#tentatively tagging to see if anyone would be interested | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year ago

Text

FATUM NOS IUNGEBIT 3/4

König x F!Reader

Summary: You have seen him in your dreams. The seer has divined his coming. But nothing has prepared you for witnessing him in the flesh. (Historical AU where König fights for the Roman Empire in an auxiliary unit, finds a cute barbarian woman and decides to keep her as his own.) Part 1 Part 2 Word count: 9.4 k Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY. Spoils of war/enemies to lovers trope, graphic depictions of violence, historical gruesomeness, pining, odd banter, mixed feelings, romantic fluff, dubcon cuddling, eventual smut. Captor/captive dynamic. König is a brutal warrior... and a gentle giant. A/N: König takes liberties with his mouth. Dubcon is at its most dubcon in this chapter so please tread carefully <3 The actual smut happens in the next (and last) part. Long chapter because these two just can't behave!!

The days are getting warmer now.

The sun warms the tent during the day, and the sound of birds searching for a mate threatens to drive you to madness. They sing during nighttime, too, and you miss the sturdy clay walls of your hut that blocked at least some of the sounds from outside. Now you are barely sheltered from wind and rain that beat the tent every now and then and can escape the swelling song of spring and lovesick birds to nowhere. König only snores with steady content as you mull over your strange fate there in his cozy bed, wondering how crazy it is that he never lets you go when he sleeps.

If König has an early council, you spend the morning eating breakfast in bed while studying odd parchments the translator gave you. The old man was quite insulted, not because you asked, but because you showed interest in the documents that, apparently, were of least importance to him.

You don’t care that they’re “only” travel guides because they’re filled with Roman letters and numbers and usually illustrated with pictures of columns. You don’t understand a word they say and how those strange papers could ever be a travel guide to anyone, but you like to trace the letters and pictures with your finger. König clearly understood your fascination with them: he left you this morning with another smile, which told you he only thought you were simply adorable this way. He tried to tell you that the letters represent towns and the numbers tell the distances between those towns, but they still remain bizarre pieces of paper to you.

Men pass by occasionally; you can hear it from how their gears clonk and clatter and swish. You can hear the soft thump of sandals on the dirt, but you pay it no attention because you’ve always trusted that you are safe here. As long as you stay inside the tent, no one will touch you, even if they can currently see you because the flap is left open a wink.

The only times his men witness you are when König takes you out for a walk in the woods so that you can take care of your bodily needs. Everyone can see that your hands are never tied, your face is never bruised, and your posture is still that of a proud, unbroken woman. And everyone looks at you with both hunger and wonder. Apparently, you are an even tempting spoil because you are not yet spoiled.

The special treatment was rubbed in your face one time when you passed by a Roman soldier disciplining his slave, a woman who had shared your fate and clearly was having the worst of it. The other half of her face was unrecognizable, but the man kept beating her, and you stared in horror as whatever deed she had done to anger the man was now being punished far too cruelly.

“Romans very dumb,” König said from next to you without even shedding a glance at the morbid scene. No one seemed to give a shit about what was happening to that poor woman, but you would never have expected such a comment to come from König’s mouth. When you asked him what he meant by that, he only shrugged and said: “That man piss on his luck.”

You wonder if the only reason why you haven’t been raped yet is because you are some sort of a lucky charm to him. The mere thought has the effect of making your blood boil, but some distant, tender voice inside you reminds you that König is not Roman. He does not share Roman customs, even if he fights with and for them. Perhaps slaves are treated differently in his land. Perhaps in there, it is considered an outrage and an insult to the gods to beat a woman, free or not.

Whatever his reasons are for not beating and raping you to death, it was a tremendous stroke of luck that König found you first. You dropped right there on his feet when he was victorious, so of course his men allowed him to take you as his: you were clearly a gift from the gods. But now that time has passed, you understand you are by no means safe if you wander outside this tent. König can protect you only when he is present or when you are safely tucked away in his own personal space.

It’s a false feeling of safety, however, because you soon learn that out of sight is out of mind for these soldiers. Now that you are on display, sweetly and neatly on the bed, a tiny little wrinkle forming between your brows from studying the peculiar parchment, you are like fresh livestock on the marketplace, even inside the tent. You notice that someone else is in here with you only when you hear the sound of munching and turn.

A relatively big soldier is standing in the doorway, eating an apple, watching you like he would rather have a bite out of you.

And you thank all the gods and stars above you, all the spirits and the Mother below you, that he doesn’t even get to take a step before a sword impales his chest.

König kills his own man so casually that all the thoughts of him falling to the gentle side of giants disappear instantly. He even twists the sword inside the broad man from daring to cast eyes on you. And you probably should feel bad for him… But you don’t. Not at all. The apple falls into the dirt and rolls away, but the man slumps into the threshold of the outside world and the safe womb of the tent, like an offering to guardian spirits - or to you.

You look up at König, eyes wide only because you are yet again speechless, but this time because of odd, bashful gratitude.

“No touching,” he says without even blinking – it sounds like a stern explanation.

“No touching,” you agree with a whisper. König only nods, wipes his gladius clean on the dead soldier’s cloak, and carries the body into the woods.

…

You don’t know if he has lost some of the favour he enjoys among the Romans after killing one of their soldiers. You suspect he has not. Actually, you are sure his reputation only soared for it. He just showed everyone that his prize is not to be touched: you are not to be even looked upon. Romans probably respect such a thing.

A few wagons arrive one morning, carrying various supplies for the soldiers. There are many other items too, completely unrelated to warfare but all to do with pleasure and gambling and trade. You assume König gets to pick his favourites among the first soldiers, if not the first soldier, from the abundant cargo that arrived, because he brings his spoils to you with boyish excitement. There is close to nothing there for himself: only a thick, heavy cloak, made of dark wool with lush fur on the shoulders. It looks like something a northern king would wear, and you find yourself quite happy for him, but the other items he’s carrying are clearly all hand-picked just for you.

There is a dress, a pair of sandals, a bone comb, some fruit and a large, round copper dish. It serves as a mirror as you change into the dress – a Roman one, dyed ocean blue – just to appease König and get him off your back. It hurts your heart to see how happy it makes him to see you accept his gifts. He holds the dim, uneven mirror in front of you when you get the dress on, and you’re feeling strangely meek: you’re not even sure if you have put it on properly. The bone comb is milk white and has two horses carved on it – it reminds you of the offering that was never made to appease the Great Mother because it couldn’t have prevented the Titan from coming to your lands. It’s another odd omen: black horses now turned to white, but an omen for what, you can’t say.

And then… he kneels.

König falls at your feet and starts putting the Roman sandals on, tying the strings around your calves so gently that it makes you feel like you’re made of clay. The sandals are not the kind he wears: they’re made for women, apparently, because they’re so skimpy and delicate. The strings reach the upper part of your calf, and when he’s done with you, happy to have now clothed you in Roman garb, he caresses your thigh and presses a kiss above your knee.

And he looks up at you like you’re everything but his captive. He looks at you like you’re a queen. He stares at you like he’s the slave here.

“You like?”

The soft rumble catches you off guard, as does the fond caress he gives your leg. He doesn’t even try to move his hand upwards and under the dress; he just admires you from the ground, looking a bit foolish while crouched there at your feet. You swallow arduously and nod. What else are you supposed to do?

He smiles with his eyes and gives you another kiss. He presses it on the sensitive part where your calf meets the inside of your knee. He even raises his hood to do it, and you finally feel his breath as his lips meet your skin, hot but tender. You fight the urge to shrink from him, and despite it only being a soft peck, a lover’s touch, the kiss leaves a burning sensation on your skin.

Then he tucks your dress down, like a slave who simply stole a little kiss from his mistress. You’re rendered weak and silent before such reverence, but then the playfulness returns as he raises one finger, as if telling you not to say a word because he just had an idea. You look at him with odd curiosity as he crawls on all fours and reaches for something underneath the bed. You panic a little, fearing he might notice that you’ve been there, too: rummaging through his things and throwing the pieces of jewellery back there without caring to ensure that they are placed back in the same position you found them in. But he doesn’t seem to care or notice.

He tries to offer you the golden pendant first, the one that has three discs on it. It’s a little too much, and you shake your head, fearing you will upset him by declining his gift. He tries to offer you a more delicate necklace next: full of cute, filigreed beads, but you shake your head again. He wishes to give you a trinket so badly that you finally raise your hand and graze your fingertips over a leather string holding a few chunks of amber. It also bears the claws of some animal: fox, perhaps. He looks very pleased with your choice and puts your new possession around your neck. You reach for the copper plate yourself this time and hold it up to see how you look in your odd Roman dress and your humble but powerful new necklace.

“Sehr schön,” König says behind you as you take in the wobbly image. He is so, so happy - you have never seen him quite so happy. It looks like he thought this to be the prettiest, most compelling piece of jewellery too; as if the gold and beads were simply currency for him, too. As if it was obvious that you would be interested in bones and sea gold instead of the gold of men. Then he pulls out something from under his tunic: another leather string that has a large hunk of bone hanging from it. He’s presenting it to you like he wants to show how you two are now very much alike.

“What is it…?” You ask, trying to determine whether the bone came from an elk or a deer.

“Bear cock,” he says proudly while dangling it in front of you like it’s the most natural thing in the world for a man to carry the penis bone of a bear around his neck. “Makes man strong in battle and bed.”

“I don’t think you need that,” you whisper while looking up at him. It’s your first joke to him, and he laughs. Heartily.

“Kleine Fee. You have only seen me fight.”

He puts it back under his tunic as if it’s his secret amulet now. You really don’t think he needs any more luck in war, or in any other… field. He seems like the kind of man who can pleasure women all day. It’s a bitter thought, somehow, and makes your heart feel heavy. You wonder how many women he has had already when you have refused to open your legs for him.

“We can try how good it works in bed,” he offers, as cheerfully as ever.

Oh.

Oh…

“I’m—I’m hungry. I think I need to eat something,” you summon an excuse out of thin air while raising your hands against his chest to keep him away. As if you could get your breakfast down after him saying things like that…

“Hungrig? I can feed you,” he suggests, still in the happiest of moods. Then he sweeps you off your feet and carries you to the table. He’s ever generous today: you get to sit on his lap as he starts to feed you grapes.

And you didn’t think he’d actually, veritably feed you. But that’s exactly what he does. You get an entire meal: ripe fruits, a thick handful of bread, a fine slice of fat, delicious cheese. Wine to wash it down, and then some more grapes. He holds them gently on your lips until you open your mouth a little so that he can push them onto your tongue. He watches with utter content how you eat everything he offers you. He even gives you a few bounces with his knee, and every now and then, he gropes your tits: just squeezes them and plays around with them while you eat.

It is quite evident that this man really, really likes your boobs. Perhaps that is why he carries the statue of Great Mother around… To your horror, you realize the piece of carved wood is not an idol of worship for this man, just a lewd image he probably digs up and looks at when he wants to stroke his cock.

Gods... This man is even worse than you thought.

You begin to pout again, and he draws you flush against him, seeing that he somehow managed to make you displeased. Unaware as to what could have caused this, he gives you another bounce and tries to find the reason for your sudden change of mood.

“Are you fed now?”

“Yes,” you mope even more as you realize you would very much like him to continue feeding you even if you’re full. To just… do that thing with the grapes again. Just a few more.

“Gut. We have to leave soon.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “To fight.”

The camp is packed up in such haste that you find yourself under the sun in practically no time. You stay as close to König as possible without being glued to him, seeing that the new dress and hairstyle you made with the comb is high currency among the war-torn, lust-filled soldiers. Someone gives you a long whistle, which is followed by a few harsh comments you luckily don’t understand, but all the stares are cut off when König stops preparing his horse, rises to his full height, and wraps his fingers around the handle of his gladius.

You don’t get a single look after that, not even a sideways glance. Everyone acts like you don’t even exist.

The army moves at a slow pace at first, leaving a heavy dust cloud behind. It’s a fine day for travelling because there isn’t a single cloud in the sky. Everyone seems to be having a good time except for the slaves, and König is the only one who is vigilant, watching his surroundings at all times, head turning from side to side, hand never leaving his sword.

You get a horse – his horse – and a lot of hateful stares from the other women, none of whom you have ever seen before. Captive girls from other villages, you presume, and they all hate you now because you get to ride a strong black stallion while they have to march in a dust cloud with their hands bound and their feet full of blisters. Their captors don’t give much thought to feeding or giving water to these poor women, mainly because they’re too busy laughing with each other and having hearty gulps from their wine sacks. You wonder if these men have ever fed these women a single grape during their campaign.

König, on the other hand, marches next to you like he’s your servant. He offers you his waterskin, his wineskin, too, and as the march goes on, an awkward knot starts to form inside your belly.

He’s behaving so oddly. You can’t find any other reason for his behaviour than that he simply has no full understanding of Roman customs because he comes from somewhere else. (Mountains, he said, when you asked him.)

You only now notice that he has servants but only uses them to pack or set up the tent. Other high-ranking officers and commanders have their servants with them at all times, tending to their every need. König is the only one who behaves like a foot soldier: he pours his own wine, gets his rations and supplies himself, lights his oil lamps without help and never lets anyone else touch his armour or swords.

The servant he uses the most is the translator, a slave who’s clearly responsible for teaching König more and more of your words. He also serves as a mediator when König gets ready for another battle. You have naively wanted to forget the reason why these men are here in the first place, and as you see König putting on his full armour the next day, tying the swords on his waist and leaving to search for his shield, you feel like bursting into tears or a scream. You look away as he gets dressed, and refuse to give him a single kind look that morning. You stand with your hands crossed over your chest as he’s finally ready and fetches the old man to the tent again.

The Roman soon stands next to him as König takes a step and falls on one knee before you.

“He asks you to bless him,” the old translator says – weary and bored.

You stop breathing for a second and look at König, there at your feet again, head bowed, leaning on one elbow placed on a strong knee.

Bless him… For going to slaughter another clan? Give your blessing to him leaving people fatherless, childless and homeless?

Is this some sort of a joke?

“Are my words… correct? Master asks that you give him your blessing for the upcoming battle.”

You bite your lip in frustration. You want to put your hand over this proud warrior’s head and send him away with words of might and fortune, but even the thought of wanting to do that is about to make you sick.

“I will do no such thing,” you say coldly and earn a sad, confused stare from König, who raises his head to look at you with a horrifying, pleading gaze. This man doesn’t beg for anything from anyone, and yet here he is, in his full armour, armed to the teeth and looking like the God of War again, asking for a kind word or two. You turn away, not because you deny him, but because you can’t stand to be under that defenceless gaze. The Roman sighs behind you, and from the clatter of König’s gear, you can hear that he has gotten up and is about to leave.

You turn again, only to face his withdrawing back. Tense, and already beaten.

He grabs the satchel, the one that holds his Mother, but stops to look at it like it’s simply an ordinary object instead of a powerful entity. Then he places it back down on the table with a sigh. You look with horror as he leaves for war without taking his amulet, idol, fate, source of luck and joy – whatever the statue represents to this man – with him.

It doesn’t take long before you regret you didn’t give him your “blessing”.

It somehow feels wrong that he left without it. You’re his captive, but he has fed you, clothed you, kept you warm. He has practically done no harm to you except hold you through the night and have a few gropes at your tits, which you haven’t found harmful at all… The least you could do to thank him is to lay a hand upon his head or sword before he left. Just a simple little gesture, not even a true blessing… Just a little something would have sufficed, to help him go into battle with a slightly lighter heart.

Because as much as you loathe this man, you don’t actually want him dead. You don’t want him to march into battle and think you wish him ill. You don’t want König to get careless just for the sake of feeling miserable about the thought that his little slave girl despises him.

Because you don’t despise him.

You just don’t… like him.

And he’s your captor still. Why should he deserve your blessing?

But the image of him cutting through his enemies with sorrow and bleakness in his stare, walking into a spear just because he’s had enough of life and more than enough of difficult, uncaring, ungrateful women, makes your heart bleed. He could’ve taken Mother with him since he didn’t get a good luck’s wish from you, but he chose to leave even Her behind. As if his faith had failed him, as if the few things and people he has ever placed his trust in have now abandoned him.

The night rolls in, and the moon crosses the sky slowly, so slowly, as you wait for his return. The old Roman looks at you sideways every time you peek outside the flap and sigh. Your guard is a weak, old man, but you reckon that if you were to escape, the tired slave would simply follow you out of the camp and tell König which direction you have gone so that he can hunt you down when he returns. The few Romans left to guard the portable garrison would probably seize you and take you as their plaything before you managed to set a foot outside the vallus, and even if König came back to claim you, you could be a bloody heap by the time he returned.

And it’s not even caution keeping you inside the tent. You don’t actually think about fleeing at all.

In the dead of night, you go to his satchel and pull out the statue of the Great Mother.

“Dear Mother... Great Mother. Please let him have his victory. Please let him come home unhurt. Even if he fails, please let there not be a scratch on him as he falls. Please, please, please…”

You improvise your prayer as you go, thinking about something to offer Her while being captive and not having access to most of the resources you would normally go to.

“I’ll give you my next moonblood. I will give you amber and fox claws…”

Your heart hurts, knowing you just promised the necklace König gave you as your sacrifice. But it’s a small gift for his safe return, and you renew your prayer, over and over again, while squeezing the Mother between your hands and pressing Her against your forehead.

You’re not sure if She can even hear you, because haven’t you wished this man dead not too long ago? You return the Mother to her satchel and pace around the tent, about to go mad. When the first horses arrive, you almost run outside to see if you can see or hear him coming. Soldiers march into the camp: there is so much din and racket outside that you know this is the least opportune moment to go outside and show yourself to the survivors who clearly have their morale and cocks up high from the recent battle. You wait and wait and wait, thinking about whether your god is among the wounded, being carried to some other tent where they treat injuries. You go and sit on the bed; you rise up and sit on the table. Then you go and press your ear to the fabric of the tent and try to listen like a fox.

The flap is, blessedly, finally drawn aside, and you hurry to meet whoever has arrived. It’s König – of course – breathing heavy, looking slightly high-strung but primarily unscathed, and you forget yourself completely when running to him.

“Are you hurt!?”

He takes off his helmet and takes in a good breath of air, eyes melting into pure love when he sees you.

“Nein. Not a scratch.”

You swallow your relief – of course no one can get to this man. Your fears have been stupid and ridiculous. But in the deepest chasm of your heart, you thank the Mother three times. You promise to deliver her your sacrifice as soon as possible.

“You fear for me?” He asks, so excited again that you have to dig your nails into your palm so that you won’t go and clutch him and cry from joy. You don’t nod or shake your head; you only stare at him with what must look like a frightened deer stare.

Your giant comes to hug you so tight you can’t even breathe. Then he lifts you into the air, and there is nothing you can do - there is nothing you even want to do but to be there in his stout embrace. You’re so relieved that he is alive and unhurt that there are tears in your eyes, and he sees them, and smiles.

“Don’t worry, little Fee. Ich könnte dich niemals verlassen.” His voice is throaty and parched; apparently, he has shouted his throat raw on the field.

You almost say you’re sorry that you didn’t give him your blessing, but seeing how pleased, triumphant, and gleeful he is causes you to shut your mouth and shut it tight. It’s enough that you have babbled prayers for him all night, praying your knees and tongue sore.

König returns you to the ground and leaves, only to return with ample loot. Two slaves carry in a small but heavy jute sack of coin, a tiny chest filled with honey, two bottles of scented oils, three gorgeous jugs of milk, a beautiful bronze sword, all laid there at your feet.

“Für dich,” he says, throwing a wide arc with his hand to gesture that all this is now yours. You watch all the stunning, lavish, extraordinary gifts, again picked with care just for you. You remember how there was not a single coin in this tent before you were dragged in, no bronze, no gold, no milk nor honey. No fine dresses, no stolen, scented oils. How many families did he have to kill to bring all these fine goods for you?

“I don’t want your loot,” you whisper on the brink of tears.

“What…do you want?” The smile in his eyes fades, and it stabs your heart full of pain. “More sea honey?”

“No, I–”

“Slaves?”

“No,” you step forward. If only you two could have met some other time, in some other place… “I just…I want my freedom.”

“What will you do with freedom…?”

You finally get to see what König is like when he argues. He cannot understand your logic; he can’t understand what more he must do to satisfy you and make you happy.

“Your chief is dead,” he says bluntly, causing your head to feel two times too small for your anger and pain.

“You don’t have to remind me,” you blurt, equally bluntly. Because whose fault is that? This man is a thick-skulled, thick-cocked idiot.

“You have no husband. No village.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Why angry?”

“Because you are infuriating,” you almost shriek.

He looks at you, lost and confused, not knowing how to calm you down or make you pleased again. And it must be confusing: some gifts work, some don’t. Other times, you look at him lovely and sweet; other times you sulk and pout. You have luckily stopped your crying, but now you have suddenly decided to yell at him?

He approaches you after seemingly coming to the conclusion that you must want him to either pet or fuck you. He tries to raise his hands to touch you, but you push him away.

“Don’t you fucking dare grope me again!”

He withdraws quickly, now utterly nonplussed. If you don’t even want to be held, then what is he to do? This goes against all the laws of this world: he has arrived, triumphant and joyous from the battle, clearly favoured by all the gods, above and below, and favoured in full. The only one who doesn’t grant him a boon is you. His head tips to the side - it always does that when he’s curious or thinking hard. Then his eyes light up with understanding, and you know you’re about to hear more nonsense coming out of that oafish mouth.

“You don’t want me to fight?”

“I don’t…care what you do,” you scoff.

“Ah. You hate Romans?”

“Yes, I hate Romans. I wish they would all die. I hate their stupid battles and their stupid campaigns. And I hate you too,” your spirit rises with your words, your voice gaining volume and strength as you hurl all your frustration at him.

And he’s shocked. Not at your first declaration, nor the second, not even the third. It’s the last sentence that clearly drives a dagger straight into his heart.

He steps back, nearly toppling a milk jug as he pulls away from you. Then he mumbles something under his breath, something in his own crude language. The words are muffled by the mask as he scratches the back of his neck and leaves the tent without even taking his blood-stained armour off.

His name, the name that sounds so foreign to you, never leaves your mouth. But the following words do.

“Wait, I didn’t… I didn’t mean it.”

Not all of it.

He’s out of the tent by then, and you’re left with your beautiful gifts, your bitter sorrow and regret. You sigh and look up, hoping you could see the sky and whisper your inquiry into the night air.

Why on earth did you two have to meet like this? Why does he have to be so thick-skulled and so… So him?

You calm your racing heart and start to organize the loot he brought you. You have never liked messy places and have done your best to keep this tent from getting cluttered. You taste some of the milk he brought you and inhale the sweet scent of those oils; you dip your little finger inside the honey jar and have a taste. The golden liquid tastes like the food of the gods when paired with milk. You put the blade on the table where König usually keeps his swords and settle to wait for him.

And you have to wait for a long time, so long that you eventually withdraw to the bed, alone and with a heavy heart. When König finally returns, you can hear he has had a drink. More than one, too: he has probably drunk an entire jug of wine alone. He doffs his armour with curses and sighs, and lets it drop on the ground with a sloppy clang that makes you jolt under the furs. He eats something very noisily while throwing his helmet somewhere to the ground too, burps loudly, and sighs again: so deeply that it makes your heart burn. After getting rid of the tunic and his sandals – an operation that takes him more than a while – he crawls on the bed with a heavy breath. Your heart is at your throat as the stench of wine hits you, and his hands are clumsy and stern when he comes under the same fur and reaches for you.

“König—”

Your whisper ends abruptly as you are pulled against a familiar, broad chest. He growls at you for being awake – or at himself for waking you up with a drunken racket.

“I don’t… I didn’t…” you start weakly and have to clear your throat as he huffs against your neck, listening to what you are trying to say.

“I don’t hate you,” you finally whisper.

He grumbles against your back and buries his masked face in your neck. The arm around your middle tightens and tightens, and you hurry to praise his gifts.

“The honey is delicious. And the oils are–”

"Fee… Du machst mich verrückt."

He speaks through gritted teeth while panting laboriously in your hair. You're relieved to hear sorrow instead of anger in his voice, but it’s his body that makes you arch your back and guide your bottom to meet his crotch.

The biggest mistake you’ve ever done, surely, because the whole body behind you grows taut. He gives you a tight roll of his hips, pushing his cock against you with immediate fervour. His balls meet your bottom, tight and heavy: you have gone to bed in your ridiculous Roman dress because you were feeling cold, but you can still feel them. You can feel all of him.

“König… We–We need to sleep…”

You sound like a bitch in heat, not at all like a woman who wants to stop wherever this heated cuddle is spiralling into. König is letting out noises you didn’t even know a man could make, and it makes your cunt wetter than ever before: tight and throbbing and embarrassingly needy. You try to remind yourself that this is not the proper time or way, that you don’t want it to happen like this: with the smell of wine and blood and dirt and sweat surrounding you, with him soon thrusting that cock between your thighs and shooting his seed on the bed before he can even get it in. You don’t want him when he’s drunk, and you don’t want him when he’s clearly a bit angry with you still. You place a weak hand over his, the one currently wrapped around your middle like a bond.

