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scoops-aboy86 · 3 months

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Realize You’re Living (Secret Admirer pt 5)

Steddie Week 2024, July 5: Reunion / exes to lovers or getting back together / Wasted Years by Iron Maiden

Sorry. Not for the delay in posting, I just think I'm gonna get yelled at for reasons.

wc: 2815 / rated: T / set between seasons 2 and 3 / also on ao3

There isn’t time to send Steve another letter before Friday.

There isn’t time, not through the mail, and there’s no way Eddie is risking physically putting something in the Harrington’s mailbox himself. That would mean running the risk of someone finding out, and that still ignites an old fear in the most primal part of his brain that screams at him to run. No matter who it is.

On the other hand, standing Steve up for their phone date is not an option. The very idea makes his insides freeze over. They’ve both had to reassure each other that they want to continue this epistolary romance, Jesus H. Christ—there’s been too much hot and cold already to pull something like that.

Eddie rolls over on his bed to lay face down and screams into his pillow. It's like they’re in a relationship, except Steve doesn’t even know who he is. It's absurd. An absolute clown town of his own making.

Okay. Okay, no, he can do this. (Can he?) All he has to do is relax and stay calm until tomorrow night. He’ll call at 10:30 on the dot and play Steve some Iron Maiden or something, maybe a little Dio, a smidge of Black Sabbath, throw in a dash of Judas Priest… Basically play the guy a mix tape, live.

He whips his head up and all but dives for his side table, looking for the tin where he keeps his weed. It’ll help him chill out enough to come up with a song list. And he needs all the chill he can get. He’s lost his mom to cancer, his dad to addiction and prison, and his childhood home with them—he refuses to lose Steve if he has even half a chance of actually having Steve. Because if this whole secret admirer thing is going where he hardly dares to hope it is, this could be the most important mix tape of his entire goddamn life.

Steve spends all of Friday so on edge that Robin starts threatening to drop banana peels in the circuit he keeps pacing behind the counter.

“What is with you today, dingus?”

He stops, tapping his foot restlessly and removing his hat so he can rake a hand through his hair. “Nothing, nothing, I… have an important call tonight, is all. I think.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Oooh, is it a pretty girl?” she teases.

“Maybe,” he mutters with a halfhearted shrug. He really still doesn’t know, and it doesn’t seem likely he’ll find out tonight. “I’m not even sure they’ll call. It’s… kind of a blind date sort of thing.”

“A blind phone date?” Robin looks like she doesn’t know what to do with that, which. Fair. “Is that a thing?”

Steve shrugs again. He goes back to pacing. “It might be. I’ll find out tonight I guess.”

She gives him a minute before butting in again, spraying more Windex on the display case to get the lunch rush’s grubby child fingerprints off the cool glass. “...Is this because of the board?”

Again, Steve stops. “What?”

“The You Rule / You Suck board. Have I accidentally degraded your confidence in yourself so much that you’ve turned to blind dates as an alternative to trying to seduce any and every girl who walks in here?”

Her tone is flippant, but because they’ve been on better terms recently—especially since Steve started offering her rides (and let her take control of the tape deck after that time she threatened to throw all of his Wham! tapes out the window)—he decides to take it as a genuine question.

“No. Well—No, it’s more the hat than that. It messes up my best feature, you know?” He runs a hand through his hair again, fluffing it up more, then slumps against the back counter next to the milkshake blenders with a sigh. “It’s kind of a pen pal thing. We’ve been talking for a while but we haven’t met, but… I think it might be going somewhere good.”

Robin stops her bored polishing of the display case, only half of the afternoon rush’s smudges and fingerprints wiped away, to laugh with a slight shake of her head. “Oh wow, King Steve is a romantic. Who knew?”

“Not me before junior year, that’s for sure,” he scoffs honestly.

She studies him thoughtfully for a moment. “Makes sense. Kind of lines up with something I heard the other day, when—”

But then they’re interrupted by a couple strolling in for some ice cream. Robin rushes through cleaning the rest of the glass so as to get out of their way, and Steve scoops and rings them up while she moves on to wiping down tables, conversation forgotten.

Eddie’s finished his playlist and his plan is to call early. Not too early, just… a minute, five minutes tops. His uncle leaves for work before 10, so he has plenty of time and he’s buzzing with nervous energy.

Way too much nervous energy to carry into the Big Call tonight.

By the time Wayne is out the door, Eddie’s already started on rolling a joint and rereading Steve’s letters from start to current. If he’d been smart he would’ve written out copies of his own for a more complete read, that in depth analysis his English teachers never shut up about… but alas.

Usually his memory is pretty good, especially when it comes to his own work. He also hadn’t expected this to go on as long as it had; not really. But now he can hardly imagine what it would be like to know Steve only from a distance anymore and that… colors things. Fuck only knows what he’s remembering wrong because of a simple difference in perspective.

Because Steve has let him in, Eddie acknowledges as he lines the weed up on the paper. He’s written things about his home life, about his old friends, and definitely about his injuries over the past couple years (though oddly enough never much about what actually caused them) that Eddie would bet good money that no one else knows, if only because Steve doesn’t seem to have anyone else to tell. Maybe those kids he babysits (begrudgingly but genuinely dotes on, Eddie’s seen it from a distance). But really, how much can you realistically talk to a thirteen year old? Eddie remembers being thirteen; he hadn’t listened to anyone for shit. It was a miracle Wayne hadn’t just released him into the woods like a wild animal.

And all Eddie’s been doing is pulling Steve close, while steadfastly keeping him out. God.

He licks the joint to seal it, lights up, and keeps rereading.

Steve is standing by the phone in his kitchen watching the second hand on the clock. How it sneaks around the clock face, slow but steady, until it laps the 12 line and it’s 10:31.

He slumps back against the kitchen island with a groan. That had been an absolutely excruciating minute, and he’s staring down the barrel of another fifty-nine more until he can reasonably give up hope. Because anything under an hour is just running late, right? Something could have come up, something unavoidable like… family coming home unexpectedly, making a private conversation impossible.

… Okay, maybe that was a stress dream he’d had last night about his parents, but something like it could happen to anyone.

10:32. The second hand barely makes it past fifteen this time before the silence is split by the shriek of ringing in the otherwise silent house. Steve multitasks, jumping out of his skin and lunging to answer the phone at the same time.

