coming. He hasn’t said anything yet, and you’re not sure he will.

In the flickering light of the fire, you can see the cuts and bruises in his face, the sleeve of his shirt drenched in blood. And when you close your eyes, you can see the five dead men, their broken bodies left in the dirt for scavengers to feed on. He did that, all on his own.

You force yourself to stand up and walk over to him. He’s not the man who calmed you down after a mountain lion attack anymore; you’ve seen him beat a man to death today with his bare hands. No, he’s someone new now, someone you have to get to know first. And when you crouch down next to him, he looks at you with dark eyes like he’s never looked at you before and you feel all the air being pressed out of you.

“Let me take a look at your arm,” you say, pulling it toward you by his hand. The dried blood on his knuckles is rough against your skin.

He doesn’t protest, just watches as you carefully roll up his sleeve to expose a deep cut, undoubtedly left by the knife. It must have happened so fast you missed it. Even though it’s not bleeding as much as it used to, each pump of Mr. Morgan’ heart pushes some more blood out through the cut.

“You need stitches,” you tell him.

Before you can second-guess what you’re doing or change your mind, you’re next to your saddlebag, looking for the sewing kit your bother gave you. Only you’ve never used it for something like this before. You don’t even know if it’ll work, only ever having read about it in books, but it’s better than doing nothing. You also grab the bottle of whiskey from Mr. Morgan’s bag.

“Drink this,” you order, handing it to him once you’re next to him again.

He takes one big swallow, then another one, his throat working to get the liquid down. You pretend not to notice. Then he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand while you stare at the cut with much more focus than necessary. Taking back the bottle, you pour some of its content on the cut, drawing a low groan from Mr. Morgan that heats up your cheeks.

Your hands are shaking as you try to thread the needle. “Have you ever done this before?” Mr. Morgan asks, his face stoic as if he’s ready to accept his fate no matter the answer you give him.

“Technically, no,” you answer, finally pushing the thread through the eye.

“Huh,” he grunts.

“But I’m very good at mending stockings.” You offer him a feeble smile and he nods. “This might hurt a little bit,” you warn before pushing the needle through his skin. Holding his arm in place with your other hand, you can feel his muscles flex at the intrusion, and a short burst of breath tickles the top of your head. He doesn’t complain.

“Have you ever been stitched up before?” you ask him to distract him.

“No,” he replies through gritted teeth.

“Oh, good. Then you have to believe me when I tell you I’m doing a very good job.” What’s wrong with you?

He grunts again, but maybe, possibly that sound could be hiding a laugh.

“Still, when we arrive at our destination, you should have a doctor look at this,” you instruct.

“Eager to hear from a professional how good of a job you did?”

Your cheeks ignite and you drop the needle. “Shit.” He is laughing now, a low chuckle, as you try to locate a glint in the flickering light from the campfire. Luckily, you don’t have to look far – the needle fell straight down and is lying between Mr. Morgan’s boots. You wipe strands of hair from your face, then wipe the needle clean on your dress before getting back to work.

“No,” you answer his question, forcing your voice to sound steady. “Because I have no idea how to prevent an infection. Or if I’m even doing this correctly.”

Mr. Morgan leans down, his big hand closing around the bottle you discarded earlier, and he unscrews the cap with his thumb and forefinger. “Looks to me like you’re doin’ fine.” A big swig, then another one.

You glance up at him just to see his face looking unusually pale. “Does it hurt a lot?” you ask carefully.

“I’ve had worse,” he answers, but flinches when one of your stitches comes too close to the wound.

You blink fast a couple of times, trying to shake the image of him on top of that man, punching and punching until no trace of life was left. The memory of the sheer brutality makes your hands feel clammy. No, this wasn’t his first time getting hurt, just like it wasn’t his first time killing someone. And now the same hands rest peacefully in his lap, cut and bruised, yes, but a far cry from the deadly weapons you saw today.

“Thank you for what you did today,” finishing up with two final stitches, then quickly add, “There,” and pet his arm before he can acknowledge your words of gratitude.

He lifts his hand from his leg and flexes his fingers. “Thanks for this,” he replies, examining the stitches.

Your gaze lands on his knuckles that are covered in blood, his own and that of the men he killed. “Do you want me to take a look at your hands?” you ask, your throat tight all of a sudden.

“I’m used to that.” He stretches out one of his legs so it rests next to you, close enough that you feel the ghost of a presence next to your hip.

“I’ve never met a man who was used to so much violence.” Your eyes are still on his hands, bruised darkly.

“It was either them or us.” He shrugs.

Us. “I was sure they had killed you when I heard that first gunshot,” you tell him, lowering your gaze to your own hands that have some dirt on them, some streaks of Mr. Morgan’s blood, but that look so clean compared to his.

“And break the contract with your father?”

You laugh. “A father who selected this route knowing full well about the dangers we would face?” The silence that follows your question is filled only by the crackle of the campfire and by the sounds of creatures moving through the woods. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you,” you finally say.

“This ain’t the first time I had to save someone,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“And how did those other people repay you?” you ask, eager for his answer. Being indebted to him puts you on edge.

“Money,” is his short reply.

“I don’t have any,” you say, feeling a tug at your heartstrings. But maybe that doesn’t matter; maybe when you arrive, you could talk to your fiancé. He’ll want to reward the man who defended your honor and saved you from a horrible fate. Still, you wish there was something you could be doing for him right now. “There’s also other ways,” you say, very slowly.

“Hm,” he makes, a sound that has started to fill you with a certain warmth for reasons you can’t quite explain. Then he shifts, moves his legs a little further apart. And you’re there right between them, looking up into his face that betrays nothing except for the smallest glint in his eyes.

You’ve never even kissed a man, but you’re not stupid. You know what certain gestures and movements mean. You’ve watched your father’s hands when a woman walked past them, you’ve attended dances where everyone around you was getting drunk … growing up on a farm, you’ve seen things. But you also know that those things are wrong and they should only be happening between husband and wife behind closed doors, no matter what everyone else is doing.

It's getting harder to breathe, and you feel a tug low in your stomach, almost like an ache. You’ve never felt anything like this before and you can’t quite place it, but the way he looks at you, mouth slightly opened, his eyes deep and dark, only fuels that sensation. And when you think back to this afternoon, it becomes so strong it makes you shift on your knees.

“You’re a pretty little thing.”

It’s the second time today someone has said that about you. Whereas the first time made your skin crawl, the second time makes your cheeks heat up and your breath get stuck in your throat. You notice that Mr. Morgan unbuckles his belt, eyes locked to yours, and you make sure your gaze stays on his face. It’s only when he groans and his eyelids flutter shut that you look down and see he has his hand wrapped around himself, moving it up and down his length with sure strokes. Something in you is released at that sight.

“Here, let me,” you offer, shuffling closer on your knees until you’re trapped between his legs.

Before you can think better of it, you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock. It’s warmer than you expected, feels heavier than you thought when you move your hand up in the same move you saw him use. He groans again, louder this time, and removes his hand, resting it on your arm. You tremble.

Back home, you were taught that what a wife does in the bedroom is fulfilling the duty to her husband. It sounded neither pleasant nor enjoyable, and so far, you’ve managed to push the thoughts of what is awaiting you at your destination from your mind. But your mother couldn’t have meant this, because this doesn’t feel like duty at all. You stroke the tip of his cock with your thumb, he tightens the grip on your arm in return, and you feel a surge of pride well up. No, your mother couldn’t have been talking about this.

Eager to try more, you twist your wrist on the downstroke, then lower your head and kiss the tip of his cock. He growls this time, and his hand lands on the back of your head, pushing you down. You have no choice but to open your mouth further and take him in. The weight of him presses down against your tongue, the tip of him brushing the back of your throat makes you gag as tears shoot to your eyes. He grips your hair, pulls you off, then pushes you back down again, and you got it. It’s not so different from the hand.

Steadying him at the base with a tight grip, you pull off him again, but let your tongue run along the underside, the sharp taste of him filling every corner of your mouth. It will take some getting used to, but you’re determined to get this right, and from the way his hand trembles at the back of your head, you have a feeling you might be.

You close your eyes, focusing on taking him as deeply inside as possible because he seems to enjoy that. Sometimes, when you think there isn’t any room left, he pushes you onto his cock that little bit further and then groans contently, a sound that tightens parts of your body you didn’t know could tighten. You run your tongue over the tip of him, hum around him when your mouth is full of him, just to find out what kind of sounds you can draw from him. If this is what it’s like, you can’t imagine why anyone would call this a duty.

Mr. Morgan stiffens and pushes his hips upward so you take even more of him into your mouth. This time you can’t help the gagging sound pushing past him. But instead of forcing you to take more, he grips a handful of your hair and pulls you off. Your mouth feels strangely empty for a moment, even though his taste lingers, and you blink in confusion. Was that it?

You lick your lips and look up at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something. But he’s quiet, only placing his forefinger under your chin to tilt your head back a little more. For some reason, that gesture leaves you breathless. And you know why a second later when his lips lock onto yours and your breaths mingle, and you suddenly understand why people would kill for this. Why he killed for you.

You can’t help the moan that comes out of your mouth, don’t even realize at first that the sound is coming from you. His hand glides to the back of your head to grip you and hold you in place, and you push yourself toward him, one hand on his arm, the other on his thigh. He licks into your mouth and you try to mirror him, feeling a strange sense of pride when he opens up for you.

He pulls away, holding you in place by the hair at the nape of your neck. “Did you like havin’ me in your mouth?” he asks and his voice is so low you barely recognize it.

“Yes, Mr. Morgan,” you answer, and you also almost don’t recognize your own.

“Oh, you’re somethin’,” he says with a wicked smile, then stands and pulls you with him.

Your legs are trembling and your knees threaten to give way when he kisses you again, pressing his entire body to yours. Just when you think you could spend eternity like this, he closes his arms around your backside and lifts you up, so you don’t have any chance but to sling your legs around his middle. You squeal against his lips, but he just carries you past the campfire toward your bedroll. Beneath your palms, you can feel the muscles in his shoulders and arms flex and tighten with each step. Something in your stomach flutters as you remember he's strong enough to beat a man to death.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’re kissing his jaw and neck, biting down on a tendon that’s jutting out with the effort of keeping you in his arms. When he rumbles deep in his chest, you flick out your tongue to lick across the spot in apology, but he drops you to your feet. You both stand there for a second, looking at each other with heaving chests. His hands come up to grip the neckline of your dress, and he pulls, a tearing sound echoing through the trees. Your torn dress crumbles to the ground around you, exposing your undergarments, and even though your first instinct is to cover up you don’t because he pulls his shirt over his head to expose his naked chest beneath, and that sight is enough to distract you from any embarrassment you might be feeling.

His pants are next, and then he stands before you stark naked. You try to touch his stomach with a trembling hand, but he grabs your wrist and pushes you down to the ground. With precise movements, he pulls off your drawers, taking your shoes with them, then tears open your corset to expose your breasts. Your breath hitches when he cups one in his calloused hand and squeezes, making pleasure spike through your body.

You kiss him again, lean into his touch, and then you discover you can make him tighten his hold on you by licking over his bottom lip. You can make him press his hard length against you by moaning in pleasure. It feels so, so good to have this effect on him, to be able to do that to him without words. Never, in a million years, would you have expected that giving yourself to a man would feel like this, would make heat blossom at the base of your spine, would make you ache between your legs. You shove your fingers into his hair, deepening the kiss, and he sighs against your lips, a sound that makes your knees weak. How can all of this make you feel so good yet fill you with a hunger you don’t know how to satiate?

You run your nails over his scalp, testing to see what other sounds you can elicit from him, when he suddenly shifts both your bodies, pushing you to the ground while caging you in with his body. Your heart hammers in your chest so hard it’s almost painful, but even when your back is uncomfortably pressed against your thin bedroll, you still crane your neck to keep kissing him. God, why can’t you get enough of him?

With a sharp slap against your knee that sends another spike of pleasure through your body, he pushes your legs apart, then draws back to look at you. His lips are red and swollen, and both shadow and light are dancing across his face in quick succession. You reach up to touch his cheek, but he catches your wrist and pins it down next to your head with so much strength it steals the breath from your lungs.

“You’re the prettiest little lady I’ve ever seen,” he mumbles.

You feel your face heat up, but he doesn’t notice how flustered you are. With his free hand, he grabs himself, then lines himself up between your legs. You watch, eyes wide, breathing so fast your head is starting to swim. What comes next is a pressure that is not painful but not quite pleasurable either. And the more it pushes, the more it hurts.

“Stop,” you say, your voice not more than a whisper.

Either he doesn’t hear you or he’s ignoring you, but he continues to push up into you, and now it’s so painful you’ve lost all sense of pleasure entirely.

“Stop,” you try again, bracing your hands against his shoulders, trying to push him off you. He’s too strong for you. “Arthur, stop!” you bellow.

And he hears you. He immediately withdraws, and you scramble to sit up, pulling away from him as best as possible on the small bedroll.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, and the concern in his voice makes you look at him.

“Yes,” you answer, hugging your knees to your chest. You wish you weren’t so naked.

“Have you ever …?” He doesn’t need to finish the question for you to know what he means.

You shake your head.

A deep, red flush creeps up his chest and neck. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t –”

“It’s alright,” you interrupt him, his apology embarrassing rather than harming you. “You didn’t know.”

“The way you were kissin’ me …” He trails off again.

Your ears prick up at the compliment. “It all felt … good,” you stutter. “More than good. It’s just …”

“I can … we can slow down,” he offers. “If you still want …”

You look at him, kneeling before you, his skin glowing orange in the light from the fire. His dick is slowly softening between his legs, goosebumps are covering his arms, but he is showing you all of himself without shame. That bold display of his body makes your blood heat up again, but you hesitate. Touching his naked skin is one thing, giving yourself to him entirely is something you’ve been warned of your entire life. And yet … now that you’ve pushed through the initial shock, you slowly realize your body is demanding to feel him again.

You nod. “Yes. I still … I want you.”

Your cheeks are fever-hot, but the way his eyes light up is worth the embarrassment you feel. Arthur moves toward you, loosening the hold you have on yourself, and you relax, dropping your knees, letting him come even closer. He smirks, his eyes darting to your lips and then back up again before he leans in for a searing kiss, and it feels like the last few minutes didn’t happen at all. Without breaking the kiss, he reaches for your wrist, then slowly guides your hand between your own legs, while you tremble in anticipation. He doesn’t touch you, but when he presses your own fingers against all that heat and wetness, you moan deeply.

Arthur breaks the kiss first. “I want you to play with yourself,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear.

“I don’t …,” you start, suddenly unsure.

“Yeah, I know.” He kisses your neck. “You’re gonna figure it out though.”

You take a deep breath and nod, and when he captures your lips for another kiss, you move your fingers over yourself in a motion that makes pleasure shoot through your entire body. A shaky pant escapes you and lands on his mouth, turning his lips into a smirk even while he’s kissing you.

“There you go,” he whispers.

You find a rhythm and pace that makes you feel like you’re about to explode but that doesn’t light the final fuse, and he continues to kiss you for a while before drawing back to watch the hand between your thighs. Any shame you could have felt is replaced by pure lust when you see the arousal in his eyes; you shift to open your legs further, and he raises his eyes in surprise. You shift under his searing gaze and moan when you notice his hand closing around the base of his cock.

You’ve never felt like you’re feeling right now, completely in control but also like you’re surrendering yourself to him. It’s so addictive it makes you wonder how people don’t want to feel like this all the time. “It feels so good,” you groan, struggling to get the words out because your teeth are clenched.

“You’re so pretty,” is Arthur’s answer as he moves his hand up and down his length.

You can’t help but believe him. “I love you strong you are,” you return the compliment, and before you can think better of it, you raise your free hand and cup your breast, squeezing your nipple.

His eyes lock onto your chest. “Fuck.” Pleasure shoots through you from the tip of your toes to the top of your head. “You’re such a good girl,” he adds, and it makes your heart flutter so painfully you feel like it’s about to fly out of your chest.

“Say that again,” you demand, not recognizing yourself at all.

Arthur shifts closer until he’s right between your legs, fisting himself eagerly. You can smell the sweat and arousal on him, a scent so overpowering you wish you could bury your nose in his skin and inhale it forever. “My pretty, brave girl,” he says, and when you lower your gaze, too overwhelmed by what his words make you feel, he grips your chin and lifts your head. “Oh no, you’re gonna look at me.” You blink once but don’t lower your head again. “Yeah, that’s it.” He smirks. “Look at you … so eager to please me. You should see yourself right now … goddamn prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.”