“Please, I mean it…”

“Not the time for sleep, little one,” he rasps on your shoulder, mask dragged aside and mouth breathing hot against your skin. His voice is gentle but his body is not: it turns out he has only been waiting for the slightest little cue to have the permission to take you. Unfortunately for you, moaning and grinding your hips against him is more than just a cue.

“Göttin der Erde... Gib dich mir.”

He grunts odd, boorish words on your shoulder, leaving you breathless with another tight roll of his hips. It feels like a spell or a chant, the way he speaks. You want nothing more than to give yourself to him, and fear that whatever tie has been knotted between you two, whatever shackle has bound your souls together, has also granted him the ability to hear your thoughts. He must’ve heard them, or then he must smell the change in the air, because he rolls you on your back and pushes a knee between your legs.

“Meine Königin... Ich werde dich sehr glücklich machen,” he mutters more incantations in your neck, broad thigh forcing your legs further apart. He doesn’t even need strength to coax them open: they drag up and aside by themselves.

“Ah–Why can’t you talk like normal people…”

You sigh your silly thoughts out into the night air, and your fierce giant turns his head a little, now right there next to your cheek.

"Normal? Was ist das…?"

Your lips draw into a quivering little smile – you just can’t help it. Him lying half on top of you, asking what the word ‘normal’ means while smelling like an entire wine house just burned down makes your lips and heart flutter. Your soft laugh makes him raise his head a little, drunken, half-lidded eyes now fixed on you.

“The opposite of you?” You offer innocently and try not to laugh, but it’s no use. You start to snicker, then giggle, and the way he growls only makes things worse.

“You little–I will go crazy because of you,” he whispers, drunk as a heartbroken man can be. Your own heart seems to open with a flood.

“Then go crazy,” you whisper back.

And gods… He takes your sigh as a permit to go absolutely berserk. He crawls on top of you and rips your dress apart from the middle with both hands, exposing your breasts to him and the cold night air. There's a weight in his gaze that turns your nipples hard; a gaze of promise, just before he descends.

He attacks you like a starving man, devours and licks and sucks your breasts until you shake and moan on the bed, until your hands come to cradle his head with greed.

“I will make you scream tonight,” he pants roughly on your tits – you can feel the words on your skin. You’re veritably afraid that this man will swallow you before he even gets to the main event, which is no doubt to satiate the need to fill you with potent seed. He doesn’t exactly caress you, no: he gobbles you like your body is an entire feast, the generous kisses almost turning into bites when he reaches your hips.

“No–no teeth, König,” you try to whimper, somewhere on the borderline of tension and lust.

"Fee... I promise I'll fuck you like king. I'll fuck you until you cry.”

Your head goes blank from his words; from terror and love and lust. There's no time to decipher whether you should be afraid, because he scoops up your thighs, grabs you like a wrestling partner, and draws you against his face.

“Wait—What are you–”

Your words are cut off as he drives his nose up your cunt and breathes in your musk like it's divine incense. It doesn’t matter that you’re still covered by the skimpy dress he just ripped to shreds: the fabric is so thin that he could be virtually sniffing you through sheer gossamer.

There’s no escape now; he can feel how wet you are. He can practically taste it.

“König—”

You can't understand why he would want to push his face there, so you mewl and try to push him away – very weakly – but he’s immovable, glued to your scent down there, panting into your warm, wet cunt with harsh breaths and starved groans. You're lying there at his mercy, dress torn to pieces and breasts heaving, thighs spread as far as they can go.

It's futile to even try reason with a starved giant between your legs, a cunt-deprived warrior about to finally take what's his. You should've known better than to joke around and play with a man who could snap you in half – either with his hands or with his cock – and Mother was wrong: you're not smart at all, teasing a beast like this. A beast whose teeth are currently bared over your most vulnerable place protected only by a thin veil soaked with your wet.

König lashes his tongue out and presses it flat against your dress, on your throbbing womanhood, and your words turn into an ample, lewd moan.

“A–ah…”

You fall weakly back on the bed, head spinning although you haven’t drunk a drop of wine. The broad body almost trembles there between your legs.

“Ah… You want cock, ja? I can taste it,” he grunts, blunt as ever. The thought of that thing being bullied into you inch by thick inch makes your cunt clench tight. Gods, you want it, but it will never fit, never…

Unless he… Unless that's why he's down there, panting hot inside you, trying to coax you open with his mouth. Perhaps he's not that dumb after all...

“Please,” you beg for him to love you, taste you, take you, your pride melting into copper and gold, pooling somewhere down, down, down…

“Don't worry,” he speaks straight to your cunt like a man intoxicated with something far better than wine. “I will give you cock. All night.”

He lifts the dress with his nose like a dog, nuzzles under your ruined attire like it's his shelter for the night, headed back towards his plump prize. There will soon be nothing between his mouth and your poor, throbbing cunt, aching to be licked and loved by a cruel giant. A giant who brings you milk and honey and grapes and gold in all its forms…

But just when you have finally forgotten that beasts possess teeth, he sinks them into you. He sinks them into your inner thigh, waking you up from the dream with sharp, harrowing pain.

The fucking idiot actually bites you, hard.

“You fucking—Go to hell!”

You push him away in earnest now, using his shoulders to propel yourself away from him. His teeth threaten to pierce and tear skin because he's so reluctant to let go, and the horrors of the battlefield seep into your skin; the safe warmth of the womb turns into a suffocating darkness.

Your kicks have enough power to make him rise from between your legs, and the clear-cut pain in his eyes makes you want to both hug and hit him. You do the latter and hurl your fists at him, not bothering to even try to hit a target or cause pain; you just want him to stop making you afraid.

Of course, he takes your breathless state and lust-filled rage as a cue to leave – and he does precisely that, but not before he has struggled away from you and your fists in an overly dramatic manner. It would look funny in another situation, especially when he's as hard as ever, cock jutting high towards the sky just from having a little taste of your love. Drunken and slightly wobbly, he almost falls when he grabs the tunic from the earthen floor as if his tent is a site of execution where he will soon be stoned.

At the mouth of the tent, he stops, throws his head back, and roars. The guttural, booming rage echoes towards the gods like a furious curse, and you’re quite sure that the entire camp is awake by now. Every soldier nearby must be dying of a scared heart, thinking that there are either bears or Gauls upon them.

You hold your arms against your chest and safeguard your soft belly as you take in all his fury and frustration, then watch him stagger into the night, head hanging heavy between slumped shoulders. You’re left breathing, afraid and alone in the darkness, thinking about what the hell just happened… And spend the next moments in shock. Soon enough, the cold and terror fades, melting into something more palatable. You're shivering and wet, but intact, at least on the outside.

And the oddest thing is that you find yourself missing him. You miss his presence, his body, you miss his dumbness and his jokes. You fucking miss him.

The man who almost raped you.

With his… mouth.

You curl inside the furs and try to get some sleep with a hammering heart, ending up thinking about him all night. You thought he was going to pound you with that ridiculously long cock all night – and wasn't that his threat, too? – but what you didn't expect was that the giant barbarian who rips people's throats open with his teeth would want to lick and lap you into submission. You never would have thought that König wanted to bury his face between your legs, and eagerly at that.

Perhaps you understood his silly words wrong in your half aroused, half scared state. What if he meant to make you scream and cry from pleasure, not pain?

The burning bruise on your thigh reminds you that you are probably wrong, but you still wake every now and then from a thin sleep, glancing around you in despair, only to see that he’s not there. You feel so hollow that you think for a moment whether König has left the camp entirely, whether he is wandering away, towards some other adventure, exhausted with you and the war and the Romans.

The most unbearable thought in your head is not that he has left you for his dogs, however. It’s the thought that has abandoned you. That he has finally had enough. Because you realize… König hasn’t gone anywhere. He simply left to have his fun with some other woman. Perhaps he’ll be back in the morning, but his patience is gone; it has finally ended, your silly little game. A difficult slave girl who won’t even let him lick her cunt is simply no amusement to him anymore.

Just before dawn, your will breaks; it splits in half. You can almost hear it. The sound of cries is muffled in the bed that nowadays has both his scent and yours: both of your scents combined, mixing together into a wonderful haze of love and despair.

…

König comes back when the dawn is already turning into a full day.

He strolls into the tent the same way he left: with a hunched posture and unsteady feet, but the fervent vigour from last night is gone. Actually, you have never seen him so weak. The dramatic sighs, the groping and the bullying have turned into a piercing silence. His muscles have lost their strength, his head is hanging heavy between those once proud shoulders, and his eyes are cast down as if he’s hoping there wouldn’t be such a bright orb in the sky. He drags his feet as he enters the tent; he doesn’t even look your way when he goes and slumps in his chair.

You are so glad to see him that you nearly jump from the bed and fall right there at his feet. You want to kiss his thighs and grab his hands and look up at him, doting and adoring like a good little slave. You want to whimper and beg that he can give you love bites everywhere he wants.

Instead, you snap at him, voice filled with poison.

“Did you have fun raping women last night?”

There are leaves on his mask and dirt on his shins and knees. Even his hands are a little grungy, and the proud red Roman tunic could also use a wash. He sheds you a tired side stare, then sighs.

“Was?”

“Were you with women,” you spell out every word slowly like you’re talking to a child. The venom on your tongue threatens to spill out as froth. And you almost say, 'other women'. Almost.

König raises his head and looks at you with a slight tilt in his head. He’s curious again, so, so very curious. He has clearly fleed the sun into his tent rather than seek your gracious presence, which shouldn’t make you this glum... But what you just said has managed to brighten up his entire day.

“Meine Fee… She’s jealous,” he points out in a far more jovial tone.

“No. Not at all,” you hurry to say, chin drawing back from his stupid accusations.

“You are,” he says with unbridled fascination.

“I assure you I’m not.”

Your cheeks are heating up, and the nervousness inside your belly roils like a snake. How does he always manage to get you into a trap?

König leans back in his chair, now with his usual dignity on those shoulders. He even crosses his fingers loosely in his lap, looking like the conversation he’s about to have with you will, yet again, become another favourite of his. You’re not sure why you always feel like you’re being interrogated on the sly with him because König is the most simple, straightforward, blunt object of a man you have ever met. And still…

“Fucking other women is bad?” He asks innocently from that chair.

“Bad?” You huff. “Yes, if you have to force women under you, you are a brute.”

“And… ugly?”

“Very ugly. The ugliest man in the world.”

"Hm. But who say anything about forcing?"

König looks at you, calmly, as your stomach sinks from his words.

You can only stare at him as the world seems to fall apart around you, crumble into nothingness when there's sun shining and birds singing outside. Kicking him out of the tent – and almost kicking him in the face in the process – because you got afraid when he gave you a fervent little nib seems like the stupidest idea right now. If you were so willing to part your legs for him and moan under his tongue, surely some other insane woman would want to do that as well? Surely there is at least one woman in this camp who would gladly be pleased by this giant who doesn't hit or force women. Who only likes to… bite and squeeze and lick them.

You pout at him, lip almost trembling now, and he’s smiling, so, so very wide behind that mask. Gods damn him.

Then he rises and walks to you, suddenly looking like he isn’t suffering from a hangover after all. He strolls towards you with slow purpose, and you swallow the tears down, trying not to show him how they turn into ice inside your stomach.

“I have not touched women. Only you.”

He towers above you, looking down at you like you are indeed the most adorable thing in the entire world. You are not sure whether his words are to be believed, but something inside you says that this man never lies. As dense and dumb as he is, he is the most trustworthy human being you will ever meet.

“Only sleep with earth last night,” he says and starts to caress your hair. He even weighs some of it in his hand before sweeping it over your shoulder. Like you are simply his precious, silly little wife who has been spoiled too much.

“It was a cold mistress,” he laments, overly dramatic again, like a poor actor in a tragic play. Your heart aches, badly – you swear König is the most annoying man you have ever met, the most insufferable and lovable. You wonder if he has spent his seed on the cold, hard ground too. Given it to the Great Mother, who is a cold lover sometimes indeed… But not as cold as you.

You wonder how crazy it is that you have the power to drive this giant into the cold night from his own tent. König has had to face his hangover by waking up to a chilly dawn. His hand is not as warm as usual, and you start to worry that he has caught the wrath of wind spirits outside, soon rendering him weak and feverish. His skin is not supposed to feel this cold, not when he’s almost always blazing.

“I know a plant that might help,” you say diplomatically. “With your… Head.”

He looks at you, more and more curious by every passing moment. You hope he doesn’t weigh in his mind whether you are trying to poison him when he is weak. But he’s not that clever, perhaps, because he only looks at you like you’re an entire sun now, and very unlike the one that is giving him a headache today. You turn away from his hand – but not too quickly. You’re only feeling shy. And a bit uncomfortable.

“You should eat something. And drink water, not wine.”

“You care about my head?”

Gods… His voice is so, so soft. He’s seeing past all your defences again, and there is nothing you can do about it. You want to curse him but can’t. You simply can’t.

“Just… Eat some fruit, alright? And I need a kettle so that I can boil some water for the herbs.”

You rise from the bed and try to ignore his adoring stare. He doesn’t attempt to touch you again; he merely watches as you go about and eat a little something as if to show that when it is morning, people should have breakfast. Like you’re a mother trying to lead by example or a fussing young wife who is trying to help his husband. Your lips are a thin line as you search for grapes that aren’t too soft and a piece of bread that doesn’t yet have mould in it. You grab some figs: you know they are his favorite, and bring them to him to tell him you’re serious about him needing to eat.

And you feel silly.

You can’t even look at him. You’re feeling so odd, so weak, so warm inside, and it’s not because you’re disgusted; hell, it’s the opposite of being disgusted….

“I have fallen in love with you,” König says as he accepts your humble offering of food. You freeze in the middle of setting them on his palms, held upwards as if content with whatever you give him, even if it’s only a piece of bread and a few figs.

Gods. Mother… Don’t do this to me–

“That how you say it?”

You breathe in and out, calm, collected – you're not going to faint because some crazy giant thinks he's in love. Yes, that’s it… Everything’s alright. He’s just being silly again. He’s just playing his own little plays again.

But when you look at him, there is no actor there, no silly play: he’s just… König. He returns your helpless, cornered stare with warm kindness, reminding you of something, of some Roman or Greek god… Apollo. Yes, that’s it. Laureled sun god Apollo, the one everyone loves so dearly, because he always drives fear and doubt and darkness away. He’s Apollo, even though he doesn’t even prefer a bow.

And has the translator taught König the correct words? Has he memorized them so that he can say them to you when the time is right? Your lip starts to tremble, and you fight to not shudder a sigh. The old seer was wrong: this man will be your downfall.

“I’ll go get that plant,” you whisper, soft eyes wide and chest curled tight.

“Nein,” he says cheerfully, full of life and hope again. “Not alone, little one.”

…

A/N: Please don't send me death threats. Remember, big bang bang next chapter! Huge!!

Translations:

Sehr schön - Very beautiful

Kleine Fee - Little fairy

Hungrig? - Hungry?

Ich könnte dich niemals verlassen - I could never leave you

Für dich - For you

Du machst mich verrückt - You drive me crazy

Göttin der Erde… Gib dich mir - Goddess of the Earth… Give yourself to me

Meine Königin... Ich werde dich sehr glücklich machen - My Queen... I will make you very happy

Was ist das? - What is that?

#könig fanfiction #könig x reader #könig x you #könig x fem reader #könig x female reader #könig cod #konig x reader #konig x you #historical au #Roman soldier!König #könig smut

2K notes · View notes

sludge-saturday · 8 months ago

Text

catching feelings ☆ pencil and charcoal

you've been riding with the van der linde gang for a few months now, pulling your weight and helping out when you can. you've earned the trust of nearly everyone there with your hard work and are starting to capture the interest of a certain someone...

pairing: arthur morgan x gn!artist!reader

summary: you show arthur your artwork by the fire. how will he react when he sees himself amongst your drawings?

tags: fluff, arthur has low self-esteem, high honor arthur

warnings: very brief mention of alcohol consumption

word count: 1,141

a/n: first entry in the "catching feelings" series! i can't tell if my writing style is too corny or not so feedback is encouraged. :)

☆ the trotting of your horses' hooves served as gentle ambience as you and arthur watched the van der linde camp come into view. an involuntary feeling of relief washed over you, knowing that you were safe here. the two of you were just arriving from a particularly difficult bounty hunt, but your combined skills proved to be efficient. "a job well done," as arthur had told you.

☆ you both approach the camp and hop off of your horses, hitching them to an available post. arthur gives boadicea a gentle, appreciative pat on the neck. "i'm gonna go tell dutch how much we made." he says, walking toward where the gang leader is standing. dutch is next to one of the posts holding up his tent and a fire had been made not too far away by some of the other gang members. karen, tilly, charles, javier, and lenny all sat around the flame, a couple with bottles in their hands.

☆ you wanted to stop at your tent for your sketchbook before heading over to sit with them. now would be a perfect time to keep practicing, you thought to yourself. after making the short trip to where your belongings were, you swiped the leather-bound book and the rest of your supplies off of your cot. as you walk towards the fire you glance at everyone sitting around it. no one had left yet, but another person had joined: arthur.

☆ scanning for a place to sit, you decide on an open spot next to the gunslinger. you had to admit, you've grown fond of arthur's presence since you first started traveling with the gang. it was something about his get-it-done attitude, his undying loyalty to those he cares about, and, of course, his rugged handsomeness. you kept your affection for him a secret, though, afraid of what might happen if anyone ever found out. you drew one of your knees up to your chest, propping your sketchbook up on your thigh in an attempt to dispel the thought.

☆ arthur's gaze couldn't help but wander to what you were doing beside him. as you opened your sketchbook, flipping through the pages to find where you last left off, arthur's eyes were able to steal a few glances at what was inside. from what he able to see, there were sketched pictures of people he could have sworn he recognized. was that... dutch? and sean? and mary beth? arthur gestured to the book in your hands and spoke in a hushed tone, as if afraid someone else would hear what he had to say. "you draw too?"

☆ you looked up at arthur with a smile already on your face. "it's been one of my passions since i was a child. i practically clung to my pencils when i fell on hard times." your eyes sparkled as you spoke to him, and you could have sworn you saw the same kind of shimmer in his eyes as he listened. "can i..." he started, "can i see 'em?" arthur had never met anyone else that shared his love of drawing and thought he never would, he had made peace with that. but this new discovery, this moment he was now sharing with you, it made him feel more alive and more connected to someone than he felt in a while.

☆ a flush threatened to creep onto your cheeks as you process arthur's request. you can't remember the last time someone asked to actually see what you were making. anxiety bubbled in your stomach as your mind raced through everything that could happen if you agreed. but, when you looked at arthur, his features were graced with a subtle glow, an expression of wonder and pure curiosity. how could you refuse?

☆ "of course." you gave him a sweet smile. "should i start from the beginning?" your hand prepares to move all of the pages on the left back to the right, but you look at arthur for approval anyway. "sure." he answered, nodding his head.

☆ and so you do. you show him everything, from your finished portraits of the gang members to sketches of your horse to quick scribbles of plants and animals you spot on your adventures. and arthur found it all so breathtaking. your art style, the way you chose to characterize your figures, your ability to make photo-realistic images from just pencil and charcoal, he never knew you had this in you.

☆ he watched as you flipped through the pages, admiring your work and pointing out ones he particularly liked. the person drawn on the last page had a dark cowboy hat on with rope tied around the base. he had a dark kerchief draped around his neck and a stubbly face. "recognize him?" you smooth your hand over the paper, remembering the unforgettable process that was drawing arthur for the first time. "this is one of my favorites." smiling at the page, you turn to look at his reaction.

☆ arthur was utterly dumbfounded. he couldn't believe what he was looking at. someone, especially someone like you, had deemed him worthy enough of being a muse for artwork. he thought he was so... ugly. he thought everyone found him that way. at a loss for words, the man felt tears prick his eyes. he didn't know why he was getting so emotional! he couldn't cry in front of anyone, so he cleared his throat and searched for what to say. "is that me?"

☆ you noticed that arthur's eyes looked glossier and that his expression shifted. you couldn't gauge how he was feeling from the look on his face, so you looked back down at the drawing. "it is," you said, fiddling with the corner of the book. "you are a joy to create." your smile was genuine, the apple of your cheeks shining in the firelight as you turned your head to face arthur again. his expression was still unreadable, his gaze tilted down towards his lap. after a few seconds of silence, arthur speaks softly. "ya really mean that?"

☆ arthur's eyes were still glassy, but softer this time around. he looked like the answer to his question would make or break him. he looked... vulnerable. even you knew that this was not a disposition you would typically, if ever, expect of him. you were careful with your response, knowing that you held the very livelihood of arthur morgan in your hands. "i do."

☆ those two simple words sent a small swarm of butterflies through his gut. for him, nothing would be able to compare to the way you just made him feel. for him, this moment would be occupying his mind for longer than he cared to admit. for him, this gesture was just another piece of the stunning mosaic created in your image. after this, there's no more room for doubt. he's smitten.

#rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 oneshot #rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan oneshot #arthur morgan x reader #artist!reader #enjoy :)

270 notes · View notes

darklydeliciousdesires · 2 years ago

Text

Until Sunrise - A Khal Drogo/Reader One Shot Story.

So I was feeling a certain way about Jason Momoa, and realised that it is absolutely uncalled for that I have not yet written for my favourite character of his! I’ve no idea how alive/dead the GoT fandom is (I’m expecting dead, lol!) but I’ve tagged anyone I can think who might be interested, or because I know whatever form he’s presented in, you like him because he’s Jason motherfucking Momoa. As you should.

Words - 1,375

Warnings - Smut below the cut, minors DNI!

The moments you lived for; they were only ever fleeting at best. He would send for you, as he always did, picking one of his favourites from the tent of women devoted entirely to keeping the Khal content, eyes that burned with envy following you as you departed, ready for him. They always did.

Walking over the dried-up terrain, you cast your eyes to the sky, seeing the moon beginning to rise, knowing the silver orb will be glowing fully through the inky night sky by the time he’s done having his way with you. He never allows you to remain until sunrise.

Entering his tent, you find him standing in wait for you, the splendour of his nakedness appealing as always, approaching with long strides and taking you roughly by the arm, as is Drogo’s way. He rarely shows anything less than dominant claiming, towing you to his bed, making short work of your clothes.

“How do you want me tonight, my Khal?” you ask, your Dothraki flawless. He does speak the common tongue, much more than he would ever let on, yet you have only ever communicated with him in his own language.

He takes a moment for contemplation, his finger running along your jawline. “Face down, backside up.” Not surprising. He always prefers to take you from behind. You feel his weight dip the bed behind you, one hand placed at the top of your spine, the other beginning to stroke at you. His hand is oiled, as is his only real consideration for you, that you be slippery enough to sheathe his huge cock. Foreplay is a word unknown to him, in any language.

It is surprising to you, as your folds are parted, that he simply hasn’t done the minimal to wet your walls and swiftly breech you, his fingers touring you, exploring the petal soft flesh of your sex. Those slippery fingertips swirl around, until they reach your little bud, a soft gasp fluttering from your lips, Drogo focusing in on it.

“Good?"

You are confused, pleasantly, though. “Yes, my Khal."

He takes a moment of pause, ceasing the rubbing. “Truly? Or do you just speak this to pacify me?" He leans to you, his breath hot against the back of your neck. “Tell me how you like it.”

You are too scared of sparking his terrifying rage to even question why he cares, only pleasantly surprised that for once, he actually does. “A little softer to begin with, less pressure.” When his fingers begin to circle again, it’s pure bliss, your lips parting on a soft moan. “Just like that, my Khal.”

He straightens, his dark eyes watching, enchanted by the sight of you spread before him, his fingers quickening a little, dragging them back and forth, offering the same at your entrance, your arousal bathing them. He likes that, the feel of wet silk warming his fingertips, pushing them inside of you, a grumble rattling his throat.

“Soaking,” he grunts, dragging them back, returning to your aching bud. “You feel beautiful.” It must be different for him, to feel the arousal of a woman, since you can bet he never really has before. He oils each whore, dousing his cock, fucking them until he dances with the stars before they are cast aside, their purpose served.

Little glimmers skitter over your nerves, pleasure beginning to make you trickle hot for him, Drogo shifting, removing his hand as he crouches behind you, replacing the contact with his tongue.

“Oh, gods above!” you hiss, the warmth of his mouth stoking your fire, the very first you’ve ever had settle between your legs and indulge you in the hot, flat wet of long, languid licks.

“Turn.” He demands, his rough hands parting your thighs as soon as you are upon your back, his mouth reconnecting with you, greedy, his beard rubbing against you as he licks at the honey of your cunt. “Still good?”