“HelloHarringtonresidence, thisisStevehowcanIhelpyou?” he rushes out.

There’s no response except breathing on the other end of the line, which would be creepy if it weren’t exactly what he was hoping for.

(Eddie is pressing a hand over his mouth, keeping in an equal parts amused and disbelieving laugh at how Steve had answered the phone, all flustered and cute and overly formal in an automatic sort of way that suggests an ingrained habit. From what he knows about Steve’s parents, he’s not terribly surprised, but it’s still such a delightfully dorky greeting.

And it seems like Steve really was waiting by the phone for his call, which makes Eddie want to fucking dance.)

“Is that you?” After a second, a light bulb goes off in Steve’s head and he adds, “Oh. Uh, tap once for yes, twice for no?”

It takes a few seconds, but then he hears a single tap against the plastic of the other receiver.

(Smart, Eddie would tell him if he could. If he dared. He sucks hard on the last of his joint before letting the smoke billow from his nose like a dragon and putting it out in the ashtray by his bed. Maybe he mashes it in a little harder than necessary, blaming it for being late even though that’s really just another one of his bad habits at this point.)

Relief breaks over Steve like a wave. “Oh my god, it’s you. You’re the, um, my secret admirer?”

Tap.

(Yeah sweetheart, it’s me.)

Steve does a little bounce on the balls of his feet and pumps his fist, too giddy to feel stupid about it with no one watching. “Holy shit. I mean, t-thanks for calling. Sorry, my parents make me answer the phone like that.”

Nothing.

(Eddie is smiling. Beaming, really. I figured, he imagines saying. At first it makes his heart feel full just thinking about it, but then has to stop that line of thought before his anxiety conjures up all the ways Steve Harrington, until recently Hawkins High’s resident ladies man, might react to the surprise of being on a phone date with a guy. Jesus, how is he high and still so nervous?)

“Right, you can’t answer. I mean, you can, if you want, but you don’t have to. This is, this is to see how I like your music.” Steve rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Did you want to play something for me now, or…”

Tap.

(All the tapes are on standby, spread out in chaotic order around the second-hand player he got last year after Wayne’s old one crapped out on him. Eddie cranks up the volume as high as it’ll go; he’s used to it, the neighbors are resigned to it, and Steve won’t be able to hear it well enough to count through the phone otherwise.)

The first song starts, and Steve twists the phone cord between his fingers as he stands in his kitchen and listens. There’s a heavy beat and a noticeable bass line, even over the phone, nothing like the pop rock he usually listens to. But…

“… I definitely didn’t hate it,” he says once the last notes fade out.

(Eddie is vibrating as he hits pause and ejects the tape, elated, a few of his worries already soothed. Steve doesn’t hate metal. That doesn’t necessarily mean Steve will like him, but it’s got to make the odds at least a little better, right? He wants to say fuck yeah or I love you or, fucking… shriek wordlessly or something, but presses his hand over his cotton-dry mouth instead, hard enough that his gums ache a little.)

“It kind of reminded me of AC/DC? Like Back in Black, or Hells Bells.”

(They’re not one of Eddie’s favorites, didn’t even make the playlist. But they’re harder rock than he expected Steve to be familiar with, and suddenly he has a wild urge to know what the guy thinks of You Shook Me All Night Long.)

“One time, the radio played Big Balls in the car and my mom literally clutched her pearls and said, ‘I don’t think he’s talking about ballroom dancing, Richard!’”

(Eddie grins as the funny little falsetto Steve put on for the impression fades into a rich laugh, like he’s so tickled by the memory that he can’t help it. There was probably some appalled, classic white-anglo-saxon-protestant-sucking-on-a-lemon expression on her face that he’s picturing, while Eddie can only imagine. It’s okay, Eddie is too busy wanting to pour Steve’s laugh into a bathtub and soak in it.)

Tap.

“Yeah, really not,” Steve agrees, his cheeks almost aching from smiling so wide. He feels lighter than air just knowing he’s on the phone with the person who’s been writing to him the past couple months, knowing he’s proving that they’re genuinely at least a little bit compatible. “So, what’s the next song?”

It goes on like that. Steve doesn’t know the artists or albums or track titles, but figures that Secret Admirer will fill him in with the next letter. There are a couple of songs that are more shouting than singing for his taste—“I like songs I can sing along to once I know the words, you know? Really belt out in the car after a long day, or something,” he explains, and gets a yes tap in response.

(Eddie has to improvise. Instead of another WASP song, he reaches for an Iron Maiden tape he’d put aside as a half-assed backup and scours the track list, trying to decide… Ah, that one. He pops it in and turns the volume down for a second so he can check that he’s fast forwarding to the right spot on the tape.

This one’s for you, sweetheart, he thinks, lighting a second joint—not for nerves this time, but just for fun. He leans back and lets the smoke fill his lungs, fill his mind, send him floating off to whatever time of that big house Steve is curled up in so he can spiritually throw an arm around the other guy’s shoulders.)

Steve likes the instrumentals in the intro of this one. He doesn’t really track the words at first once they start—usually doesn’t, on a first listen-through, with so much new to take in. But he starts catching on to the shape of them by the first of what turns out to be the chorus.

So understand Don't waste your time always searching for those wasted years Face up, make your stand Realize you're living in the golden years

Too much time on my hands, I got you on my mind Can't ease this pain so easily When you can't find the words to say, hard to make it through another day And it makes me wanna cry, throw my hands up to the sky

So understand Don't waste your time always searching for those wasted years Face up, make your stand Realize you're living in the golden years, hey!

He listens, slowly untangling himself from the long phone cord and taking a seat on one of the stools at the kitchen island. When the song finally fades out and he hears the far-off click of the tape being stopped and taken out, he asks hopefully, “It’s about seizing the day, right?”

Maybe they’re building up to telling him who they are, or at least giving him a little more.

(Eddie freezes, not expecting Steve—who had told him he didn’t get things on the first try—to venture any insights. Especially on a song that hadn’t been on his list, a last minute change-up that he’d picked with the transformation from King Steve to just normal guy Steve in mind and how Steve seems so hung up on apologizing for the douchebag he used to be.

Or at least, used to be on the outside. Every day, Eddie gets a little less sure that persona went much further than skin-deep.