You do lower your gaze then because it feels like too much. Your eyes land on his cock, on the tip that’s glistening wetly, and you lick your lips, remembering the feeling of him in your mouth.

“You want me inside of you, don’t you?” Arthur asks, and you nod. His rough, calloused hand closes around your throat and you can’t help it – you move your own hand faster, a crescendo building in the pit of your stomach. “Use your words, pretty girl. I know you can.”

You swallow hard, knowing he can feel your throat move against his grip. “Yes, I want you inside of me.” Your face doesn’t heat up this time as you realize you’re not only saying that to please him. It’s exactly what you want.

He rewards you with a deep kiss, then mumbles against your lips. “Are you ready?”

You hesitate. “I’m not …”

But Arthur doesn’t let you finish. “Let’s find out together.” He leans back. “Finger yourself.” The way his eyes darken when he says it isn’t lost on you.

You shift and move your hand lower, his eyes fixed to your movements. He has stopped moving, his hand grabbing his cock, holding it between his legs. You feel yourself flutter against your fingers in anticipation at the same time as he licks his lips. And then you push the tip of your finger inside of you, past the initial resistance, deeper and deeper until you can’t go any further.

“Breathe,” he instructs and you exhale sharply. “Did that hurt?”

You shake your head before remembering he likes to hear your voice. “No.”

“How does it feel?” he wants to know.

Carefully, you pull your finger out until only the tip remains inside of you, then you push it back in. “Good,” you manage. “Really good.”

“You’re sweet when you can barely talk,” he says with a smirk and the muscles inside you clamp down on your finger. You moan and close your eyes, unable to keep them open. “You like that, don’t you?” You hear him shift closer. “You like hearing my voice. Bet you’d like me to talk you through it, too.”

Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you feel something building inside you. It’s like a wave that will drown everything out. You lean back further and further until your back connects to the ground, until you can raise your hips to meet your finger, trying to get it as deep inside you as possible.

Then his hand is covering yours and he pushes you to the ground, stilling you. When you open your eyes, you’re met with his, dark with lust, and you’re rewarded with the sight of his chest, flushed so deeply red it looks almost purple. His cock is leaking onto his fingers. “Not yet, sweet girl,” he says in a voice that sounds familiar to the one he uses to calm down his horse. “You’re doing so well, but wait until …”

Arthur removes his hand from yours, but then you feel the tip of his finger right where yours is disappearing inside yourself. You steel yourself for the pain you’re about to feel, but when his finger joins yours, stretching you open, all you feel is pleasure so intense it makes it hard for you to stay conscious.

“Fuck,” you groan, a short outburst, almost like a bark.

“You can say that again.” Arthur’s voice is so husky it’s almost impossible to understand. He cups your hand with his, and then moves the both of you in tandem, pulling back out and pushing back in. You tentatively meet his thrusts by rolling your hips and he growls. “Look at you, spread open just for me.”

You don’t know why his words make you feel like they do, but the muscles between your legs are working hard to keep both your fingers buried as deeply as possible. That earns you a smirk from him and you smile back in return.

“I think you’re ready.” He grips your hand tightly and pulls the both of you out, making you sob. To calm you, he cups your cheek and presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna fill you right back up again.” All you can do is nod.

He positions himself above you, stroking himself a few times, then lining himself up. It’s easier for you to relax this time because you know what to expect, but when he breaches that resisting wall of muscles, you still feel a burn and hiss.

“Shhhh,” he makes and kisses your forehead. “You’re doing so good.”

And then he’s inside of you, stretching you open as much as you can take. His eyes flutter shut and he groans, shifting to adjust himself. “You feel perfect.”

“You’re … you’re big,” you manage, drawing a chuckle from him.

He shifts again, then pulls back out before slamming back into you, making you see stars. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he apologizes immediately.

“No,” you press out through gritted teeth. “Do that again.”

He does, and you grip his arm, burying your nails in his muscle, slinging your other arm around his back. There’s a strange taste in your mouth and you only slowly realize it’s blood from biting down on your bottom lip. He kisses you, licks over the wound, pulls a sharp moan from you. And then he slams into you so hard you scream, clawing at his skin, leaving bloody streaks down his arm and back. The pain only seems to spur him on and when you pant, “Harder,” he doesn’t hesitate.

You clench around his cock in return and he whispers, “I like you like this.” You feel yourself clench again and he groans. “You’re perfect,” he repeats. You kiss his neck, then bite it, until he pushes you back down. “I bet you’ve never had an orgasm before, have you?” You shake your head and he mimics that motion, tapping your bottom lip with his thumb. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“No,” you manage to say, your voice hoarse.

He rocks into you, not as hard and fast as before, but it makes you pant helplessly nonetheless. “Yeah, I thought so,” he mumbles more to himself than to you.

“Please,” you whisper.

He smirks down at you, then shifts his knees ever so slightly to change the angle. Suddenly, he’s brushing against something deep inside of you that makes a sob erupt from deep in your chest.

“Do you even know what you’re asking for?” he teases, but there is a strain in his voice now, as if he’s struggling to hold onto something.

“Please,” you repeat louder, unable to fully grasp the meaning of his question.

Arthur’s thumb is back on your lip and then he pushes it inside your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the tip eagerly, then suck on it, grazing your teeth over his skin. His breathing turns ragged, and the warmth of pride erupts in your chest. With a wet sound, he pulls his thumb out from between your lips and pushes his hand between your bodies until it comes to rest on that small spot you were toying with earlier. You howl and twitch and your whole body erupts. You spill over, you lose sense of where and who you are, you’re shaken by forces beyond your control. All the while, Arthur pounds into you, strokes you inside and out, and you think you hear him say, “That’s it, just let go. You’re so fucking beautiful – just let go.”

As soon as you feel like you can breathe again, he pulls out of you, leaving you aching and empty and cold. Through hooded eyes, you watch as he moves his hand up and down his cock fast until he spills all over his hand and the edge of your bedroll, gaze not directed downwards, but staring at you with insatiable hunger in his eyes. And you return that gaze just as hungrily, wondering what it would feel like to taste his release on your tongue.

Arthur stands unsteadily and retrieves his coat from the other side of the campfire. You feel the cold of the night now and hug your knees to your chest, still trying to make sense of the world. “Now, no more of that,” he says when he gets back, draping his coat over you, the weight of it making your limbs grow soft. He lies down next to you, pressing his front to your back, one arm possessively slung over your chest, the other shoved under your head for you to use as a pillow.

*******

The morning sun is warm on your face as you ride through a slowly thinning forest. The plains and your destination cannot be far from here. Your thoughts are though; they’re still somewhere behind you, stuck at a campfire, busy chasing the feeling of the man next to you between your legs.

When you reach a fork in the path, you stop your horse and look off to your right, back into the forest and the mountains. “What’s back there?” you ask.

Arthur stops his horse next to yours and looks down the path. “Never been over that way,” he answers.

“Do you want to find out?” Your voice is firm, but you don’t look at Arthur.

He’s quiet at first. “Your father –”

“– already paid you,” you finish the sentence.

Arthur nods. “Alright,” he says, then looks back at the path you just put behind you, then off to your right again. “Let’s find out what’s over there.”

***

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 fanfiction #embers

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justkending · 7 months ago

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Mr. & Mrs. Hunt (Chapter 4/7)

Mini-Series Summary: Two of the most stubborn people in the group partnered together for an undercover mission are also the two people with the most hatred for each other, so what could go wrong? Or is it, what COULDN’T go wrong?…

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger Reader

Word Count: 3900+

A/N Note: Only a few more chapters to go (I think, but we're both lost on how long this series will be.) Thank you guys for reading and as always, thank you for the love and support!

____________

Chapter 4:

Y/N's POV

It wasn’t him. It was 100% me. I did this to myself. I built a wall so quickly around him because I didn’t want to like the man behind my misery.

My teammates knew enough about my backstory to think they had an idea of my reason for joining SHIELD: helping the little guy because, at one point, you were the little guy—the manipulated guy—the one who no one saved, so you had to save yourself—and now anyone else who can’t do it for themselves.

Yet, there were so many other things I kept for myself, and things files couldn’t tell you. No files existed of them, and I’m glad because I didn’t want the pity.

James Buchanan Barnes was the reason behind my abuse. Not personally, but my abuser was obsessed with his accomplishments under the German and Russian terrorist organizations and wanted to make a female, more skilled, discrete, and sleeker version of the Winter Soldier.

Who fucking didn’t, right? God, every goddamn evil bastard on this godforsaken shit show of a planet wants to remake something that was a once in a lifetime kind of thing and crack more than a few eggs to get to that point. Selfish asshole…

Being constantly compared to him and then beaten for not hitting the unreachable mark of the man I was ‘of no comparison to’ after years of trying to hit that standard, and then being asked to be on a team with him? A lot of emotions hit me like a train when I got that news.

Will I amount to being the trained spy and agent I am for Shield with him by my side? Will he make me look like a completely pointless addition to the team? After five years of already working with the Avengers and then learning who the Winter Solider was? Steve’s best friend and probably the only person he could relate to in their journey? All the way to having to work with him… The change-up was instantaneous, where I would have begged for baby steps.

Then again, when has the world made it easy for me?

So yes. I was an ass and kept him further than arm's length away to stay safe from learning that he was a good guy when I wasn’t ready to like him yet. I had a lot of trauma I never thought I’d have to work through with the infamous man himself, and that irritation and annoyance just continued when he finally matched my energy, and we never strayed from that relationship until… now.

And here he was, genuinely asking what HE did wrong when I was the reason for our enemies’ plot line.

“Bucky, I don’t think I can talk about this right now,” I breathed out slowly, feeling the tears prick in my eyes.

It had been a minute since I cried and felt this vulnerable, and I couldn’t seem to stop it. I think subconsciously, I didn’t want to stop it, but my mind was begging my body to hold out until he was out of the room.

“Y/N, if I did something to you, I didn’t realize-”

“You wouldn’t have known,” I whisper, not trusting my voice to stay steady, but also not wanting to put anymore of the blame on him from here on out.

He wasn’t a bad guy.

He had proved himself time and time again to be a really good guy. Even when he broke and decided he hated me back, he still had his moments when he put it aside and showed chivalry. I admired him for it even when I ignored the admiration.

Makes it hard to fully hate a guy who made sure ladies weren’t opening any doors for themselves. Or a man who remembered Morgan’s birthday and bought her an ice cream cake before stealing Steve’s shield to sled down a hill her dad told her not to. Or a man you treat like absolute shit 99% of the time, and he still checks on you when you have nightmares, and he grabs water and an ice pack and helps you even out your breathing before waiting for you to go back to sleep.

I didn’t ask him for the help, and he never mentioned the handful of times he fell into the routine of soothing me back to sleep. Never brought it up, never made me feel like I owed him, and never hinted at remembering such kindness.

But now?

“You wouldn’t have known why it started this way to begin with. And you likely won’t,” I sigh, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth before turning around; a lot more put together, even if it was just a mask I had learned to put on most of my life.

“I don’t understand,” Bucky furrowed his eyebrows at my disposition.

“I don’t expect you to, but maybe we should go to sleep and talk about it later. It’s getting late, and you have to go to your ‘job’ tomorrow,” I say with hand quotes. “We have to keep the ruse going.”

“A few hours of sleep doesn’t affect me,” Bucky shook his head, and I could see him itching to put his hands back on me, but he held back. “Please. I need to know what the hell I did.”

“Again, Bucky,” I say sternly this time, all emotion I’m struggling to keep at bay shoved down. “You are not at fault, and tomorrow I’ll talk to you, but for now, I need to sleep on it.”

He read my face for lies, and I kept it neutral. I wasn’t going to break here. Now was not the time. I needed space to think about how I was going to approach this after so long of avoiding it and being put on the spot wasn’t going to work for me.

“Ok,” he said, softer than I think I ever heard him talk. His eyes were soft and sensitive, and I didn’t know how I felt about it…

He turned and walked out of my room, gently shutting the door behind him and turning off the overhead light he had originally flashed on.

I didn’t instantly head straight to bed. I stared at the doorway in the dark, seeing the faint silhouette of the barrier between us. He was still on the other side, and I could hear his heart rate higher than normal.

This was affecting him more than I thought it would. Why was he so worried about what I thought of him? He didn’t seem bothered by my disinterest in the past. Or at least I didn’t figure he did.

____________________

When I woke up, Bucky was already gone. His truck, normally in the driveway, was missing, and I knew he had taken off for our mission report.

Thankful, I took the time to make my coffee, sit on the front porch, and watch the neighborhood take on its morning routine.

People were on runs with their family dogs, moms were doing their morning walks with strollers, some neighbors were out already tending to their gardens, and everything suburban seemed to be on track.

Towards the end of my cup, I notice Ms. Bauer coming back from her jog she must have taken earlier than the others.

“Oh, hello, neighbor!” she shouted when she spotted me, uniformly checking our house like her head was on a swivel if she heard a pen drop in it.

Still in her jog, she sashayed over to my lawn, and I mumbled, “Here we go,” smiling at her as she followed the sidewalk to our steps.

“How are you doing today, Bethanne?” I grin standing from my patio chair and going down the steps to meet her at the bottom of the flight. “Is there a run club I didn’t know about? You’re the 10th person I’ve seen getting a head start on their steps for the day.”

She laughed and waved a hand at me before taking an earbud out, pausing her music on her watch, and placing her hands on her hips as she looked up at me.

“There is actually a mommy and me walking club on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Depending on the weather, of course, but who knows,” she grinned up at me. “Maybe you can be joining it sooner than you thought.”

“Maybe not as soon as you think,” I laughed, holding my mug tighter with both hands so I wouldn’t strangle her instead and leaning on the banister. “We wanted at least a year in the house by ourselves before we add another set of feet to the chaos,” I scrunch my nose and add, “but I’m excited for the day Beau and I have a mini-version of us running around here.”

“Speaking of Beau,” she grins, looking to the driveway. “Where is he today? He’s usually home with you most of the time, right?”

“Oh, it was time for him to get back to work. He took off for a few weeks to get moved in and spend time with me before we had to get back to the real world,” I answer as planned.

“That’s right. I think I remember you guys talking about that at the first block party,” she nodded, watching me carefully for slip-ups. “Can you believe it’s only been two weeks of you guys here? I feel like you two have been a part of the community for at least a year.”

“You’re sweet,” I gush convincingly and look out to the neighborhood for effect. “You guys have really taken us in as your family, and you don’t know how much I appreciate it. We appreciate it,” I correct and look off in the distance like I’m thinking of my sweet, doting husband when, in reality, I was thinking of the day this mission was over and I could carry on with my normal life. “I don’t think I’ve mentioned this. Beau isn’t one to really talk about it, but his family life wasn’t the best. They’ve practically been strangers since he turned 18.”

“Oh, is that so?” she inched up, feeding on the new (fake) information.

I nod. “When we started dating, my family took him in as his own- well, I only had my dad around for most of my life, but they got along really well. He passed three years ago,” I give a tight-lipped look as I look down at my feet in sadness. “They developed a bond, which wasn’t hard considering who my dad was. He was the best, though we might be biased in thinking that. Taught Beau how to do a lot of things dads are supposed to teach their sons. Well,” I sniffle for added effect. “Anyway, we’re kinda on our own now. No extended family we’re close with, and with my dad’s passing, it’s really just us. So when I say we’re grateful for y’all’s hospitality, I mean it.”

She seemed to buy it, as much as an undercover convict could, and smiled kindly up at me before placing a hand on my arm.

“Of course, sweetheart. We’re just lucky you two are some of the good ones. You’d be surprised who’s come in and hasn’t made the cut. Lawns in disarray, unfriendly attitudes, and you know the list,” she winks and rolls her shoulders back before stretching in her spot. “Speaking of being lovely neighbors, how would you and Beau feel about a dinner at our house? Reggie and I have been talking about having you over for quite some time now, and I think we can finally host.” Before I could ask, she stopped me and explained. “Kitchen renovation. It was and still is a pain in my ass, but it should be doable for a small dinner.”