“Incredible!” you cry, your hands clutching the pelts you lie upon. “Please, do not stop!”

A smirk tilts his full lips, his eyes finding yours over the rise of your breasts, tongue rapidly placing a firm lick over your bud. “She demands of her Khal?”

He sounds more amused than anything, but to hear the tinge of balefulness, of him bringing you back to yourself, you fluster a little. “I... but what I mean to say is... I...”

He moves until his face is above yours, placing a finger to your lips, and a kiss to your throat. “Quiet with your words. No more talking, but you will let me hear how much you enjoy it.” Moving back to your apex, each lick he bestows to you is a rain of celestial decadence, tongue beating over the swell of your clit, the nectar of your arousal soaking his lips as he eats you feverishly, without pause, like a starving wolf would gorge upon the carcass of a deer.

“Oh, you are divine, my Khal!” you cry, incoherence following as he sucks upon you, cheeks hollowing, his eyes almost black, pupils blown with lust as he grunts against the sopping mess of your cunt, enjoying you in his mouth. That is until he moves to arrow himself into your soaking centre, the many inches of his girthy cock splitting you wide, his mouth closing in a hard suck upon your nipple.

“Drogo,” he breathes, tongue beating over the little stiffened peak. “I want to hear my name upon your lips.” He grasps your jaw, turning your head to face him, eyes homed in upon you in an unbreakable stare.

Your mouths meet in a feverish kiss, a clash of tongues and teeth, your moans spilling from your lips onto his like wine. “You are divine, Drogo.” Taking him is like taking an entire storm within you, Drogo moving to kneel before you, grasping your thighs as his eyes fall to watch his glossy cock daggering into you deeply, an earthy rumble of a groan filling the air.

You are singed upon the heat he drives into you, cool fire flooding your veins, freezing and melting you again right to your very marrow as he pounds into your cunt, evoking your wails, your hands reaching to stroke the wide plane of muscles across his broad chest. The dark of his pubic hair glints in the candlelight, soaked from the dew of your cunt, your eyes falling to view it, to witness how his cock looks as it parts your walls again and again.

It is a sight you have never beheld before, only ever being taken from behind, your eyes fixated on how sumptuously erotic it is, to watch how good he looks inside of you, his hands beginning to stroke your skin as a bonfire of pure sinful bliss rages between you.

He moves his hand to your face, thumb dragging over your lips until they part, pushing it into your mouth. “Get it wet.” You meet his simple demand, sucking on it until it is as he requires, Drogo moving it to begin stroking at your clit once more. It’s more than you can handle, and he knows it, smirking down at you once again until his face contorts in bliss, grunting deeply as he gives his cock with keen thrusts, the sounds of your sweaty flesh smacking together filling the tent.

He moves within you with nothing short of brutal voracity, until you can feel it radiating through you, stars sweeping from the strokes of his thumb as your light begins to shine out over his horizon, your body blooming as you fall apart around him, the fluttering of your cunt dragging his release from him. Thick ropes of cum paint your pulsing walls as he spills into you deep, breathless and spent, pulling from you and resting down on his back.

You know that this is your cue to get up and leave quietly, yet when you rise, your escape from the bed is halted by a large hand splayed to your chest, Drogo pushing you back down. An arm slides beneath your shoulders, your Khal pulling you against his chest, fingers stroking swirls over your arm.

"Stay."

And you do. Until the sun rises.

#khal drogo fanfiction #jason momoa #jason momoa fanfiction #khal drogo smut #khal drogo x female reader #jason momoa smut #jason momoa x female reader #khal drogo imagine #jason momoa imagine #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones smut #GoT #GoT fanfiction #GoT smut #khal drogo

2K notes · View notes

motherloads · 23 days ago

Text

Timeless

This is genuinely for me, myself and I - purely a servitude to my thoughts and what I wish I'd find on tumblr just once. I have tons of drafts if anyone is interested - tentative one was Marauders Era w/ Gwen Stacy!Reader. Imagine that? Seeing your once lover with a name you don’t recognize- Remus Lupin?

anyways idgaf, truly. not proofread!

Tags: overpowered!reader (oops), crossover with marvel, no happy ending (question mark)

Word count: 6.8k

Pairings: Dick Grayson x fem!Reader

The times many began noticing the lover of Dick Grayson. Clueless to the secrets from, both sides unravel as truths begin to overflow the deceit. Love is overpowering, but grief consumes one. Your secrets were your own to keep, and you vowed to never let anyone know of how the power were unbalanced, by yours truly. But, the biggest question was - why was Peter Parker in Gotham?

⋆｡°✩

It don't matter what they say, I'm timeless.

He cherished you dearly.

You were the one. He knew you were the one. The soft smiles shared, the soft caresses, the little notes he left around your apartment once he left after visiting.

It was a secret you two shared. He vowed to never share this secret with another. Nobody needed to know of his weakness. Nobody needed to know of your existence.

He finds himself outside your door again. He knocks. And he waits. He waits as he hears your soft footsteps, the clicking of your locks. He waits as the door opens and a figure engulfs him in a hug. He hugs back, taking a deep breath to take in your scent. Freshly showered, he could immediately tell.

You usher him inside, closing and re-locking your door. He smells the aroma of food, and his smile widens.

He knew. He understood. You were the one.

“What are you thinking about?” You questioned, brushing his hair out of his eyes softly. You looked at him endearingly, as if he was the only person on this earth.

“You.” He says softly, bringing you in another hug. He sighs softly, hearing your laughter in his sweater. You try to pull away, but his hug tightens.

“If we can start eating, that would be great.” Your voice muffled, and finally, you’re able to push him away. You both smile at one another, and you both lean in to meet each other in a kiss. It’s soft, he can taste the chocolate of your lip gloss. He feels your smile widen.

When he pulls away, he kisses your forehead. You hold his arm, your grip tightening.

“I love you.” He says, sighing into your hair.

“I love you too, Dick.”

⋆｡°✩

“Sorry about that,” a voice above you apologizes, you ignore the response, opting to pick up the items that had fallen out of your purse. Collecting everything, you pick yourself up from the ground.

You smile at the man, “No worries - oh, thank you.” He reaches out to hand your phone. Inspecting it, you see no cracks. Your eyes catch sight of the polaroid resting in your phone case. Your gaze softens, a picture of Dick and your kitten.

You put your phone away, looking back up to the man who bumped into you. Your grip tightens on your grocery basket, watching the man's gaze harden, looking at the place where your phone once was.

You side step him, moving away from the eerie atmosphere. The man watches you leave as he ruffles his own hair. The strand of white blocks his vision for a split second, before he moves it away again.

“How interesting, Dickwing.”

⋆｡°✩

You meet Tim Drake next.

Meet was an understatement. It was more like…him keeping tabs on you.

Becoming aware of his brother’s lover was an unexpected twist. He did not expect Dick to bounce back after Kory, especially with Mar’i in the picture, their daughter who they had shared custody of.

He was silent, watching you dine with your friends from afar. You looked like a nice woman. He sees how your smile widens when one friend shows their daughter, but he sees it falter when another speaks of their twin boys. As quickly as it falters, he sees you brighten up again.

Did you want kids? He could not help but wonder, seeing the women – the mothers around you share stories of their restless children.

“What about you? How is your relationship with Richard?” One question. He sees your smile widen, and he is not sure how that was even possible.

“It's so…great.” You look away from your friends, as he sees you grow embarrassed by the nervous ticks in your hand. “He is the definition of a green flag. Very caring, thoughtful. I think…I would be ready for the next step.” He sees you grow bashful, your fingers touching your glass softly.

He hears your friends gush. He sees some congratulate you over the next big step.

He looks at you again. He catches your eye. He freezes on the spot, never having been caught this way by a civilian. The eye contact felt like it was lasting forever. Red tinges the corners of his eyes and when he blinks, it’s gone.

When he’s looking at you again, you were already looking at another friend.

He could not help but wonder if you knew about Mar’i.

He sees you tense.

⋆｡°✩

Two girls are in your bakery. Hushed whispers from one, but you see them in the corner of your eyes. The same one whispering is not hidden from her antics, but the silence of the pair is following along to the telltale signs of translations.

You notice one of your workers going up to them, dropping off the food they ordered. You notice how nervous your worker is, but they come back and shuffle to speak to you.

“This is their third time this week.” Natasha states. You catch the two girls staring at the back of Natasha’s fiery red hair. You opt to look back at Natasha.

“Paying customers, Nat.” The nickname gets caught in your throat, but you smile at her nonetheless. “As long as they aren’t bothering others, it is fine.” “Yeah, but…” Natasha is hesitant, “The blonde one is always talking about you.” Natasha, just like your Natasha, was able to read sign language. Previously, she had confided that the version the girls used was unique, but she eventually caught along to their conversations.

“It’s okay,” You reassure Natasha, “If anything happens, I’m right here.”

Natasha smiles nervously, but as she catches sight of another customer, she moves away to begin working once more.

You look back at the young girls, seeing their conversation end the moment you look back.

The blonde one tenses, but the one with black hair, stares back at you.

You smile, and the girl nods.

⋆｡°✩

“What is so good about you?” You hear a young voice sneer. You look down, catching sight of a younger teen. Immediately recognizing him as Bruce Wayne’s youngest child, you only smile at him.

“I’m sorry?” You question him, clueless to his question. Of course, you knew of the boy considering how often the girls you tutored talked about him. But, as you weren’t privy to online media, your connection to him was unknowing. You wanted to live a peaceful life, afterall.

“What is so good about you?” He repeats, “Richard has no reason to be seeing someone like you.” The name brings your attention once more.

“Richard? Dick Grayson?” You question, confused, “How do you know him?” “You truly are clueless.” Damian scoffs - he hears a young voice call his name, but he decides to ignore them. “I would have preferred for Richard to stick with his family. Break up.”

You shake your head at Damian, finding his statement confusing. “Sorry, no can do.”

“You will surely regret this.” Before Damian continues, a boy his age appears. He starts pulling Damian away, apologizing profusely.

“Mar’i does not deserve an absent father just because of a civilian.” You hear Damian’s argument.

You see him get pulled away from you. Your confusion increases.

From Tim Drake’s mind, you had noted the name Mar’i. Hearing it vocally from Damian Wayne, you could not help but wonder who she was.

⋆｡°✩

You think all those small moments lead to this. You could not help but wonder, how it came to be this way. You weren’t stupid, but for your own happiness in this world, you opted to remain clueless of the things occurring in Gotham City.

The woman with fiery hair stands across the street from you. She was tall, and effortlessly beautiful with the way the colors swarmed around her whole being. A small girl in her hands, who giggled at the intense tickles she was experiencing from her mother was a heartwarming sight to see.

You felt yourself smile, seeing the beauty of a family blossom in front of you. How gorgeous having a family was. How gorgeous, having a living, breathing daughter.

You wished for a family.

Your eyes catch sight when the girl squeals in excitement, “Daddy!” The girl shouts, wiggling from her mother’s grip. You see her rush to a man, who picks her up effortlessly. You hear the family laughter, as Dick Grayson holds the small girl in his arms.

“Hi Mar’i, how is my lovely girl?” Lovely girl. He calls you that too.

Your breath catches in your throat, watching the scene in front of you. Your heart is ripped away from you, the moment you see the other woman go up to him and greet Dick - Richard.

“I see.” You muttered softly, “A happy ending has never been a possibility for me.”

You catch your eyes drifting to Dick. His eyes focused on Mar’i. You see the resemblance.

Was this your life? Being a homewrecker?

That wasn’t you, though.

You were just a woman. A woman mourning the loss of a relationship that has yet to end. Simply a woman.

What is love? Love is an emotion. Yes, it is overwhelming. Yes, you've yearned for it for years. You wished and wished for someone - anyone to listen to your pleas. Grief had overpowered you once before, you surely knew it. You understood - love was not in your cards.

But what is grief? What is grief, if not love persevering?

Your mantra that your past lover had once shared. He has been gone, for awhile. The graves you had made for him here. For your children. You knew they've been gone for awhile, and they would not return.

Love is persevering.

What a lie.

You move away. You create distance. You feel the unshed tears free. You continue to walk. Away from the scene. You ignore the stares.

You bump into someone.

Familiar.

Your heart stops, staring at the boy in front of you. He was older, but still the same boy you knew. But those familiar brown eyes stared at you in shock.

“Wanda?” He whispers - almost as if he recognized your red signature. But he knew - your heartbeat had stayed the same. Across the universes, it had been the same.

You see that he’s dirty. He smells, but you opt to ignore it. You move closer to the boy, putting your hands on his cheeks. He looks up at you, his eyes wide. His heartbeat is frantic.

“Peter.” You mutter.

⋆｡°✩

“I can’t believe you remember me…” Peter mutters softly, his hands shaking as he looks down at the tea you made. He’s in the comfort of your warm apartment. He surveys the photos you have, as the kitten in his lap purrs.

“Broken minds cannot be altered,” You say simply. “The…spell that sent you here was long before I died.” You drink your own hot tea, “It’s understandable that my memories would not be altered.”

“I…I don’t know what to say.” Peter is tired. He’s so tired. He’s spent the past few months running from the Bats, while trying to maintain his home in an abandoned complex he found.

You swore he could stay, but he feared the worst for you. He didn’t want you to suffer – he had not a clue of what had occured with Dr. Strange, but he understood that the look in your eyes was one of a woman mourning death.

“I prepared the guest room for you.” You tell him, patting his shoulder softly. “It should have everything you need, but if you need anything else, please let me know.”

Thank you.

“I- Thank you.” Peter mutters, looking at you once more. He had a soft, sad smile on his lips.

“Anytime, Peter.”

He’s silent for a moment, thinking.

“My uncle’s alive here. I met him. He keeps…checking up on me and I feel weird seeing him so…young.” He mutters, “I know I should be happy that he’s well in this universe, but it’s so weird to see.” He looks like he has more to say, so you let him continue.

“I have a younger sister too - my…dad I guess you can put it alive here. Although I don’t think he is married to my mom, it's weird nonetheless because I have a sister. A sister, possibly a step-mom...but he and my uncle are a part of a bigger, wealthier family.” “Do you ever think of speaking to them?” You ask Peter. He freezes, but shakes his head in response.

“No way! I have the Bats chasing me as is, I can’t have anyone else get close to me and get hurt.” You nod in understanding. You think for a moment. Without any hesitation, you ask, “What’s their name?”

“My uncle… his name here is Jason Peter Todd.” The name does not ring a bell for you. “My dad - his name -” Peter gets cut off from talking. There’s a sharp knock on your door. Peter looks frightened, immediately standing up and going inside the kitchen. He stays hidden as you go check who's at the door.

You see Dick on the other side. He’s holding flowers as he adjusts his work uniform carefully. He looks…happy, excited.

You open the door carefully. His smile widens, seeing you had never failed to brighten up his day.

“Hi.” He says breathlessly, looking at you with mirth and joy in his eyes. He tries to step inside, but falters when you don’t move.

He says your name carefully, but still, with love. “What’s wrong, my love? Did something happen?”

“Sorry, Richard. Now isn’t a good time.” You see him tense with the lack of his nickname, “I have a guest over. And I - I don’t think right now is a good time for us.”

Dick - Richard’s face falls. He’s confused, you can tell. “I’m sorry? Is everything okay? What about us?”

“Things are…different right now, Richard. I don’t think I can see you anymore. You can come by whenever you want for your stuff, but I think we should break up.”

You see Richard’s eyes widen. You see the arms with flowers droop. He doesn’t understand. What was going on? Break up?

“Break up? Why? What happened? Last week we…we were talking about getting married, baby.”

“It isn’t a good time.” You repeat. “Please, leave me alone Richard. You…go back to your family. Whatever we have, it’s not worth it.”

“Did my siblings come meet you? Whatever they said, please, ignore them. They do not get to decide who I date.” Richard pleads, he’s desperate.

You take a deep breath, “I saw you. Richard, you have a daughter. I’m not fucking up your relationship. Children are...They’re everything to me. I won’t let you ruin someone so fragile.” You go to close the door on him.

“Goodbye, Richard.”

Closing the door on the man shedding tears for you. You closed the door on a relationship you thought would be your second chance of loving. You stupidly thought you deserved love.

You turn to apologize to Peter. He’s on the floor of your bathroom, eyes wide in shock. He looks at you, his eyes conveying his emotions clearly.

“That…that was my dad. Richard Grayson. Richard Parker.” Peter’s voice shakes, “Oh my god you’re dating my dad.”

“Was,” You say carefully, “I was. I didn’t know he had a family.”

“I’m..I’m sorry.” Peter mutters.

⋆｡°✩

“What did you tell her?” Dick barges into the Bat Cave - he sees Tim, who freezes in his seat. Tim looks around carefully and sees Damian pause his sparring with the dummies.

“Tell who?” Tim wrinkles his nose, clearly confused at Dick’s hostility.

Dick says your name, and at that moment, he sees both Tim and Damian avert their gazes.

“Look-Look! I didn’t tell her anything. I…I was just keeping tabs on her from afar.” Tim raises his hands in defense, “I wouldn’t go near her otherwise. I’ve never spoken to her before. I was just curious about the woman you were spending your free time with!”

“We were - we were on the brink of being engaged. Just last week we were talking about it. All of a sudden she - she breaks up with me?” Dick’s voice cracks. “I - we were happy. We are happy. I don’t - She wouldn’t have done this without someone meddling in my relationship.”

“Tch,” Damian scoffs, “This is the best, Richard. Was she even aware you have an offspring?”

“Did you threaten her?” Tim, although the behavior was expected from Damian, was still shocked. “No way. You demon! This isn’t your relationship to be messing up!”

“Was she, Richard?” Damian ignored Tim, opting to only stare at Dick.

“I- I was going to tell her eventually. I didn’t know how I was going to bring up Mar’i and Kory. She doesn’t even… I haven’t told her about Nightwing.”

“And you shouldn’t,” another voice enters the conversation. “It is a necessary evil, but we have other matters to attend to.” Bruce - no.

Batman stands in the entrance of the Batcave. Tim straightens up in his seat, “Red Robin, report."

“I- sightings of Spider-Man have decreased recently. Usually, he’s seen in the daylight with Signal and he’s been patrolling near Red Hood’s territory in the night. After the Joker’s recent breakout in Arkham, he hadn’t been seen since.” Tim effortlessly pulls out recordings of Spider-Man, “We’ve narrowed down the possibility that he doesn’t have a home - possibly on the run. Sorry, he just…reeks. Anyways, his last sighting was near these apartment complexes.”

Tim zones in one in particular - Dick pales, noticing the familiar apartment he frequented every week to visit you. The apartment complex he would sneak into when you were sound asleep. He would let himself in with the keys you had given him. You would wake up with him by your side. He recalls one day, where you noticed the bruising on his cheek.

He opts to ignore his feelings - now wasn’t the time.

“But, we’ve also noted that Nightwing’s look-a-like has now been residing in that very same apartment. Oracle and I, we have been doing our own research on Nightwing’s past relationships - sorry. But none seem to match up with Parker’s age. Red Hood said the kid told him he was twenty-two, but he’s at least eighteen. That is impossible because you would have been eight.”

Tim pauses, seeing everyone take in his words. Despite the battle going on in everyone’s heads, he continues, “Look, I know we wanted this to only be between us. But…I spoke to The Flash about it. He’s more well versed in this.” “What do you mean this?” Dick questions, "What do you think is going on?”

“I…I think Parker is from the future. In some way, he was sent back in time. I’m unsure on when he is…conceived, but all the signs point to this. I can’t stress this enough, but we need to find a way to get him back to the exact time he left. The Flash has already warned me of the possibilities of him staying.”

“Do you think - Do you think he could be the son of…her and I? It could be possible right?”

Damian wrinkles his nose, as Tim responds back, “We can mark her as a possibility.” “No, it’s definitely her. She’s the - I only want to be with her.” “Doesn’t seem like she wants to be with you,” Damian remarks.

“Red Robin, try to find more information about Parker. If he’s staying in that apartment complex, it is likely he made contact with her.” Batman walks towards the exit, “Seeing how he is frequenting the same apartment complex as her, we can’t be sure he’s told her anything of his existence here.”

⋆｡°✩

Peter sneezes.

He’s inside your bakery. You have been giving him an allowance - while he did not think he deserved it, he took it wordlessly to save. He was saving it in case anything happened.

He looks at the drink he ordered. He’s quiet as he listens to the conversation drone on inside as he watches you work quietly at the front. He was part-time here, with you. Thankful that today was his day off, he had decided to wait until you were out to go grocery shopping with you.

Things have been quiet. Ever since he paused on being Spider-Man, for the sake of healing and finally getting proper care, he’s almost ready to go out again.

He hears the door open. His spidey senses hum under his skin as the new customer walks closer to him. He sees you pause in your track, looking on quietly.

“Hey,” He recognizes the voice immediately. Looking up, he shares a nod with Jason. “Hi Mr. Todd.”

Jason sighs, exasperated, “Kid, I’ve told you. Call me Jason.”

“Can’t do that, Mr. Todd, it goes against everything my uncle taught me.” He sees Jason tense in the corner of his eyes, but he’s set on ignoring anything mentioned.

“Oh yeah? What did he teach you?” “To respect the elderly, of course.”

Jason coughs out a laugh, looking at Peter with pure humor in his eyes. It’s reminiscent of the way his Aunt used to look at him.

“The usual?” He hears you walk up to Jason and him, a kind smile on your face. Jason pauses, looking her over. Recognition shines in his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Uh- yeah. You remember?” Jason questions.

“Of course, Mr. Todd,” you tease, “I remember all my regular’s orders. Right, Peter?”

Shit. Shit. Shit!

He’s never told anyone in this world - his first name wasn’t privy to anyone. He’s always gone by Parker. From the beginning, when Red Hood first caught him on a rooftop, he introduced himself as Parker. From the moment he met Jason in an alleyway, where he was ironically saved by the guy from muggers, he went by Parker.

His name tag here was Parker.

“Peter? Is that your first name, kid?” Jason questions carefully. You stayed, your eyes wide as you mouthed an apology to Peter. Peter nods carefully.

“Yeah - I um. My name’s Peter. Peter Parker.”

“Hm,” Jason responds. He couldn’t help but wonder. Was Peter named after him? Was his relationship with Dick in the future so mended that Dick’s son was named after him? He looks at you in response, now gesturing your question to you. “And you? What’s your last name?”

You introduce your full name to him, reaching out to shake his hand. His eyebrows furrow in response, as he looks back and forth to you and Peter. “Huh. Thought you were both related.” Confusion is etched on both your faces. From your perspective, you and Peter looked nothing alike. He held a resemblance to Richard, but you knew full well that other aspects of him were from his mother.

“No, just a caretaker for him.” You respond instead, ruffling Peter’s hair fondly.

Peter smiles at you as you walk away. Jason watches on silently. You were so motherly to Parker, it is undeniable you held a maternal role for the kid.

“What brings you here, Mr. Todd?”

Jason smiles at Peter, “Just visiting Peter. Look, come closer.” Peter leans in as Jason lowers his voice, “Your boss. She was dating my brother. Dick, remember him?” He watches Peter nod, “Yeah so, I heard there was some miscommunication between them.”

“You mean the fact that he has another family and was dating her at the same time?” Peter questions.

“Yeah - no look kid. Yes, he has a kid with someone else. But they’re not together. They’ve been separated for years. He- Dick is super and I mean super in love with your boss or caretaker or whatever you think of her.”

“Are you trying to be a wingman right now?”

“Basically yes. Dick’s been spending his free time with me. That’s not a good thing. A guy needs space. I need space.” Jason sighs, giving a quick thanks to Natasha who drops off his sandwich and drink. “Can you do me a favor? Can you explain to her what I just told you? Or atleast, ask her to respond to Dick.” Peter is hesitant, looking at you in the corner of his eyes. You're taking the order of another family. Looking fondly at the twins on the table, he watches your eyes fill with mirth.

“I don’t know if I can. Mr. Todd, she’s been through a lot. I don’t know if another heart break should be in her future.” “What do you mean, kid?” Jason glance at you, who was still conversing happily with the mom in front of her. He sees you holding one of the twin’s in your arms, bouncing them happily.

“She - She’s just been through a lot. I know Mr. Grayson’s your brother, but…I don’t think it’s the right time. Even then, I think he should speak to her first.”

He sees Jason deflate, groaning as he takes a bite of food. Peter apologizes, although he doesn’t feel quite bad that he denied his request.

⋆｡°✩

You hear your name called. Almost breathless, in the way a lover would call out. You're picking up groceries after you close the bakery. Peter was in the ice cream section, away from the man in front of you.

Richard Grayson was the whole embodiment of a man in love. He looked as if he found the one thing he was searching for. It was correct, he had found you. He looked at you breathlessly, almost as if he ran to come see you.