A tiny sound curls out of Eddie’s throat, a barely audible, inquisitive hum. Something that says please, keep going. He knows Steve has heard it because of the quick intake of breath over the line.)

Steve clutches the handset so hard that his knuckles go white. It’s the first sound, the first crumb that Secret Admirer has given him that’s really them, not a tap on plastic or other people’s music. Too quiet to make out any distinguishing features, but it’s something.

It feels like everything.

“You could, you know,” Steve says softly. “You could… make a stand? If you told me who you are, or just anything more about you, I… I really like you. I know for sure that I want to know you. Maybe that makes me a romantic sap, but it’s true. What if we find out we could have our golden years right now?”

(Eddie is freaking out. The mellow of his high isn’t helping anymore, all the floaty syrupy hopefulness of it stripped away. Oh fuck oh balls oh shit, shit, shit!

He’s hyperventilating, knows Steve can probably hear it, and he’s nothing but a goddamn coward in the end.

He can't do this.)

There’s a single clunk, and then all Steve hears is dial tone.

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#steddieweek2024 #scoops words #secret admirer steddie #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #robin buckley #platonic stobin

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moonbaby26 · 25 days

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Title: Before the Storm

(Chapter 17 of Doflamingo’s Marine Series)

*Crossposted to AO3 Here*

Chapter Pairings: Doflamingo x Reader

Chapter Warnings: language, binge drinking, vaginal sex, toxic relationship, dubious consent, depression

Chapter Synopsis: The very night of your official engagement to Doflamingo, you are also made to sign your life away to Dressrosa’s king.

You spiral, punishing yourself as he plans to change your past even further. While others still move as distant pieces in the even larger game.

Author’s Notes: For those that do follow this story and read as soon as it updates, I’m so sorry you had to wait 5,000 years this time! I wish there was more here as a reward for that patience. I’m sure there are still typos too. Please proceed with caution! It just needed to be out of my drafts. I’ll proofread after I sleep again. Maybe. 😅

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18

——————————

——————————

Something was going wrong with the submarine again. Nothing catastrophic, but it could always progress to that if they didn’t take the time to investigate and repair as they went. Pieces became worn and overtaxed easily. Noises that weren’t even there yesterday would suddenly manifest, anxiety inducing, so many fathoms deep in the darkness.

Law was sure there was a metaphor for their lives in there somewhere too. Just like he and his crew. How much this craft could really endure, until one day it just wouldn’t anymore.

He’d still felt that mental weight on himself as well. Fresh and nagging ever since Doflamingo’s name had been put back to the forefront of his mind with those first reports from Scylla just days ago.

Ghosts of his past had churned up enough that Law was almost glad when that bearing in the engine room had started making a newer, awful whining sound.

It was excuse enough to breach the surface and focus on anything else as they’d headed for another island to both look for parts and avoid the heavier than normal marine patrols in this region of the North Blue.

There’d been a pirate attack on a nearby island called Orlinde. At least that’s what Law had heard. Some shithole port town there, with no real wealth or industry of its own had been burned to the ground. And it hadn’t made much sense as to why. Seemingly foolish to risk the ire of the navy when there’d be no treasure or significant beri to even be had in a place like that.

But whatever the reasoning for those other pirates, their actions there had the marines now swarming. To the point that it funneled anyone actively trying to avoid arrest or other harassment further east.

To an unaffiliated island chain that Law had ordered his crew to then disembark at. All save for Bepo anyway, as strolling through the center of town with an overly nervous ball of white fluff wouldn’t have helped much in their bid to keep a low profile.

They had intended to be here just long enough to find what they needed and to make repairs. But every other outlaw in the area had much the same idea. Crew after crew camping out here as an easy stopover while waiting for the larger marine presence to die down nearby.

And this many egos all right on top of each other became a perfect powder keg for disaster really.

Shachi and Penguin were now on either side of their captain, trying to look as unbothered as he seemed while all three boys stuck tightly together.

They walked past the crowded stores and food stalls. With drunken cursing, and all other sounds of debauchery already going on this soon after sunset.

An old man at the harbor had said there was a store in this direction that sold supplies for ship building. It was worth a try to start there first.

But that unsettled feeling was still in Law’s mind. He was too inexperienced to fully understand it yet. The unnamed intuition which had more to do with what would be happening rather than just what could.

“Hey, Spots!”

And there, a male voice had called out loudly. The first inkling of trouble just this soon.

Law’s eyes had flitted up to an open doorway of one of the bars farther up the street. But the teen kept walking, silent to show his crew he expected much the same from them.

Yet the stranger’s second try to get their attention was even louder than the first, as the owner of that voice stepped into the muddy street in front of them. “Hey, I’m talking to you, you prick!”

And Law did stop reluctantly then, not in fear, but in annoyance. He knew an immediate waste of his time when he saw one.

The man that’d been yelling was about his own age though. Young and snide with a grinning girl under one arm. The man’s other hand held a large blade that now pointed towards Law and his crew.

“Are you hard of hearing? I mean that’s what’s on your hat, right? Black spots? You all look damn stupid I think. But my girl likes your hat. So how much do you want for it, kid?”

The stranger sounded a bit drunk actually. And the girl ribbed him in her reaction. “Fur is in fashion, Sarquiss! So don’t be so stingy. Make them an offer! You know Joker’s gonna pay us good this time regardless.“

Sarquiss? Joker? Those were just two more names that Law had never heard before. They meant nothing to him as the idiots continued to talk.

“This kid’s pretty skinny though. What if he freezes, baby? It’s awful cold out here.” The man smirked down at her, flirting abruptly in return as if he hadn’t just been the one that’d started this whole confrontation.

What kind of fool ever looked away while in the middle of threatening someone though?

These dolts would have been eaten alive in the ways Law had originally been taught. Because seeing the first opening only meant that the first move was his.

It would have been the first kill too if Law had still been that literal to those old teachings. But he left his own sword sheathed against his shoulder.

As it was now, he had no interest in making a scene. Law had planned to initiate a room and simply swap the blade that man held for some of the fresh horse shit he’d already noticed piled up along the street’s edge.

The resulting shock and disgust would have caused plenty of distraction for him, Shachi, and Penguin to quickly be on their way.

But that heavy feeling within Law had somehow remained, even as his hand and lips had begun to move with that whisper of a room.