“That sounds lovely,” I beam as much as I could act. It was the perfect next step, and the bait had been taken, but a part of me wanted to settle things with Bucky in our personal dispute before we put on our masks for the two main perpetrators. “Let me check with him and see what his schedule will look like now. He’s getting some new orders today, and some things are changing in the company. We’ll know more tonight. But we will for sure make it work.”

___________

After Bethanne told me some useless neighborhood gossip, she excused herself, and I went back inside to get ready for the day and consider how I would approach Bucky on our issue.

I knew it was time to be truthful, even if I dreaded it. Bucky had proven time and time again that he wasn’t the enemy, and I needed to deal with my issues. I was tired of wasting energy on hatred and anger, and these last two weeks proved that Bucky wasn’t the one who should have been receiving the blunt force end of my trauma.

I had until four in the evening to come up with an idea of how I wanted to go about it, but I had stress cleaned instead and couldn’t come up with a non-terrifying way to approach this life-changing conversation.

Finally, I found it best we get dinner in the town over (as not to have any peaking eyes or eavesdropping ears as we dive into my life story I hadn’t indulged to near anyone before), and I would talk to Bucky there. However, plans changed when Bucky came home.

From my spot in the kitchen, I heard him shout in his domesticated voice across the street, “No, that sounds perfect! We’d love to!” The door opened just as he finished his sentence, and his voice became clearer.

I moved around the island and slowly walked toward the door to get a view of who he was talking to, and I noticed Bethanne at her mailbox waving to Bucky.

I furrowed my eyebrows at the obvious commitment he put us in, and after he waved back, he shut the door behind him, looking at me, and dropped the act quickly.

“What did you just agree to?” I asked, nodding my head behind him.

He looked me up and down, and I almost forgot I had picked a new, semi-fancier sundress for our “surprise anniversary dinner” (at least the front I was trying to put on for getting out of town without too much suspicion).

(Make whatever color you please or change it in your mind if you want! I'm choosing to pick it as a darker red.)

“You look nice,” he says as his eyes trail back up to my own, and I swear I see him take a gulp.

“What did you agree to?” I asked again, focused more on what he had decided for us regarding Bethanne.

His previous shocked face faded away, and he rolled his eyes slightly before throwing his work bag to the side.

“Bethanne invited us to dinner. I said yes because we need to build a relationship with them,” he replied stoically, as if my question was dumb and pointless.

I just stared at him and let my “personal vendetta” look rest on my face. He studied me and had the decency to shrink ever so slightly.

“What?”

“What happened to discussing things first?” I said in an eerily calm voice.

“I didn’t think accepting dinner at a home we’ve been trying to get inside of for the last two weeks is something we’d have to discuss.” And now he straightens up, throwing his empty arms to the side.

A few seconds later, I yelled, “You dipshit!” in a muffled grunt, keeping my voice down as much as I could handle and balling my fists in anger.

His eyebrows shoot up and he huffs with his chest puffed out as he marches to me. I see the intent in his eyes, and I start walking away towards the opposite room closest, needing a minute not to lose my shit, and if I have to look into his stupid azure eyes like he wants to read everything passing through my mind, I’ll break.

“Don’t walk away from me,” he growls, and I shoot him a look over my shoulder as I shift my pace and head down the hallway to the bedrooms. “Y/N, stop being a stubborn ass and-”

“Unless you want a heel thrown at your head, and you’re welcome for being civil about this, I suggest you leave me alone,” I shout behind me, turn sharply to the left, and go to my room.

“I don’t even know what THIS is! You looked at me like you wanted to kill me when I walked in, and I haven’t even talked to you today besides updates about work,” he said just as I slammed the door in his face. “Oh, real mature. Shut the door like an adolescent. Wait, I forgot. You are one…” He mumbles the last part and I hear him lean on the door.

Instantly, I whip the door open, and he doesn’t have time to predict his next move. He falls flat on his back on the wood floors of my room, only padded by a thin oriental rug I made Tony buy me.

He’s winded from the fall and clutches his chest as I bend down next to him and say, “I said. Leave. Me. The. Fuck. Alone.” I stare at him for a second, solidifying my threat. I stand to walk out and only give him a glance as I pass the doorway.

_____________

Bucky’s POV:

I left her the fuck alone.

I may have been royally pissed (that is a blatant ass understatement), but something about the look in Y/N’s eyes told me not to push unless I wanted to wake up with my head no longer attached to my body.

I was too scared to leave her room in fear I’d run into her when she wasn’t ready and risk taking the chances of the guillotine earlier, so I sat on her bed and tried to rack my brain to where I slipped up to cause whatever the hell I walked in to…

I knew almost instantly and realized what a stupid, simple mistake it was. Bethanne asking me to dinner set her off, I knew. But her comment about talking with each other before making decisions told me my mistake.

Something happened I didn’t know of, and I may have just fucked whatever it was up. As for what it is? No goddamn clue. But using context clues and just basic reading of the body language, Y/N had already made a plan, and I threw it out the window, likely.

I heard footsteps before I could think further, and Y/N appeared in the doorway, taking a deep breath. She would have convinced me she was going to be civil if it wasn’t for her history, but I was excited to see which lane she chose.

“One thing before I bite my tongue,” she says in almost a whisper, like she’s trying to keep her frustrations at bay. “You make me want to shave my head like Britney Spears in 2007 75% of the time. This moment was almost a tipping point for that kind of outcome..” She lets out a long breath like she passed the test of keeping it together.

Surprisingly a lot more tame than I was expecting.

“Glad you got that out of your system. Now, please tell me what the hell happened?” I asked, keeping my guard up in case she resorted to her typical insults and fury.

“Oh, now you want to communicate,” she mocks and walks to the bed, harshly sitting next to me but leaving a copious amount of space between us.

I let it slide because I know she’s fighting bigger demons, like the urge to insult me, until I personally dig my own grave and say goodbye to my cruel reality.

“Bethanne was goading us,” she answers, thankfully getting right to the point. “Something about her proposition seemed off, and I wanted to clear some things up with you before we jumped on the offer.”

I nodded my head, seeing that my instantaneous reply wasn’t thought out. That was on me, yes, but she also reacted extremely dramatically, expressing an odd feeling about the interaction instead of hard proof.

“What did she ask, and what was off about it?” I question, trying to stay mission based because something seemed off still.

“It wasn’t what it was but how she was asking. Something in her tone and the way she was looking at our house and me. Like she was trying to take in detail after detail up close. Checking for cracks in the foundation,” she answers and turns to me just slightly. “She also said her kitchen was under renovation, and something felt off about it.”

“The vibes about our neighbor getting a kitchen renovation made you knock the wind out of me when you opened your door?” I said before I could think, but I didn’t budge, my furrowed eyebrows aimed at her.

She matches my glare and turns her body fully to me.

“It seemed like an excuse,” she answers slowly.

“To what? Host a dinner? That’s kind of the opposite effect. Who would want to host a dinner when you have kitchen renovations? It means they trust us if they’re willing to let us see a house that’s not perfect like the front they put on.”

‘That’s what you get from it, but I think they just planted a little seed of their own.”

“What do you even mean?”

“Kitchen Reno? That’s an excuse to say, ‘Oh, Charlotte, I can’t cook the chicken pot pie I was going to make for you two because our new oven hasn’t been delivered and installed yet. You know? Because we have the kitchen under renovation? I completely forgot,’” She acted in a convincing Bethanne impersonation and then quickly turned back to serious.

“You got that from a kitchen reno comment?” I deadpanned after a minute.

“I got that from understanding women masterminds who know how to manipulate a situation. I am that woman, so I think I can read them pretty well,” she says confidently back.

Touché.

“And what if you’re wrong?” Her bitchface grew at my question.

“First off, I’m not. Second off, even if I was wrong, we are supposed to consult each other about accepting invitations into the house of our suspect enemies,” she ran a hand through her hair, which I notice now looks styled differently. Did she curl it or have it blown out? And yes, I know what a blowout is. I have women friends and coworkers.

Yeah… I was in the wrong here, and that’s on me. I wasn’t thinking. I also had a long day snooping around for more information about this whole operation, but it isn’t necessarily an excuse… It’s not like I haven’t worked on a case like this in the past. I mean, minus being fictitiously married to a coworker.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and she gives me a weird look. “What?”

“I wasn’t expecting an apology,” she says, standing slowly and straightening her dress.

“I know when to accept I made a mistake,” I shrug and stand as well.

She studies my face like there's a retort that’s going to follow, but I just stare at her silently, communicating that I’m set on my apology.

“Ok…” she drags out, watching me as she steps toward the door. “Well, I guess we need to get ready for tonight. Considering we have dinner. With our neighbors. And we need to set up bugs if possible.”

“Guess so,” I nod, crossing my arms.

She stops suddenly and looks at me with a look of realization. “You’re in my room.” She steps to the side, leaving room for me to leave, and avoids eye contact.

She’s still acting weird, but I need to change and get my head in the game for tonight, so I walk out with a subtle head nod as I leave.

Marvel Tags:

@thejourneyneverendsx @death-unbecomes-you @mythos-writes @srrymydood @xa-dia @redhairedfeistynerd @morganclaire4 @connie326��@captain-asguard @mollygetssherlockcoffee @teenagedreams-bucky @shower-me-with-roses @livstilinski @basicallylool @starryeyeseunbyul

My Lovelies Forever:

@natura1phenomenon @lauravicente @kakakatey @traceyaudette @notyourtypicalrose @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @sandlee44 @thorne93 @thefaithfulwriter1 @essie1876 @greyeyedsmile14 @capsiclehan @xostephanie @averyrogers83 @awesomenursingstudent @gh0stgurl @cs-please @jjlevin @rainbowkisses31 @deannotmoose @their-bibliophile @kitkatd7 @willowbleedsonpaper @mariaenchanted @snffbeebee @couldabeenamermaid @rebekahdawkins @alyispunk @billyseye @hallecarey1

Bucky Barnes Tags:

@chloe-skywalker @charmedbysarge @jbarness @bellamy-barnes @katiaw2 @aikeia @stopjustlovethemcu @enchantedbarnes

Mr. & Mrs. Hunt Series:

@jackiehollanderr @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @theroyalmanatee @wintrsoldrluvr @alexakeyloveloki @learisa @bxckybxrnes24 @lillianacristina @selella @heletsmelovehim

#bucky barnes x avenger reader insert #bucky barnes x reader insert #bucky barnes mini series #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x avenger reader #justkending #marvel #marvel mini series #bucky barnes #Bucky Barnes

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rob1ndad · 9 months ago

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WHOEVER DID AN ASK FOR A LIST OF ANGSTY IRONDAD SHORT FIC RECS, I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED MY POST AND IM SO SORRY BUT HERES UR REC LIST!!!

IRONDAD FIC REC LIST (oneshots/short fics):

disclaimer: always read the tags for TWs some have strong subject matter ⚠️

some of these are longer than others (anywhere from 1k-30k) but anything less than 100k is short to me lolll

Look back in anger

red punch || TW: non con

Between how it is and how it should be

make me strong || TW: non con

You look like yourself (but you're somebody else)

going down

Sometimes We're Holding Angels || TW: mentioned childhood noncon

Where Were You (Just A Little Late) || TW: Child abuse. mays abusive bf trope

One in a Million

Tears of Summer || TW: non con (this is a harder read)

Chemical Delirium

Leisure Sickness

Morgan is coming

Picture Frames

A gift for my m̶e̶n̶t̶o̶r̶ father

Just Like Ben

A Spoon Full of Sugar

Foolish, Fragile Spine

Ice, Ice Baby

He’s Just a Kid

That's why they call me mr. fahrenheit

Who Saves The Hero || TW: child abuse. mays abusive bf trope.

The Fucking Ferry Fustercluck Fiasco

exhaustion

Blogs that have good fic rec lists:

@irondadfics

@whumphoarder

@spacecowboysfrommars (one of my fav authors) my fav by them is here: click this

#irondad and spiderson #peter parker #tony stark #irondad ao3 #marvel #fic rec list #marvel fanfiction #irondad fics

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majesty-madness · 5 months ago

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"Hell and Back, There's Room for Love" - Arthur Morgan x Platonic!reader (sfw)

Summary: [Commission @mistressofdeathsblog] So, the synopsis of the commission is this: afab!reader was recently taken by gang. More specifically, dutch found her on the side of the road after an armed robbery killed both of her parents. So he takes her back to camp and puts her with ms.grimshaw to help manage the chores and the like. Soon after, arthur sees her, and after just one look, he paternal instincts flare up and with practically no hesitation takes her under his wing, practically becoming her dad, but he dosent want to say that just yet. He dotes on her so much that after a time, the gang starts calling him her dad just to mess with him, and he gets all huffy but doesn't outright deny it. Some time passes, and the reader and arthur are in town one day, getting supplies for the gang when a local hoodlum tries to rob the reader. Arthur beats him off, and after the excitement of it settles down, he's asks her if he could formally adopt her, she says yes, and the end.

Word count: 2500

Warnings: father/daughter relationship dynamic, cursing, angst, murder, armed robbery, orphan reader, blood, violence, RDR2 spoilers (in case anyone hasn’t played or finished the game), protective Arthur, papa bear Arthur (just made that up), drunken idiots, paternal Arthur, mentions of adoption, fluff, hopefully not OOC Arthur

a/n: Not proofread. This was a requested one-shot.

Main Masterlist

Commissions are open!

Poor girl.

Those were the two words that came to mind when Dutch explained to Arthur the little girl’s situation.

Y/N L/N was her name, and she couldn’t have been more than 8 years old and yet, she had already faced the brutal reality of this world. An armed robbery of all things took the lives of her parents, leaving her utterly alone.

A bit ironic considering the person who saved her was wanted all over West Elizabeth.

Dutch hinted that seeing her reminded him of Arthur and John all those years ago, though made it a point to mention Y/N gave him far less trouble than they had.

Arthur laughed at the notion, eyes settling on the little miss sitting quietly with Grimshaw as she ate.

He watched her timid behavior with sorrow, quietly reminded of Isaac. Arthur could see the same goodness within her that he’d seen in him. Part of him feared to be near her, afraid that his guilt would stain her childlike wonder that children often didn’t get a chance to hold onto, but another part found himself wanting to look after her, take care of her, make sure she’d be okay.

By the next morning, the young girl hardly had time to turn around before she was saddled with another task.

So here she was, attempting to carry a basket too big for her filled to the brim with clothes.

Distracted, Y/N missed the large rock in the middle of her path and took a rather confident step over it. The bulbous shape of it caused her ankle to twist to the side and sent her hurtling toward the ground. Only she didn’t hit the ground.

“Whoa there, kiddo.” Arthur’s deep voice spoke, lifting Y/N off the ground.

When she looked, she saw a rather large man towering over her. “Ah! I’m sorry, Mister!”

“It’s alright, let’s just set you down here…” Arthur reassured her, carefully setting her down, away from the rock she stepped on.

He then bent down a bit to look her in the eyes. “What’re you doing there, little miss?”

Anxiously, she shrugged. “I was just trying to find Mr. Morgan.”

Arthur chuckled before getting down on one knee to be face to face with her. “Well, you found’em. But you can call me Arthur.”

Finally, Y/N shifted her eyes upward to meet his gaze. From the look on her face, Arthur could tell that she was taking a moment to study his expression and when she found no evidence of malice, her shoulders visibly relaxed.

“Are those all mine?” Arthur asked, pointing to the basket.

“No, Mi- Arthur, they’re not.” Y/N stammered as she tried to articulate her thoughts.

Arthur reached up to take off his hat only to wipe away the sweat that had gathered on his forehead before putting it back on. “Do you know who’s who?”

Shyly, she shook her head causing the cowboy to chuckle. “Well I reckon I can help ya with that. Come on.”

He gestured for her to follow him. First, stopping by his tent, Y/N watched as he took his own clothes from the basket and set them down on the nearby cot.

“Who else are you supposed to deliver to, little lady?”

“Ms. Grimshaw said Mr. Bell, I think.”

Arthur inwardly cringed at the name, feeling apprehensive about letting any child near that man.

“Mr. Bell is right over there.” He sighed with extra, annoyed emphasis on the name.

They began to walk, Y/N trailing beside him.

“Do you not like Mr. Bell?” She pointedly asked.

Arthur peered down at her, clearly surprised by her question. She was observant for her age.

“Uh, no I don’t. But I suppose there are worse men out there.”

Himself, he thought.