“Hey - How have you been?” Richard questions, moving closer to you when he noticed you did not step away. You place the item you had in your hands carefully in the cart.

“It’s been well, how about you?” You question, moving your cart forward. He follows along, almost nervous to lose sight of you.

“It could be better.”

You hum in response, moving to grab the next item. You survey the ingredients, but put it down once you realize it contained the one thing Peter could not digest.

“Right now isn’t the correct time or place to talk about us,” Richard begins, looking hesitant, “But, I do want you to know. I’ve never cheated on you or Kory. Kory - she’s the mother of my child, Mar’i, but we’re not together.”

You pause to give him a look. Raising your eyebrow, you shake your head, “You’re right, Richard. Right now isn't the time or place to do this.” You sigh, catching eyes with Peter who was staring from across the aisle. He was frozen, looking at Richard and back at you.

“I think…I’m free tomorrow, in the afternoon, if you want to talk. But please understand, I hold no negative feelings towards you.”

Richard takes a deep breath, “Okay. I can do tomorrow.” He follows your line of sight, his breathing halting when he makes eye contact with Parker. “Do you - Do you know Parker?”

“Yes,” you respond simply, “He was my guest from the other day. Permanent guest, he’s staying with me.”

He nods, his shoulders drooping when he notices how hesitant Peter was to come towards him. When Parker is near, he gives Richard a soft greeting as he places some items in the cart.

You bid goodbye to Richard. He watches from afar as Parker walks ahead of your cart, pulling it along with you.

He hoped it was true. He truly hoped Parker was the son he has with you in the future.

⋆｡°✩

“Thank you for this, you won’t regret it.” Dick smiles, happy to see you near him. “I’m sorry for not communicating with you properly, I’m sorry.”

You stir the drink in your hand, tapping on the side rhythmically. “I don’t understand why you would keep them hidden from me. Richard, I’d never judge you for this. Truly.”

“I’m sorry,” Richard repeats, “I- not many people take well of me being a single father. I trust you, I do, but I was scared of what you would think.”

You stayed quiet, taking everything in. Looking at the side, to the window, you watch as the sun begins to go down. “I…I haven’t been honest either.”

"Family is a big thing to me, it’s something I’ve always dreamed of, Richard.” You are a liar. Truly. For a moment - just a moment, you had almost told him of the lives you had lost. But - was it truly something you had lost? Did it count? They weren't from here, you knew this. You weren't from here. They didn't exist.

Your voice shakes, looking at Richard sadly, “Family is the biggest reason why I’m still here, I yearn to have one. When I thought you were being…unfaithful to another, it hurt.”

You sigh, shaking your head, “I’m projecting, I apologize. But I didn’t want to be the reason for a broken family.”

“You won’t,” Richard promises, reaching out his hand to hold your own that were still shaking, “I’ve spoken to Kory. She’s ecstatic that I have you. I hope to continue to have you as my most cherished loved one alongside Mar’i, if you’d have me again.”

“Dick…” You whisper, looking at him wistfully, “There is so much you don’t know.”

“I understand that, I do."

“What is grief if not love persevering.” You smile, Dick shifts closer to you, leaning his forehead on yours. He smiles at you. A weight is lifted off his shoulders, seeing you accept him back into your life.

“We start slow. If there’s anything I should know, you don’t need to tell me now, but please, don’t let me find out some other way.” Dick nods in agreement.

The moment was broken when his phone started vibrating maniacally on the table. He knew his phone was silenced from any notifications. It had to be important. Picking it up, he reads through the alert. You see his eyes widen in worry.

“Dick? What’s going on?” You question him as he abruptly stands up.

“I’m so sorry, all forces are being sent downtown… Spider-Man just appeared again and there’s orders to subdue him by any means necessary. The GCPD have been trying to get him, and I think today is that day.”

“Why him?” You question Dick as he moves towards the door, “He’s just a kid, don’t hurt him.”

“I’m sorry.” At this rate, he was unable to defy the words of Batman himself.

⋆｡°✩

Peter was scared. He was scared. It was dark, but he knew that his fights with all the Bats combined had left him renderless. Tricked by their plan, he had thought he would only be seeing Red Robin today. How wrong he was.

He leans down on his knees, heaving from the bruises on his rib. He had difficulty breathing and he hoped nothing was punctured.

It’s okay. Everything’s okay.

His senses alert him to a presence behind him. He’s tired, but he stills when he hears the familiar click of a gun. The smell from the man behind him increased - he was angry.

“What have you done now, you brat,” The man utters, poking Peter’s head with the gun. “I’ve warned you to leave. I told you what would happen if you didn’t leave.”

Peter doesn’t say anything but he tenses once more when he hears the signs that there was more. More people watching.

“Hood, stand down.” A voice calls out, “He won’t do anything stupid, he knows he’s surrounded.” Nightwing sighs, as he crouches in front of Peter’s masked face.

He hears someone else scoff, “Foolish to let your guard down.” Robin stands behind Nightwing, alongside Red Robin who observes quietly.

He notices two other figures in the dark, waiting as backup.

“Batman will arrive shortly. ETA five minutes, keep Spider-Man there.”

He tenses at the voice coming from Nightwing’s comms, and he knows that Red Robin noticed.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” He weakly argues, “We’ve been working alongside each other for ages. Please.”

“Batman doesn’t allow unknown meta’s in Gotham City.” Robin responds instead, “We do not know your identity, therefore you are a threat.”

“I- I haven’t hurt anyone.” Peter weakly responds, he’s losing his vision. He knows this. But he has to do something. He knew he had the abilities to do something. Act quickly Peter.

Watch out!

His senses override as he tumbles away from the shot Red Hood aims at his legs. The bullet narrowly misses him. He’s at the edge now, as his body sluggishly moves against the others who surrounded him once more.

It’s okay.

His senses begin to hum, zoning in on the emotion that had begun to overpower him. Someone else was coming - he knew it all too well. His ally was here. He felt safe. He’s safe. He knew. He didn’t have to fight anymore.

Red Hood raises his gun once more as the others tell him to stand down. Their words mush together as he feels the pain begin to dull.

Before Red Hood could shoot his leg, his gun flew out of his grip. Red consumes his vision, as he doubles down in pain. The green inside of him is overpowered by an unknown entity. He can’t see. He’s in so much pain. Memories flash against his eyes - the entity was pulling at his memories, forcing things he did not want to remember out. He sees everything. He sees his pain.

He knows Nightwing is near. The memories of Dick Grayson consume him. His brother. His first meeting. The small moments they had together. Everything was pushing against his brain and it hurt so bad.

“Ah. I understand now,” He hears a familiar voice utter softly.

The pain disappears. He takes a gasp of fresh air. When his vision returns, all he sees is you.

You stand in front of Spider-Man, tilting your head in a direction that makes Jason’s whole body freeze up. He hears Dick utter your name, shocked to see you right in front of him.

You. It was you. Still dressed in the same clothes you met Dick Grayson in, stared at them. Your eyes are tinged with red, as well as your fingertips.

Effortlessly, your hands move. The two figures watching move towards the group, red engulfing their beings. Red Robin and Robin alike are on their knees, red consuming them as well.

You had only left Dick Grayson alone.

“I told you, didn’t I?” You mutter softly, staring at Dick with pure sadness. “Don’t let me find some other way.”

He utters your name, but he is pushed to the floor. Red overrides his eyes, he feels a pressure against his chest that he cannot remove.

"Hello? Is anyone there - Batman's ETA is - hello-" They hear Oracle scream. Their comms are cut short.

How easy it was to get through to her.

They hear Spider-Man call your name as well. But he did not sound afraid - he sounded relieved.

You carefully walk towards Spider-Man, crouching down to his level, you sigh softly, "They never let you rest do they." You pat his masked head - he leans into you as he sniffs. He is in pain, but for a moment, he rests.

The others, despite the intense pain they are experiencing are gobsmacked at the both of you. You - how you held Spider-Man like how a mother held their child. Red Hood's breathe hicks when he notices you look up at them all.

"What you are all experiencing...it is his pain encompassing your own." You direct to them and somehow, your smile is still soft. "I do apologize, for how abrupt I came." You sigh once more, tapping your cheek, "But once I heard from Richard - of all people that Spider-Man was to be captured. Well. I just had to do something."

You hear another arrive at that point. Your smile widens, staring at the big bat. Batman, as quiet as ever, surveys the others on the floor. But, instead of attacking, he too sits calmly. Too calmly.

When the others look, they see the red.

He too, was stuck. No matter how much he fortressed his own mind. He was not prepared for you. Nobody here will ever truly be prepared for everything you entail.

"I've tried," You mutter to Spider-Man softly, "I really tried to live a happy life here. But once again, I've been pulled back into a world with heroes." You sneer the last word towards the vigilantes who stiffen at your words.

"I was okay with accepting one hero. Spider-Man was fine, I knew him once before - I've watched him grow." You step towards Nightwing, shaking your head. "I accepted you into my life. Richie Wayne. I was warned about you - but I should have read this-" you jab at his head angrily, "from the beginning."

"I do not enjoy being lied to. The exact opposite, really. Heroes - or vigilantes should I say, are prone to being liars after all, so I should have expected it."

You hear Nightwing call your name. He was fighting against your hold so earnestly. "Please- don't do anything drastic. My-my love please, I'm so sorry. I was going to tell you-please." He whimpers, his head sagging from the pain consuming him.

Before you are able to respond, everyone present hears a hypnotic hum. The red consuming them tilts their head forward, towards the body of another woman floating towards them.

She continues to hum, as if she has not spoken for ages. Her dark silhouette, as beautiful and ethereal as ever continues her descent. She smiles, ever so softly. She murmurs, small, yet various whispers bring a calm to the ones present.

The Scarlet Witch, smiles hypnotically at the Bats. She skims her way through them, releasing them from their holds.

You hear the gasps of breaths they all take, but none move an inch. Red Hood shakes in his fervor, the greens coming back in full force. Red Robin shivers, holding himself closely as Robin, who fought effortlessly, leans to take full gasps of air.

"Ever so lucky, you vigilantes are." You mutter, as the Scarlet Witch returns to you from her venture to the Batcave - after all, she had found Oracle herself.

"It is time to go," You usher Spider-Man along, "They will hurt you no longer, my child."

And as it was once, you look back at Nightwing. "You will regret this until the end of your time. If you come for him again, I will not hesitate to ruin you." You smile.

Then in a quiet whisper, you are gone.

This moment, as all others where they've done this exact thing - of capturing Spider-Man over and over again will be forgotten. It was only this time, when you included yourself in the equation.

⋆｡°✩

Richard Grayson will search. He will search. But not for Spider-Man, whose sightings have been caught again and again. Despite the orders given by Batman, he only searched for one person. The rest of his family, although they were confused, also stopped their own search for Spider-Man - they felt weird to do so.

You.

He searched for you. His love. The one he wanted to spend his own life with. But, his endeavors were fruitless - anywhere he went, all he was met with confusion.

Nobody knew who you were. The coffee shop you frequented, the grocery store you went on and on about because of their sales. Your bakery, had been renamed under Natasha, who had been so confused when he asked for you.

"I'm sorry, we don't have anyone who works here with that name." Natasha smiles, "But, I can feel free to take your order."

Mar'i, as excited as ever to be spending time with her father, rattles out her own order in excitement. Natasha turns to him, as he provides the order he knew was your favorite.

He sighs, walking out of the bakery. It had been weeks, and even his family, who had experiences your powers first hand, had no clue who he was talking about. Even once, Tim had went up to him, handing him an un-named folder that even he was confused about. "I think I was doing this for you."

He sighs, as he continues down the street.

Mar'i is walking ahead of him, jumping over cracks to 'avoid breaking her mothers back.' He watches her, unaware of his surroundings.

When a women walks by him, his whole body tenses. The overwhelming scent of you is pushed forth. Whether it was your own natural scent or the perfumes - even his own colognes that you used, he would recognize you. He turns, eyes wide as the woman continues walking.

He recognizes the familiar figure - he calls out your name. He watches you pass and turn. He loses his breath when he sees you. His love. He knew it was you from the moment you locked eyes.

You smile and you wave. Another person blocks his vision and once they moved - you were gone.

He must have been seeing things.

"Daddy?" Mar'i questions, now next to him as she bunches his pant leg in her hands, "Who was that?"

At that moment, he knew. He knew you were real.

And he will find you.

Till death did its part.

#x reader #dc universe #reader insert #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #crossover #dc universe x marvel universe #dc x reader #richard grayson x readee

55 notes · View notes

cryptidcorners · 1 year ago

Text

Josh Futturman x Reader Headcanons

= Character: Josh Futturman

= Media: Show!Future Man

= Prompt: N/A

= Description: Just !Platonic & !Romantic mixed Headcanons!

= Request: N/A

= Tags: Fluff ! Headcanons, Shy/Awkward Josh, Romantic + Platonic, Established Relationship, Some Comfort + Reader is !GN

= Warnings: None.

= Please Read my INTRO before interacting !

Josh has always struggled to maintain relationships, including ones with friends. Not only because he's incredibly socially awkward, but his escapism within videogames plays a major factor. So, he treasures what he has with you much more seriously than anyone you knew.

Rambles about his games all the time. His interests are something you can never get him to shut up about. Josh is usually into strategies, lore & development, his favorite being "Biowars", which you already knew had quite the reputation for being a challenging videogame.

He's pretty bubbly, especially around you. Josh is an absolute sweetheart and will get flustered at almost anything. His childish personality roots out much more when you're around, mostly because Josh feels more comfortable.

He isn't very open about his feelings, mostly because he's afraid of losing people. Josh desperately wants to be a part of something and refuses to mess it up somehow. Josh, however, is very different when you're opening up. He'll advise, comfort and try to cheer you up. (It's actually crazy how good his advice is sometimes.)

Josh is content with following you anywhere, as long as it doesn't involve his house or hear his parents. If I'm going to be honest, if he's particularly choosing somewhere to lounge, it'd be an arcade. It's a field where he specializes in and he can impress you easily. It's also somewhere he can discard his low self-esteem and indulge in his skills.

Praise is like a drug to Josh. Compliments or any sight of you liking him (or what he's doing), he feels intense dopamine. He really enjoys making people happy.

He's pretty charismatic sometimes, even when he's not trying to be. Josh is usually awkward when directly talking to somebody with a set question or goal in mind, but when he needs to go with the flow, it's much more grounded. With you in mind, Josh is much more relaxed, so he isn't as shy as he is with strangers.

Wouldn't exactly say he's very affectionate, but he wouldn't mind hugging either. Again, Josh is pretty awkward, and I doubt he rarely showcases soft intimacy around anyone (whenever it's platonic or romantic). He would love to do it, but he's very shy. Though, he isn't afraid to try. If you ask, he's perfectly fine with holding your hand or sitting close.

As I mentioned, Josh is very tentative on affection, especially receiving it, but he loves getting his hair and face touched. Dude needs love.

Digs through your trash. He doesn't have any ill intents, but Josh will take time out of his day to scavenge through waste instead of asking you a minor question. I know I mentioned he's very relaxed around you, but Josh definitely overthinks, especially with relationships. He tries his best.

Will cry real tears of joy if you ever give him something. Josh really appreciates gifts, no matter who it's from. Even if it's not game related, he's definitely holding onto it for a while. (Bonus Points If: It's an animal toy, a decoration or handmade.)

Romantically speaking, he enjoys kissing you or indulging in anything sweet. A lot of giggling & sweet talk. Josh isn't very experienced in relationships like this, so he tried to wing it. Needless to say, he probably gets advice from Google images and it's adorable to see him try his best to impress you.

Will always defend you, even if he fails miserably. Absolute trooper.

Josh will one hundred percent get emotional at any piece of film he is watching with you. Especially if it's a game cutscenes and it involves animals.

Huge softie. I don't think Josh can handle saying anything remotely mean to you or reviving it. If he does, expect a flood of apologies.

Can get way into character sometimes, whatever context this is. You know what I'm talking about.

Very clingy. No other words.

Lastly, he'd definitely call you nicknames in the cutest way possible. If he lets you call him "Joshy", you've probably earned the highest pillar of his trust.

#🎮 josh futturman #josh futturman #josh futturman x reader #future man #headcanons #josh hutcherson #writing #writers on tumblr #future man 2017

399 notes · View notes

underdark-dreams · 1 year ago

Note

Thank you so much for your Tiefling smut contributions! I am so lovesick for Rolan and wanted to request--Rolan x fem Tav at the grove party? I know it's super early in both of their arcs but I can't help but wonder. 💕

Rolan x Fem!Tav (Unnamed)

Good Night For Company

"Would you mind if I kissed you?" Sometimes you need to feel lonely before you notice the person sitting right beside you.

Tags: Fem Unnamed Tav, Kissing, Accidental Cuddling, Feelings Realization | SFW

Word Count: 5,443 [Read on AO3]

Sometimes it was lonely to be the hero, she thought to herself.

Their camp was fuller and merrier than she’d ever seen it. Every last Tiefling she’d met at the Grove had joined them for a night of celebration, bringing along every last bottle of wine and spirits they could get their hands on as way of thanks.

Unsurprisingly, all eyes in camp seemed to be searching for someone else to spend the night with. Who could blame them? Mortal peril and hard-won victories tended light a fire in people, herself included.

Yet somehow she still found herself short on options. Everyone at camp seemed more interested in clapping her shoulder in thanks than joining her for a night of abandoned pleasure. Even her close companions hadn’t taken much interest in what she had on offer.

Astarion was the only one who had made her an invitation. She practically felt grateful to him for it. He would tempt anyone, of course—just look at him. But underneath his beauty, there was a dark edge about the elf that made her hesitate in the end. How was it Gale had described him? ‘A tiger when it purrs.’

Honestly, she wouldn’t have said no to Gale, either. He was certainly attractive, and there was a sad weight to his shoulders that seemed to invite comforting. The kind she wouldn’t mind giving. Yet despite the lonely shine in his eyes, he’d made it abundantly clear to her in his loquacious way that his mind was elsewhere this evening. She left him alone to his private reflections.

She at least expected their own cheerful Tiefling to be smack in the middle of the evening’s revelry. Tonight, Karlach was nowhere to be found. Only when she later glimpsed Shadowheart’s tent standing dark and noticeably empty did she put the pieces together.

Well, good for them. At least two of their group might have a chance at a lay tonight.

No such luck for her, it seemed. She raised the bottle of Ithbank to her lips and tried not to feel too sorry for herself. The last few days had been long, exhausting, positively brutal…her muscles ached from overuse. Really, a good night’s sleep should be more than enough to satisfy her.

And yet—how nice it would feel to be touched and held with tenderness, even if it wasn’t real, even just for one night. Just enjoy a harmless tumble in someone’s bedroll before everything crashed around them again. The thought of the long road that would greet her in the morning made her groan, and she shook the thought away.

It hardly helped her souring mood to see Danis and Bex practically sitting in each others’ laps in the middle of camp, gently knocking their horns together with affection. She averted her eyes and took a rather resentful swig of wine as she trudged past.

“Go on then, give us a show!”

Teasing laughter came from just ahead. At the edge of camp, she happened upon the three Tiefling siblings from the Grove. Rolan, the oldest, stood flexing his hands as if preparing for an impressive feat. As she approached, she thought for just a moment that he glanced in her direction.

His brother Cal heckled him mercilessly from the rock where he and Lia were perched. “Lose your nerve, wiz?”

Rolan sighed, long-suffering. “Have you no respect for showmanship?” Not leaving time for any more smart comments, he flourished his hands upward with a low incantation.

The effect was like tiny stars, or fireflies, or some combination of the two. Sparkling lights spread and popped above their heads, leaving behind a violet mist that gently faded into the night.

She found herself smiling up at the sky. It wasn’t a powerful display, but it was lovely nonetheless. And certainly unique. She wondered how one went about inventing a Weave spell; she wouldn’t know where to begin.

Tucking the bottle against her chest, she offered a little round of applause. Cal looked over at her then and let out a groan of amusement. “Not you, now he’ll keep at it all night.”

"Shut it," Rolan shot at him, positively glowering. Lia was clutching her side in laughter at his expense.

Two against one; that was siblings for you. She was in a newly generous mood after his pretty magic, however, and decided to lend Rolan a hand.

"Surprised you're still here," she said, cocking her head toward Cal. "Last I heard, Lakrissa was looking for you."

Cal's neck practically snapped with how quickly he craned it around camp. Lia turned her mirth on him, aiming a punch at his shoulder.

"As if, you idiot," she chuckled. "She's only about ten times out of your league."

"You don't know that," Cal told her, completely thrown off teasing his brother as he rose to look around the party hopefully. "She told me I had a good parry one time—I could have a chance—"

As he wandered off, Lia threw up her hands and rose to follow him. "Guess I'll go save Lakrissa. Or maybe just watch what happens. Nice one," Lia added over her shoulder, grinning appreciatively at her.

She and Rolan were left standing alone to the side. There was some awkward shuffling of feet; somewhere past the campfire, Volo launched into his third stanza of Tymora's Melody. A song to make people lucky, she seemed to recall. A suggestive choice for the night.

"Drink?" She broke the silence, offering out the bottle of wine. Relief flooded Rolan’s face.

"Gods, please." He accepted and took a generous pull.

"You certainly have your hands full with those two, don’t you." She bit back a grin at the way his brow crinkled in response.

"They are…" Rolan cast around for the word. "Challenging. But I don't have to tell you that," he added, glancing sideways at her. "We were bickering the first moment you met us."

"That's just family, though," she laughed, taking the wine back from him. Their fingers brushed together slightly over the bottle.

“Nevertheless. My thanks.” He waved his hand in a general motion, but she could tell he meant her intervention before.

“Don’t mention it,” she told him.

Seeking a reprieve from the merry music and voices around them, her feet idly made their way toward the edge of the fire's light closer to the riverbank. From the corner of her eye she saw Rolan follow. They settled on a log of driftwood that faced the scenes at camp.

"So, you're finally making your way to Baldur's Gate," she said. It wasn't a question; he'd already told everyone who would listen about his apprenticeship with Lorroakan of Ramazith.

"Finally.” His eyes glowed with pure enthusiasm. "You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this. The slightest delay has felt like an eternity.”

“And Cal and Lia? They must be excited, too.”

“Of course” he said, though his lips raised in a little smirk. “They’ve never been to the Gate, so they don’t quite know what to expect. But they’re just as eager.”

She watched him for a moment as she turned the bottle over in her hands. "You're quite sure of yourself, aren't you."

Rolan looked at her with a challenging expression. “Tell me, in our position, what else is there we can be sure of?"

He almost made her regret herself. “I didn’t mean that. It’s just that you’re very—”

“I expect most wouldn’t guess that a hellspawn could earn a position under the greatest archmage on the Sword Coast,” Rolan said before she could finish.

His moods were volatile as a storm; turning this way and that without warning. She was never sure what to expect from him. Before she could protest his assumptions about her, he continued onward.

"We three never had much between us, you know." Rolan’s voice was abruptly low and bitter. "Somehow we've got less now than we started with. Not even our birthplace anymore. The one thing I’m sure of is my magical talent. I'm not going to deny it for the sake of being modest—" he tossed the words out with contempt. "Not when it's the one thing I always knew I had in spades. With the right instruction, I could be inimitable."

She studied his determined profile in the half-light of the campfire. Perhaps there were more layers to his self-important attitude than she'd thought. After all, without him taking on the challenging role that awaited him in the city, Rolan and his siblings found themselves in much the same position as the other refugees milling about camp tonight. A heavy weight despite his obvious enthusiasm. Who was she to judge him, or any of them?

Rolan finally caught her watching him and cleared his throat. "Forgive me, I think I've—had too much wine."

"Oh?" She gave the bottle a swirl; it was still more than half-full. "You're making pretty good sense to me."

"I don't usually speak so freely with strangers," he explained tersely, glancing away.

She pondered the comment over another sip. "Does that make us friends, then?" She asked, not sure if she was being serious or trying to tease him. He did seem like he'd be awfully fun to tease.

"That's a little premature," he said dryly, but he glanced at her with a serious look. "Though I suppose, given recent events, you've earned it."

"A roundabout way to say yes," she laughed. "But I'll take it."

Rolan only made a low, grumpy noise in his throat. But he didn't challenge her.

“I’m really glad you three stayed, you know,” she told him. “I know you were against it. It certainly wasn’t the easy choice.”

Rolan plucked a bit of dry grass from between his boots, twisted it between his fingers. “Don’t thank me,” he said. “Once Lia gets an idea in her head to save some poor thing or other, there’s no arguing with her. And she knows I'd never leave her behind.”

"You say that, but anyone with eyes can see the way those two look to you for guidance. They would've followed you down either path."

"Not like us staying even made a difference," Rolan deflected, tossing the ball of grass onto the dirt in front of them. "We only lost a few more traveling days waiting around while you and your friends took care of everything. For which, I suppose, we owe you thanks," he finished sarcastically.