A dread in him that was not explained until the moment that stranger’s coat had opened further with his playful movements against the girl.

And Law’s eyes had widened as he finally saw the distinct tattoo across that man’s chest. That feeling clicking in him as he knew the absolute mistake he was about to make even before it happened.

No.

He could not stop himself.

He didn’t want to.

“Takt.”

Shachi and Penguin’s surprised gasps were drowned out as the girl’s resulting scream met Law’s ears.

Her boyfriend’s body had been ripped away from her without warning. And flung like a ragdoll, straight through the bar’s long window and all those wooden slats which supported it.

It was a terribly loud crash, so many eyes then looking to Law and his friends from both sides of the street.

The Heart Pirates didn’t hesitate either.

“Go!” Law yelled.

And all three of them had doubled back, beginning to sprint for the harbor.

——————————

Sarquiss had landed hard, stunned and sprawled on that barroom floor to the brief silence of so many other pirates inside. His own crew was chief among them.

The circular tattoo on his chest now smiled to the ceiling. Its left eye struck through, and its wide grin becoming accented with fresh red as blood began to seep from so many cuts dealt from that broken window.

“I don’t…I don’t know what happened.” Sarquiss stammered, bewildered and in pain as another pirate’s boots came to stand near his head.

“Somebody got a cheap shot in while you were buzzed on this shit liquor. That’s all.” The owner of those boots scoffed indignantly. “They’re trying to ruin our party.” But Bellamy still grinned in a practiced copy of that now scratched up jolly roger on his first mate’s chest.

He motioned for his other crew to help Sarquiss up off of the floor while he strode for the door. “It’s fine. I was getting bored of this place anyway. Gladius said we only had to lay low for a day or so after Orlinde before we could put our flags back up.”

Bellamy stood in the doorway then, just seeing the backs of those other young pirates disappearing behind a building further down the street as they ran.

“So meet me back at the ship.” His legs were already coiling as he readied to jump and start clearing right over those buildings to catch up with them. “I’ll get us some fresh meat, and we’ll have a little fun while we wait on Joker’s next instructions.”

——————————

The return to the palace had come soon enough. And you were drinking whiskey straight by that point, no ice, no mixer. Right out of a fancy cabinet of top shelf bottles that likely weren’t meant for anyone but the king himself.

You were still in uniform, but long off duty in your own mind. With one of your legs crossed over the other, and an arm over the back of Doflamingo’s couch in his office.

Whatever anger remained in you for your lack of choice in all of this, was enough to keep even the three executives away. That danger must have been exuding in your body language still. Though you felt their eyes on you intermittently regardless.

They were here to witness your defeat, and to congratulate their master on his success in spinning this into exactly what he wanted it to be.

But you were staring at nothing while they talked. Your gaze on an empty corner currently, and miles from this well appointed room as you drank yourself away just as you’d wanted to do on that dark beach earlier this evening.

You were quietly furious for this treatment. But you also believed you were every bit as responsible for how quickly this relationship had escalated.

No one had picked up or dialed your phone for you the night you’d first called Doflamingo and asked him to meet you in Scylla.

No one had actually put a gun to your head and drug you into that beautiful church to wait for him alone.

No one had told you to fall for him.

Regardless of any blackmail he’d used to this point, you could have been less willing to let it work. You could have told the truth from the beginning and hid behind your betters. Tsuru, Aokiji, or likely even so many others who would have at least tried to help you.

The truth would set you free.

Wasn’t that the old saying? What an optimistic mismatch of words.

More like the truth would cut your heart out and feed it to you with a smile.

“(Y/N).” And his voice did easily rise through that other chatter.

He was the only one here that still would make you pay attention as you looked back to Doflamingo’s desk. Where he now sat, binding you to him for life with each additional swipe of his pen.

“Answer the magistrate’s final questions. It’s required.” The warlord ordered you then, yet with a veil of patience not yet fully undone.

Besides yourself and Doflamingo, the only others in this room were the executives and the government official that had arrived with all those stacks of paperwork and questions.

Questions for you too that you’d mostly ignored, especially once you’d been several glasses into the whiskey.

While peasants may just do a quick hop over to the local justice of the peace and call it a night, anyone becoming property and consort to a world government endorsed king seemingly had far more to worry about.

And when your gaze did go back to that thin little government busybody, he reminded you only of a small rat. Fussing with his hands in such a nervous way as the papers shuffled through them. Like wringing little paws, frightened and stuck between all the monsters now in this room.

“Why can’t you answer everything for me?” You exhaled back to Doflamingo though, the accumulating burn of the whiskey making your body feel so warm at least as you finally responded to the pirate.

“Because that’s not how this works.” Doflamingo replied, still tolerating you even then somehow.

Your eyebrows raised. “Yeah? Since when? Because that’s all I’ve ever seen here.” You answered. He always spoke for you. He chose for you. He was the perfectionist. He was the control freak.

And you were the idiot.

A depressed woman who’d attempted to bury all her problems with a devil, just to be as surprised as anyone when she’d inevitably woken up in hell for her efforts.

“What’s the next question?” Doflamingo just asked the official directly then, all while looking back down to the papers he was still signing.

That warlord didn’t explode, he didn’t even raise his voice that time.

And you didn’t dwell on it as you went back to drinking, having gotten what you wanted if even for a moment in being left alone.

It was only the executives that seemed to take notice, subtly surprised as Doflamingo allowed that little pushback.

“Ah, well…” The official still stammered. “Sire, the next section was about the verification of her birth status. She was born on the island of Orlinde, correct? Within the North Blue?”

“Yes. That’s already in her marine record.” Doflamingo’s tone was notably shorter with the official too, further confirming the clear difference in treatment you had just received.

“Well, there’s a slight discrepancy…a clerical error I’m sure.” That small man produced the weakest chuckle you’d ever heard. “I just needed her to say it was indeed an error.”

And Doflamingo did look back up at that, those facial muscles of his tightening in a way which never meant anything good. “What error?”

“The more discerning background check required for unions of this, um, level. It…it noted her name on the registry for Orlinde as being born to a…well, to a slave woman, sire.”

You felt the room change.

The official became even shakier too, horrified really as an inhuman growl came from that desk before the magistrate could say anything more.