She quirked up a brow at his bluntness, “What do you mean?”

He shook his head, “Nothing, just talking silly. Don’t worry.”

The two of them then approached Micah who was sitting at a table.

“Well hello there, cowpoke, trading outlawin’ for taking care of long lost orphans?”

The comment sent white hot rage to slither up his spine.

“Watch it, Micah.” Arthur lowly threatened. He took at glance at Y/N, noticing her despaired expression.

Micah only laughed, causing Arthur to yank out his clothes from the basket and haphazardly tossing them into Micah’s lap.

Arthur gently guided Y/N away until they were out of sight, but when he turned he saw the tears clouding her eyes.

He didn’t need an explanation. He already knew exactly what she was thinking.

He bent down again, carefully taking the basket out of her grip. “I’m sorry, little lady, he never grew up.”

There was a brief moment of silence, then that first tear fell. “I see why you don’t like him. I don’t like him either.” She mumbled, arms tucking into herself.

Arthur’s heart ached in sympathy for her predicament. Even though he lost his mother at a young age, his father being dead in his eyes long before he ran away, he understood the grief of losing someone. It was decades ago, but he could still recall the painful sore in his chest.

Arthur soon reached into his pocket to pull out a handkerchief, folding it half then tapping Y/N’s chin. “Hey, look up for me.”

Y/N did so, allowing Arthur to softly wipe away the tears from her cheeks. “You ever been fishing, little lady?”

Her brows furrowed together, obviously confused. “A few times, why?”

Arthur passed the handkerchief over her tearstained face a couple more times, then tucked it back into his pocket. “Because it’s important to learn how to live off the land. There’s a river not too far from here, it's the perfect spot.”

He stood up from the ground, reaching up like he had earlier to take his hat off. He played with the rim of the hat as he gave Y/N a warm smile. “It’s good eatin’ too, so why don’t we head down there and catch some?”

Y/N peered up at him the moment he’d plopped his hat right on her head, it tilting forward over her eyes because of its size. She was quick to push it back so she could look up at him and then she grinned; a big toothy grin that rivaled the sun.

So that day, Arthur took Y/N fishing to get her mind away from the despair if nothing else and from that day on, Arthur took great joys to watch over her, show her everything she needed to know about surviving in the world. Though Arthur made it a priority that she was never alone despite her being in camp most of the time.

He could never be absolutely sure she was safe, feeling reassured when she was close by, but with the more time Arthur spent with Y/N, teaching her to ride a horse, use a knife, shoot a gun, use a bow, he would wage war on the whole damned human race if it meant protecting her.

That was his simple way of doing right by her when the universe hadn’t. Not only that, but a part of him thought that perhaps this was a second chance to do things right after failing his own son.

He tried not to think about it, Y/N just had a gift for bringing it out of him no matter what they were doing because she resembled him in so many ways.

Six months later and they were tied to the hip. If there was one, the other wasn’t too far behind.

In those months, the camp soon caught on to Arthur’s paternal transformation. Watching as the massive, gunslinging outlaw playfully swung Y/N around by her hands as she erupted in laughter.

He acted like a big softie, and the camp was not shy about hiding their line of thinking.

One night in particular, Arthur had been in the middle of showing Y/N how to tie a line to her fishing hook when Karen happened to walk by.

Careful there, sweetheart, don’t want to upset ol’ papa bear here by hurting yourself. She had smirked then meandered off.

Y/N quietly giggled when Arthur simply responded with a grumbling huff.

He outwardly projected that comments like that annoyed him, inwardly however, he felt a sense of pride at becoming a parent of sorts.

There was a comment a day from someone suggesting that he had become Y/N’s father and to her delight, Arthur never bothered to correct them.

She was hoping that Arthur had grown to care as much about her as she did for him.

“Hey, Arthur, you got a minute?” Pearson asked in the midafternoon.

Arthur stopped, the book he had been reading to Y/N lying wide open in his hands. “Sure.”

The camp cook pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pants pocket, extending it toward Arthur.

“Would you mind heading into town and getting everything that’s on that list?”

Way before Arthur said anything, Y/N let out a gasp and hopped off her seat. “Can I go with you into town, Arthur? Pleeeease?”

She tugged the fabric of Arthur’s shirt, shaking him back and forth while she excitedly pleaded. “We never go into town, please can we go?”

“Alright, enough. We can go.” Arthur lightly scolded, feeling pure adoration for the little girl.

Y/N jumped up and exclaimed loudly, “Yay!”

“Thank you, Mr. Morgan.” Pearson beamed, walking away to do whatever when Arthur nodded at him.

Arthur checked over the list as Y/N fidgeted gleefully beside him. “Looks like there’s quite a bit to get.”

“I don’t mind! I’ll even help load it all onto the wagon!” Y/N grinned, teaming with energy and sprinting all the way to the wagon. When she got to it, she whipped around to Arthur who stood watching her in amusement.

“Come on, Arthur! We’re wasting time!”

Shoving the note into his pocket, he jogged over to meet Y/N by the wagon. He wasted no more time, according to Y/N, attaching a few horses to the front and then stepped up onto the wagon first.

Once situated, he helped Y/N climb her way up the wagon and off they went. With the juttering of wooden wheels against rocky dirt, Arthur asked Y/N if she’d ever been to a town. She laughed, saying that she had (her home in fact) but she was curious about the town’s outside her home, curious to know what it looked like, how they functioned from day to day.

Arthur made sure to tell her that most towns were more often than not, boring. He didn’t however forget to mention with a hinted warning that just because a town seems boring, doesn’t mean that it’s safe.

For a brief moment, Y/N’s excitement receded into a stilled expression showing that she understood well what he was saying.

Of course she did.

But being the kind man he is, Arthur followed up with a head pat and the assurance that he would be with her no matter and he’d take care of her. That seemed to lighten the burden of a heavy heart.

Soon they found themselves in front of the general store, parking the wagon beside it.

“Alright, I’m gonna take this list inside to the clerk then I’ll be right out. Stay here, okay?” Arthur said as he stepped down off the wagon.

Y/N nodded. “Okay, I’ll be waitin’.”

Arthur flashed her a smile then headed inside the store.

Remembering what she promised earlier, Y/N climbed down the wagon side only to be met with the barrel of a gun and the click of the hammer being pulled back once she was on the ground.

She gasped, whipping her head to the side to some nasty piece of work pointing a revolver at her.

“Gimme alls yous got, miss.” The man slurred with abhorrently crooked teeth.

Even Y/N could tell he was drunk, but an armed drunk was still a dangerous one. As far as Y/N knew, he could shoot her whether she handed him money or not.

However, in a panic, she said the first thing that came to mind. “I-I don’t have any money.”

She thought about her parents, the fear on their faces when bandits held them at gunpoint.

“I donts care! Jus hand it alls over!” The man yelled, startling Y/N so bad she fell backwards.

The man took a shaky step forward, gun gripped tightly in his as he glared down at her.

Y/n began to cry, tears falling fast and a sob escaping her mouth.

“Stop crying!”

“Get away from her, you son of a bitch!”

The man and Y/N turned their heads to the voice; Y/N crying as Arthur quickly approached them. The moment he stood mere inches away, the man pointed his gun at him instead. Arthur grabbed the gun, pushing it away then brought down his fist into the man’s jaw; knocking him down in one sweep. Arthur tossed the gun to the side, then grabbed the man by the collar, punching him over and over.

All the while the image of some man holding his poor baby girl at gunpoint flooding his mind.

When the man was barely awake, Arthur yanked the man up. “I ever see your face ‘round her again, I’ll kill ya.”

He dropped the man like a stone, with labored breathing and blood seeping out of his nose and mouth.

Arthur jogged over to Y/N, who was still lying on the ground, and gently helped her up; carrying her in his arms toward the front of the general store. A couple of the store clerks had run past him to the unconscious man several feet away but he paid them no mind.

Instead, he cradled the crying, sweet little girl in his lap and rocked her back and forth.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, sweetheart. I gotcha.”

Y/N tucked herself into him, grasping the lapel of his brown jacket as she cried. “I thought I was gonna die.”

“Hey, now don’t go thinking about that. It’s over, okay? Look I’m right here with ya.” He cooed softly, rubbing a hand up and down her back.

She shook her head, “I don't know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been there; you saved me.”

Those words suddenly brought up something that Arthur had been thinking about for days now. And feeling a sense of urgency, he decided to voice that thought.

“I know this might not be the right time, but…” He paused for a moment, to collect himself. “I’d like to look after ya, permanently.”

Y/N moved her head to stare up at him, her cries stopping momentarily. “You mean you’d be my new daddy?”

Arthur smiled, “If that’s what you want, sweetpea.”

She brought her arms up to wrap around his neck, pushing herself into him even more. “More than anything!”

He laughed this time, bringing his own arms around her back to support her weight.

Finally, for the first time in his life, Arthur truly felt content.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #female reader #fem!reader #rdr2 imagine #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan fluff #arthur morgan angst

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unmaskthewriter · 1 year ago

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Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You {Arthur Morgan x GN!Reader}

Summary: Arthur realizes he’s in love with you.

A/N: As suggested/requested by @photo1030 . I apologize for the delay as I’m packing for travel and also I just got into Read Dead online for the first time all while completing RDR1 (first time) and RDR2 (second time). I know you suggested a different song/title but I couldn’t stop thinking about Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You by Frankie Valli. also did just watch Jersey Boys this weekend so that could be why. Anyways, despite it all, I hope you enjoy.

Warnings: none, just pure fluff as requested <3 except for Karen threatening to commit violence on Sean 👀

Word Count: 650+

It was nearly evening as Arthur returned from the bank robbery in Valentine. As the sun sank lower in the sky, it created a beautiful array of colors on the water. He approached the savings box behind Dutch’s tent, placing half his take into the box. Micah sat with Bill and Javier at a table, talking them into yet another round of Five Finger Fillet.

“You’ve taken nearly all my money!” Javier whined.

Mary Beth and Tilly were sitting in their tent, working on laundry and clothes that needed mending. Karen was sitting alongside Sean around the campfire, a bottle of whiskey in her hand.

“Ah, c’mon lass, just one kiss!” Sean leaned closer to Karen, pointing to his cheek as she looked on, disinterested.

“Only thing you’ll be getting is this bottle over your head if you don’t quit your beggin.” Karen warned, taking a swig of the whiskey. Sean only laughed.

“Where would I be without ya, Miss Karen?” Sean questioned, to which she rolled her eyes.

“Dead, hopefully.” She mumbled, looking away from the Irishman.

“Oh, don’t play at that, lass. Ya know ya love me.” Sean teases the young woman.

Arthur ventured throughout camp in search of you. On a typical day, you were often around the campfire either listening to Javier’s music, or talking with the girls at their tent. He wandered out to the lake, leaning against a tree at the edge of the wood line. He lights himself a cigarette, taking a long drag as he watches on.

You were standing in the water, barefoot, with your pants rolled up to your knees. Jack sat nearby, making a necklace with small, coral flowers. Too focused on the line in the water to realize Arthur’s presence, Jack giggled as he looked at Arthur. The gunslinger only held a finger to his lips, smiling softly as the cigarette dangled there.

“I know I’m not quite the fisherman as I talked myself up to be. It’s okay, you can laugh.” You tease unknowingly. Arthur’s heart skipped at the sight, something he didn’t think possible. Prior to this evening, Arthur always believed he’d belong to Mary, even if she had moved on and married someone else her father approved more of.

Though now, seeing you there in the water while the setting sun reflected off of you and gave you this wonderful glow… all thoughts and dreams of Mary vanished in that very moment. All he could feel in this moment was a strange swelling of his heart when he looked at you. Now, Arthur never considered himself romantic but in this moment, doing something as simple as fishing and barely doing that gave him this light, fluttery feeling in his heart, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in quite some time. As you stepped out from the water, you turned to see Arthur standing there.

“Oh!” You held a hand over your chest, startled. You relax as you put the fishing rod away, “Didn’t see you there. How’ve you been?” You ask as Jack stands and gathers the flower necklace he had made.

“Good… was wondering what you were up to. See you’re teaching him all you know about fishing.” Arthur teases as he steps forward, putting the cigarette out beneath his boot. A blush creeps across your face as you look away, trying desperately to avoid his gaze.

“Don’t think I know too much on the matter, Mr. Morgan.” You admit shyly. Arthur’s lips part to speak, only to be interrupted by the child.

“Let’s go, I’m hungry!” He insists, now standing between the two of you, “Can you swing me?” He questioned excitedly. You look to Arthur who nods to you in return.

“Anything for you.” You ruffle the boy’s hair. Each taking hold of the child’s small hands, you and Arthur swing Jack gently between the both of you as you return to camp, like one happy family.

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption #arthur morgan x reader #fluff #no angst #this time #rdr2 fanfic #jack marston #tilly jackson #micah bell #mary beth gaskill #javier escuella #bill williamson

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randomfoggytiger · 4 months ago

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React: A Late-Canon Reviler Gives the Revival a Try (Weremonster), Part III

Here we go, first comedic episode of the Revival.

…Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay…

Part I (My Struggle I) and Part II (Founder's Mutation).

Let's go!

MULDER AND SCULLY MEET THE WEREMONSTER

Why are we starting with adults huffing spray paint.

…Darin wrote two episodes with people getting high off of the strangest substances.

And that’s not a lot, but it’s odd that it happened twice.

Why do monsters always run towards the people or object or whatever they’re trying to scare or escape from? Like, what if he got surprise-shanked by two high, high school dropouts? (It’s not out of the realm of possibility.)

No self-preservation instinct, tsk tsk.

This dude’s okay, no that dude, woah that dude might not be okay.

…Random paper bag for the high man to stress-blow into.

Oh, look, a writer remembering the lore.

How quaint.

(Sidenote: Darin did not remember the lore, and kinda prided himself on not keeping up with all of it. But that won’t matter to me if he writes a good one-off.)

Mulder’s older now so he can’t stretch his neck to throw pencils at the ceiling. I guess. I suppose. I supposition. I presume.

Kumail’s in this one?

…’Kay.

“Mulder?” Yay, that’s Scully-- “What are you doing to my poster?” And that’s Gillian.

Mulder’s recounting all his failures in an upbeat, presentational way ‘cuz he’s wooing his girl. At least neither of them act like they’re on the precipice of death, that’s neato.

Oh, look, Scully can smile. Remember how she did that twice in My Struggle I? Good times.

Why’s her shirt look like it’s from Walmart?

Forgot this… pencil-scratch material was popular around the mid twenty-teens.

Can I forget it again…? …No? Do they leave it behind in Season 10?

“--Going through these cases with fresh, if not wiser eyes.” Well, I don’t know about that.

Also, is that a dig at his “wiseness” or a tongue-in-cheek joke at Mulder’s pat-on-the-back nature? (Lemme rewind.) Backpat coupled with epiphany.

“Mulder? Have you been taking your meds?”

…

….

…..

What, did they expect a laugh out of me? It just annoyed me because of the whole “Mulder’s depression” trauma I suffered for two episodes.

But at least Darin’s trying to remind us that’s an on-going issue (despite CC implying it doesn’t bother Mulder anymore in My Struggle I and Morgan?-- or Wong-- reinforcing that idea in his “bitterly healed and chakras open” Founder’s Mutation ending.)

Mulder’s a middle-aged man who just got back to the office and is wondering if anything he’s accomplished… well, if he’s accomplished anything.

A valid question in these dark times.

And by dark times, we all know what me and my chocolate-addled, My Struggle-PTSDed brain are referring to.

Mulder certainly does:

“Maybe it’s time to put away childish things-- the Sasquatches, the Mothmen, and… Jackalopes.”

Okay, well that’s rude-- I always wanted to see a jackalope case.

Mulder spent one weekend not getting a community response to his latest fanfic and let the dark thoughts take over.

All joke’s aside, this is an… it’s an okay scene. It’s weighty enough to be taken seriously, you feel for this clone of Mulder’s, you hope he gets his Mr. Incredibles act together--

Oh, wait, he already did by now.

I guess.

We skipped the traincar training montage while he was getting back into FBI ready shape.

…

.....

.......

You’re welcome.

On another aside, Skinner just pulled all the strings only for Mulder to have an identity crisis after one weirdo case.