"I suppose," she said lightly. But she was looking straight at him.

Rolan was clever enough to realize he was being chastised. He let out a sigh, but dipped his horns to her in resignation. "Thank you."

She only smiled at him and offered back the wine in response. He accepted without comment.

Watching him tip back the bottle, she mentally fit another piece to his puzzle. "You don't like feeling powerless, do you?"

Rolan looked sideways at her. "Does anyone? Do you?"

"No," she replied, feeling a little foolish for asking. When he passed it back, she drank deeply from the bottle, grounded by the burn that traveled down her throat.

"That must make your situation difficult." Rolan was watching her almost cautiously, as if the subject should be carefully tread.

"The tadpole, you mean?" She spoke it aloud, not wanting him to feel any suspense about the subject. How the thought could fill her with dread and a kind of dark humor at the same time was beyond her. Maybe the worm in her brain was finally driving her mad after all.

"First I had to talk Nettie out of giving me a lobotomy. Then I thought the renowned First Druid Halsin might be able to heal me, but no luck. I even thought that crazy goblin priestess could have something up her sleeve." She gave a mirthless laugh, starting to feel the weariness closing around her again. "Suppose I just need to keep searching, right? Halsin thinks we might find answers in the Shadow-Cursed Lands. Or maybe the cure is in Baldur's Gate. Who knows," she added, glancing over at him. "Maybe your Lorroakan could know the solution, if he's as powerful as you say."

"He is," Rolan answered automatically. His luminous eyes were sharp with enthusiasm as he watched her. "When you get to the city, come see me at Sorcerous Sundries. If a cure exists, it'll be recorded somewhere in the library of Ramazith’s Tower, I'm sure of it. I’ll even research it, if I have time."

Inwardly she hoped they'd all be cured far earlier than that. But she was touched by his sudden helpfulness, even if it was half to prove the powers of his new station.

“Thank you, Rolan,” she smiled. “I appreciate it.”

He dipped his horns wordlessly toward her again. It was a gesture she was beginning to recognize, and grow rather fond of. She offered him their wine bottle in thanks.

From there they both let the moment drift. Seated on their log near the riverbank, she turned to watch how the rest of the revelry was progressing. Alfira had joined Volo in some kind of bardic duel; a rapid-fire melody drifted out to where the two of them sat. Lia appeared to be bravely trying her luck with Lae'zel. Judging by Lae'zel's very non-subtle body language, she was actually getting somewhere.

And to her disbelief, she even saw Cal and Lakrissa sitting together at the fire, engaged in what looked like a very friendly, very close conversation. Was it seriously everyone's night but hers?

She glanced to Rolan's face at her side. He wasn't paying attention to her; his fingers rolled the neck of their shared drink idly back and forth.

It should've occurred to her sooner, honestly. Despite Rolan's initial bluster, she found it surprisingly easy to speak with him one-on-one like this. He had a depth she hadn't noticed before.

And he wasn't bad to look at, either. Golden eyes set against inky black, strong jawline, lips that often curved up in a little smirk that she wasn't sure he deserved but found charming despite herself. She decided to dispense with caution and just try her luck.

"Would you mind if I kissed you?"

“What?” Rolan's head jerked around as he stared at her. "Why?"

"I don't know," she admitted. Maybe this was a bad idea; the shock on his face made her question her own boldness. But then she thought of his pretty spellwork. "Because you're the only person who's made me smile tonight."

Rolan examined her expression as though trying to tell whether she was joking. "We barely know each other," he said slowly.

She gestured her head toward the crowded clearing. "I mean, I didn’t know any of these people a few weeks ago. And now look at us. We’re practically family at this point.” She turned back toward him. "Besides, maybe I'd like to get to know you better?"

Rolan cast around for a response to that. "I suppose you're not…unattractive," he conceded. Although the nervous movement of his fingers gave him away a little.

"Know how to make a girl feel special, don't you," she laughed. "Look, Rolan, say no if you don't want to. I'm not after anything serious. It's just a good night for some company, and honestly, I’ve enjoyed talking to you."

Rolan was considering it; she could practically see his mind ticking between his options. "You're quite tenacious, aren't you?" He told her, the hint of a smile teasing at the corners of his mouth.

"When I want something," she agreed.

Something in the words seemed to tip his decision. She watched Rolan's eyes flick down to her lips.

Taking that as a yes, she tilted forward to press them against his. His skin was warm and softer than she expected. Rolan didn't move against her, in fact was practically frozen still. She couldn't tell whether he was inexperienced or just out of practice. Regardless, she pulled away to look at him through her lashes, checking his expression.

This close his golden eyes almost seemed to blaze. She watched them move over her face, taking in her features up close. When he realized she wasn't going to initiate again, Rolan leaned in for another kiss.

Definitely not inexperienced, she decided, as his lips slid and moved softly over hers. She breathed in and smelled smoke and wine and something spiced; a pleasant warmth coiled in her stomach. He sighed into the kiss, apparently feeling something similar.

She felt a tentative hand rest on the side of her waist. Without breaking from him, she scooted sideways to get a little closer, inadvertently pressing her leg up against his. Rolan made no objection, only circled his arm further around her back.

It was the nicest feeling. Being held by a firm yet gentle touch, sharing kisses that flowed from sweet to eager to shy and back again. How long had it been? The longer Rolan's mouth moved over hers, the less she cared about remembering.

She hooked her arms over his shoulders to keep him close. As she tilted her chin for a better angle at his mouth, she took a chance and ran her tongue along his bottom lip. Rolan’s fingers dug slightly deeper into her side, but his lips parted to allow her in.

She felt a thrill run through her as their tongues melted together. They tasted each other softly for a moment; unconsciously, she combed her fingers up through the hair at his nape.

Rolan broke away gently at the feeling. She grew suddenly shy when their eyes met again, and she cast around for something to fill the silence.

"Why do you hide your ears behind your hair like that?” She wondered aloud. “They’re lovely." As she spoke, one of her index fingers went to tuck a lock of his hair back behind the long, pointed arrow of his ear, grazing against it with curiosity. Before she could blink, his hand caught hers to pull it away.

"Don't—" Rolan said abruptly, then let out a nervous laugh to break the tension. “Tiefling ears are…quite sensitive.”

"Oh," she said. His meaning sunk in the rest of the way. “Oh—I’m so sorry, I didn't realize—" The heat of embarrassment on her cheeks could have melted her.

"It’s all right,” he told her, laughing genuinely now. “Gods, your face is almost as red as mine.”

Rolan was even more handsome with a real, true smile on his face. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen one there before. Before she’d found a response, his grip on her wrist was gently pulling her arm over his shoulder, and her body closer to him with it.

She decided another kiss would shut up his teasing nicely. She followed his lead and then some, wrapping both arms around his lovely shoulders, melting against his lips again. He said something against her, but the words dissolved into a hum that sent a pleasant shiver down her back.

Finally, Rolan succeeded in pulling away to glance back toward the center of camp. "Sorry," he said breathlessly, and it sounded like he truly was. "I just—don't want you to face uncomfortable questions in the morning."

No doubt his siblings' teasing was another factor, but she didn't call him out on it. While she appreciated his chivalry, all she could think about was getting his mouth under hers again.

"We could go to my tent?" She suggested.

For all the cockiness he'd spouted from the first moment she met him, she felt Rolan's hands almost seize up around her.

The feeling made her bite back a grin. "I'd just like to kiss you some more," she said, tracing her thumb against his jaw. "We don't have to do anything else. It would just be more private. And more comfortable."

Rolan licked his lips, unsure. “Won’t that be even more obvious?”

“I don’t think this crowd’s going to notice much at this point…” She turned with arms still around him to look over the scenes near the campfire, and Rolan's gaze followed. The generous flow of alcohol was taking a clear effect on most of the faces gathered here and there. Around the fire’s edge, Alfira was leading many of her fellows in a rousing ballad that she didn’t recognize. Most voices were noticeably off-key.

“Come on,” she invited Rolan, rising with one of his hands in hers. He made no protests as she led him around the edge of camp, trying to stay out of the more obvious sightlines, and towards her empty tent. When she held the flap open for him, he ducked in quickly without a word, and she followed.

Inside, the light from the roaring campfire filtered dimly through the fabric walls. She watched Rolan’s luminous eyes glance around, taking in her personal effects, finally landing on her open bedroll. He swallowed hard.

“Just sit,” she told him, guiding him by the arm down beside her. They settled side-by-side on the blankets. Somehow the mood between them was back to the initial uncertainty of before, as if they hadn’t already shared a score of kisses.

“Your tent smells like you,” he said out of nowhere.

"Really?" She chuckled, but the observation somehow made her very nervous. “Not sure if I want to ask what my smell is.”

“Balsam.” Rolan didn’t elaborate, only dipped his head swiftly to place lips under her jaw. Her laughter dissolved into a sigh of pleasure. Clawed hands snaked up around her side and down over her shoulder, tipping her torso into him. She let her head loll to the side to give him all the access he could want.

She’d forgotten all about his sharp incisors. As he kissed down the side of her neck, his warm breath sending a cascade of shivers over her spine, one of his fangs grazed her bare skin by accident. Her sharp intake of breath surprised even herself.

Rolan pulled away to look at her, uncertain if he’d done something right or wrong. She used the moment to capture him in a kiss again, sucking and nibbling on one side of his bottom lip, letting him know how right he was getting this.

She sank sideways into her bedroll, pulling him down with her with hands clasped behind his neck, trying to be mindful of his angling horns.

Rolan's arm rested comfortably over her side, nails whispering against her back as he held her. He was so gentle like this; so unlike the way he presented himself to others. The thought that she was seeing a side of Rolan most others didn’t get to see—she liked that thought very much. She tangled a hand in his hair as their kisses turned soft, and lovely, and almost lazy.

The security of his arms around her in her soft bedroll, the alcohol making its way rapidly to her brain, the exertions of the day straining along her limbs…she felt herself drifting toward a state of relaxation almost like sleep. She roused herself, wanting to kiss him back while she had him here. She wasn't sure when they'd get a chance like this next.

But Rolan gently disentangled their mouths for a moment. "Here," he said, scooting his arm under her neck like a pillow. She leaned against him with a comfortable sigh.

"Your arm's gonna fall asleep," she warned him, making no moves to shift the weight of her heavy head.

Rolan chuckled low in his chest. "I think you'll be doing that first."

She wanted to make a snappy response, but all that came out was a petulant groan against his lips.

This wasn't going at all the way she intended. She wasn't supposed to doze off, she was supposed to kiss the Tiefling wizard until he saw stars, like the ones he'd conjured for her.

Because he had conjured them for her—she told herself that with certainty, whether or not it was true. The sweet thought carried her toward sweet dreams, and the memory of them behind her eyelids was the last thing she saw before she drifted.

—

The call of an owl nearby pierced through her sleep. As her mind surfaced in the darkness, the first thing she was aware of was the pleasant weight of an arm across her. She sighed and settled comfortably back into the warm figure pressed up against her hips and shoulders. The mystery arm pulled her in tighter in response.

Things began slowly filtering back to her; the party the night before, and the wine, and Rolan, and—

Her eyes opened wide then. The interior of her tent was so dark that she could only make out blurry shapes. Outside, she heard nothing but crickets and a few more distant owls hooting; it must be well past midnight. The fire hadn't been tended for hours, judging by the absence of light reaching through the fabric walls. Presumably the rest of camp had all turned in long ago.

With the nervousness of a person who'd fallen asleep from drink, she shifted around a bit to confirm that yes, she was very much still fully clothed. Her toes flexed against hard leather; even her dusty boots were still on her feet. That answered that question, at least. She glanced down at the clothed arm over her stomach.

"Rolan?" She whispered through the dark.

She felt and heard his lips mumble something against her hair, and then Rolan's face nestled deep into the crook of her neck with a happy sigh. The intimate gesture made her bite her lip. She could feel his steady breaths tickle against her collarbone.

However much she might want to let him stay right there, forever, she knew she should wake him.

"Rolan," she whispered a little louder. Twisting a bit to free the arm under her side, she reached to gently pat the spot between his horns. She felt his hair rustle freely under her hand; its orderly tie must have come undone in the night.

Rolan inhaled sharply awake then. He lifted his head from her as if trying to cast around for where he was.

"We both fell asleep," she whispered, stating the obvious. She felt him tense up behind her as he took in his body's positioning: chest pressed against her back, one arm cradling her neck, the other wrapped tight around her waist to keep her pulled in close to him. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she even felt his tail twined around one of her legs.

Every part of him retreated from her at once as he lurched into a half-seated position. "I'm sorry," he apologized in a groggy whisper.

"It's fine," she assured him, wondering why he would assume she didn't enjoy the closeness as much as he clearly had in his sleep. "I think everyone else is asleep by now."

There was a long, quiet pause. Then Rolan began, “Did we…?”

“No,” she interjected with certainty.

"Thank Gods. I mean—" He cast around in the dark for one of her hands, realizing how that came out. "We both drank a lot, that's not how I want—it shouldn't be like that."

"I know." The sweet goodness of him made her heart swell.

Suddenly, Rolan grabbed his head with both hands. "Fuck," he hissed. "Lia and Cal."

"What about?"

"They'll know I didn't come back to our camp last night," he groaned low.

"Oh—okay," she said, trying to think; her brain was still fuzzy from the night's wine. "Well, maybe they'll just assume you got back late?"

“You don't understand, they know that I—” He cut himself off, and finished, “They already tease me about you.”

“Oh." She did her best to ignore the way that made her insides do a happy flip. But she couldn’t resist teasing a little herself. “Then maybe they’ll just assume you finally got lucky?”

His head fell against her shoulder with a groan, horns lightly knocking against her. “Please,” he begged.

“Sorry, Rolan—” She was instantly contrite, holding his head close to place kisses across his hair and forehead. "Listen, we've got an hour or two before dawn. Maybe you can sneak back and they won't know how late you were out. Where's your camp?"

"The bluffs just outside the Emerald Grove, with Lakrissa and the bard."

She knew the spot; they could easily reach there in a quarter hour on foot. But first, she scooted away and undid the flap of her tent to peer out for any signs of activity.

Everything outside was very still. She watched carefully for another moment just in case; near Wyll's tent, Scratch snuffled and buried his snout further against the owlbear cub's feathers. Beyond that, there were no signs of stirring in the camp.

She ducked back inside the tent for a moment. "C'mon—"

With quiet, shuffling feet, they crept out into the quiet moonlit night. Scratch's head raised silently in their direction. She stared into his dark eyes with a silent plea, begging him to be a good boy and stay quiet. He lowered his head back down without a sound. She swore to herself that she would find him the biggest, juiciest bone in the morning.

She grabbed Rolan's hand behind her and tugged him quietly through camp. They passed tent after tent filled with steady breathing, boots padding against the dirt in near-silence.

Once they were outside the ruined wall at the edge of the campsite, she let out her pent-up breath in relief.

Rolan kept his fingers twined firmly with hers as they walked through the moonlight. They talked about anything to fill the air, about things that didn't matter, both trying to stave off the impending end of their short night together.

Far sooner than felt fair, they rounded into a familiar clearing, and she knew his destination was just up the hill to their left.

"Well," she began, as they slowed to a stop.

Before she knew it, she was pulled against Rolan’s chest in a tight embrace. She folded herself into him as completely as she could manage, breathing deep and committing his scent to memory.

When they broke apart, he kept her close so he could see her face in the moonlight. "Which route will you take to reach the Shadow lands?"

"Through the Underdark if we can," she answered. "I wasn't sure about it, but we all took a vote after the fight yesterday. What about you three?"

"I don't know," Rolan said honestly. "It depends how Zevlor decides. We're all going to travel together as far as we can."

"Oh," she said. She ought to say something reassuring about how that was a wise tactical choice, but she was overcome with the realization that she might not see Rolan again for many weeks. Possibly not until they both reached Baldur's Gate.

In that moment, she fervently regretted not fucking this wonderful man into tomorrow when she'd had the chance—wine be damned. From the way Rolan was looking at her, she wondered if he was thinking the same.

Instead, she leaned in to kiss him one last time with everything she had. She wanted to remember the way his shoulders fit perfectly under her arms. Rolan’s grip closed around her middle, and in the next instant she felt her feet dangle weightless as he lifted her off the ground into him.

The kiss had to end eventually. As he lowered her onto her feet, she touched back down to dirt and reality.

“Your hair,” she gasped suddenly. It hung loose to his shoulders, his red ear tips poking from between the locks. It was a very handsome look for him.

Rolan raised a hand up in realization himself. “I’ll figure something—” he began, but she was already tugging at the leather lace that fastened her shirt. She raised it to her mouth to bite off a short length.

Before he could stop her, she stood on tiptoe to gather Rolan’s hair behind his head the way he usually kept it. Her arms circled him as she tied it halfway back with the makeshift string. She could feel his eyes on her face, but she steadily avoided meeting his gaze. She foolishly felt like she might cry if she did.

“There,” she sniffed as she pulled away.

Rolan only gave her a gentle smile. “Thank you,” he said, dipping his horns to her one more time.

Telling him goodbye hurt just to think about. “Good night,” she whispered to him instead.

“It has been,” Rolan agreed. “The very, very best.”

#this one turned out much longer than i expected #how very much i love him #rolan x tav #bg3 rolan #rolan bg3 #underdark-dreams #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate 3 spoilers #tav pov for a little change

411 notes · View notes

bonny-kookoo · 1 year ago

Text

Sugar (C)Rush Short: Heated 🔞

In which you finally get what you want, but its more than you'd thought.

Tags/Warnings: Wolf!Jungkook, Dog!Reader, Smut, NSFW, Slow sex, protected sex because we wrap it up in this household, knotting oops, a lot of.. fluids, very fluff, soft, so soft, nesting, biting?, they're so cute

Length: 2k Words

There is no taglist for this fic.

-> Masterlist

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

Jungkook is definitely not in a hurry, that's for sure.

He seems entirely content watching you struggle on his lap, grinding into his hand for any sort of relief, though it's not that easy. "Have you ever spent it with anyone before?" He asks gently, tucking some of your hair behind your ear before his hand holds your lower back again, giving you a sense of security on your position on his lap.

You shake your head, and he chuckles, curling his finger a little, which makes you jump from the sudden movement. "So I'm your first?" He wonders, and you nod, stilling a little.

"Is that.. bad?" You ask, a little confused and also out of breath, but he laughs, and shakes his head.

"Means I don't have to compete first of all-" He jokes, before leaning back a bit further, and pushing your behind forward- making you realize rather quickly what exactly you're now sitting on. "-but also makes me wanna make sure I'll stay your one and only." He hums with a dark gaze, something that makes you squirm a little.

"But-" You worry a little, ears tilted backwards, as his hand reaches out to caress your cheek. "-you're a wolf? Don't you wanna.. have fun, you know, until you find your mate?" You ask, and he smiles at you, shrugging.

"Who says I haven't found it already?" He tells you charmingly, making you shy away a little from him. "I'm not joking." He tells you, and you're not sure what to say now.

"Can we.. maybe, nest together?" You ask, quietly as if you don't want to be heard- but he hears it clearly, and nods.

"Of course. We don't have to do anything at all-" He tells you, but you shake your head, without thinking pressing down a little on his pretty obvious tent in his pants, making him groan out.

"Oh- sorry-" You apologize, but he's still smiling, taking it lightly. "But uh.. I do want to, but like, I don't know.. properly?" You wonder, and he nods, understanding.

"Of course." He smiles, helping you onto your feet to go gather all the blankets you think might be necessary for a proper nest- constantly looking at Jungkook for reassurance, which he happily provides. You're worried the longer you take the less he'll be interested in.. well, that, but it doesn't seem like he's bothered at all.

It's relaxing, comfortable. Makes you feel more at ease than you thought you would be.

You're not sure what to really do as you move the blankets and pillows around in the living room, but he's quick to help you in that task. And as soon as he realizes you're satisfied with it as you lean into the sides of the nest, finally laying down to rub your scent all over it, he's all over you. His hands are pressing your back into his front, face in your neck as he nips at the skin, teeth biting playfully, not enough to hurt.

He's still just playing around.

But you want more.

You let yourself fall down onto your back beneath him, eagerly accepting his heated kisses while you squirm under his exploring hands. Unbeknownst to you, your scent is already driving him crazy- but he's using all of his willpower to control himself and take things slow. Not just for your sake-

But also because he really enjoys seeing you so desperate.

He complies with your wordless request to lose his shirt- and while you're a little bit intimidated, you try and stay calm. It's not like you believe he'd hurt you. It's more the insecurity of your currently very much not as lean body he's about to see, lower stomach a little bloated from the hormones rushing through you- for once without any medication to control them.

But he doesn't seem appalled at all once he pulls your top over your head. If anything, he appears to be even more eager now, hands running over your warm skin, lips kissing your neck and shoulder. "You're so pretty." He compliments randomly, breathlessly, and you can't do much more than whine, tail wagging. "Hm?" He chuckles, leans back on his heels as he pulls your legs over one of his shoulders, pulling both your shorts and underwear off in one go, before he lets them fall down somewhere in the distance. Your legs are lowered again, and so is he- mouth and hand on you now, clearly starting to explore what makes you feel the best.

His fingers feel foreign inside you, so much better than your own, and you can't help but buck your hips a little at the sensations of it all. His tongue is warm, sometimes running flat over your heat, and occasionally, he closes his lips over your sensitive nerves to gently suck. It's all so new and unclear- you never really know what's coming next, and maybe for once, you're not scared about that fact. Because it's him- and he knows what's best, right?

Once he's pleased with whatever he's been doing to you does he open his own jeans, finally getting rid of the last pieces of clothing hiding his skin away from you.

And one look is enough for you to now know why he'd brought that.. bottle of clear lube with him.

"You know, I brought the lube for a reason.." He almost.. shyly tells you, hand teasing you between your legs, almost playfully coating his own fingers in your clear arousal. "..but I don't think I actually need it." He teases, before he moves to roll the condom over himself, the hand that's been occupied with you just moments prior now running over the entirety of his length base to tip, making you swallow almost impatiently at the sight. "If anything hurts-" he starts, but you just whimper in complaint.

"-I'll tell you. Please-!" You beg, legs pulled close to your stomach to present to him, and he can't help the soft growl that escapes him at the sight of your submissive impatience, skin all flushed and hips unable to stay still it seems. The hairs of your fluffy tail stick together in little groups at the base, wet from your own arousal having slowly traveled down, slowly reaching the sheets below you by now.

He pulls on your knees before be adjusts your position to his preference- having you lay somewhat sideways, one leg held by his hand under your thigh over his waist while the other stays on the bed, comfortably stretched out. He doesn't need much help even from himself to find your entrance, tip easily slipping inside, and he can already feel you clenching around nothing. "So needy.." he teases, before he pushes quite a bit, a sigh leaving you as you feel him filling you up inch by inch.

He goes slow, steady, let's you adjust for as long as you have to, patiently scanning your body and face for any signs of discomfort as he moves along. He's making your head spin and thoughts go silent, nothing on your mind but him- as you slowly let yourself go, very much aware of what's happening to you- and one look is shared with him, before you let your instincts take control, his own reacting almost immediately.

And then he pulls back, just to push back in with a lot more force than before, a wet smack accompanying the motion. You can't keep your voice quiet, the moan escaping you soft but audible, and he smiles to himself, watching you. He does it again, leans over you now, free hand pushing into the blankets you're laying on right next to your waist, lips finding yours in a heated kiss.

Now you understand what other hybrids mean when they say how good your heat can feel with the right partner.

The deeper he goes, the more your body feels like it's on a Rollercoaster- that distinctive feeling in your stomach making your hips writhe while he leans back a little, holding your thigh to keep you close while his hips move sinfully. Normally, your mind would be full of worry.

But right now, it's just filled with the need for pleasure- the need to be as close as you can to him.

"So good.." he sighs, eyes focusing on the sticky strings of your arousal clinging to his skin already, wet sounds accompanying every soft thrust he delivers to you, slow moving, everything still casual, soft, gentle- and he plans to keep it this way, for now, to slowly ease you into it. He can't wait to breed you properly one day, make love to you until your body gives up- but for this time, he behaves, goes slow, let's you adjust.

This isn't about him, after all. It's all about you, and the connection you're creating in this moment.

And he can't say that he's missing anything either- though true, that he's typically a more.. active lover, always needing a certain sense of excitement and primal form of aggression, but for the first time, he doesn't actually mind this slow love at all. He enjoys this fully, if only for the look on your face, head pushed back into the pillows below, soft sighs and eager whining coming from you, as you stretch your arms above your head, back arching in pleasure. You're pushing yourself closer to him, leg now moving to turn yourself over onto your back instead, ankles pulling yourself closer as your heels push against the small of his back, making his hips snap against you a little harsher, skin against skin now louder in the room.