“She was never born of a slave. So your first assumption of that being bad data was the correct one. Is that understood?”

And you were just watching. Observing these further lies as Doflamingo told them.

His lips were pulled back from his teeth in an expression you fully recognized too.

Note anything different and I’ll gut you where you goddamn stand.

That’s what that energy so clearly said.

“Of course, your highness! I’m fixing it now! I’ll correct it all immediately!”

You knew how fucked up it was for you just to be an observer to such bullying of the weak. You were supposed to protect others, even when they sniveled and whined like this man now was.

But you didn’t feel that guilty either as you uncrossed your legs and shifted on the couch.

And Doflamingo’s head turned the moment you had moved even that much again.

You knew he had to do that, to properly see you at this angle. But something about that instant attention made you look at him even longer in return.

Because what did he think you were going to do?

What did he want you to do?

“King Doflamingo and Ms. (Y/N), that only leaves the oath itself…” The official’s fully uneasy voice interrupted those additional odd thoughts.

“Then go ahead.” The warlord commanded him just as quickly. “Read it to her.”

The official nodded, with a pen clutched in one of his sweating hands. And the final pages of all of that paperwork in the other as he looked down to read it.

“Ms. (Y/N)…do you hereby agree to loyalty until your death to King Donquixote Doflamingo of Dressrosa? Do you also understand the legal bindings of this union? And the consequences of non compliance, up to and including charges of treason against this aforementioned monarch and our World Government via his status as a sanctioned vessel beholden to our Holy Land of Mariejois?”

You really were too far gone for this shit.

So what? If you got into another fight and decked him when he deserved it, that’d now be the same as rebellion against the Red Line itself? Just because he was a government backed dictator?

Was arguing with him treason too? What about ever leaving this island? Was that desertion and dereliction of your soon to be wifely duties?

Even signing your marine recruitment papers hadn’t felt this restrictive. And that’d been you literally agreeing to march to your own death if your commanding officers simply said to.

“Yeah…what else am I supposed to say?” You knew you weren’t going to be let out of this room otherwise. And you did want out as you stretched your legs away from you, still seated on that couch.

Things were starting to feel too much for you again, like everything was closing in once more. “Fuck it…yes. I guess I do.” You forced another couple of breaths as you brought the whiskey glass to your lips again.

Or at least you’d tried to.

The strings that then looped around your wrist had jerked your hand hard enough to splash that liquid down the front of your shirt instead. Right before you were being pulled up and onto your feet.

“I already said yes, you-” You started to bitch at him immediately. It was hard enough to catch your balance when this inebriated without Doflamingo also pulling you so roughly to his desk.

“And I accept your agreement.” He laughed abruptly, cutting both you and the official off before any other response could be given.

It hurt you as your hips hit his desk. And with him already seated, he didn’t have to lean as far down to reach your mouth across that desk either.

Doflamingo got to taste the full brunt of that alcohol you were now hiding behind as he kissed you.

While you got to taste his still enduring desperation for any piece of you that was left for the taking.

It was going to be a very long night.

——————————

The paperwork was done and sent. Clothes were scattered across the floor, and Doflamingo was already back over the top of you in his massive bed.

A large glass of his best cava was in his hand as his hips pumped against you slowly while he drank. He was savoring the drawn out pressure of you around him, mixed into that chilled feeling of the sparkling wine now flooding down his throat.

He swallowed again, then moaning as his mouth came back off of the glass.

“You fucking lush…you’re such a bad influence.” He laughed a little after, running his thumb firmly over your parted mouth while his cock continued to move in and out between your legs at that languid pace.

He could nearly get off on just the sound of his own voice by now though. He was so stimulated. Everything felt good. Everything felt right.

Because he’d done it.

You were his in every legal way that mattered.

And you were still somewhat conscious this time. The alcohol metabolizing enough by now to mostly take your voice. But you were watching him as he fucked you. His every action slow and deliberate as he fully enjoyed himself and this renewed lack of your resistance.

You even gave a few little moans and gasps as he rewarded you again by angling himself just right.

“Good girl…such a good girl for me. It feels amazing, doesn’t it?” He panted a bit anyway, his lust driving up his body temperature regardless of the careful pace. He reached briefly to set his now empty glass back onto the nightstand.

“I want this all the time…all the damn time. You know that right? I can’t stop…not when it’s you.” He just kept on, using that steady, long lasting rhythm.

He did try to keep his full weight off of your wounded thigh at least. Mindful of where he moved your leg as he took you. But this was still a celebration after all. He also wanted to feel you under him in all the right ways.

“Doffy…” You did grimace a little as the tip of him kissed against your cervix again.

He smiled at the plea of his name from your lips though. You were so pretty like this. And all of it was for him.

Maybe tomorrow your brain would be back to functioning well enough for him to explain your other wedding gifts as well.

Ever since the two of you had first sailed from Scylla together, he’d gotten busy with moving his chess pieces all over the board for you.

The nearest loyal mongrels Gladius could assign for him to your home island of Orlinde, had already razed that brothel you’d been born in to ash in a much needed cleansing of your pedigree.

While another official on Doflamingo’s payroll had just as recently planted forged documents of your revised parentage for Big News Morgans to find instead.

Doflamingo had already teased you with the idea of gifting that Scyllian villa to you. The villa that became the first nest the two of you had ever slept side by side in, would of course now be important to him as well. It was not leaving your and his new family no matter what now.

But that was still not enough.

With the machinations he had going, your bloodline was going to be from Scylla.

Any children you could give him would then have both Dressrosa and Scylla to their credit.

Which, that was now another thing he needed to follow up on starting tomorrow. Caesar had had well enough time to deliver.

Doflamingo smiled again though as you shuddered quietly beneath him.

“Still with me?” He hummed, seeing your eyes close then as he rubbed his hand down your side and you stilled again. “Or have you forgotten your own name, dear, while that poor liver of yours cries out from abuse?”

The moonlight highlighted his entertained expression as his lips pulled back from his teeth again. His hand had moved up to your throat as he gripped it in his continued pleasure.

He watched as your breasts rose and fell a little harder with those deeper breaths your body was then forced to take as he gradually restricted your airway.

It made his cock twitch so well inside of you.