Man’s been carrying everyone on his back for decades with no rest and his newly recruited, depressed-but-not-depressed-depending-on-the-writer, domesticated-feral-animal agent might just trounce back out of the FBI and go wall up somewhere to mope.

At least he’s not wandering off to take illegal substances to satisfy his curiosity.

No.

That’s saved for another episode.

Scully brushes over Mulder’s confession to say, “we got another case, and this one’s ALSO got a monster in it.”

And that makes him happy.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooookay.

*scribbling notes for later observation*

Darin has a favorite and that is OG Scully. And I will give it to him, she actually sounds happy for once.

ALSO, I noticed your smoker voice is gone, GILLIAN, unless you’re mumbling or using The Sad Voice ™. I noticed.

Scully’s insisting this is a monster case while Mulder mopes around the woods and says it’s a mountain lion.

…I’m NOT gonna nitpick. I’m NOT-- OKAY, so, rewind time.

Older Mulder-- as in the 90s Mulder-- would have at least been amused by Scully’s antics and followed her around for the fun of it, unless he felt used and abused, i.e. Host and Folie a Deux. Here is not the case.

Further, he was intrigued in the basement but is now kind of… dismissive.

Which is. It’s not a big problem, it doesn’t stand out, and it wouldn’t be something I’d clock except I’m very disgruntled and burned and grumpy about the past three days.

However.

Let’s continue.

Mulder’s Patriarchy Pants are making him do the Marilyn Monroe wiggle again. However, like a virus, middle-aged wedgie crotch has infected Scully, too; and the two of them are squeak-squonking ‘round the forest.

They do say marriage slowly turns you into each other.

Mulder sloughing off the naked guy in the crime scene pics as “Well, maybe he’s a nudist.”

Darin.

I know what you’re doing here.

Give Mulder the doubting identity crisis and have his faith transformed. A reverse Clyde Bruckman, if you will. I get it. But you gotta admit, "a nudist" is a pretty weak rationalization, let alone a comeback.

“That’s how I’d like to go out.” That saved it a little.

“The uniqueness of the wound, Mulder, implies a human element.”

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, Scully, I gave up profiling before I gave up monsters.” WHAT? LAST WEEK?

YOUR CREDENTIALS AS A PROFILER GOT YOU HIRED BACK TO THE FBI--

Pause, pause, pause.

He’s probably being tongue-in-cheek. He gave up monsters this morning and profiling last night.

…If he’s not, what’s Mulder gonna do? Take up residence under Skinner’s desk? Have his bald benefactor feed him pencil shavings between meetings?

“You seen one serial killer, you seen ‘em all.” Quite literally, no.

I am.

Puzzled.

It’s not offensive-- WAIT, NO. I’m being emotionally manipulated by a softer Mulder and more upbeat Scully, youcan’ttakemealive--

“Mulder, I can see you’re going through a questioning phase of some sort--”

You don’t say.

From bar to basement. From closet to forest. From Founder’s Mutation to… Weremonster Investigation.

Scully points out they need to help the victims.

Mulder: “Okay, well when you put it that way, Scully, but mark my words--”

I’m not getting the essence of Mulder here, gang.

I got him for, like, three whiffs in My Struggle I and once at the end of Founder’s Mutation, but he’s MIA here so far.

…Perhaps my “clone Mulder” crack in a previous paragraph kinds fits.

Hmmm. If he continues to be Mulder-adjacent, I shall name him… I was gonna say ‘Charlie’, then remembered that’s Scully’s brother’s name. The CC name rot is infecting me.

The streetwalker-on-crack scene was amusing, but not really funny.

OH, MAN, JUST GOT JUMP-SCARED BY KUMAIL, OHMYWORD.

Also, that was a weird cut-- Scully opens her mouth to say something, Mulder looks at her, CUT, Kumail face.

The director was meaning to imply Mulder stopped Scully’s attempted defense with a look, but it only made it seem like one of them said something so cancellable the editors drop-kicked that bit from the final recording.

I haven’t laughed once .

Welp, Kumail ran off after playing a scared animal control officer for three seconds.

Pardon, but what was the purpose of that scene?

This kinda feels like a play: in this set piece, the hooker whacks a creature with a purse; in this set piece, Kumail gets spooked by the agents and runs off after hearing a roar; still in this set piece, Mulder whips out his phone and starts… hitting… the… picture… button.

My thought process:

It's dark at night.

2. I hear a ROAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR.

3. I'm pulling out my gun, not my camera.

You know why?

There are more tigers in North American than the world combined.

Just sayin’.

SCULLY, REINSTALL THE SAFETY FEATURE IN YOUR KEN, PLEASE.

JUST. PUT. THE PHONE. ON. VIDEO. MODE.

Oh, wait, he’s a tech goombus who doesn’t know how to take videos.

THEY SAW A DEAD BODY--

…

THEY SAW A DEAD BODY THROUGH HIS PHOTOS INSTEAD OF NOTICING THE CORPSE RIGHT IN FRONT OF THEM?

I’m not mad because this isn’t as mean-spirited as the previous two episodes, but that’s just. That’s just.

That.

Wait, how’d they get from Mulder’s camera setting to his photo collage, without swiping or going there or…? He was taking rapid-fire pictures, Scully looks over, says, “What’s that?”, and the camera cuts to a picture that has to be in the phone’s gallery. …What happened-- you know what? Never mind.

Mulder runs off INTO THE DARK with ONLY HIS CAMERA OUT while Scully is yards behind him WITH THE GUN.

Solid decision making there.

My man, if this were a tiger (we’ve already seen it’s the horny Lizardman) or a cougar in heat (well, give Scully a few episodes), you’d probably be very dead.

I’ve named Mulder-Clone: Ken. He’s cute, he’s having an identity crisis, and he’s as dumb as a rock.

This fits unintentionally well with his Patriarchy Pants (though they’re wearing him, not of the other way around.)

Kumail’s here and they both scared each other and now they’re hyper-Ken-focusing on Ken’s wonky phone app and stuff.

Barbie-- clone Scully-- hears Ken and Kumail screaming their lungs out after getting jumped by Lizardman and only NOW notices Mulder had Marilyn Monroe shimmied off.

Imagine if this were the end of Mulders career: questioning his life’s purpose, losing the battle to technology, and T-posing, dead, on the ground.

Ken sounds completely fine when Scully runs up to him asking if he's okay. No wooziness. No nothing. (Kumail, too.)

“Okay. I quit.” Smarty Mr. K. over there (not Ken, but you knew that.)

Monster’s a-running, and Formerly-Mulder springs up and races off with Scully.

What did that jumpscare accomplish, narratively? What did any of these jumpscares accomplish, narratively?

I know we’re only 10 minutes in, but it’s feeling a little too… scene-scene-scene-scene-scene, jumpscare-jumpscare-jumpscare, phone-phone-phone-phone-phone. T-pose. That was a shakeup, I guess.

Ken was going to question the guy on the pot (who is, indeed, the Lizardman, btw) but notices Scully’s face and closes the door and walks away with her.

Strangely, that and the basement are the only scenes, thus far, where Ken was most like Mulder.

Scully, do you regret putting a battery pack in your Ken doll now?

This interaction is still Ken-not-Mulder, but Scully is kinda recognizable.

Just realized. Mulder replaced his slideshow with a phone. Now he can inflict them on his partner even in the midst of her autopsies.

No one is safe.

THERE’S A MULDER MOMENT, I ACTUALLY SMILED!

And now it’s gone.

“So now you’re saying you were attacked by a six-foot horny toad?”

“Woah, let’s keep this in the realm of natural sciences, shall we?”

Um.

That’s not a Mulder line.

That’s not even a Ken line, I don’t think.

Need to think up a new name for Mulder, I guess.

I figured it out. David’s attacking the lines too vigorously rather than letting them breathe. I’m sure he’ll get there.

Or Mulder and Scully were swallowed up by a black hole the second after they exchanged “Scratchy beard” niceties. Because that’s the last I’ve seen of them.

But honestly? Clone. Lives. Matter.

So, I shall fully support Clone Mulder and Clone Scully living their truth, expressing their lived experiences, and digging through each other’s brains like hairless capuchin monkeys dressed in skin-tight leotards.

I was gonna say “horny, hairless capuchin monkeys” but I’ve not got a LICK of sexual tension between them this whole time.

They do say married couples transition from goose-pimply “honeymoon love” to matured, knowing passion; but all I’m getting is the “knowing” and none of the “passion”.

Right after my point, the two exchanged a little upbeat moment. I’ll give it that; but the passion’s still not there.

WAIT, this episode has the fox-in-the-wall scene?

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

I thought that was the doppelganger one.

‘Kay. Color me intrigued.

…WHAT is going on with these random, “comedic” scenes?

Desk clerk yells "Monster!", Mulder runs in, guy’s shaking over a bottle, makes up a story, tells Mulder to go back to his room “or I’ll kill ya.” Mulder nods and walks off.

I’m not getting the fun of this episode, but I’m only 12 minutes in. So.

Mulder’s snooping in someone else’s room.

Mulder took someone else’s meds.

Mulder found an animal head with hollow eyes that led him to a secret room behind the motel room.

Heh, get it, he’s a Fox looking through fox eyes at Scully. Get it.

I’m remembering bits from DD and GA’s commentary and how they were cheering him on in this moment. Someone should’ve told them this is Clone!Mulder.

More proof this man finds burrows in the unlikeliest places:

The manager says he installed those peeping tom hallways after 9/11, and yes that’s being used as an excuse but there’s supposed to be a joke behind it, right?

For instance: Rocky from Jose Chung’s From Outer Space took some political hits, but the jokes were funny and well-written. Here, they're either badly written or… someone’s directing these actors astray. And I know Clone!Mulder and innkeeper man are good actors because they’re doing their best selling this material. Things still feel wonky, unfortunately.

Mulder’s getting objectified again, Your Honor. He got closeted last episode, he’s “questioning” this episode, and he’s being stared at in his speedo. And he didn't mind one bit.

Innkeeper man’s got closets of his own, too. *badum tssssss*

HOW did Mulder’s phone get a picture of the Lizardman in his human form earlier? In the split-second he and Scully opened the potty stall before turning and continuing their search? I'll even grant that... but a CLEAR one?

Whatever, whatever, whatever.

Clone!Mulder’s patched his disbelief during the insomnia upgrade.

Clone!Scully unleashed a beast but still wakes up and stays up to hear him ramble. (Here’s the “my Mulder” line and the could-have-been-a-Knick’s-T-shirt moment.)

I do have another nitpick: why is Mulder diatribing here-- trying to convince Scully it’s a werewolf when she’s been saying monster or creature from the get-go? Is it the “werewolf” claim that he thinks she’ll rebut? Or?

I do like: Scully about to answer, then nearly smiling when Mulder cuts her off. Brilliant touch. Hats off to GA for that second of goodness.

“‘It defies every known law of nature’-- exactly, Scully, every known law of nature!”

Mulder, she’s agreed with this point since Herrenvolk. She kinda did a mini speech about it.

He doesn’t know how it came to be, but all he’s saying is, “it’s a MONSTER.”

She’s ready to go back to the Unremarkable House already, Mulder. She just needed you to nerd out over monsters.

Which… isn’t that actually the most Scully thing you’ve ever heard? Think about it: she wants to leave the Conspiracy behind, it’s eating her alive, she’s so sad and yadda yadda yadda. Darin says, “Hold up, this girl loves Mulder’s rants and raves” and makes her poke and prod him out of despair with a juicy creature case. And then (hopefully) reaps the benefits.

Girl’s got a mission.

And also, this doesn’t mesh at all with the Revival’s canon, but when has that stopped this crazy trainwreck?

Why’s Scully calling him watered-down-for-FOX’s-approval crazy when she’s been saying creature this whole time? Does she just… like arguing him? …That’s a stupid question, does she like arguing with him this much? …Again, that’s a--

Mulder spouts his theory, admits he stole stuff from another guy’s room, and tells Scully they can use his meds to track him down. “Well, that sounds like a good investigative plan.” In other words: “And you do so good at beach.”

Now Mulder wants to go peeping around the motel, for the lols.

Ken energy, I’m just saying.

Alsooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo not Mulder, sorry. He’d be curious, intrigued, perhaps roguishly amused by peeping tom corridors; but he’s never taken the time to search places inch-by-inch, top-to-bottom unless they directly related to the case. Is this a nitpick? Probably. But he’s flinging around broken FBI regulations left-and-right, carelessly reckless of all the rules and laws he’s breaking. Sure, Mulder’s a lawbreaker; but not to the extent that it would violate civilian rights. And even if it were fine, he’d be running off to the next lead instead of sticking around to snuffle through a useless one.

The “Lizardman stabbing himself in the mirror with green glass to break the curse, not realizing it’s him” story doesn’t… really…. Darin Morgan’s writing crackfic at this point.

Impotency jokes.

Ahhh, the middle ages: you end up questioning things about yourself or having to pop pills one way or another.

The comedy keeps failing, I think, because it’s trying too hard. This episode feels like a play (did I mention that earlier?) with dramatic pauses and etc. etc. Not really X-Filesy.

The psychologist prescribes Mulder a pill (because Mulder believes the Lizardman’s a lizard man), then pops the pill himself the second Mulder leaves… which meansssss he believed, too? Though he doesn’t?

I get he was supposed to be a crazy psychologist (ala Dr. Spiegel during the Johnny Depp trials), but, again, the comedy flopped.

“Horny toad lizard man” works at a smart phone shop OF COURSE. Because that’s soooooooooooo clever! Modernization, crises of humanity and identity, get it???

Weremonster’s not offensive, but it’s… I’m gonna be honest, it’s not clever, either.

Why does Scully wear her shirt open almost past her bra line now? Not shaming her, but that doesn’t seem a very Scully thing to do. I don’t know, maybe I’m overthinking things. It was just her style, her way, her self-expression; and it feels smudged and lost in this version of Clone!Scully.

At least she seems more naturally Scully, this episode. Which means she can only be natural in the funny episodes, huh.

Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh.

Mulder has a gold car? Mulder rented a gold car? There’s a gold car here that serves as middle-age-over-compensation commentary.

Mulder chastises Scully about the danger of approaching a dangerous suspect without backup then runs off, get it, ‘cuz that’s FUNNY.

I must have a heart of coal because I’m bored instead of tickled. It’s waaaaaaay better than being angry and tired, though, so.

“I’ll take it” is giving this experience too many brownie points, so I’ll use “I’m resigned”, instead.

Here we go, the part where the Lizardman voices Darin Morgan’s gripes with work culture (and I say that because Darin himself said he only works because he has to pay the bills. Which, fair enough, I suppose.)

Wait. Did Lizo Man go from a generic British to an Australian accent?

Guy tries to stage a cop suicide by green glass at Mulder’s hands and…. I’m sorry, this is kind of a fever dream. I can’t even unpack that logic for some bizarre reason.

Let me unpack that logic for some bizarre reason:

Psychologist tells Lizardman the story about breaking the curse by getting stabbed in the appendix.

It involves the realization that the Werelizard stares at himself in the mirror and realizes he’s the monster.

Does… does that prevent him from committing suicide? The psycologist’s instructions remain murky.

Lizardman’s fed up with existence. Decides enough’s enough and goes back to the cemetery.

Mulder walks up and tries to get him to unburden himself.

Lizardman tries to bait him into cop homicide by green bottle.

…How in the world did he think that would happen.

MULDER. LOST. HIS GUN. Which is probably a wink-and-nod by Darin of the good ol’ days when Mulder lost it constantly.

This Lizard’s gotta know who Mulder is at this point, and that Mulder would track him down and find him. That’s my prediction.

Mulder agrees to kill Guy Mann. Guy Mann calls him the only nice human he’s ever met. Of course cut back to Mulder’s face as he insists Guy tell him the whole story, first.

Scully has no idea where Mulder is, does she.

I knew the psychologist’s “other client thought he was a werewolf” would play into this. Heavy-handedly.

The stupid, perfectly placed bush when Lizardman woke the next morning. I can’t even be mad at it.

He took the not-nudist’s clothes, that explains things.

The dialogue’s also kind of… juuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuvenile.

Lizardman leaped over the natural order of human life by talking mad game, and Darin glosses over the details with “humans are the best at that.” Ooooooookay.

Nope, that doesn’t work for me. Not if Lizardman joined a tech shop and got promoted to manager the next day.

I feel like Darin hasn’t hung around iphone shops much.