"Such a pretty girl.." He hums breathlessly, hands grabbing at your thighs as he pulls you closer, your legs becoming restless as you begin to clearly chase your first high. your tone raises in pitch, breaths coming shorter, as you clench around his length inside you, and he himself can feel his own high approaching as well. His hands become eager to touch, your skin too warm and soft and enticing to not run his fingers over, the need to feel you suffocating almost.

It's then that he changes positions once more, now leaning over you, lips catching yours in a heated kiss that's clearly trying to steal your breath. His tongue is eager to taste you, and you willingly let him, all shame thrown out the window as he picks up the pace, finally giving you the last push you needed as you whine out, tipping over the edge as he snaps his hips into yours, moving to instead bite at your neck, your shoulder, your collarbone. He needs to mark you up, has to claim you, because if this isn't love, then love has to be a lie.

He has to keep you. Needs you at his side forever. You're it for him, and he knows it- realizing only seconds after his knot locks him inside you, that the bond between you both has snapped into place.

Mates.

He never thought it was actually a real thing- always somehow thought it was just a very romanticized fictional story people talk about when they think of their partners. Like soulmates, it was just a pretty little story to him- but this? This is real. So much so that it almost hurts.

He holds you close long after you both reached your highs, and it's not just because of his knot keeping you locked inside you. It's also to bond with you fully, arms reaching to adjust the nest around you, pulling the blankets closer to support your back, while he makes sure to not make you uncomfortable or hurt you by moving too much.

You on the other hand just cling to him and his warm skin, his scent and his care and his overall emotional energy keeping you close, as if there's an invisible string keeping you attached. You don't know it yet- you'll probably figure it out once you're in a more rational headspace again, however. But for now, it doesn't matter.

For now, you just exist.

For now, you're both just simply in love.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #hybrid imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #bts smut #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook imagine #bts jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader

968 notes · View notes

photo1030 · 1 year ago

Text

Leather and Lace - Chapter 18: Feelings Revealed

Part 4 - SEE ME, FEEL ME, TOUCH ME, HEAL ME

Summary: You and Arthur finally have your first night together.

Warning: 18+ please, Minors - DNI; This is a long one, too.

*I had another title for this, but as I was listening to The Who, this lyric began to play as I was editing and it just seemed to fit this chapter perfectly.

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

*These are NOT my images. However, I have seen them in multiple versions and on multiple sources. So I don't know who the owners are to credit. But if anyone knows, let me know.

Tag List: @rivetingrosie4 @bimbo-dollz @pine4pple-b0i @redwritr @kuri-chans-blog @queer-sadie-adler @joelmillerswifey @gimmethosedaddymilkers @pcotarelo @delilah-grimes @maemortem @wistfulwisteriawitch @lilacxxdreams @mentallyillfrogs @absolutegeek @spurz @sophiaj650 @uniqueclodzinevoid @lookingformaurice @pawoui @randomidk-123 @yyiikes @eddiemetalheadmunson @twola @kmartkiddieisle @red-dead-simp @regwishesshehadmagic @rhehr241 @earwen-x @akariver75 @djennty @nervousmumbling @xliliths @unbotheredbeeeee @onnetonprinsessa @kittiowolf210 @ezrynn @suhiss @arthurmargon @codnerd1999 @queer-sadie-adler @alice-vanderlinde @sweetandstoned21 @j4llyf7sh @spooky631 @m0r4rx @ilovrxats @i-69-urmom @ddbluesie @ivuravix @nervousmumbling @sickvictorianangel @tirededuxhours @ezzythereal1 @chloepluto1306 @ivys-valentine @spiritcatcherxo

*I tagged people who expressed interest in the continued story. If you’d like to be added or removed, please let me know. There are a few that would not let me link, so I apologize if this doesn’t ping some people.

Arthur gets a small fire going outside the lean-to hunting shelter. The fire burns a deep red and vibrant yellow as the flames lick up around the logs. It’s a soft and comforting sight, the popping and crackling of the wood drowning out all other sounds in the forest this evening. The sky is deepening to a majestic royal purple hue, with its diamond-glittering stars emerging like a crown. The glow of the fire casts its light only upon your little shelter and the immediate area surrounding it as if protecting you inside of an intimate little sphere made just for the two of you.

With his task complete, Arthur moves into the shelter and sits down on the ground, nervously wiping his hands on the sides of his pants as he looks over and watches as you flit about to fix the make-shift bedding. You’ve rolled out his bedroll and fanned out a blanket overtop. You’ve even taken off your jacket, rolling it into a pillow of sorts and tucking it under the other fabrics.

Part of your fidgeting is because you want everything to be perfect. The other part is because you are so nervous. Although, you are not really sure why. Arthur is the one person in the world who you feel the most comfortable and safe with. And yet, with all of the previous restrictions and obstacles now removed, you almost feel more vulnerable than ever.

When you finish fidgeting with the bedroll and blanket, you turn and look down at him, meeting his gaze with a shy smile gracing your features. You nervously bite your bottom lip as you hesitate for just a moment before you hike up your skirts. Loosely balling the cotton into your hands to show just the slightest amount of your calves, you move to sit on Arthur’s lap. And straddling his hips so that you can face him, you slowly lower yourself down on top of his folded legs.

He tentatively sets his hands on your hips to help guide you down. Your hands come to rest upon the sides of his neck and shoulders for support, but you leave them there for a few moments after you settle, the muscle and bulk of his body keenly radiating through your fingertips.

Arthur’s hands carefully come up around your neck, his long fingers stretching around to the back and into your hair as his thumbs brush against your chin. He cradles your face, staring as if he hasn't seen you in years, because now he sees you in a whole new light, more radiant and precious to him than ever before.

You and Arthur simply sit and stare at each other with no words spoken, neither of you sure where to even begin. And yet the anticipation is epic. The comforting silence that encompasses the air is like that that follows the rain. The soft crackling of the fire just outside the shelter is the only sound you hear besides your measured breathing.

Excitement fills your mind as you cannot believe that this is finally happening. But suddenly, you have the fear that Arthur is going to change his mind about this whole thing; that he’s going to get up and bolt from you. Now that you are actually here alone together, you are filled with insecurity. What if he doesn’t like what he sees? You are not the prettiest girl in camp. What if you're too forward? What if you're not forward enough? (He is an outlaw after all.)

But your whole internal struggle is ridiculous, because Arthur is having the same exact conversation with himself in his own mind right now. He’s ugly. He’s riddled with scars and calluses. He’s older than you, too. And, he is not a good man.

But what neither of you realize is that despite how broken you both are, you are exactly what the other wants and needs.

His hands release your face, smoothing down over your shoulders and arms to now rest gingerly on your upper thighs. Arthur’s mind races as he stares at you perched so perfectly upon his lap, right where he’s always wanted you. He wrestles with his self-doubt, but in contrast, he also has to deal with his own heated desires. He's wanted you for so, so long. It is all he can do to restrain himself from throwing you down and roughly taking you here and now.

But eventually, your hand lifts and moves slowly like a butterfly hovering in the air to lay across his cheek. His skin is warm and his beard stubble tickles the palm of your hand. Arthur slowly closes his eyes the moment your fingers graze his skin. He slightly leans into your hand as he places his own massive one overtop of yours to hold it in place, basking in the tenderness found there. It is like a gift that he’s rarely received in his life, and his reaction to your simple gesture almost makes your heart break for him.

Your fingers soon leave his face and proceed to his neck to pull at the knot of his neckerchief which quickly comes off and gets tossed to the side. Then your thumbs gracefully hook under his suspenders to lower them down off his broad shoulders. Although your movements are fluid like water, you can feel Arthur’s whole body begin to stiffen a bit in apprehension under you.

With the suspenders out of the way, you drift back up to the collar of his shirt, hesitating but just for a moment. You slowly begin to unbutton, working the fasteners back through the holes with slightly shaking fingers. Your eyes follow the trail of your fingers, but Arthur’s gaze never leaves your face, watching you so intently as you work. The glow of the fire outside warms your skin and causes copper flecks to dance in your eyes. He takes note how your breathing has become a bit faster, yet shallow. He’s not sure if it is from nervousness or second thoughts.

When you get to the last button at his waistline your hands float up again, resembling the wingspan of a dove, and tuck under the collar. You slowly push the worn cotton fabric back and off of Arthur’s massive shoulders. Your fingertips trace along the thick sinewy muscles of his arms as you continue to push the fabric down to reveal more of his skin to you. The cool air nips at his skin the moment it is exposed. However, it’s a welcoming sensation to wake him up and anchor him to the present before he drifts off entirely and loses himself.

Once freed from the garment, your fingertips retrace their path, dancing back up along Arthur’s arms again until they find his shoulders. They continue to explore along his strong neck and move back up to cradle his jawline, until you are holding his handsome face in your hands once more. You pull Arthur in to you for another kiss; slow, deep and passionate. You close your eyes, savoring the taste of his lips. This kiss, just this simple kiss is all it takes for your heart to lose its balance. And all you want to do is fall.

Arthur’s hands suddenly leave your hips to clutch at your back hungrily while you kiss. He pulls at the bottom of your blouse, lifting it up enough so that he can place his hand onto the bare skin of your lower back, which is softer than he could’ve imagined.

You lean back from him just enough to catch your breath, reluctant to break the kiss, and take the opportunity to pull your blouse and chemise over your head and toss it to the side, leaving yourself now chest bare before Arthur. The movement causes your hair to ruffle, the locks falling softly like fire ash in the wind to frame your face.

Arthur blinks a few times and locks onto your eyes, as if testing if his are allowed to roam. At this precarious little moment, he is literally standing on the precipice of no return, and happily waiting to plunge over the side and into your arms.

Your soft smile gives him permission to explore and Arthur swallows thickly as he lets his gaze draw down your face and over your delicate throat, where he catches the skin flicker as you swallow and your pulse quickens. His eyes continue to float down across the delicate curve of your clavicle, until finally landing on your breasts. You watch his reaction closely, noticing his breath hitch slightly as you feel his body shift underneath you.

Arthur sits motionless, taking in the sight and taking time to appreciate the sheer beauty before him. He has waited and prayed for this moment and he wants not a second of it to be rushed. You reach down and collect his left hand into both of your own and bring it to your lips to softly kiss his dirt-stained knuckles before placing his hand on your right breast, closing his thick fingers around it. A soft puff of air huffs out of his nose at the intimate contact. Arthur draws his thumb across the bud of your nipple and gently squeezes the flesh, amazed at how supple it is.

You slowly remove your left hand from his and reach to set it upon his firm chest, trailing your fingers through the soft curls of golden-brown hair that is scattered across his body. You start at his collarbone and drift downward before placing your small, delicate palm directly over his heart.

"I can feel your heartbeat." You smile, pausing to experience the fluttering under your fingertips. "Can you feel mine?" you innocently ask him, staring at him with wide and hopeful eyes. You look at Arthur as if he is so special, so wondrous, that the feeling seems so foreign to him; almost as if it actually hurts him to be gazed upon so intensely like this. But it is not so much as the way you look at him, but how you can’t bring yourself to look at anything else.

“I feel your heart, your breath, your skin, your hair," he rambles as he gently pulls at a lock. "…everything.”

The poor man is so overwhelmed. All of his senses are saturated: seeing you perched on his lap so close that he can count the freckles on your cheeks, your honeyed voice and soft giggles of excitement ringing in his ears. He can taste you on his lips as you kiss.

And the kisses… dear God, you have lips so soft yet firm that they draw the very breath from his lungs. The feeling of your tongues rolling over each other is heavenly. But it’s your touch that does him in. When you caress Arthur’s tired face, or run your hand along his strong and burdened shoulders, he sweetly shudders beneath you.

It's been a long time since Arthur has done this; has allowed someone else to touch him in this way. Sure, there were Mary and Eliza, with the occasional working girl for the dire release, but those instances were far and few between. But Arthur has cut himself off for so long that he can’t even remember the last time he was touched like this. He can't even stand to look at himself, how could he manage to let a woman see him in this state?

Touch starved doesn’t even begin to describe it. And Arthur didn't notice how bad it was until the moment you ran your fingers along his bare arms and chest, your fingers caressing his face. Or, maybe it is just that it is specifically you touching him that is driving him crazy with desire right now.

You eventually begin to explore his body, and trace your fingers along several scars in particular along his chest, arms, and torso, mesmerized by them. Some are larger than others. Some are less angry-looking as time has healed them. But all show the contrast between an old wound and the tanned skin they bury into.

Being self conscious, Arthur instantly stiffens and tries not to instinctively recoil from you as your attention focuses on his scars. You don't pull back in revulsion as he had expected you to. But you simply stare and curiously run your finger over each one that you can find, like studying the fine thread work of a tapestry, and wondering how it got there.

"I know I ain’t much to look at for you," Arthur mutters lowly and embarrassed.

The comment causes you to look up into his eyes with a twinkle in your own before you lean over and softly begin to kiss each scar that you can reach with your lips. Each patch of hardened tissue is a target of your divine attention. The gesture catches Arthur off-guard and his eyes roll shut with a sigh at the feeling of your delicate lips on his damaged skin.

After a few moments of sweetly-delivered kisses, you sit up to look him in the eye again. "Your scars aren’t ugly, Arthur. They tell your story.” Your voice is an angelic whisper, both light-hearted and earnest at the same time; almost childlike in its wonderment. “They are a testament to how strong you really are, and of all of the things you’ve been through. Others would have crumbled under half the weight you’ve had to endure. You're like a tree; strong and weathered, and where everyone takes refuge."

Your hands dance along his chest again until your index finger lands on one scar in particular that is about three inches from his heart. Your face turns dark for a second, your brows furrowed at the thought of the glaring hardship that he unquestioningly assumes on behalf of everyone else that he cares for.

"You take the brunt of the storm while everyone is protected by you, Arthur." You gaze at him from under your thick lashes with a look of concern that darkens your once-bright face, worried about his well-being.

“Yeah, I’m rough and gnarled like an ol’ oak tree”, he sighs with a sad little self-deprecating grin as his fingertips drum nervously on your back.

The effervescent giggle that bubbles from your lips at his statement is music to his ears as that grin of yours that Arthur loves so much blooms across your cheeks.

“Yes, you’re rough, I’ll give you that,” you chuckle in agreement. “But, also like an old oak tree, every once in awhile, Arthur, you show the most magnificent colors.” The demure little smile that graces your face is enough to make Arthur’s heart stop.

He’s not used to this. He’s been denied attention for so long. Which is ironic, as all you want to do is touch him: run your fingers along his face, draw your leg along his, push yourself up against his bare chest. It's hard for you to imagine anyone ever thinking Arthur is not enough as he is all that you ever seem to think about.

Arthur pulls you to him again for more kisses which you happily reciprocate. The more you touch each other, the more the two of you relax and let go of the inhibitions and hesitations; the comfort settling upon you two like a warm blanket. Your kisses quickly lead to tight embraces, holding each other so close that it's possible that a rib may crack. Heavy breathing and gentle, needy moaning begins to fill the quiet night air.

Getting bolder, Arthur places hot, wet lips along your jawline, down your neck and over your collarbone, getting more and more greedy as your chin gently drops back to grant him access to the sensitive skin underneath. A contented sigh pulls from your slightly gaped mouth as his tongue darts out to leave trails along that soft spot on your chest above your breasts. Your arms affectionately cradle his head to you as your fingers comb through the amber-colored locks of his hair that are forever-embedded with faint hints of woodsmoke.

It is such a blissful moment as you feel each other wrapped in the other’s arms, held so close that every inch of you is heightened and yearning for more.

Arthur eventually rolls you to lay you down, his own body pinning the side of yours to the ground. Your leg lifts to intertwine with his as your arms slot under his own like a puzzle piece as he deepens the passion with hungry lips and curious hands. Closing your eyes only enhances the extension of his touch as he continues. Everywhere Arthur’s fingers and lips graze, the sensation bursts forth to travel the entire scope of your body.

He eventually sits up on his knees, straddling your right leg, to pull at the strings of your skirt. He’s trying not to get impatient when his giant fingers fumble with the ties. But quick enough, the waistline comes loose and Arthur’s fingers hook underneath and slowly pull the fabric back to expose your hips, and all their glory in between, before showcasing your legs.

Arthur’s hand comes up to cover his mouth in awe as he takes in the sight of you lying naked beneath him. Slightly embarrassed under his heated gazed, you instinctively pull your legs up a bit, curling in on yourself like a potato bug to try to hide from the exposure. Upon seeing your reaction, Arthur gives you a reassuring smile and leans overtop of you to protectively shield you from the world outside the shelter. His hand caresses your face, a gesture so gentle that belies his gruff exterior.

“You are so beautiful, you know that?” he whispers to you, kissing your temple. But Arthur’s compliment only makes your cheeks turn as red as the fire outside as you hide your face into his bare chest.

“Stop it”, you mumble into his muscles, self-conscious of his praise.

“Oh, so it's okay for you to say nice things, but not me?” he teases with that gruff baritone voice. “I see how it's gonna be.”

“You deserve to hear it more than I do.” Your voice is small and humble, averting your eyes from his as you roll your fingertips around his chest hair.

“Bullshit. If that ain’t the biggest lie I ever heard…”, his nose nudging against yours before encompassing your mouth with his own again.

Arthur carefully moves to crawl completely over you. Both of you are shaking slightly, but it's not from the chill night air. His movements are slow at first, terrified of hurting you physically or offending you with his pent up lust. His hands begin to roam more freely over your skin, which is softer than he ever dreamed.

Now that he finally has you, Arthur is eager to see every bit of you. His lips kiss over the faint lines and stretch marks that occasionally decorate your skin. His fingertips trace them first as he discovers every bit of you. His attention eventually lands on the soft swell of your breasts, which he caresses before clamping his hot mouth over the nipple, his tongue flicking and swirling over the highly-sensitive skin. You softly hum as your hands find their way to come up again to finger through his hair, your nails dragging slightly across his scalp before lightly grabbing onto the thick waves.

Your image, your shape, gets burned into Arthur’s brain as he continues his line of kisses and fingertrails all over your body: every curve, every freckle, even the soft roll of your stomach and hips. Everywhere Arthur touches makes you melt, as his hands are hot like the sun from his own want mixed with his nervousness.

Your heat is so sensitive as his hand carefully drops to caress it, causing you to jump slightly with a whimper. His fingertips linger around your soft mound until they dance along the delicate folds, already slick with want as you buck slightly into his hand, panting hotly into his mouth. His face now hovers so close to yours, close enough for his eyelashes to tickle your skin, as he gently slips a digit into you. Your spine arches back at the sensation of it, a breathless moan escaping your kiss-swollen lips and your toes begin to curl in pleasure.

Arthur watches your reaction carefully as he pumps his finger into you. Your eyes roll back as your chin lifts, your mouth sharply sucking in air. Your hand desperately reaches out to grasp his bicep with desire. Your eyes open again to meet his gaze, burning into each other with such intensity. His hand moves faster, adding a second digit now, and curls them to rub that certain spot so perfectly. The sensation draws the most beautiful moan from your lips. It is a sound that almost makes Arthur weep.

Suddenly, the realization of what’s about to happen hits him. What if he’s not good enough? What if you reject him after this? What if he hurts you? What if this ruins the one good thing he has in his life? Arthur pauses in his worship of you, retracting from between your legs for a moment. His hand graces over your forehead as his thumb lingers at the corner of your eyebrow.

“Are you sure this is what you want, (Y/N)?” His eyes crease with concern as he searches yours, not 100% sure if he should continue. “We don’t have to do this right now.”

But you are getting restless. You’ve been pushed to the limit in body, mind, and soul by this man and it is time to put an end to your longing. You cup Arthur’s face again with a look of seriousness settling across your features as you are afraid that maybe he is having second thoughts after all.

Your (y/e/c) eyes burn into his with such intensity and longing. “I only want you, Arthur. Of that, I am certain.”

Arthur inhales deeply, weighing the possible consequences. “If this is too much, you need to tell me. Promise?”

You lift up slightly and give him a chaste kiss upon his plump lips. “I promise.”

Giving a faint smile in acceptance, Arthur pulls away from you. He carefully stands up again, stooping slightly in the small shelter, and begins to unbuckle his pants. With no union suit on today, his remaining layers of clothing are quick to come off. His hardened cock springs forth from its confines as he bends to shuck the pants and boots from his legs.

You watch him intently, taking in the vision of him. Arthur truly is a beautiful specimen of a man. You have patched him up multiple times after jobs and fights, and of course there was that time when you accidentally stumbled upon him bathing in the river, so you have seen him before. But now you are free to observe his body, to truly take in the sight of him and appreciate the man standing before you.

Of course, he is muscular, his arms and thighs thick from years of hard labor. His entire body is littered with hair, but not in an unpleasant way. Now that he is completely naked in front of you, even more scars are made known to you. You notice old knife wounds on his thighs and an old white scar creeping up along his shin. He almost resembles a ragdoll, one that is tattered and has been stitched back together over time.

Arthur tosses his pants to the side and looks down at you, hesitating when he notices how keenly you gaze at him. Seeing his look of concern, you sit up to run your hands up his thighs and reach over his abdomen, making the mental note of how his bodyhair trials downward towards the V between his legs. When your face tilts upwards towards his, he leans in for another impassioned kiss before gently pushing you back down and settling himself between your legs.

Arthur shifts between your hips, getting his knees and elbow set. Caging you underneath him, he begins to rock back and forth causing his whole body to rub against yours. The rhythmic motion lulls you into a relaxed state like no other. You can feel his cock beginning to twitch as it pushes against your heat as if begging for attention. You hear him hiss slightly under his breath, fighting to keep his composure before he loses all self control. The sound makes you moan and mewl on your own accord.

Finally, it’s at the point where Arthur just can’t wait any longer, and neither can you by the way you're grasping and whining at him. He reaches down between you to line himself up and pushes himself into you so gently. Your hand immediately shoots out to his shoulder, bracing yourself. He's well-endowed between his legs and he knows it. Your eyes meet his, holding his gaze as he stretches you so wonderfully below, causing you to lightly gasp. He watches your face as you wince slightly, letting out a brief whimper as he pushes. He's trying to be so mindful of your comfort, knowing he's going to fully bury himself into you to the hilt.

"You alright?" Arthur cautiously asks as he grabs and hooks his arm under your leg, lifting it up and over his hip to open you up more to him.

"Yes", you pant out, smiling sweetly and lifting your face up to kiss him gently again. He takes a brief moment to get himself adjusted and then begins to move, causing your breathing to be heavy in his ear. He pushes his cock all the way into you, grunting at the heavenly sensation of it, before retracting again. He moves so slowly at first, but then begins to move at a steady pace. The experience is so utterly amazing to you both as you can feel every inch of each other in the most intimate of ways.

He begins to pump himself in and out as your whole body moves with him. You hook your arm around Arthur’s wide shoulders and neck while the other hand has a tight grasp onto his bicep, fingers digging into the muscles there. After a few moments, he wants to ask again if you're okay, but when your mouth falls open and he hears the words, "damn, Arthur" whispered into his ear, he knows his answer.

But you can still see the apprehension in Arthur’s face; feel it in his fingers as he touches you. He buries his face into your neck and holds you so tightly as his hips find their place in a steady rhythm between yours. Yet Arthur is still so hesitant, still holding back from you as if nervous.

"Arthur…I need you," your whisper to him barely audible.

“You're sure about this?” he asks again, lifting his face from your neck to look into yours. “I mean, I really don’t want to hurt you, (Y/N), after everything and all.” Arthur sweetly searches for any misgivings, for any sign that you are not ready for this next step.

“I want all of you, Arthur," your voice yearning with desire as you cup his face again. You are so touched that this sometimes-brutal man can be so careful with you, especially in this situation. "It’s okay. I’m tougher than you think." You give him a little nod as his favorite little smile graces your lips once more.

And just like that, that confirmation is all that Arthur needs as he suddenly crashes into your lips, hot and all consuming this time. His thrusts instantly become deep and steady as his hips begin to snap sharply into yours with the ferocity of a caged beast that has been released back into the wild. And you gasp in the most satisfied way as you give in to him.

“That’s it,” you pant, praising him as you wrap your one leg around his waist to pull him deeper into you, while using the other to stabilize yourself against his force and push yourself up to receive him.

It doesn’t take long for Arthur to give in to his long-denied desires and lose himself completely, drowning in his senses. He didn’t realize just how empty his soul was until you were there to fill it again. And you are more than happy to be the one to provide that comfort to him. It’s the simplest, yet most selfless thing that you could offer him with your humble existence.

Arthur used to think that he just wanted to disappear sometimes, to get lost from everyone and everything in the world. But what he realizes is that all he’s ever wanted was to be truly found. And clinging to him, you are just as desperate as Arthur is. Loneliness isn’t something just for an outlaw. You wrap yourself up into him, into his arms, against his barrel chest which is heaving and trying to catch the air for the lungs within as he moves faster and faster on top of you.