“Forget your name anyway.” Doflamingo growled as he felt himself nearing that edge of climax when you finally coughed beneath his ever tightening hand. He was beginning to choke you, and it only made him want more of that feeling. “Because you’re a Donquixote now.”

Or at least the property of one as he felt your own hand then move to close on his larger wrist weakly.

Your body was too drunk to stop him, but that reflex of self preservation still flickered up in you all the same.

Doflamingo moaned loudly too as he saw your eyes reopen, half lidded to look at him in that new, pitiful way.

That helpless look is what did send him over the edge. As you tried and failed to breathe in his grip, he only bucked his hips that much harder as he spilled himself out into you yet again.

This is what it meant to truly own you.

———————————

“She hasn’t called?” Aokiji asked as he’d entered the other admiral’s office without warning.

But Kizaru looked unbothered as usual even at the surprise visit, just glancing up from a mission report that Sentomaru had submitted for sign off.

“Well…hello to you too. You’ve been off base quite a while.” He did comment though, watching Aokiji through those amber tinted glasses. “We were starting to think you may have gone rogue actually.”

It was said so calmly, but with just that hint of a smirk. “Sengoku wouldn’t have liked that.”

“I went patrolling on my own for a few days. That’s nothing new.” Aokiji frowned, and not taking a seat as he continued to stand. “But did Captain (Y/N) call today? Akainu’s got the Fleet Admiral in a meeting, and no one else seems to know.”

Kizaru shrugged. “I haven’t talked to her.” He looked back to his paperwork, but with noticeable disinterest in it now. “Why don’t you just call her yourself if it’s really become that distracting to you?”

But the resulting silence did make Kizaru finally look up again. That slight amusement was clearer on his face now. “Oh? Are you afraid to call her?”

Aokiji’s arms were crossed, his whole demeanor looking incredibly stern. “This isn’t about me. So get that stupid look off of your face.”

Wasn’t this his normal face? Kizaru thought to himself. Regardless, he didn’t seem insulted. “Hmm. Think you might say something unprofessional if you did call?” He mused to only add to this instead. “I guess that could be embarrassing for someone of our rank.”

And a cold palm did slam down onto the desk then. Aokiji could hold back much longer usually. But that cool composure was seemingly less and less lately. Especially when it came to the subject of you.

“Enough. I’ve told you so many times…” The ice admiral still warned.

Yet Kizaru barely reacted to that flare of temper, just glancing to the now frost covered hand and then back up into the frustrated eyes of its owner.

“Yeah? …You think you’ll just endanger her if you make any obvious fuss, don’t you? Doflamingo is quite an unstable man. But how many years have we known each other now? I’d say you’ve already made your move if I was to bet.” Kizaru nearly smirked again. “Where have you really been these past few days?”

“You’re no help at all. As usual.” Aokiji grumbled, just stepping back from the desk at the accusation.

He didn’t deny this either.

But Kizaru simply watched him, rather expressionless once more. “Did you ask for my help? I don’t recall that happening.”

Aokiji’s eyes narrowed as he looked back at him. “You’d be in Akainu’s ear in a heartbeat if I did.”

“And so what? We’re all comrades in arms…aren’t we?” Finally there was that minuscule trace of a frown on Kizaru’s lips.

They were supposed to work together.

But that look of disappointment was just for a moment before he set his pen down and grabbed the receiver from off of the large transponder snail on his desk.

Aokiji’s eyes widened slightly at this movement, surprised and untrusting as Kizaru leaned back in his chair while the operator connected.

“Yes, admiral?” HQ’s switchboard girl answered kindly while Kizaru put the phone on speaker.

“Hello, Miss,” He said with a new, slight smile. “I need you to ring someone for me.”

“Of course, admiral. Who do you want me to connect you to?”

“Pull the warlord numbers if you please. I want Donquixote Doflamingo’s most direct line.”

There was just the briefest pause there too. Her voice changing a little. “The Fleet Admiral has put a restriction on that line, sir. No non-emergency calls. Is this considered an emergency?”

“Sure.” Kizaru was patient as anything, almost relaxing in his chair. “Let’s say it’s an emergency.”

“Yes, sir. Then I’m connecting you now.” Her nervousness gave way to dutiful obedience quickly enough as there was a click followed by momentary silence.

“The hell are you doing!?” Aokiji snapped at him in that brief delay before the line began to trill in new ringing.

Kizaru looked back up at him, unfazed.

The phone continued to ring.

“It’d be pretty late in Dressrosa right now wouldn’t it?” Kizaru just thought out loud instead of giving a proper answer, glancing at the multiple clocks across his wall which denoted the different times across the seas.

But Aokiji was not amused at all, starting to reach to hang up that transponder snail himself before a loud click had both admirals pause.

“This better be good.” Came the noticeably sleep hazed voice. A sharpness to it already though, with that transponder snail scowling up at them now.

“Oh…did I interrupt your beauty rest, pirate?” Kizaru responded, watching that snail as Aokiji went fully silent.

“Huh…” There was that moment of thought and maybe even a bit of surprise on the other end of the line. But the real recognition didn’t take long. Because there weren’t many men that would have been so casual as this. And those that would, didn’t sound like that.

“Admiral Kizaru is it?” Doflamingo recovered quickly, dark voice sounding more interested now.

“Yes, I’m calling from HQ.” Kizaru drawled. “Seems our captain that you appointed to your island recently hasn’t reported in to us today. And you wouldn’t have had anything to do with that little lapse in her communication, now would you?”

The implied threat didn’t even have to be overt. It was well enough for any of the three navy admirals to take a personal interest in anything like this of course.

And this would now be the second admiral to do so in your name if the rumors of Aokiji’s previous visit to Doflamingo’s house in Sabaody were to be believed.

And Kizaru did believe it.

What he was surprised by was that it hadn’t been enough.

A pirate that didn’t have the sense to back down for even an admiral.

It was a problem.

And the snail had quieted for a moment, its serious expression seeming to consider the weight of this new questioning from the admiral.

But Kizaru was exactly correct. Doflamingo understood the threat.

Doflamingo chose not to heed it.

Because the snail smiled then, wide and cruel as the warlord’s decision was made.

“Well…it is late. But if you insist, then why don’t you ask her yourself, admiral? It really has nothing to do with me.” Doflamingo replied with an all new goading.

And there was a sound of a bed creaking.