HE COMMITTED A MURDER BECAUSE HE ATE A COW IN A HAMBURGER. Really.

Was this lizard a vegetarian????? Because animals constantly break their own eating rituals if they’re hungry (deer eating baby birds, rabbits, and even human corpses, for example.) I doubt a creature of that size and strength existed only on vegetation, especially if there were food shortages during the natural course of its life (which happens in the wild.)

But NITPICK ASIDE, he ate his first cow.

…Why didn’t he go find a head of lettuce and chow down on it? Then realize he’s missing something, eat the chicken from the salad, then go on a meat-eating binge? That would have been kinda funny.

Oh, he’s an insectivore.

So, he’s a meat eater.

And he... uuuuuuuuuuuuugh--

Dude’s a protein eater via the carcases of other living things, not plants.

Dude didn’t have consciousness until he woke a man.

So it wouldn’t have mattered to Dude if he ate a cow, anyway, because he’s a carnivore and humans are omnivores.

So what gives?

“No one likes insects. Not even other insects.” SO INSECTS HAVE EMOTIONS, LIKES, AND PREFERENCES. YET, YOU ATE THEM. I don’t see sound reasoning for an ethical or moral stance here, Guy Mann.

Lizardman spent the rest of the day helplessly watching… porn. Just couldn’t help himself. Uh huh.

Dude, you were an animal YESTERDAY, with no association to human morays or social etiquette or guidelines or….

OH. That’s how the Scully scene plays into this.

But then that scene’ll be shot because it’s played for jokes-- males wanting to overexaggerate their knotch count-- rather than a very real reality of animals with zero morals when it comes to their procreation habits.

Let’s see if I’m right.

Guys, this would have been funnier and-- there’s that word again-- clever if Guy Mann lived like a caveman for a few days then overheard some humans talk about job, bills, and etc. spiraled, thinking he would be stuck as a half-human forever, and resigned himself to the fate of every other human (through the lens of his lizard brain, heh.)

It’s not supposed to be taken seriously, I know, but Darin always wrote plausibility into his previous scripts. This one feels like he didn’t try hard enough.

SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO wow.

Guy went to a "witch doctor"-- oops, “a psychologist”-- but stopped taking his prescribed meds because “it just clouded my thoughts” TO WHICH MULDER NODS IN UNDERSTANDING.

Mulder gets it because, as an Oxford educated psychologist, he could diagnose the other psychologist (who shouldn’t be prescribing meds) as a wack job.

Mulder stopped taking his meds.

Which is what Scully asked if he’d done in the intro.

Which means his depression’s gone away without his meds.

Which means his depression’s either CURED, BOOM, or he never needed meds to begin with.

Which means Scully misdiagnosed him.

And left.

OR Mulder stopped taking them and was on depression med withdrawal in the beginning of this episode, hence his melancholia…?

‘Tis a mess.

Only time to be happy as a human is to spend time in the company of a non-human-- YOU’RE AN ANIMAL. YOU’RE NOT A HUMAN. YOU JUST LOOK LIKE ONE FOR TWELVE HOURS A DAY.

Also, Daggoo. Yup. There he is. Uhuh.

Scully was robbed of her first dog by an overgrown lizard and robbed from another overgrown lizard in return.

Daggoo was let out of the motel and ran off, and Mann felt crushing loss and grief (while looking not quite that) then ran into Mulder and Smarty K and ran to the toilet and got pap shot by Mulder and etc.

(Also, he ran into the werewolf dude; and Mulder knows the urge to “strangle him and eat his flesh” when it comes to villains and their villainy.)

Hokey. That’s how I would describe this episode. Inoffensive, but new Scooby Doo.

Wait, he threw his clothes off while witnessing the werewolf man eat another man (get it, it looked like animalistic sex) then but had them on again when Mulder ripped open the stall door and took his pants-down shot.

What.

Wait, Mulder’s up-to-date with transgender procedures and terms but not? familiar with gay bars?

What, did he subscribe to a Queer Life email subscription between episodes, or is that too new-fangled?

This episode doesn’t know what angle it wants to tackle for Clone!Mulder (forgot that nickname temporarily) and instead becomes a mix of everything at different strengths (that also change depending on which scene.)

HOW did Guy Mann not recognize Mulder after Mulder took a picture of him on the port-a-potty??? And stuck around to ask him some questions???

“That was me, actually.”

“I thought I recognized you!”

So. He… diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiid?

OR it was a jackalope head on the wall?

No, wait, it wasn’t a jackalope, Guy Mann just misidentified the animal head on the wall-- and he’s “creeped out” by jackalopes ever since a friend got “gored” by them and GET IT, GUYS, THIS ALL LINKS BACK TO THE BASEMENT WHEN MULDER TALKED ABOUT MOTHMEN AND JACKALOPES.

I swear, Mulder’s just trippin or suffering withdrawals from his meds.

Scully said, “We have a creature case,” and he went home and dreamed this all up in a slime pit of sweat.

HIS DEAD FRIEND GEORGE.

SO THESE LIZARD PEOPLE HAVE NAMES????

THEN WHY’S HIS NAME GUY MANN?????????????????????????????????????

SO, they have friends and eat insects that have some form of consciousness and consider burgers to be cow murder.

I need to stop thinking seriously about this plot.

It’s pit stink Mulder thrashing around in his bed, smiling over speedos and peeping tom tunnels and Scully affectionately calling him crazy-- and that makes the most sense, honestly.

“I think my phone isn’t working right because guys don’t send me pictures of their junk on it.”

More evidence that this was written not by Darin Morgan but by his middle school aged doppelganger, Marin Dorgan, who split from his body during the stress of having to write for the Revival.

“Ever since I became a human, I can’t help but lie about my sex life.” Stupid. He’d need a Twitter account, first.

Mulder’s back to doubting because the entire story’s too silly. To be fair, I do like this beat; and it does align (if you squint at it) with his journey out of depression. BUT it is all too silly, so… kinda think Clone!Mulder’s got a point.

Mulder smiling over learning that Shakespeare called us all ignorant idiots is a nice touch which I shall now spoil: how did Guy Mann know that? Porn?

“Fox, man, you’ve gotta put me out of my misery!” Get it, Fox Mann, Guy Mann? Animals, GET IT.

“You wanted to arrest me for something I didn’t do. Who takes advantage like that? I’ll tell you: a human.” That’s the only comedic bit that landed, for me, and even then it was a lip twitch. His contained righteous indignation got through whatever made the rest of this the way it is! WHOO!

The guy goes stomping off yelling “Monster!” behind him at Mulder to drive his point home, which drives Mulder to drink.

“Mulder’s the monster, get it, because he doesn’t know what he is and is just willing to use other people for his own selfish ends?” the plot says, affectionately, with a giggle behind its hand.

This is the scene where he collapses by Kim Manner’s tomb, isn’t it.

ARE YOU KIDDING, MULDER HAS HIS THEME SONG AS A RINGTONE.

MULDER’S HIGH, THAT’S IT. HE’S HIGH OR OVERDOSING ON HAPPY DRUGS, THERE’S NO OTHER EXPLANATION.

Now that I know this is Ken Mulder’s delirium, it’s going to be interesting to draw unauthorized conclusions about his Alice in Wonderland hallucination.

Aww, look, it’s Kim Manners.

Mulder’s got his Patriarchy Pants' cheeks right on Kim’s face.

Me, ten minutes into the Revival: “Maybe I’m just a fool, Scully. Maybe I always have been.”

Can’t knock that line too much because it is a Mulder thing to think or say.

And it still fits into my delirium scenario, so.

Oh, Kumail’s been turned. Didn’t see that coming. The music’s suspenseful, too. That’s cool.

There’s no way Mulder should figure this out, but he probably will.

Oh, he didn’t.

That’s good.

Also, Scully’s: “Maybe I miss having a dog. And someone to hold my grudges for me,” could apply to her tendency to own dogs but it also might refer to Mulder who she let “curse God for a while” in her stead in IWTB.

Also, where was THIS scene hiding? It’s really good.

Ken Mulder’s hobbling, not running, to his car. ‘Kay.

Wait, Kumail's not a werewolf?

And Scully's got it all handled????

Wait, NO, that makes no sense. AND IT’S ALL EXPLAINED AWAY WITH “I’M IMMORTAL” what.

Scully went to the animal control shelter because she suspected Kumail was the murderer.

She lingered with her back to Kumail, letting him have home court advantage.

HE SLIPPED A NOOSE AROUND HER NECK.

That’s it, she’s doneso. She’s a 5’2” woman that’s as light as a bird, there’s no way she’s toppling a man, let alone one with a noose around her neck and has distance on his side.

Yes, I know this was because the transgender woman surprised Guy Mann with her punch, but that doesn’t translate to a stunning twist for Scully to also have the upper hand. She doesn’t have enough meat on her bones, and nowhere near the arm length to stop her attacker.

Did Guy Mann show up and interfere? Help her out in anyway? Did the dogs rush in and tackle him until she could get up?

IS SCULLY A DOG WHISPERER????? If so, why did Daggoo bite her????????

I will say: Kumail being the murderer really changes that one scene where he was sneaking up behind Mulder.

And also… the fact that he worked for an animal shelter, since he started with small animals.

WAIT, this is a normal animal control shelter, yes? That’s what Mulder yelled into his phone, anyway.

But… there were only dogs in the room when Mulder and the officers arrived.

So. Scully is a dog whisperer, or she tackled Kumail, loosed all the dogs before he got up, and pinned him (impossible) until the cops arrived. I guess. Or the dogs were loose to begin with.

Oh, and chickens.

Dogs and chickens.

Dogs. And chickens. And goats.

(Were ALL the animals loose??????)

Scully, the farm animal whisperer. A trait she must share with her Wyoming son.

Welp. There goes that scene.

Scully approached a dangerous suspect twice without backup (says Mulder, who was Kenning it out in the cemetery with the first dangerous suspect… and the second, if you count him running off and nearly getting offed by Kumail without his knowledge); and excuses it by saying Mulder needed “quality time” with his Lizardman.

“Besides, I’m immortal.”

That sounds like the prequel to another poor decision tattooed on your back, Scully.

Mulder’s not soothed by this pronouncement (obviously), but realizes “If Guy’s story was true--” and runs off into the woods. Again.

And Scully asks the dog if he wants to go home with her.

And I question. Why a dog. Why that dog.

You miss dogs but you didn’t have a tie to any particular dog. And this dog bit you.

Because he’s Plot Relevant Dog. I see.

“Woah, I’m not a reptile! That’s racist!”

No it’s not you silly, silly reptile with utterly unexplainable human knowledge and reflection.

Also, another motif of Mulder just standing there watching another guy undress, casually.

An aspect of Darin’s writing I hadn’t considered: Mulder knows Guy does odd things for a normal human; but also knows this is normal for Guy and just goes with it, for his sake. Like a good psychologist. Like a decent human.

But also, he has his limits.

Also, get it, Mulder’s a man outside mankind, too, who just needs to find himself again. Geeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit?

“I want to believe,” Mulder says.

Mulder just needed someone to say they’re glad to have met him, they’re glad to have him in their life.

So.

I guess Scully hasn’t said those words yet.

Guy shakes his hand.

Mulder watches, stunned, as Guy runs off to hibernate for 10,000 years-- another hallmark of Marin Dorgan’s writing. Ha ha ha, a knee slapper, that one.

“Likewise,” Mulder whispers, overcome and disbelieving and renewed all in one.

A nice little heartfelt, cheesy, sincere ending.

CONCLUSION

What did I just watch?

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

#txf #Mulder and Scully Meet the Weremonster #React #A Late-Canon Reviler Gives the Revival a Try #Revival Reviler's first-time watch through #mine #Part III #Mulder #Scully #Revival #xfiles #x-files #the x files #first-time watch through #and there we go #xf meta #S10

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margowritesthings · 1 year ago

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RED DEAD REDEMPTION

⥽SERIES/UNIVERSES⥼

➵ Romeo and Juliet smut, 18+, you're an O'Driscoll, who has captured the attention of one Arthur Morgan

➵The Meaning of the Scar crossover, the tales that take place after Arthur Morgan's death, when he becomes an undead Hand of God, hunting down the supernatural

➵ Te Beroya star wars au, mandalorian!bountyhunter!Arthur, you're an outlaw, on the run across the galaxy from powerful crime families. the bounty hunter Arthur Morgan is after you.

➵ The Greatest Gift fluff, smut, some parts 18+, you give Arthur the greatest gift he could receive: his daughter

➵ Mob AU smut, 18+, Alternate Universe, Arthur Morgan runs a club in the city of Saint Denis, you're the wife he is absolutely devoted to

⥽STANDALONES⥼

➵ Good Girl - part 1 | part 2 smut, 18+, you're riding with Arthur, never realising just how peculiar he speaks to his horse

➵ Bite Me smut, 18+, vampire AU, Arthur needs to feed, but you're trapped, and it's just the two of you...

➵ Fate: A Word Meaning Destiny angst, fluff, smut, 18+, you're a ranch hand, whose home is under attack from bandits. a mysterious stranger saves your life

➵ What's Mine Is Mine suggestive smuttiness, someone is hitting on you at the bar and Arthur must make sure everyone knows you're his

➵ Ghosts and Smoke angst, following your journey to say a final goodbye to Arthur

➵ A Job Well Done smut, 18+, when Arthur returns home from a job, you just have to reward him for doing such good work

➵ ...For They Shall Obtain Mercy angst, collab with @cowboydisaster, after your death, Arthur is diagnosed with tuberculosis. he can't wait to see you again.

➵ The Way I See You smut, fluff, 18+, Arthur helps you get past your insecurities

➵ Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow? fluff, you and Arthur decide to be honest about your secret relationship

➵ A Bit of a Mess fluff, slight angst, you and Arthur bake cookies

➵ The Long Night fluff, modern AU, when your dog is taken to the vets, Arthur is right by your side

➵ Some Company smut, 18+, a few weeks after you join the gang, you share a sleepless night with the enforcer who saved you

➵ Mr and Mrs Macintosh fluff, you and your new husband check into the saloon for your wedding night

➵ Blood On His Hands smut, 18+, it's your time of the month, but Dutch has some insights from a Mr. Evelyn Miller to share with you

➵ Vedova Nera smut, 18+, you're a hired assassin, and eliminating Dutch van der Linde is your next assignment

#navigation #masterlist #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x y/n #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan fluff #dutch van der linde #dutch van der linde x reader #arthur morgan fanfic #dutch van der linde x y/n #rdr2 #arthur morgan rdr2 #dutch van der linde fanfic

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imagining-in-the-margins · 2 years ago

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CM Damsel/Dude in Distress Fics

Hey everyone! I want to start by saying thank you so much to everyone who participated - it was so much fun to write alongside you all, and I can’t wait to share everyone’s hard work. You are so appreciated, and the diversity only makes these events better.

Without further ado, here are all of the entries + recs for the Damsel/Dude in Distress Challenge!

S.R. SFW Fics (Fem!Reader)

Kryptonite by @foxy-eva: Spencer asks you to rescue him from a very scary spider in the bathroom

Safekeeping by @/foxy-eva: Spencer is there to protect you when a situation gets out of hand.

Funny Thing Fate by me: Reader is tipsy and lost in D.C. when she spots a man she thinks might be able to help.

Rib Cage by me: Spencer realizes Reader is the one, but it might be too late. He has to find her.

I Choose You by @ofwilliamandwalter: What happens when the lowly stable boy, Spencer, and the royalist of princesses, Reader, fall in love?

So, a Wedding? by @ssahopelessly: Reader had the invitation for nearly three months, but she didn't take the time to find a proper date.

The Found Part of Lost by @ssahopelessly: When on the way back to the station, you and Spencer find a friend on the side of the road.

Explosion by @c-m-stuff: Reader and Spencer are married. When Reader risks her life, Spencer is relieved she's still breathing.

Rose Coloured Lens by @alleyholls: Reader cuts her finger while cooking and Spencer bandages her up.

But it's Better if You Do by @fortheloveofwonderland: The absolute last thing Spencer needs is to fall for you, the magnetic exotic dancer who Morgan and Luke pay to give him a birthday dance.

More fics below!

Assorted SFW Fics

Never Let Me Go by @/foxy-eva: [Tara/Reader] Who knew how easy it would be for Reader to find comfort in Tara’s arms.