“Don’t let me go." Your plea wafts into his ear as tears form in the corners of your eyes as the weight of everything that you've been through and everything you've been waiting for, finally comes to a culmination.

”Never” is all he manages to murmur in response, not even sure if you hear him.

The feeling of Arthur on top of you, of him inside of you, is so wonderfully overwhelming and electric. The fullness of him inside you, his rough hands on your skin, his soft lips nipping at your jawline, and his hot breath on your neck, it’s all as if lightning has hit you and is traveling throughout your entire body. Your skin is buzzing with the exquisite sensation, acutely aware of even his chest hair as it drags and rubs against your sensitive breasts as he moves.

Arthur grabs onto your hip again, digging his fingertips into the soft flesh there. There will be slight bruising there for sure later, but neither of you are in any frame of mind to acknowledge or care right now. His cock continues to ram into you, hitting the back of your walls as his girth stretches you so wonderfully. His thrusts are sharp and hard, more desperate than harsh, chasing you, as if you’ll vanish from him in moments like the sun burning the morning fog away.

It is a good thing that your first time together is out and away from anyone else in camp. It gives you both the opportunity to explore and appreciate each other properly. But it also allows you to be free and unrestricted, as the sounds of your lovemaking burst forth in waves of moaning, squeals, and grunting, only getting louder and louder with each cascading wave of building ecstasy.

Looking down at you, Arthur never thought he’d see you like this: flushed and pupils blown, your mouth fallen open and making the most incredible noises in his ear. In all the time he's watched you from afar and sketched your image to keep privately for himself, Arthur never dreamed it could be like this. He looks down at himself pounding into you, watching how your body shudders with each stroke. Like a musician playing a fiddle, you move and moan with his fingers. Your chest heaves while your back arches at an almost inhuman angle, desperate to receive more of him. It makes him want you even more. It's crazy how your body responds in perfect union to his. Every time you moan his name in broken syllables and wanton whispers, Arthur shudders and groans even more as it is a confirmation that you are really here for him and only him. And like a selfish child, he wants you all to himself.

The two of you form a beautifully ungraceful knot of limbs and noises, hard to tell where one of you begins and the other ends. Arthur rocks into your hips like a wave on the ocean, repeatedly surging and retreating. Your hands wrap under his arms to grip the planes of his back as your fingers dig into the hard muscle there, clawing for a handhold. You draw your knee up, causing your hips to open wider and granting Arthur more access to your core before your heels dig into the backs of his thighs. And in reaction to your movements, he swallows each of your gasps with his mouth, hungry for you. He winds his hand up into your hair again, pulling slightly to tip your chin back to expose the delicate area of your throat and allowing him to claim what is his with a twinkle of pure delight in his eyes. Your mouth opens up into a soundless scream, an airless breath that fights to escape your chest. And all the while, you are completely absent of coherent thought. Your mind is taken over by the feel of Arthur completely encompassing you.

This goes on for what seems like hours, as time seems to stand still. For the first time in forever, this feels different for both of you. You cling to Arthur as if your life depends on it because maybe it does. Arthur is the very air you breathe. But that is okay, because he clings to you just the same. The two of you lie there, skin against skin, yet you still try to pull each other even closer. It's a wonder that either of you can move at all for how tightly you hold each other. But it's because you move in perfect unison together that you are able to make it work so heavenly.

In this beautiful moment, nestled in the thick of the forest and caressed by the darkness of the night, yet kissed by the glow of a fire, you and Arthur give in to each other so completely and so deeply, each finding that missing piece in each other to make you both whole once more. He is the strength that you so desperately need, and you are the hope and humanity that he lost so long ago.

Lightning begins to build in your abdomen as your climax is soon to come. You can’t even form words to tell him, but Arthur can tell by how much faster you're panting and squirming beneath him. Your hot breath dances across Arthur’s neck as your bottom teeth drag along his earlobe, causing an almost animalistic grunt to erupt from him.

Now it’s your turn to dig your fingers with bruising pressure as your fingernails begin to cut into the flesh of his strong back, holding onto him desperately while the crescendo builds between your legs. You throw your head back with a loud and overwhelmed moan the moment it hits, stars clouding your vision as your climax comes hard with full force like a tidal wave. Arthur stares at you, mesmerized, as his hand comes up to cradle your face as if he’s trying to actually catch the feeling of it into his palm. He is utterly amazed by you. He can’t remember when, or even if, he’s seen a woman react to his touch like this.

And with this sight, Arthur is soon to follow you. Moaning loudly, his eyes shoot wide before screwing tightly shut again to brace himself for the impending sensation about to rock his entire body. And the intensity of his orgasm hits him like a ton of bricks. Arthur quickly reaches up to fist your hair again as he pulls himself out of you just in time to release between your thighs. The muscles of his entire body tense up and restrict, clamping down tightly onto your body underneath him. His breathing becomes staggered and jagged as he sputters to catch his breath.

Arthur has a split second of panic as he pulls out of you, not sure if he has timed himself properly. He almost doesn’t make it because he can barely pry himself from your reflexive grasp to move. Aside from the obvious precautions against pregnancy, Arthur doesn't want to offend you by assuming he could release inside of you.

Arthur remains motionless for a few moments, still trying to catch his breath from his own orgasm, before his bear-like frame collapses onto you. You notice how sweetly his legs and arms tremble as he tries not to crush you beneath him. His face returns to the crook of your neck, panting hot breath onto your sweat-glistening skin. The cool night air is a blessing as a slight breeze chases away the excessive heat that radiates off of your naked bodies. You slowly drag your fingers up the valley of his spine, dancing along the back of his neck and into his hair as the feather-light touch of your fingers causes him to shudder again. You let out a satisfied moan as you flex your fingers into his sweat-damp hair.

Arthur eventually pulls himself up onto his elbows to look you in the face again and is relieved to be greeted by the softest of smiles. You place your hand along his cheek again, just as you did before, and lift up to pepper his face with sweet kisses along his jaw and his cheek and over his eyelids and nose.

Carefully, Arthur rolls off of you and onto his left side, but keeps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him as he moves. He reaches over you to grab his neckerchief that was discarded earlier and uses it to gently clean your legs and then himself before tossing it aside once more.

Laying there wrapped up into each other’s arms, you forget that the rest of the world exists. You stare into each other's eyes, soaking up the reality of what has just happened between you, as your hand floats up to nestle your fingertips in between the pectoral muscles of his chest. There is a new sense of depth to Arthur’s ocean-blue eyes, a calmness that you haven’t seen before. Arthur studies your face, taking in the way the firelight catches in your irises and mapping the curvature of your lips that he has to fight the urge to kiss again and again.

“So now what?” Arthur asks, finally breaking the blissful silence.

You release a hum of contented exhaustion as you smile at him. "This doesn’t have to be anything that you don’t want it to be, Arthur. Although I’m really hoping it goes past this moment."

“I gotta be honest, (Y/N), I haven’t done this in a long time. I...I don’t know if I can.” He draws his lips inward, biting down slightly as he’s embarrassed to tell you this, worried you’ll reject him here and now.

“But what you don’t realize, Arthur, is that’s where you have me at a disadvantage,” you tell him with a voice so soft and gentle. “At least you’ve had love before. I’ve never been fortunate enough to have what you had, even if it was only for a brief window of time.” You lovingly reach over and run the pads of your fingers over his lips and chin. A lop-sided grin dusts your face as you study him for a moment. “You are capable of so much more than you know, Arthur. I can’t wait for the day that you realize that.”

Arthur hums in contemplation, averting his eyes for a moment as the corners of his mouth lift a bit. His fingertips roll over the delicate skin of your back as your words embed themselves into his mind.

“I don’t want anything from you, Arthur. I just simply want you.” Your breathy voice carries your warm proclamation, assured with the glinting look that you give him.

“This could go so wrong, you know,” he warns, his eyebrows knit with concern as his gaze meets yours once again.

“True. But, it could go so right, too,” you counter with a smirk. “This could be the best thing to happen to either of us, Arthur." You reach over again and gracefully run your fingers through his hair before cupping his cheek again as your thumb gently swipes over his bottom lip. "And I think you’re worth the risk.”

Arthur runs his hand along your back and over your hips, taking in all of your beautiful words. He thinks he is just so ordinary. Or maybe not even that. But to you, he is extraordinary, vast and breathtaking like the bluest sky over the valley. And he can see it in your eyes when you look at him and it makes it hard for him to breathe.

“Do you have any idea what you do to a man?”, he finally smirks, his eyebrows arching questioningly at you.

A coy smile dances upon the petals of your lips in return. “Don’t care about other men. Just you.”

That affirmation causes Arthur’s heart to soar higher than the stars sparkling in the sky above you, and he surges forward and into your lips again. He doesn’t want this moment to end, but only to fold the two of you up into it forever. You smile and hum into Arthur's mouth as his tongue pushes over yours again and again as you can feel his confidence building with each caress of his strong hands across your body.

When you feel him harden against your legs again, you take advantage of the opportunity and gently push the man over to climb on top of him. Your hair falls to create an intimate curtain, housing your two faces so sweetly as you catch Arthur’s lips with your own. You pull away from his mouth and begin to place kisses along his neck and over his shoulder. The thin blanket that Arthur had wrapped around the two of you slowly falls away to expose your naked body to the cool night air once more, causing goosebumps to prickle your skin.

Using one hand to steady yourself, you use the other to explore Arthur’s muscled chest, rolling over the chest hair that decorates his weathered skin. Playing on both angles, you draw your leg up along Arthur’s body, running your knee and leg along his side, while simultaneously moving your hand and lips down his thick torso. The full body caress makes Arthur’s whole body come to life. His body is used to hardship and blows; to be abused and pushed to the limits of its capabilities. Certainly not this type of coveted affection and touching that you are providing him now.

Arthur’s head rolls back with a moan as he is now the one being taken care of. His head thumps back against your make-shift pillow with a soft ‘thud’ sound as his hands land on your shoulders, massaging the muscle there between his strong fingers as you travel downward along his body. Your trail of kisses leads you down to his hips as your hair feathers out over his abdomen.

His breath suddenly hitches as he quickly looks down as you hover over his cock. You look up at him and meet his gaze, before you duck back down, gently taking his large cock into your hand. Arthur’s eyes go wide then immediately heavy-lidded as the heat from your mouth envelops his tip before slowing working down the thickness of his shaft.

You have only done this a few times before now, and Arthur is much larger than you're used to. But desire is a wonderful motivator. Your head starts to bob slowly at first before picking up a faster pace. Using your hand, you're able to take him entirely into your mouth without gagging. Your tongue wraps around the shaft before teasingly flicking at the tip. The muscles of your mouth firmly encompass his cock, creating the most blissful sensation of pressure and suction as you pull up and down. You can hear the hissing and moaning sounds the man is making and it only increases your confidence in your performance, and you change your technique to elicit the specific sound you desire from his trembling lips.

Right now, you only want to take care of Arthur; to make him feel good and show him the attention that he so rightfully deserves. And yet, the idea that you could hold this strong and fearsome outlaw hostage in the palm of your hand is incredible. This position also gives you the opportunity to take note of just how large Arthur is. It’s little wonder how he was able to pull such an intense orgasm from the depth of your body just moments ago. The very memory of it causes your own desires to ramp up, as your heat begins to tingle and get wet between your legs again.

Once Arthur is at the point that he is rock-hard again, you slowly remove his cock from your mouth with a soft “pop” and gently rise-up to place yourself on top of him. Arthur watches you, captivated, as you crawl over him like an animal stalking its prey, and slowly rock back and forth, rubbing yourself against him. He’s tempted to take himself in hand, line himself up with your heat and push up into you again. But he’s too transfixed by your dominance at the moment to do anything but watch you move atop of him.

As if reading his mind, you smirk and you lift up a bit more, wrapping your hand around his rigid cock to guide yourself as you lower onto him, moaning softly and biting down on your lip as his size fills you up yet again. Your head drops back, hair cascading down your back, as you start to slow-grind on him in a hypnotic rhythm.

Finally able to pull his mind out of its lust-drunk fog, Arthur runs his hands up the front of your thighs, his thumbs rubbing small circles into the plush skin there. He snakes one hand along your stomach and up into the valley between your breasts as the other hand lands on your hip, his fingers digging slightly to help hold the pace you are setting. Letting you take the lead this time allows Arthur to take in the sight of you as you straddle his hips with your own.

You're not perfect. But it’s your imperfections that make you perfect to Arthur. It really is as if you are made for each other. You have curves, for sure. You're not as small as some of the other girls in camp, but you fit into Arthur’s large hands perfectly. He doesn’t feel like he’s going to break you as if you are a porcelain doll. Your individual features are pleasant for sure, but taken in as a whole, you are striking. At least to Arthur you are.

He savors the touch of your soft skin against his which is rough and weathered; how the large orbs of your adoring eyes are looking down at him right now, and how you so generously take him into yourself. You are beautiful, you are kind…and you are his. And the two of you can’t get enough of each other.

For you, you had been so worried that what happened in Rosewood would have ruined you. And it almost did. But you didn’t want that act of depravity to define you. And you pulled from the common adversity of your new family to help rebuild your spirit like a phoenix rising from the ashes. And if that hadn’t happened, you wouldn’t be here now, like this. With Arthur.

If it were anyone else touching you like this, you’d probably curl up into a ball, retracting into yourself in fear or self-loathing. But with Arthur, you feel safe and shielded as if no one else in the world would, or could, touch you.

Arthur is different and you’ve always known it by the way he makes you feel, even when he simply speaks to you. He is warm and instantly feels familiar to you, like he has always been the other half of yourself. He feels solid and secure to your touch and almost makes you feel drunk with emotions that can’t even be named. The best feeling in the whole world is to be with someone who wants you just as much as you want them.

It's amazing how life works sometimes. Some people always have the sunshine in life while others always seem to get the rain. But sometimes, you really do need to suffer through the storm to see the magic of the rainbow at the end of it.

As you continue to ride him, Arthur can see and feel both of you rapidly approaching your conjoined climax again as he can feel the velvet walls of your heat clenching around his twitching cock inside of you. As you begin to move even faster, you take your hands off of where you've been holding on to Arthur’s forearms and lean over him to plant them on his shoulders. This angle gives you more leverage to grind Arthur even deeper into yourself, if that’s even possible. Harder, faster. Deeper than you thought possible, until you feel as if he’s up into your ribcage. Arthur reciprocates by bucking his hips up into yours with each stroke, causing you to gasp as the breath is taken right out of your lungs with the feel of it. And it’s shortly thereafter that you both start to grasp at each other again, bracing for the overstimulation about to hit.

Your climax is intense and hits first again. A sharp moan erupts from your lips as your head instantly snaps backwards. And as your muscles begin to go limp as you come down, Arthur grabs you and takes control, sitting up slightly to wrap his strong arms around you, and rides you through the surge of it.

Watching your eyes roll back into your head with a strained cry, he is quick to hit his own climax and swiftly lifts you up to pull himself out of you again. He pitches you forward, causing your trembling arms to brace yourself against him as he spills his seed along your conjoined thighs once more. It’s a good thing Arthur has a hold of you, too, as you are completely undone at this point, your whole body seemingly boneless. You roll your head to the side and close your eyes before leaning forward to collapse against his chest.

You both lay there for some time, motionless except for your heaving chests. Arthur’s massive arms encircle you to hold you tight to him as you curl up onto the plane of his chest, your fingers clutching at him. Eventually, you shift to lower yourself to lay along Arthur’s side. You turn into him and snuggle your face into his chest as your hand rests across his heart which you can feel beating like crazy beneath your palm. You absentmindedly rake your fingers through his chest-hair and lift your leg up and over to entwine with his, still trying to keep as close to him as possible.

Smiling slightly at the feeling of your warm body against his, Arthur pulls the blanket around you again to cover your naked body as it drapes over his own. He lays his hand atop of yours that rests on his chest and wraps his other arm around you to cradle you back into him, his hand tangling in your hair as he holds your head.

And here in this perfect little moment of satiated bliss, Arthur is happy.

“We could have done this a long time ago, you know,” you snicker as you roll your eyes up to look at him.

“Hmmm, don’t I know it. Remind me next time to listen to you, would ya?” He pulls his rough fingers along your spine and up over your bare shoulders, still fascinated by how soft your skin is.

“It’s like I told you before, Arthur: you look out for me, I’ll look out for you,” you say drowsily, as sleep is about to take over your worn-out senses. And within moments, you are asleep.

When you go silent and the only sound he hears is the crickets in the night, Arthur looks down at your form, curled up into him like a kitten and almost as fragile looking as one, too. He runs his fingertip along your shoulder again, admiring how the appendage curves. And as he watches you in your euphoric slumber, his mind starts to wander now that it’s quiet and his wits are about him once more.

It is amazing how this person who was once a total stranger to him can suddenly, and without warning, mean the world to him. You are everything Arthur has ever dared to hope for. And somehow, by some miracle, you have graced him with your affection. And Arthur knows it now: time, distance, background - nothing could separate you two. This is real and this is right. Arthur understands now that you are the person that he was always meant to find, and he is unimaginably captivated by you.

In the quiet night air, now that the symphony of moans and panting are done, the only sound carrying through the still night air is the popping of the fire as it dies down. The faint noise of a hooting owl in the trees can be heard off in the distance. Left to his own thoughts, Arthur’s reason and self-doubt begin to creep up again, but it’s only for a moment. Spreading like black ink, Micah’s words ring through his mind : if Arthur really cared for you, he’d save you the heartache and keep you safe from him and the trouble that someone like him brings.

But now, Arthur doesn’t think he could ever do that even if he tried. Selfishly, now that he has you, he doesn’t want to let you go. It would be like taking the air from his lungs or the blood from his heart. Arthur is all-consumed by you now. He could die tomorrow and he'll be a happy man.

What if he doesn’t run this time, but stays and lets your affection for him, possibly even love, overtake him? Arthur never fathomed that even something as simple as the sound of your voice could ever calm his soul like you have.

So instead of the foolish notion to leave you in order to protect you, Arthur determines he’s going to do everything in his power to keep you safe and protected in his care. He is your guardian, and you are his angel.

As he comes to this conclusion, Arthur’s powerful arms involuntarily tighten around you as if someone was going to come and take you away from him. He leans down and places an ever-so soft kiss on the top of your head, causing you to shift even closer into him in your sleep.

“I got you, baby-girl. I got you”, he whispers.

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

Several hours go by and you slowly wake from your blissful slumber to the sound of chirping birds in the air. The lightening sky of soft lavender and subdued pinks washes over the landscape and creeps its way into the hunting shelter, intruding upon the blissful solitude where you and Arthur are still tucked away.

The last few plumes of smoke from the dying fire slowly waft through the air. Both of you must have been worn out from your passionate love-making as you are both in the same position as when you fell asleep in each other's arms. The slightly damp, cool breeze of the morning blows across your exposed shoulder, causing you to stir. You slowly stretch and curl into a tighter ball around the bulk of the man beneath you. You inhale deeply as your muscles flex and you instantly catch his scent. The smell of leather and cigarettes, mixed with a bit of clove from his soap, fills your nose. It instantly makes you smile in your hazy sleep, remembering where you are and that this is indeed not a dream.

Arthur refused to sleep much overnight, keeping a watchful eye on you as you slept, but he did end up dozing lightly here and there. When he feels you move against his bare skin, warm and soothing, he peels open his blue-green eyes with a sleepy grunt and peers down at you.

“Hey you,” he murmurs softly as he runs his thumb across your temple. You smile, inhaling deeply again, taking a moment to appreciate where you are before you reply with your own sleep-hushed “Hey you”.

“We’re gonna have to get goin’ here soon, little miss. Dutch ain’t gonna be too happy if we’re out much longer.” Arthur’s voice is thick with sleep and, of course, carrying with it the reluctant tone to enforce what he's saying.

You groan in disappointment, burying your face back into him as you shuffle a bit as your limbs slowly awaken once more. “You sure that’s the way you want to go?” you ask coyly, as you start to leave kisses on Arthur’s chest while seductively drawing circles on his skin with your fingertip.

“Aw c’mon, you’re killin’ me,” he whines, causing you to giggle mischievously. Arthur wraps you up into his arms and squeezes tightly before relaxing again. When you’re able to lift your head, you reach up to pull his face to yours and plant a soft, yet very intimate kiss on his lip. Your eyes create that dreamy, longing stare again as you look up into his face and run your knuckles along his cheek.

“You’re gonna get me in so much trouble, you know that?” Arthur raises an eyebrow at you.

“Oh, I know.” With a quick kiss to his nose, you slowly sit up and stretch, looking around for your clothes with a sigh of disappointment. “But I suppose you’re right. We should get going.”

Arthur reluctantly sits up as well, leaning over to kiss your naked shoulder as he runs his hand slowly down your back, his touch tickling your skin. Your eyes slowly float closed as you turn your head into his, trying to savor every last bit of time you have alone together.

“Trust me, Darlin’, I’d stay out here with you forever if I could,” he mumbles into your skin as his nose and lips smoosh into your shoulder as if trying to melt the two of you together.

“Yeah, yeah, promises, promises,” you joke as you roll over to grab your blouse and skirt. Arthur sees the perfect opportunity and playfully smacks your exposed butt, pulling a slight squeak from your lips.

But soon enough, the two of you get yourselves together. You reluctantly pull apart from one another long enough to pack up the few things you had brought with you in your hasty departure yesterday and prepare to leave the little hunting lean-to and head back to camp. The sun has awakened as well at this point and begins to shine down, its beams freckling through the tree branches. It is a gloriously beautiful morning and you look upon it with a whole new sense of wonder and happiness in your heart.

As you shake out the blanket and roll it up in your hands, Arthur stands hesitantly behind you, watching you gracefully move as you tuck the last bit of things onto Buck’s saddle. Noticing him out of the corner of your eye, you turn and give him a curious look. “Everything alright?”

“I’m fine. Just rolling the last 12 hours around in my head," he mumbles, swirling his hand in the air by his temple. "It’s hard to believe what just happened.” Arthur smiles sheepishly, rubbing his hand along his chin as he thinks about his current situation.

So much has changed in the last few days, let alone hours. From the fighting between you, to his ride to Rosewood; from the confessions to the embrace. And of course, the beautiful night you’ve just spent together. The river of emotions have weighed heavily on Arthur, leaving him delightfully overwhelmed and uncharacteristically content.

You beam with sparkling eyes as you take a few steps over to him. “Well, now you can touch whenever you want to. That should be fun, yeah?” You reach your arms around his barrel-chest, squeezing him to you, and lift your face upwards to start placing sweet kisses along his face and neck.

"Whatcha doin?” Arthur asks cautiously, a suspicious eyebrow raised, but one that belies the grin creeping across his bearded face.

“Just lovin' up on you again,” you giggle into his neck. "Something tells me you're past due and I got a lot of time to make up for."

A low hum rumbles from deep in his chest as Arthur folds you up against him, squeezing you into a strong embrace in return. He collects your beautiful face into his giant hands and leans down to kiss you deeply. Your breath rolls over each other’s as you indulge your senses yet again. Once more, the rest of the world falls away the moment your lips touch. The feeling leaves your knees weak and you have to fight the urge to push it farther as your arms tighten around his torso and begin to creep up his back.

When he pulls back again, Arthur looms over you, looking down into your face and admiring the precious gift he’s holding in his hands. He gives a slight shake to his head, absolutely blown away by his dumb-luck and how he’s managed to fall ass-backwards into your life. Arthur stares at you for a moment, those vivid blue eyes of his bright with a whole new purpose behind them as you reflect back to him the most resplendent smile he has ever seen.

“Mine,” he whispers.

“Yours,” you respond breathlessly.

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

It is mid-morning by the time you and Arthur make your way back to camp. You’re not too sure of what you’ll come back to, but prepare yourselves for the teasing and cat-calls you’re sure are coming. Thankfully, though, it’s mostly knowingly smirks and waves that greet you. A slight wave of relief settles over you at that, as you are not sure how Arthur would react to such personal teasing. Despite the connection that the two of you have, he is still very much a private person.

You both get Arthur’s horse taken care of, offer your apologies to a very agitated Blue for being left behind, and then head over to Pearson’s wagon to get some much-needed coffee. The camp is relatively quiet this morning, with a few members milling about with their own agendas. The slight breeze waffs the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee in your direction and pulls you like a tether. You inhale deeply, your eyes briefly rolling shut, and smile with the feeling of “being home”. This little moment is so perfect: a beautiful morning, surrounded by friends, hot coffee on the fire, and your man at your side.

“There’s the love-birds,” Pearson chimes loudly with a wink when he notices you and Arthur. The cook stirs the last remnants of breakfast in his pot, clanging the utensil loudly on the side to shake off whatever coats the spoon. The portly man quickly puts down the ladle and grabs the coffee pot and a few cups for you.