The warlord’s voice became slightly quieter as he’d moved away from the receiver.

“Captain…hey.” It almost sounded gentle. But that snail was still grinning, Doflamingo’s dark voice still close enough for his real expression to be picked up. That smug pride radiating even as the intentional softness continued. “No…you need to wake up. You’ve got a colleague on the line…come here.”

The two admirals stared at that snail.

“…what?” A confused female voice finally protested.

“The phone, darling. It’s your work. Already not respecting your off duty hours at all it seems…”

The temperature now plummeted in Kizaru’s office at that vulnerable sound of you, as well as the full implications of what this truly meant.

But Kizaru cut in before Aokiji could. Even as both admirals’ breaths were then coming in trails of vapor within the room.

“Captain.” Kizaru said louder and firmer than he ever normally would to you.

And you heard it. Also recognizing his voice that you’d heard far more times than any warlord ever would.

There was more noise of the snail moving then. Like you were now picking it up from off of the bed. “…Admiral?” You asked in delayed surprise.

But there was more to it than that. You didn’t sound right, even in just these couple of words.

“Yes. Checking in, Captain. You didn’t give your status to anyone today.” Kizaru answered.

“I…” You tried. “There was…” Yes, they could fully tell now. You were trying so hard, but slurring every brief word none the less.

You were fully drunk.

And you finally gave up, starting to actually plead in that humiliation of being ambushed in this way. “I…I’m fine. But I can’t…debrief right now. Sir…I’m…I’m sorry…”

The snail trembled, its eyes heartbreakingly defeated.

It was worse than any of them had ever thought then.

This was not the woman they knew.

Aokiji was about to snap. And Kizaru considered transmitting himself towards Sengoku’s office here and now.

But their shared enemy still most running this show wasn’t ceding his spotlight yet either.

“Admiral.” Doflamingo’s voice came back, shamelessly calm in contrast to your now evident emotions. “The Captain can speak with you later. I’m sure you’d agree that there’s nothing wrong with a little over indulgence when off the clock…we’ve all been there.”

And he even made a noise as if he was comforting you beside him. Hushing you with a mimicry of affection before he spoke again. “…I’ll have her touch base with you tomorrow. Once she’s sobered up of course.”

Yet that snail also showed its teeth again before it was done. The harsher expression forming which didn’t match that measured tone at all.

“But tomorrow we’ll be very busy as well. Some news will be coming out, and her work for Dressrosa will be taking priority. The mission always comes first, correct? And she is one of your most dedicated.”

The snail’s tongue moved across those teeth. One final jab then added like a garnish on the heap of bullshit already being presented.

“This king is certainly glad to have her services at least.”

And Kizaru was forced to make a choice.

He disappeared in a flash of yellow light, taking the snail with him as Aokiji had reached for it to speak.

No one could match Kizaru’s speed. And Aokiji had then turned, the purest rage within those dark eyes as Kizaru now stood all the way out in the hallway, holding that snail.

It was already back asleep as Kizaru had disconnected the call even before he’d moved.

“I’ll kill him.” Aokiji breathed, ice having already overtaken half of his face.

Kizaru was initially silent. His eyes had narrowed as well behind his glasses.

But then he spoke to his peer, blunt and sure. “They’d order me and Sakazuki to erase you for treason, brother. And that wouldn’t help anybody. Now would it?”

Aokiji gave him a look of disgust. Words seemed pointless by now. They both knew how wrong this was.

Yet Kizaru did begin walking back to him. A show of continued trust really. Because they were not enemies.

“Whatever you already did…” Kizaru started. “Is that going to help her?”

Aokiji’s shoulders sank ever so slightly, but his ice did not recede.

“Temporarily…but I came back here to do the rest of it. I am going to get her off of Dressrosa. No matter what that takes.”

——————————

Borsalino had actually hung up on him. The least passionate of all three admirals, and Doflamingo was certain he’d still gotten under that man’s skin.

Were you really that important to all of them then? Doflamingo’s own ego was happy to believe that you were.

Because it made you feel even more hard won if so. His marine treasure, stolen straight from the top and now further slipping through the hands of even the world’s greatest soldiers.

And how interesting that they didn’t seem to know about your public betrothal yet. Kizaru was a hard one to judge though. He hadn’t mentioned it at least.

Hopefully this really did mean that there were no marine spies left on Dressrosa to call and tattle to HQ. None outside of the toys working in his underground port anyway.

And he’d taken your own phone away immediately after the incident with Crocodile. You’d only been allowed to make calls right in front of him now.

Morgans’ reporters were likely playing things close to the vest too, to not share anything until those newspapers went to press. They wanted the first and only scoop for tomorrow’s worldwide release.

But there was nothing Sengoku could possibly do to reverse this either once he would find out. You were still a marine, just as Doflamingo had promised he’d let you remain. But you were also now his wife, with all of the added immunity that provided for you.

You couldn’t be fired, or even demoted. Not unless Doflamingo wanted you to be.

The five old men on the Red Line had reluctantly agreed to this in his stipulations. No doubt just humoring the traitorous brat that they still thought he was.

If they believed he was distracted, it made their lives easier. Less trouble he could cause for them.

Perhaps you’d actually thank him some day though. He was a generous master after all. Pulling his strings all the way from heaven to hell in this whirlwind of a love affair with you.

But tonight you were still too upset. Still too close to it all to realize how lucky you actually were to have his attention this deeply.

Your head was on his chest once more as he rubbed your back idly in the dark.

He could feel that dampness against his bare skin. Your silent tears as you surely thought your career was now dead and gone.

You were crying yourself back to sleep like the pitiful, broken thing you still were.

But he didn’t mind.

Doflamingo kissed the top of your head as that new whim overcame him.

You were his responsibility now.

His prize and his companion to defend.

Dawn would come again tomorrow, and with it the world’s reactions to what he’d done to you. But he welcomed that challenge and whatever new enemies it would bring him.

Because he’d bury them all like the good mate he was. He would protect you. This was his nest and his woman.

He nuzzled his face back down against your hair. Hiding his scarred eye as the other eye watched the room for a bit longer before also drifting closed.

Your arms were tight around him. It felt right. But even in all his intense possessiveness that this inspired, there was something else so wholly new as well.

He felt safe.

He felt needed.