The Friendship We Have is a Rare Find by @/cherubcurls (Ao3): [Spencer & Penelope] Penelope and Spencer agree to meet up to have a study session before finals, but they end up not studying at all.

Peas and Love by @/masterwords (Ao3): [Hotchgan] Hotch hurts his back and Hank takes very good care of him.

I'll Do It by @tobias-hankel (Ao3): [Hotchreid] Hotch saves Spencer from an interrogation gone wrong.

He'll Say He's Just Not the Same by @spencer-reids-adventures (Ao3): [Hotch & Spencer] Spencer suffers a depressive episode, and Hotch comes to check on him.

Who's Afraid of the Bogeyman? by PandorasDreaming (Ao3): [Spencer & BAU] When Spencer is kidnapped by Mr. Scratch, they must race against time to save him before his mind breaks.

Saved from the Rain by @leahseclipse: [Spencer & 10th Doctor] Spencer has an encounter with a strange man who saves him from the rain.

I Get By by @/GarlicBreadforJuliusCaesar (Ao3): [Gen Fic] The one where Spencer has a fight with a vending machine, and the BAU chip in to help.

Co-Creator Bonus List!

SFW Gender Neutral Reader

Kitten Love: Spencer’s vet begrudgingly agrees to an emergency house call.

Diamonds: Spencer comforts Reader when they have a bad pain day.

Rotten: Reader struggles to feel at home in their body following a trauma.

Melancholia: Reader has been acting weird lately, so Spencer makes a much needed wellness check.

Storm: Reader has a panic attack.

Bruises: The team is concerned when Reader shows up with bruises on their neck.

SFW Female Reader

Astraphobia: SSA Reader and Spencer share their most embarrassing fears.

Different Dialects: Autistic!Reader. Spencer is trying to tell Reader he likes her, but it feels like they speak entirely different languages.

Porcelain: Autistic!Reader has a meltdown in the cafe. Luckily, there is a Dr. Reid nearby.

Baggage Claim: Autistic!Reader is having a hard time at the airport.

Stranger Danger: Reader is a single mother having a very bad day.

From the Tree: The kidnapping case becomes personal when Spencer and Reader get a call from their nanny.

NSFW Female Reader

It’s Too Cliché ❤️: Reader and Spencer are the worst at friends with benefits. After an exchange of gifts & nasty words, the two reunite on a very eventful NYE.

Cupid & Psyche ❤️: Reader and Spencer get kidnapped by a rather romantic matchmaking unsub who demands they perform for him.

Big Bad Wolf (Part 1, Part 2): Spencer is overwhelmed by the apparent innocence of an elementary school teacher he meets on a case.

Thank you for writing and reading with me.

Let me know if you'd like me to add your story to this list!

#spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fic #criminal minds smut #criminal minds writing challenge #sorry this is like two months late oops #ive been having a rough time #hope yall understand #i should have the family challenge list done soon enough

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heavenlymorals · 8 months ago

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The Deeper Meaning of Loan-Sharking

Warning: spoilers for both Red Dead games

The complexity of RDR2's story blows me away every fucking day because oh my god- the characters, the themes, the symbolism, the call backs to other medias and so on and so forth.

But here is one thing that stuck with me when I realized it for the first time-

The deeper meaning of the loan sharking missions.

The main purpose of those missions were obviously to show a change of character in Arthur Morgan- from a heartless enforcer, a plague to the down-trodden, to a heartbroken man, ashamed of his actions, and trying to remedy what he can without the hope for forgiveness because he knows he doesn't deserve it.

The loan sharking missions are the most obvious and in your face representation of Arthur's redemption arc.

But at its core, it felt like a nod to criticisms that the 1800s romantics and naturalists had towards the concept of civilization, a direct call back to Dutch's philosophy all throughout both RDR and RDR2.

What do I mean by this?

All throughout the game, the gang tries to fight civilization in an almost Robinhood esque way- these American knights wrecking havoc for the dreams of their outlaw king. They rob the rich, who Dutch sees as the reason for America's moral failure, and those who protect these rich men because they add to those men's power. It all sounds very noble but it's a useless and bloody fight.

Mac and Davey get killed, Jenny gets killed, Sean gets killed, Kieren gets killed, Hosea and Lenny get Killed, Molly gets killed.

This gang life for a dream that'll never be realized kills people and consumes them until there is nothing left but husks of people who had dreams of their own.

The romantic dream will only be a dream and the only place it can be a reality is in books and philosophies. Civilization is the truth- it saves humanity from the hell that is anarchy or so it seems.

The gang fought against the encroaching civilization that threatened to devour the West and Arthur followed Dutch and showed the same sentiments regarding civilization- and by following Dutch, he followed that same ideal, even if his heart wasn't fully in it.

The gang life- coming to an end and no longer sustainable- showed the impossibility of this beautiful dream as it destroyed everything but that wasn't the thing that killed Arthur in the end.

Tuberculosis killed Arthur. Tuberculosis from loan sharking.

"It's legal work, Mr. Morgan." Strauss to Arthur.

The legal work killed Arthur in the end, not the shootouts or gang feuds. The civilized work killed Arthur in the end. The civilized world beat Mr.Downes, a poor, dying man trying to do his best for his family. The civilized world killed Arthur Londonderry.

The civilized world and this legal work sucked the life out of the poor so rich men can get richer and take everything they can around for their greed can not be satiated.

The civilized work, the legal work killed Arthur Morgan.

The hypocrisy of it all is so heartbreaking because despite all the bad things the gang did, the philosophy, the too idealistic and romantic philosophy they fought for, that could never be realized in the world they lived in, held truth.

And that small monocum of truth kept Dutch fighting and fighting until he no longer could by commiting suicide.

Good God I love this game.

#so many details #so much social commentary #the civilized world killed arthur like how it kills most people #because greed rules this world #not ideals #it's such a shame #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #leopold strauss #dutch van der linde #story analysis #allegory

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goodmorgan · 2 years ago

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Perfect Strangers

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!Reader

Summary: When a stranger appears at your homestead to steal from you, you set out to help him instead.

Word Count: 6.1k

Tags: NSFW. 18+. Smut, Porn With Plot, Mentions of Starvation, Masturbation, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, Touch-Starved Arthur Morgan, Mutual Pining, Infidelity

AO3 Link

A/N: This will be a fic consisting of multiple chapters.

Chapter 1: A Man in Need

"Who the hell are you?" you shout as you emerge from your doorstep, pointing your shotgun at his head.

He turns slowly from the apple tree in your front yard, hands now raised to his sides. He swallows nervously like a schoolboy caught in the act as the apple he was holding lands swiftly on the ground. He's tall enough to reach the highest branches with ease, the only ones you've yet to pick clean as you're too lazy to get the ladder.

"I'm... I'm sorry, ma'am." He looks at you pleading with his eyes, one of them almost as black as his boots. His exposed hands and forearms are bruised but healing, you reckon the fight he was in must have been a few days ago. His shirt and pants look like they've been slept in for days, the dirt and the grass staining them worse than the sweat. He is wearing an old leather hat, which frames his chiseled face perfectly, tilted enough so you can see his piercing blue eyes. They might be telling you he is a kind man if it were not for the fact that you've caught him stealing.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" You try to pretend you're not frightened by the hooligan now standing in your property. You hope your voice is as demanding as his presence.

"Please don't shoot, ma'am. I'm... I'm sorry. I just..."

"You what?" You cock the shotgun with authority.

"I'm- I'm just... I'm so... hungry." His voice quivers as he utters the last word, barely audible. He looks embarrassed to admit it but hopes his honesty is enough to save him from an early grave. He holds still as a sign of cooperation. His manner seems genuine to you, his confession matching his appearance.

You hold your position as you ponder what to do next. The both of you are still enough that you can hear the fire in your hearth inside. You have just finished peeling the potatoes so you can add them to the stew you're making. You were hoping to have enough leftovers for tomorrow, but you guess there's enough dinner for two.

"Do you have any weapons?" You don't lower your voice or your shotgun.

"Just a pocketknife, ma'am." The man seems truthful.

"Throw it." He obeys and the knife lands by your feet on the porch. You pick it up and pocket it next to yours.

"You have anything else?"

"No, ma'am. Just some cigarettes." He reaches for one of his pant pockets and retrieves them, dropping them on the floor. He shows you the other pocket is empty before being quick to remove his boots, showing you he has nothing to hide. His hands return to his sides once he's finished.

"Would you like some food?"

He takes a breath and swallows air at the mention of it. "Yes... Yes, ma'am. Very much so." The threat of the stranger subsides as you now realize you are standing in front of a famished man. You slowly lower your shotgun from your dinner guest. His hands remain upright as he waits for instructions.

"Put your boots on. I need to get inside to finish dinner."

"Yes, ma'am." He is quick to stand in front of you, waiting for permission to climb the stairs. Even with you standing on the porch, he's almost as tall as you. Up close, he's even more handsome than you had realized.

"What's your name?"

"Morgan. Arthur Morgan, ma'am." He tips his hat awkwardly. His gaze is weary but pleading for compassion.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Morgan. My name is Y/N. Please come in. I reckon there's enough food for the both of us." As he climbs the stairs he looks at you like he's being invited to a Saint Dennis' banquet. "Now, don't go thinking it's anything fancy. I don't have much."

"Anything you can give me I'll be grateful till the day I die." He seems just as obedient without a shotgun pointed at him, even though he towers over you. He carries himself with an undeniable raw magnetism, slightly undercut by a sensible restraint, a quiet but powerful virility. You are not immune to its immediate effects.

"Well, don't die just yet. Don't need any dead bodies on my property." He tries to pretend to be amused but he can only muster an exhale, looking down at you, staring, mouth agape. You're now so close you swear you can smell the whole forest on him. You start to map out the details of his features like constellations in the night sky. You almost reach out your hand to touch them.

You turn around to enter your cottage just as the idea overtakes you. You realize, under the right circumstances, you might be as obedient to him as he's been to you.

"Would you like some water?" you say as you head straight for the kitchen, already reaching for a glass to serve him. His "yes, ma'am" is barely out before he downs the whole glass, letting out slurping noises of urgency and relief. You serve him a few more times before his chugs quiet down and his thirst is quenched. He removes his hat to reveal his sweaty temple and his luscious caramel hair.

"There is a vanity inside if you'd like to wash up while I finish dinner."

"Thank you." He heads towards your bedroom while you put down your shotgun and get the potatoes. Your two-room cottage is quite small, so you can hear him wash while stirring the stew. Water sloshes in the bowl for sometime before it stops. He struggles with something for a while before you hear the brief unzipping of his pants, the quick fastening of his buckle.

He takes his time but he emerges clean, his skin glowing bright by the light of the fire. He has groomed and rearranged his clothes to appear more presentable, his sleeves buttoned and his collar smoothed. He has tucked in his shirt, doing his best to hide the noticeable blood stains. His hair is swept back, you can tell he spent some time trying to comb it with his fingers. He holds his hat in his hands, fidgeting with the brim, patiently waiting for your command, looming over you as you cook. By the attentive way he's looking at you, you wonder if your attraction is reciprocated.

"Nearly done, Mr. Morgan." You raise from the fire to cool yourself as the room heats up with his presence. "I'll just set the table. Take a seat." He watches as you place some of your finest dishes and cutlery, arranging it all as well as you can to impress your guest. You soon pour the meaty stew onto your plates.

He stares at the food on the table for a little while, his mouth salivating at the sight. You figure he hasn't eaten anything for days now, surviving on whatever the forest gifted him. Whatever it was, surely not enough for a man of his stature. He moans after he takes his first bites, each one louder than the last. He tries to eat slowly but soon gives it up, ditching any pretense of civility in favor of sustenance. He holds the spoon for the stew in one hand while holding bread in the other, fetching for more of the other as he eats either one.

You try to eat your own meal as you become enraptured by the spectacle. His animalistic mannerisms are oddly captivating and leave little to the imagination. His piercing blue eyes raise from the food to eye you from time to time, ravishing you as he does his meal.

Arthur is on his fourth plate of stew before he begins to slow down. All the bread you had is gone, much to your regret. After you serve yourself a second helping, you drop the ladle and hear it echo in the nearly empty pot. You finish your meal by you reaching for some fruit for dessert, the last of the apples you were able to reach. You place one in front of Arthur just as he finishes scooping up the last of the liquid on his plate.

"I'm sorry I stole from you." He hangs his head in regret.

"Well, you didn't eat it. So I guess you didn't steal it." The peel of your apple lands as a perfect spiral on your plate.

"You're very kind for feeding me."

"I'd like to think that if the situation were reversed, you'd feed me too."

"I'd be honored if you'd let me repay you, ma'am." You know he means it.

You reach inside your pocket and take out Arthur's pocketknife before you hand it to him. "I'll have to think of something." He grabs the knife and begins to peel the apple as you did. "For now, I think I'll just hear your story."

You're on your second whiskey when you pour Arthur his third, relieved you opened the least expensive bottle. It'll be some time before Arthur gets tipsy given what he's eaten. You, however, have reached your limit.

He's been telling you about how he was ambushed on the road a few days back. O'Driscolls, he says. A group took him into the forest to beat him and left him to die with just some cigarettes in his pocket, no matches. The hunger wouldn't have been so bad if they hadn't left him without a coat to keep him from the cold. He was losing hope when he stumbled onto your homestead and saw your apples.

You tell him little about yourself and he doesn't inquire much, thinking it's best not to pry. But he keeps staring at you with those hungry eyes of his and you wonder if he can see there's hunger in you too.

When the conversation dies, he rises from his chair to squat by the fire, reaching for a burning twig to light one of his cigarettes. You stare at his broad back, barely covered by his thinly stretched shirt. You wonder how your hands compare to it in size. Perhaps he has constellations on his back that you can map out too. You'd work your way upward, tracing lines with your fingers between his freckles and scars all the way up to his neck, finishing by feeling his big shoulders under your small hands. You'd be interrupted by him swinging you around so he can face to kiss you, passionately and without remorse. He would plant his own large hands on your small shoulders as you feel the weight of his full desire bearing down on you. You'd grab his shoulders again as he enters you.

He rises back to his chair, interrupting your fantasy. "You saved a man from death today, miss. I'm very grateful."

"Well, you just make sure you get some rest tonight. There's plenty of fire to keep warm. And more whiskey too." You lift the bottle to pour him more but he declines. "In the morning, you can take my horse into town. See if you can get in touch with your folks."

"Oh, I can't take more of your generosity, miss."

"Why not? I insist! I won't need the horse for a few days. I might have some money I can lend—"

"I can't possibly accept that, miss." The idea almost offends him.

"Fine, I won't lend you the money. So you'll take the horse then?" You smile as you trick him into charity.

He sighs. "Well, I guess I will." He looks rather defeated.

"Ok, good." You get up. "Now, you stay where you are while I go get linens to make your bed." You rush to your bedroom before he has a chance to object.

You haven't noticed how dark it has gotten until you see the moonlight illuminating your room, bright enough that you can see your way to your dresser. You light the lamp above it and notice the water in the vanity, muddied with dirt and old blood. The towel he used is neatly folded and placed on the dresser, the act of a thoughtful guest. You pick it up to place it with your dirty laundry and you catch a sniff of his smell in it. A mist of wood, grass, and sweat. Without a thought, you linger on it.

You look at your made-up bed and imagine what it would be like to have it drenched with his smell, his sweat staining the sheets after his vigorousness. You wonder if he'd be as loud as he was during dinner or if he would grow quiet, intensely concentrating on his pleasure. Or maybe he'd focus on yours, his lips seducing yours, first above your waistline and then below. Either way, you'd wrap your legs around him, savoring the feeling. You'd grab his shoulders once he'd surface, the two of you connected at the hips, colliding into each other. Afterward, you'd rest in his arms, his broad back taking up most of your mattress. You'd wash the dirty sheets in the morning but they'd still have traces of him. Just like you.

You wake from your stupor when you remember Arthur is outside, waiting for his actual bed to be made. You take from the armoire a blanket and a spare pillow and you wonder if he'll be able to fit in your old davenport. He most certainly will not. He could always take your bed.

You find him standing by the door as if he's leaving. Not courageous enough to leave without a goodbye. He jolts when he sees you emerge from the bedroom.

"Where are you going?"