“Yeah, yeah,” says Arthur, waving him off as his face turns a slight shade of pink. You simply smile and gratefully take the cup from Pearson’s hand. A quick, eager sip of the hot, bitter liquid cascades down your throat, warming you from the inside out and a soft “Ahhhh” escapes your lips. And before the two of you can do anything else, you are greeted by the sound of Dutch’s voice carrying through the air.

“Well, well, nice of you two to join us again!”

You and Arthur both turn to see Dutch and Hosea approach and notice Hosea holding a few rolls of paper in his hands.

“Are you two done foolin’ around so we can get some work done around here?” asks Dutch, raising his eyebrows at you both in impatience with a slight wave of his arm.

“For now,” you quip back. “But I was hoping to fool around a bit again before dinner”. You give Dutch a cocky smirk and a wink.

Hosea's face wrinkles delightfully as he tries to stifle a laugh while Arthur lowers his head to hide a huge smile under the brim of his hat at your insinuation. But the look on Dutch’s face is anything but amused by your comment right now.

“Not in the mood. Right,” you say awkwardly under Dutch’s impatient glare, clearing your throat and quickly minding your place. “I’ll just...go somewhere over there.” You wave your hand dismissively towards the center of the camp before turning to Arthur. “I’ll see you later, Arthur,” you giggle.

Placing your hand on his arm, you give it a slight squeeze along with a big smile. He gives you a quick nod before you quickly scurry away from the men. Arthur’s eyes continue to follow after you, landing on the curve of your rear as you walk away, instantly missing your presence. He reluctantly turns back to Dutch only to be met with the older man’s stink-eye look.

“What?” asks Arthur innocently, chuckling a little.

Dutch plants his ringed hands onto his hips in annoyance, tilting his head to the side just a bit as he looks at Arthur. “This is going to get really old, really fast, isn’t it?” asks Dutch with an exasperated sigh.

“Oh, leave him alone, Dutch. He’s finally got a good thing goin’ there for himself,” interrupts Hosea approvingly with a knowing grin on his face. “Now, come on you two. We need to go over these carrier routes.” Hosea waves the papers he’s been holding in front of them and motions to the nearest table with his head.

Leaving the three of them to their business, you take your cup of coffee and saunter over to the fire to take advantage of a rare quiet morning to relax. Noticing that you are back in camp, Abigail is quick to run up to you with a huge cheshire-cat-like smile sparkling on her face.

“Well, good morning, Miss (Y/L/N),” Abigail sings as she hustles over, shimmying up to you and elbowing your arm. “Soooo?” she questions you with a smirk.

But you playfully roll your eyes at her and shake your head as you take a seat next to the other girls who are already gathered around the fire and trying to wake up for the day. “A lady doesn’t kiss and tell," you tease Abigail with a grin, demurely pulling your shoulder to your chin.

“Well, we know there was more than kissin’ going on last night, so why don’t you tell us about that then?” jokes Abigail, swatting your arm.

"So tell us, (Y/N)! How was it?" Karen blurts out eagerly. Her sleepy face instantly perks up the moment you sit down.

"Karen!" scolds Mary-Beth in a hushed tone. Judging by their snickering, you can only imagine that your departure last night has been the talk of the camp.

"What?” Karen protests innocently to Mary-Beth. “I'm genuinely curious.” She waves her hand nonchalantly towards you. “I wanna know if it was worth all the trouble and the wait.” When Mary-Beth gives nothing but a disapproving stare, Karen leans in to her and swats her friend’s leg. “Oh c'mon, like you ain't dyin' to know yourself," she hisses.

"Actually, I'm kind of curious about it myself," interjects Abigail, looking back to you with that same cat-like grin.

“Yeah, (Y/N), how’d it go?” asks Tilly, leaning forward in her chair and planting her elbows on her knees in keen interest.

It is so sweet to you how your friends want to share in your excitement. You’ve never had siblings, and even your friendships as a young girl were never as open and close as the relationships that you have quickly cultivated with these women. Your face begins to bashfully dust pink at their attention, yet you can’t help yourself as your smile gets even wider by the minute.

“Some of the best moments in life are the things that you can’t tell other people about,” you gush, yet still trying to be elusive.

“Oh, come on! That ain’t fair! You gotta give us somethin’!” begs Karen, smacking her hands on her thighs and leaning in towards you.

You simply reply with a long, mockingly-impatient sigh before your face turns a deeper shade of scarlet. You cover your face with your hands for a few moments before pulling them down to peek over your fingertips at your friends, blushing and giggling like a school-girl.

"It was...perfect," you say with a dreamy, love-drunk grin on your face.

“Ooooo” They all let out a collective excited giggle, elbowing each other and so happy for both you and for Arthur.

—------------------------------

Fortunately, it is a bit of a slow day today and Ms Grimshaw is not chasing after everyone to get back to work for once. So you are able to just sit and socialize with the girls. You pass the time sipping coffee and gossiping, discussing what the plans are for the day and watching Jack play “swords” with a stick with Uncle. It is a perfectly content afternoon for once.

Somewhere off to the side you hear the sound of someone clearing their throat before they approach your little group. You turn your head when movement out of the corner of your eye catches your attention and instantly grin ear to ear when you see that it is Arthur. The way your whole body lights up the moment that you see him makes Arthur instantly wish you were back at the hunting shelter. You’ve only been apart for a little over an hour and yet it already feels like days.

"Ladies", he addressed the group of you with a nod and polite touch to the brim of his hat.

"Hey, Arthur" they all giggle and smirk at the outlaw at their inside joke. You are quick to swat at them, trying to get them to hush.

"Uh...right.” His hand comes up behind his neck as he stands there awkwardly, suddenly a little uncomfortable with their smirking faces all turned to him. “(Y/N), can I talk to you for a minute?" He waves his hand to usher you away from the small group to speak in private.

“Sure.” You bounce up from your seat to follow him, turning back over your shoulder with a quick glare at your friends in warning to knock it off with the teasing cackles.

You and Arthur walk a few feet away from the girls before you stop and turn to face each other. "Don't mind them,” you say quickly to Arthur, waving at the girls. “They're just..." and you roll your eyes and shake your head, totally at a loss for words.

“Hmmm…yeah I know how they can get,” Arthur acknowledges with a chuckle. He pauses for a moment, looking down at you with a bit of a dopey grin. This is the first time you’ve had a moment alone together again since you’ve gotten back and he’s missed you already.

“Listen, I gotta leave for a bit. Hosea’s got a lead on some work, need to check it out. But I’ll be back as soon as I can.” His eyebrows raise a bit, waiting to see how you will react to this information.

“Okay”. You nod in understanding, giving him a simple smile. Your response is so easy and accepting. Arthur was expecting a protest or for you to be upset, but he’s pleasantly surprised when you are not.

“Well, after last night, I wasn’t sure if it was proper to leave.” He gives you a sheepish, guilty look as his thumbs tuck into his gunbelt in his usual, comfortable stance.

You place your hands over his arms as you lean in closer. “It’s alright. Go do what you gotta do. I’ll be here.”

Arthur hesitates for a moment as something else is clearly on his mind, and he shifts his weight from one hip to the other before he speaks again. “One more thing. Would you do something for me?” His eyes squint just a bit as he thinks on how to pose his next question.

“Anything.” You smile at him, moving your hands onto his chest now, and your fingers begin to fiddle with the knot of his neckerchief. Arthur hums a little, his eyes following your fingers and trying not to get distracted from his task at hand.

“Stay here in camp ‘til I get back, would ya? Don't be goin' out with the girls or nothin'. I’d feel better knowing you were safe here 'til I got back.” Arthur’s face becomes more serious now. You instantly realize what he’s asking of you and why, and his protectiveness is quite touching. You are relieved to see that Arthur has already taken to the idea of the two of you being “together” and it warms your heart.

“Sure, I can do that,” you agree and your smile grows even bigger like a plant that has been watered and set in the sun. You take Arthur’s chin in your fingers and pull him down as you raise up on your toes to kiss him sweetly. He blushes a bit at the public display of affection that he's not used to. But he loves it just the same.

"Be careful, please." You playfully scold him, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Always am," Arthur smirks.

From somewhere behind him, you can hear Bill yelling for him. “Come on Morgan, let’s go!” Arthur lets out an exasperated sigh as he looks at you, rolling his eyes before he turns to leave and making you giggle.

“Play nice!”, you call after him as Arthur begrudgingly walks away.

"Never do!" he calls back with another smirk and a wink at you over his shoulder.

Your eyes follow Arthur with a contented sigh escaping your lips as he walks towards the awaiting group that is about to head out. His broad shoulders rock slightly with his slow, swaggering walk; his burly arms sway at his sides, hovering above the guns that hang so naturally on his hips.

Yep. No doubt about it. You are just stupid for, and hopelessly in love with, this man.

You shake your head at the wonder of it all and turn to head back to the girls.

Arthur makes his way over to the hitching posts to join the others in getting ready to head out on the scout job. He lifts his chin in acknowledgement to John who is already sitting atop Old Boy, waiting for Arthur to join the group. Then suddenly Arthur is brought out of his reverie by an unwelcome sound.

“So you and (Y/N) have finally done the deed, eh, Morgan?” The sound of Micah’s voice grates on Arthur’s nerves like a knife scraping across metal as the man saunters over to follow Arthur to the horses. (Ugh, of course Dutch wants him for this job, as well.)

“Well, how was she?” the bastard grunts. “I bet she’s real frisky. Like a cat.” Micah shakes his eyebrows suggestively at Arthur, knowing full-well that he’s pressing his luck.

A lightning bolt of anger shoots through Arthur’s very being at the very mention of your name from Micah’s despicable lips. His jaw flexes tightly as he grits his teeth together. He reaches out and shoves his massive hand onto Micah’s chest, stopping him dead in his tracks. Arthur pulls a deep inhale through his nose in order to collect himself before he speaks. His eyes turn to that hard, icy-blue color as they pierce menacingly into Micah.

“Let’s get something straight right now.” Arthur points his finger at Micah’s chest. “You don’t talk about her. You don’t look at her. In fact, do yourself a favor and don’t even think about her. Or you and I are goin' to go rounds. Do I make myself perfectly clear?” Arthur’s voice is low and unyielding. That hardness that the outlaw is known for rears its dangerous head in Micah’s direction and the weasel freezes, instantly knowing where that line in the sand has been drawn.

“Say it,” Arthur slowly grits out between clenched teeth as he menacingly towers over Micah. “Say you understand me, asshole.”

Micah narrows his eyes at Arthur, the argument right there on the tip of his foul tongue, trying to decide just how far he wants to push this right now. But ultimately, he slowly swallows and concedes to back off. For now.

“Sure, cowpoke,” utters Micah, holding his hands up in surrender. “Anything you say.” His scummy, snakelike grin leaves Arthur with an unsettling feeling. If he didn’t like you being around Micah before, Arthur sure as hell doesn't like it now.

—------------------------------

It’s well into the evening when Arthur and the others come back to camp. It’s been a long, yet productive day and Arthur just wants to sit still for one damn moment and relax. Everyone who was left at home is sitting around the fire sharing stories and passing a bottle or two. Your head perks up when you hear the sound of hoofbeats in the distance and you watch Arthur ride in. You notice how he slowly climbs down from Buck’s saddle, almost bone by bone, with exhaustion. As he turns to head into the camp, the outlaw’s tired eyes immediately seek you out amongst the group. And once your eyes meet, your smile draws him in like a moth to a flame.

Arthur stops to grab a bottle of his own out of one of the crates before ambling over to the fire to take a seat next to you on the ground where you are curled up on a blanket. You nudge your shoulder into his side as he gets settled, placing your hand on his knee and giving it a gentle squeeze. The corners of Arthur’s mouth turn up as his eyes slowly blink at you with fatigue. The feeling of your warm body curled up against him instantly calms and centers him. He didn’t realize until now just how nice it is to have someone waiting for him when he comes home.

“Before you two get too cozy over there, you’re on guard duty tonight, Arthur,” announces Javier over the fire pit, interrupting your little private reunion.

Arthur quickly throws an annoyed look in Javier's direction. “What? You gotta be kiddin’ me.”

“I covered for you last night, amigo” Javier tips his beer bottle towards Arthur with a knowing smirk.

Arthur groans with disappointment. Feeling his frustrations, you lean into Arthur’s side, your face close to his. “Don’t worry, it’s alright,” you whisper. “We’ll have plenty of time later.” Fortunately, you get at least an hour together to relax at the fire before Arthur has to take his leave to head to the look-out post.

Soon after, after the darkness has snuffed out the sunlight of the day, the camp begins to settle for the evening and the people begin to meander back to their respective places for the night. You stand up from your spot at the fire, stretching your stiff joints before bending over to pick up the blanket you were sitting on. Shaking out the fabric, you neatly fold the blanket over your arm and turn to head to your tent.

You haven’t wandered too far off when you begin to hear the shuffling of footsteps behind you. And before you can say or do anything, the sight of Micah Bell comes into your line of vision. Your eyebrows crease in confusion as you wonder what in the world he could possibly want right now.

“Looks like you and Arthur have finally "consummated", as it were. Tell me, (Y/N),” Micah sweeps his hand out in front of him, “Can anyone take a ride in that saddle?"

You can only glare incredulously at him for such an insinuation. God, he is such a disgusting pig. Apparently, Micah is not only going to antagonize Arthur about it, but he’s going to make an attempt at you as well.

"I mean, if you're gonna spread them pretty legs of yours for the likes of Morgan, can't imagine you got any high standards." Micah arrogantly drags his dirty fingers over his nicotine-stained mustache as if he is about to eat a delectable meal.

You slowly tilt your head at him, your gaze cold. "And that is what burns you up the most, isn't it, Micah?" Your eyes narrow at him, trying to figure out his angle as you play his little game.

Micah licks his lips and nibbles a bit, taking the bait in return. "What's that, Princess?"

"That I would concede to lay with a man like Arthur, yet I won't even give you the time of day.” You cross your arms over your chest as you hold his gaze in defiance. “That must really get to you, hmm?" you purr.

The smugness instantly drops from Micah’s face being replaced with a sneer. You step a few paces closer, right up into his face so that he can smell the lavender oil you wear. His eyes rake over your body, noting how your cleavage gathers under your crossed arms. He can feel your warm breath scattering across his face. Your boldness, your lack of fear of him, is as annoying to Micah as it is arousing. He sucks his teeth in an effort to regain his composure as he stands in front of you.

"Know this, Micah. Arthur Morgan is twice the man that you could ever even dream to be," you say with a chilling dead calm. "And in more ways than one, I might add.”

Micah’s mouth twitches at that last rub. "Well, (Y/N), I guess it's a good thing I ain't ever aspired to be more than I am, then." His tone challenges yours as he leans even closer to you, the tone in the air bordering on threatening.

"That is unfortunate," you say coolly as you confidently hold your ground. "For all of us. Good night, Mr. Bell." And you turn to head into your tent, leaving Micah standing there alone in the cold night air.

—----------------------------------

Arthur leans his shoulder against the large tree, staring out into the darkness of the woods. The moon is full tonight, looming high above the tree tops and cascading its bright silvery light upon the silent world below. He stands guard over the camp as a brooding sentinel as he slowly draws on yet another cigarette. Smoke huffs out of his lungs like that of a locomotive.

This is not the place he wants to be right now, as his thoughts drift and focus on you and your night together. Even now, as he recalls even the smallest detail of last night, it seems like a dream to him. He half expects to wake at any moment alone in his tent, surrounded by nothing but the lonesome night, as it all seems just too good to be true. He still has no explanation as to how you seem to pull him in, but you just do. Like that same silvery moon hanging above that pulls on the ocean tides, you draw Arthur to you; just as unyielding, unchanging, and just as magical.

Suddenly Arthur’s daydream is interrupted by the very person he’s thinking about. He catches a wisp of fabric in his peripheral vision. Turning his chin over his shoulder, Arthur sees you coming down the path. He watches as your breath swirls in the frosty air, preceding you as you approach. Like an ethereal being, the moon’s glimmer casts your hair in a soft backlight, causing your gown to be almost see-through in the luminescence as he can see the outline of your calves as you walk. Your delicate hand clasps your shawl around you in the chill air while you carry something else in your other hand. As you get closer, Arthur can see that you have come to bring him a steaming cup of coffee.

A huge smile instantly erupts across Arthur’s face as he pushes himself up off of the tree. "Hey there, Beautiful. What are you doin’ out here this late?"

The nickname causes your cheeks to burn red more than the chill night air that nips at your tender skin.

“Coming to see you.” You hand him the cup of coffee, which he gratefully accepts and immediately takes a sip. The hot liquid instantly chases the cold from his tired body and offers just the pick-up that he needed. “How’s it going out here?” you ask as you shiver a bit before pulling the knit shawl tighter around yourself.

“Oh, loads of excitement.” Arthur’s dead-pan drawl makes you laugh a bit.

You snuggle up to his bulky frame, putting your hands around his ribs and looking up into his face with your beautiful (y/e/c) eyes. With his free hand, Arthur snakes his arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him. Despite the cold night air, he is so warm that you just want to curl up into him again like you did at the shelter. He leans in to kiss you, his plump lips finding yours once again. Starting off slowly, your tongue quickly begins to wrestle with his. He tastes like the cigarettes and whiskey he's been consuming while out here.

Dropping his chin, Arthur starts to kiss the tender skin underneath your ear before he proceeds to drag his fingertip along the area. “I love this spot,” he says, his voice a husky murmur in your ear..

“Do you, now?” you sigh with a silky tone of your own.

“MmmHmm. Because when I kiss it, you make that sound.” And he leans in again, placing another kiss in the same spot, only this time sucking a bit harder as his teeth catch your skin. And as if on command, a breathless whimper escapes your lips before you can control it and your eyes flutter closed again. It makes you melt at how playful he’s become just from simply providing him the opportunity and the feeling of being safe to do so.

After a few more moments of delicious kisses and nuzzling, you pull away just a bit, leaving your faces hovering close to one another's.

"I’d better get out of here," you whisper, "before I’m any more of a distraction."

"Too late for that now," Arthur hums, dipping his face down as he rubs his nose to yours, trying to entice you into another kiss.

"Tell you what.” You pull your face back a bit more to get his attention only to be met with a playful scowl of disappointment from him. “I’ll be waiting for you in your tent. When you’re done here, you know where I’ll be." You reach up to set a soft kiss upon Arthur’s stubbled cheek. And with a teasing grin, you turn and saunter back toward the camp, hips swaying exaggeratedly.

Arthur’s eyes follow you, the movement of your hips almost hypnotic, causing him to sigh deeply. And just like that, you are gone just as quickly as you had arrived; almost like a dream.

"Damn..." he says with a slight amazement.

—---------------------------------

It’s shortly before dawn when Bill comes down the path to relieve Arthur from his post. The large man ambles towards Arthur rubbing his bear-paw over his eyes and yawning profusely.

“I swear he’s walkin’ slower by the damn minute”, Arthur grumbles to himself with a huff when he lays his exhausted eyes on the man. He shoots Bill a look of annoyance as he briskly walks past the burly outlaw to head back to his tent. “I got things to do, Bill,” he snaps.

Bill simply chuckles with that deep voice of his as he adjusts his hat on his head against the brisk early-morning air. “Oh, I bet you do, my friend.”

Arthur can’t get back to his tent fast enough. He quickly strides across the camp, hurriedly passing by the other snoring and sleeping residents. It's still quiet out and the sun has yet to poke its radiant head above the horizon line. With any luck, Arthur will have a few hours alone with you before the flurry of daily activity kicks up again.

Excitement travels through Arthur’s exhausted body as he reaches his tent. The very sight of his humble little nest that waits for him in the shadows offers him a whole new level of tranquility. He is quick to notice that it is all silent and dark in the space. He half expected a candle to be burning or something.

Arthur hesitates outside the canvas before quietly pulling back the flaps and peers in before entering. And he is elated at the sight of you asleep on his cot, waiting for him just as you said you would be. In the back of his mind, Arthur harbored some doubt that you would be here, thinking maybe you’d change your mind for one reason or another. He cherishes the idea that someone, but especially you, would be waiting for the likes of him.

Arthur quietly creeps in and fixes the flaps back down to ward off the cold autumn breeze before it wakes you. He smiles to himself as he quietly shucks off his jacket and holster, his eyes continuing to rest on your sleeping form as he quietly moves about the tent.

He carefully sits on the edge of the cot, taking a moment to watch you sleeping peacefully. His eyes roam over your body from head to toe, taking in the sight of you and marveling at the treasure he has in front of him.

You're laying comfortably on your back, hair splayed round your face on the pillow. Your one arm rests up by your face, the other lays gracefully across your abdomen. Arthur’s head tilts to the side as he observes how your chest slowly rises and falls with calm breaths. Your eyelids occasionally flutter, making your lashes dance upon your angelic face. Oh, what it must be like to rest so peacefully, he wonders. Maybe now with you by his side, he’ll get to know what that’s like. Maybe.

Arthur places his hand beside your head as he leans over to gently kiss your delicate lips. The action causes you to startle awake, a sharp gasp crossing your lips as your hands shoot to his chest in surprise. But you are quickly relieved to see his handsome face hovering above yours.

"Sorry," Arthur murmurs with an apologetic grin. "Couldn’t resist."

You hum with a sleepy countenance as you slowly sit up, the heel of your hand rubbing your eye in an effort to wake yourself. You reach over to cup Arthur’s face and kiss him back as a welcome. When you pull away, you look him over, noting the sheer exhaustion that coats his whole body.

"You look so tired," you say with a sympathetic smile.

"I am tired." A deep sigh of acknowledgement escapes from Arthur’s chest as he reaches up to rub his eyes with his thumb and forefinger with his one hand.

You nod in understanding. "Okay, then." You smile sweetly as you take a moment to curl your fingers through his hair, touching your forehead to his, before you swing your legs over the side of the cot and start to stand up.

Confused, Arthur sits up straighter with apprehension. "Where you goin’?"

You turn back around with a fluid and graceful movement as you catch his chin between your fingers in reassurance. "I’m just going back to my tent so you can get some sleep, is all."

"Well…", Arthur huffs in disappointment, his face dropping and his hands flopping into his lap.

"What’s wrong?" you ask, slightly amused at his pouty face.

"I mean…I know we’re not gonna…you know…” Arthur waves his hand at you suggestively. "But I was hoping you’d stay with me while I get some sleep."

"Oh." A big smile erupts on your face. "Okay, then," you gush, biting your lower lip a bit and trying to contain your excitement. You move to settle back down onto the cot, scooching over and fidgeting to make room as Arthur lays down alongside you.

“Boots, please” you say in a soft scold, tapping his shoulder.

"Huh? Oh!" And Arthur quickly sits back up to take off his boots. He’s so used to being on his own that he’s often just falling into bed, not even bothering to take off his jacket let alone his boots. Arthur is not used to having anyone in his space, let alone a woman in his bed. You look down with a soft smile as he pulls at his mud-dried boots with thick, clumsy fingers.

He lays back down and gets settled once more. You both wiggle awkwardly, giggling as you do, so that you can both fit onto his squeaky one-person cot. You face each other as his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you close. You lift your leg over his, so that you can snuggle in tight, laying almost nose to nose to make room for each other.

Finally finding a comfortable position, Arthur inhales deeply and lets out a long exhale. You smile as you watch the tension drain from his shoulders. (You swear he just lost about 2 inches in height in doing that.) You gently reach up and lay your hand along Arthur’s neck, fingers resting along his jawline, as your thumb sweeps across those scars on his chin. Your eyes scatter across the tired features of his strong and handsome face.

You have no idea how this is going to play out between you two, but right now, you don't care. He is a risk, as you told him before, and your future together is an uncertain mystery. And yet, this is the most certain thing that you have felt in what seems like forever. Here, at this moment, in this precious, precarious little bubble, you are with Arthur, and that is all that matters.

"Hmmmm…that’s better," says Arthur, finally relaxed and content.

“Happy, now?” you affectionately tease.

“Quite.”

"Goodnight, Arthur." Your honeyed voice sings to him in the darkness before you close your eyes again.

"Goodnight, (Y/N)."

See me, feel me, touch me, heal me

-Pete Townshend - The Who

*The line about the storm and the rainbow is based on a quote from the wonderful Dolly Parton, whom I idolize. And the “guardian angel” line is based on a meme that I saw.

***Ahhh! Finally! I've been working on this for over a year, but had to write the events that lead up to this first. But good news, this is not the ending! I have much more taking place after this. Some of it is fluffy, some will be smutty, some will be angsty! For those who are interested in reading a continuing storyline, I can tell you that my plan is to see this through to the end (which I have already written, btw). If anyone is interested in being on a taglist, let me know. (I am really bad at those, so I am trying to figure out how to keep track of that kind of thing.)

Comments and feedback are welcome! As I continue this story, I also want to develop my writing skills. So please let me know what you like and don't like.

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x f!reader #arthur morgan x reader smut #rdr2 fanfic

407 notes · View notes