"Look, miss, maybe it's best if I be on my way. I can walk from here. I'll come back to repay you for your trouble." He looks at you like he's scared of what will happen if you let him stay. You suspect that his head is filled with impure thoughts too, now that the hunger in his eyes is deeper.

"But it's already nighttime. There's no point in leaving now." Please don't leave, you think. You could make it worth his while.

"It ain't proper to bother you no more. Especially a woman by herself."

"It's no bother. Or improper, to help a man in need. Besides, I told you you can borrow my horse in the morning."

"I can't accept that."

"Seriously, Mr. Morgan, take what you need." You go to place the linens on the davenport, which is definitely too small for him.

“I think I've taken enough from you, ma’am.”

When you turn around you see Arthur has already opened the door and is on his way out. You rush to him and without thinking you grab his forearm and force him to turn, his figure filling your doorway, illuminated by the moonlight. He looks down at you, surprised by your boldness, his eyes burning with lust. You feel his heartbeat quicken in your hand.

You're brave enough to caress him with your thumb. "Don't go, Arthur."

He doesn't recoil and looks down at you, clearly wanting to accept your proposition. "It's been a while," he admits. He seems so timid yet so needy.

"Me too."

He hesitates for a few seconds before he finally reaches down to kiss you. His plump lips land on yours, softer than any kiss you could imagine him giving. It's powerful enough to titillate every part of you. You catch the smell of your soap on his skin as he presses closer to you. After a moment, he withdraws, still unsure of himself.

You reassure him again. "Take what you need."

You lose grasp of his wrist and feel both his hands reaching to the sides of your neck. He kisses you deeply now, pushing your lips apart to make room for his. You taste the cheap whiskey you served him when the tip of his tongue reaches yours. You grab onto his shoulders, trying to steady yourself as the pleasure intensifies. They're bigger than you imagined.

You lose yourself in his passion, malleable to his sudden force as he begins to overpower you, wrapping his arms around you while his tongue wraps around yours. He finally starts to take what he needs. You receive what you need, too.

Once he eases on you for a moment, you take the chance to lead him to your bedroom, anxious to enact the dirty daydream you just had in there. He follows your trail while kissing and caressing you, getting more confident as he escalates, gradually lowering his hands, from your face to your shoulders, then to your waist, and to your hips, ecstatically enveloping you. You're by the bed when you feel yourself vibrating with lust for the man that's touching you, getting wetter by the minute.

When your back hits the armoire, his pelvis runs into you and you feel his length already hard against you. You lean into him, savoring the sensation, and you guide his hands to your ass, which he grabs greedily, making you sway closer to him. Both of you exchange gasps in each other's mouths. Like at dinner, he sounds louder with every bite.

As much as it pains you, you slightly push Arthur back to start speeding things along. He watches as you begin to work your blouse, opening the buttons you fastened this morning. If you had known how aroused you'd be tonight, you would never have picked the blouse with so many buttons. You were hoping to strip for him, but your fingers are now clammy from the excitement, so you need an extra hand.

"Help me out, would you?"

He reaches for the button you're trying to undo, the one right between your breasts. Once he has access inside, he gets distracted by the visible part of your tits, already peeking through your chemise. He moves his fingertips over them, touching them delicately. The sensation feels like lightning to you and you let out small whispers of delight. You get louder once you feel his whole hand reaching under the chemise, softly cupping a whole breast, his palm now stimulating your nipple.

The sensation makes you melt under his touch. In return, you lower your hand to reach the growing erection under his pants, making him draw out a loud groan of satisfaction. You watch as Arthur closes his eyes as you continue to massage him, fully riveted by the sensation. The big size on your hand leaves you no less breathless.

It evidently becomes too overwhelming for him and he abruptly stops you and removes his hand. In a strangled voice, he leans into your ear to whisper. “I think I need another whiskey.”

He goes out the door and you watch as he heads to the table, pours himself a drink and downs it with a frustrated grunt. He pours another, trying to settle his nerves, concentrating on avoiding a premature release. You figure it must be a long while since he's been touched by a woman. His erection must be painfully throbbing by now. He probably has no idea how arousing this is.

You go back in the room to open the drawer of your dresser. You cut the rest of the buttons of your blouse with your scissors, you can always saw them back later. You're finally free to undo the rest of your blouse and remove your skirt and chemise, finally naked and free. You return to your bedroom door to tell Arthur the good news.

You find him staring at the fire as it dies down, the drink still on the table nearby. His shirt has now been removed and so has his modesty, it seems. You watch as he unbuckles his pants and frees himself, at last holding his stiffness in his hand. He takes a moment before he starts pumping, languidly stroking his length while letting out small sounds of relief.

You marvel at the sight of the cowboy letting loose, so you decide not to disturb him. You get wetter at the realization that he's touching an arousal you helped build. Unable to contain yourself, you reach for your own sex, trying to find some much-needed relief. For a few moments, you both touch each other to the same lazy rhythm.

“I can help with that, you know?” You come out of the bedroom once you reach your limit, desperate for his touch.

Arthur freezes in place when he sees you standing there, now fully naked with your hair down. You could swear his cock shifts in his hand at your sight. You join him by the fire and, without permission, you resume his handiwork on your own fist while he lets out his audible approval. He huffs louder when you reach for his tip.

When he seems to unfreeze, he cups one of your breasts, as if to steady himself. He lightly massages your nipple with his thumb as you continue to work on his length.

You continue pumping him, fastening the pace as you feel him panting under you and see him close his eyes. You stop before things get out of control, which brings him back to the room.

"Let's get to bed," you suggest.

You lead him inside until you sit on the edge of the bed. It's now your turn to wait for instructions. But you pick up on some of his earlier hesitation, a man worried about unloading himself on you.

“Take me.” Your tone is almost a pleading one. "Take me, Arthur."

The sound of his name on your lips is enough to rouse him. What follows next is utterly exhilarating as he makes you lie fully on the bed, his hands pushing your shoulders down while his cock presses on your stomach. Once he rises, he instructs you. "Spread your legs for me, girl." You do as your told, trembling at his sudden domineering voice.

You watch as he stands looming over you, his cock fully erect and twitching with need, an erotic image you won't soon forget. He takes a moment to look at you, spread out with your legs hanging, your core exposed. He's surely saving a picture for himself too.

"Mmm so pretty for me." He reaches down and parts your folds. "So wet for me, too." He drags his index up and down, watching as you writhe under the sensation. You wish that he would linger further on your clit but instead he grabs your hip with one hand and puts the other on his length, aligning the head at your entrance, wetting it with your slick. It's both completely thrilling and not enough at the same time.

"You gonna take me good, girl?" He grips your hip more forcefully. You nod for him as you prepare yourself for what's coming. You hold your arms to the side, just like he did when you were pointing the shotgun at him. Just like him, you surrender.

He enters you messily as he hurries inside, clearly impatient to start. He groans loudly and sloppily, almost like a teenager. You cling to the sheets beside you as you take him, adapting to the feeling of being completely filled. Once he's inside, he takes a second to adjust, clearly savoring being inside another woman again.

"Mmm, so good and tight, girl. Fuck. Fuuuck!"

Once he's fully buried in you, he loses no time and begins to thrust, starting off faster than you expect. He looks at you with unapologetic lust. It takes you some getting used to his rhythm and size, but something about his hungry demeanor arouses you enough to dissipate any discomfort. You soon begin to experience a type of pleasure you haven't felt in a long while.

You can't help but let out whatever moan comes out of you, as your senses surrender to to the hooligan now overpowering you. You have quenched his thirst, relieved his hunger and now you're satisfying his most carnal need. Each time he has repaid you with the most obscene noises and lascivious stares. You hope you're repaying him back in the same way.

His thrusts become erratic, a man in desperate need of release. You try to do your best to please him further, but there's not much you can do once he controls both your hips with his hands, allowing him to bury himself as deep within you as possible. When he further angles down on you, you feel more pressure on your clit, wrapping your knees around him, pressing for more.

His pacing is now reckless as he tries to satisfy his hunger, dripping with sweat over you. You're completely enthralled as this complete stranger fucks you so greedily under the cover of night. You feel yourself getting closer to some edge you barely even knew existed.

By the manner he fucks you, you figure his long-held repression will not make him last long, so you're dismayed but not surprised when you feel him approaching his climax. You haven't reached yours yet, even though you know you're very close. You wish he holds on a little longer, but it's too late once you hear him huff with even less discretion and you feel his muscles tensing around you.

Arthur pulls out of you before he comes, spilling white ropes all over your stomach, stroking his own cock to finish. It's a long and deep orgasm, one he's been needing for sometime. He remains in his position, still holding his cock, mouth opened and eyes closed as he comes down from his high. He goes limp, landing next to you with a thud, exhausted and with his eyes closed, unable to move.

Arthur's climax is no doubt the most erotic one you've ever witnessed and the arousal it creates in you is only a burden once you realize you still haven't orgasmed yourself. You get up to fetch a clean towel, cleaning his spill off of yourself and you watch as he lays there, eyes still closed. His chest begins to settle as his breathing calms.

You get back in bed and kneel beside him, your eyes surveying every part of his incredible physique, his cock now semi-hard after being inside you. You rub two of your fingers in your wetness before you place them on your clit and move them in circles to find your pleasure again. You're still very aroused and it's not long before you feel the beginning of your climax again. You keep staring at Arthur, his body reason enough to titillate you further. You look at his length, already missing having it inside you, so you slip a couple of fingers in you. They're not even close to replacing him but they provide enough pressure to continue building your peak.

You keep watching him and keep thinking of him thrusting into you when you start to let out sharp whimpers, panting as you inch closer to release. They're loud enough to make Arthur wake from his exhaustion and you watch as he props himself up on his elbows, enjoying the view of your self-gratification. But just watching isn't enough for him.

"Let me."

He places his fingers on top of yours, which are now circling your clit at a fast pace. You let him learn the rhythm of the motion and then you remove your hand, squirming as you feel him directly pleasuring you. It happens just in time as it's only a moment until you finally come, erupting wildly under his unyielding touch. He works you through your orgasm until you finally collapse next to him, unconsciously searching for his chest and placing your semi-lucid head there.

You feel him wrap you in his arms, caressing your back as your breathing eases. "That was beautiful, girl."

When you open your eyes after a while, you notice the lamp in your room has gone out and the both of you are now bathing in the moonlight, only accompanied by the sounds of the surrounding forest. You soon notice Arthur's deep breathing under you and you realize he must have fallen fast asleep, exhausted from the ordeal of the past few days, enjoying the safety of your bed. A man now fed, fucked and sheltered.

Although you don't want to, you slowly remove yourself from him. You cover him with your quilt but not before gazing at his full body again, already missing it on top of you. You move to the side of the bed he doesn't occupy, small enough to have you lay on your side by his side. You fall asleep to the sound of his deep loud breathing. Two perfect strangers satiated in the moonlight.

—

It's a regular morning for you, waking up alone in your bed, eyes opened and staring at the wooden ceiling. But this time you feel your insides a little sore, a welcomed reminder of last night. You turn to look at Arthur's place, now empty but his outline still visible on the sheets. You map it with your fingers as you wonder where he is, still burning with the memory of him inside you.

You get up and dress in clean clothes you pick from your dresser, a simple blouse and skirt with fewer buttons, pretty enough that he might like. You tie up your hair in your usual practical bun. You douse some expensive perfume on your neck, a small strand running between your breasts.

You guess it is about seven by the morning's light outside. You step into the porch as you watch Arthur next to the apple tree, in the same spot where you found him yesterday. He's picking the remaining apples on the top and placing them on a basket. The sight of his chiseled body under his clothes is enough to flare the arousal you thought you'd extinguished last night.

He sees you when he retrieves the last apple, perched over a lower branch. He brings you a full basket with a small grin on his face, a man whose basic needs seem to have been entirely fulfilled.

You can't help but smile too. "You stealing from me again, are you?"

"Wouldn't dream of it, miss. Thought I'd finish what I started and get them down for you." He sets the basket at your feet, like an ancient priest offering it to a deity. "Now no one can try to steal them again."

"Wouldn't want any competition, huh?" You tease him as he approaches you, his hands on his hips, sweat running down his brow.

He licks his lips before answering. "No, ma'am. Wouldn't dream of it."

"You hungry?"

"I'm still full after last night."

You giggle slightly at his insinuation before you lead him back into your kitchen to prepare breakfast.

Arthur helps make coffee while you prepare the bacon, eggs and sausages. The meal feels a little off without some bread, but you barely notice in the presence of your company.

Arthur is telling you an amusing story involving a donkey on his passing through Armadillo, letting you peek inside his previous life before he made it to New Haven. It pleases you that he is a traveling man, besides clearly being a resourceful one. He grows quiet when you ask him what he does for a living. You busy yourself with the dishes to dispel the tension brought on by the vague answer he gives.

He gets up to help you clear the rest of the dishes on the table. "I best get going if I'm gonna make it to Valentine before noon."

The mention of him leaving stings you. "You can go get Amber. She's on the stable out back. She's real friendly."

"May I?" Arthur points to the basket of apples and when you nod he grabs two of them, taking a big bite out of one. You see him drool a little before he walks out the door.

You busy yourself with the dishes before he comes back. All the while you feel a pang in your stomach as you think about him leaving, wishing you could spend the night together again. Flashes of last night burst into your consciousness, making you relieve it deliciously. You feel yourself filled with lust again before it's even eight in the morning.

When you catch Arthur leading Amber to your yard, you realize that if he's a man of his word he'll have to come back to return her safely back to you. Maybe you'll cook dinner for him again. Maybe he'll take you once again. You head out for the yard with your mind made up to ask him to come back.

"It's a nice trotter you got here. Well fed too." He pets her neck, much to her delight, and he feeds her the other apple he grabbed. "That's a good girl." His wording sounds like an echo from last night.

"She like carrots too. I've put some inside, some beans and corn for you too. Don't want you going hungry again." You hand him a satchel you've prepared for his journey into town.

"Much obliged." He nods in thanks and places it on his shoulder, which barely shifts at the weight of it. He steps forward as he begins his goodbye, halting just as he hovers above you.

"I'm very grateful to you, miss. For everything." He whispers the last part as a dirty little secret that only you two share.

"Well, I'm glad I could be of help." You fidget with your fingers, too afraid to ask him to stay, too cowardly to say goodbye.

"I'll come back to bring Amber. And to repay you. I promise." He emphasizes the last part like it's a sacred vow.

Arthur lingers over you and you wait for his next move. It looks like he's going kiss you goodbye but instead he takes a few steps back and mounts Amber instead. He gives you one last look and one last nod before he urges her to trot and you watch as he gallops out of view. His absence leaves you cold and sullen, mended only by the promise of his return.

You decide not to spend the day wallowing, instead being grateful for the night of passion you just experienced. You set out to do the remainder of your chores before you resume your knitting. When you finish with the kitchen, you tidy up the rest of the living room. You put away the nearly empty bottle of whiskey. You relight the fire in the hearth. You put away the linens on the sofa that have been sitting there all night, unused.

You turn around in your bedroom to find the bed still unmade, his outline still traceable. You go to remove the quilt from the bed when it hits you. You catch a whiff of his smell again, this time all over your sheets, right where he had you. You catch a few stains of dried sweat where both of you laid, asleep and awake. Traces of his spend and your slick. It's his pillow that most delights you as it smells so intensely of him, it's almost like he's there again.

Like he's there again, pushing you downward, telling you to spread, filling you whole. So pretty for me. Taking you, over and over. So good and tight, girl. Fuck. The memory is too strong for you to resist it, so you lay down again, right where he had you. You use your fingers to try to mimic his movements and vigor. You cannot match them, but they are enough to make you come again, this time while he's still inside you, and you repeat his name out loud as you do it. You lay your head on his pillow as you come down to earth again. That was beautiful, girl. You remember his promise to come back, the possibility of him taking you again surely enough to power you until his return.

It's midmorning when you decide to get up and finally change the sheets, as much as it pains you to lose his scent. You decide to leave his pillow untouched, a souvenir of your unexpected affair, now lying atop the fresh bed linens.

You set out to do the laundry, hoping it dries with the afternoon sun. You wash the sheets first, then your clothes and undergarments, followed by the towels. You take a second to look at the embroidery you stitched on the hand towel you used to clean Arthur's seed off of you.

It's only when you see his initials that you think of your husband.

A/N: Already working on chapter 2! Feedback is welcomed!

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan fanfiction #goodmorgan

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