Until death do you part indeed. As that would be the only possible way for anyone to ever carve you from him now.

———————————

T⨂ BE

CONTINUED

———————————

Thanks for reading!

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reigningqueenofwords · 4 months

Text

Losing Her

Pairing: Bucky x Reader Word count: 1,156 Request: Anonymous. Love that you’ve jumped on the chubby Bucky train 🤗. Maybe reader is planning a party for a recent promotion or something and she has to be secretive so he gets super duper worried she’s leaving him because he’s gotten chunky?

Read on AO3

Bucky had gotten a promotion that he’d been hoping for finally, and you were so proud of him. He’d worked hard, and it had finally paid off. You wanted to show him just how proud, so you took it upon yourself to start planning him a part. That he would have no idea about. Conspiring with Tony, Nat, and Steve, the four of you worked to make it perfect. They’d help you make sure all your friends were there on time, and that everything was how you wanted it to be.

The phone was between your shoulder and ear as you worked on dinner for that evening when Bucky walked in. “That’s perfect! And it’s in my budget?” You asked. “Tony, just because you make a lot of money, doesn’t mean the rest of us do.” You teased. Hearing the door shut, you quickly worked on ending the call. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Night.” You hit the red button and put your phone on the counter before turning to see Bucky standing there, eyebrow raised. “How was work?” You smiled.

“It was work. What did Tony want?” He asked, curious.

You waved it off. “Working on Christmas presents early this year.” You told him.

“It’s May.” He noted. You simply shrugged and went back to cooking, confusing him.

Crawling into bed that night, you got a text as you got comfortable. Bucky was already waiting to cuddle you, but you quickly grabbed your phone. It was Nat, talking about catering. You replied, chatting with her for a few minutes before putting it face down on your nightstand. “Girl from work wants to grab lunch tomorrow.” You pecked his cheek before wrapping your arm around his waist, which had grown since the pair of you had moved in together. Putting your head on his chest, you didn’t see the look of worry on his face.

“I don’t know what to do, Stevie.” Bucky paced his office while on the phone with his younger brother. “I feel like I’m losing her.” His heart ached. “I’ve put on weight, I get that. I’m not as fit as I used to be. I work, and so sue me I’d rather enjoy my girl’s cooking over spending an hour at the gym.” He half whined.

Steve sighed, trying to ease his worries without giving anything away. “She loves you, Buck.” He assured him. “So much.” Being in the middle was hard, but Steve understood why you’d asked him to help. “How long have you felt this way?”

He sighed. “It really started maybe a week ago?” He shrugged, even though he couldn’t be seen. “I come home and she’s talking to Tony. Something about a budget. She tried to play it off as wanting to work on Christmas presents already. I pointed out it’s May. Then she gets into bed, and instantly starts texting someone. She said it was a girl from work, but why would she be texting her so late?”

“Honestly, you are dating someone who likes to plan.” He pointed out. “She honestly could be planning Christmas presents. Last year she took over a month just for your birthday present, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember.” He mumbled. It had been a good present.

Steve smiled to himself. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure it’ll all blow over, and you’ll laugh at yourself for every thinking she’d want to leave you. She probably has bridal magazines stashed in your apartment somewhere, Buck.” He saw the two of you making it in the long run.

Bucky’s cheeks turned a bright red at that. “You think?” He asked, now a bit worried for a different reason. Were you hoping he’d propose or something? “Wait, do you think she’s planning to propose?!” He felt slightly panicked. He loved that you were independent, and didn’t care about ‘gender roles’, but he wanted to get down on one knee for you!

Chuckling, Steve was amused. “Calm. Down.” He said gently. “Breathe. Just get back to work, okay? I’ll see you for our usual dinner Friday.” He told him.

“Yeah…yeah…”

Throughout the next few days, Bucky’s worries went back and forth. From him thinking you were leaving, to thinking you’d propose and he wouldn’t get to surprise you with that. By the time Friday rolled around, he hoped that dinner would help. Every Friday night, your group of friends made their way to Tony’s for a nice dinner. It was something to look forward to when the weeks were long and hard.

“Tony never sends a car.” Bucky noted when you told him your car was there.

“Guess he wanted us to feel special.” You smiled, lacing your fingers with his as you led him outside. There was a nice black car waiting for you, the driver there, ready to open the door for the two of you to slide in.

Once in, his eyes watched out the window. “This isn’t the way to Tony’s.” He looked to you, noting how the lights from outside hit your face just so. “Where’re we going, doll?”

You grinned over at him. “You’ll see.” You teased, making him furrow his brows.

Twenty minutes later, the door was opened again. Bucky got out first, and then offered you his hand. He looked to the building, and noted it was a very nice hotel. Bucky allowed himself to be led by you, his mind trying to grasp at the most logical outcome. He stopped you, making you look at him. “Babe, I love you, and I wanted to be the one to propose. I don’t have a ring, or I’d do this the right way. But, I have to ask before you do it.” He rambled, making you stare at him. “Will you marry me?” He blurted out, making you giggle.

“I will, but I wasn’t proposing.” You cupped his cheek gently. Motioning to the two large doors that had opened, showing your friends, the room behind them set up for a party. A banner that read ‘CONGRATULATIONS’ was hung up.

“I guess we have two reasons to celebrate now!” Tony beamed.

Bucky’s eyes went wide, looking back to you. “Uh…” His face felt like it was on fire.

You pecked his lips. “We can go ring shopping tomorrow. We’ve been putting together a party for your promotion, babe.” You explained. “That ‘budget’ I told Tony to stick to, that he didn’t….” You shot a fake glare at the man. “Was for the venue, and supplies. That text I got was Nat. She was in charge of food. I worked with them, and Steve, to pull this off in about two weeks.” You wrapped your arms around him.

“That…didn’t even cross my mind.” He admitted. “I thought you were leaving me because I gained weight, or proposing. Then I saw this place and…well…” He said bashfully.

“I love your extra weight.” You grinned with a wink. “Now, let’s celebrate!”

#chubby!bucky #bucky x reader #chubby!bucky x reader

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moody-alcoholic · 2 months

Text

Chapter 3 - The Ride Along

AN: It's a slow burn... I wanted to get some Simon & Johnny antics in...

Summary: Simon x reader, 4.4k words. You convince Price to let you tag along on one of the deliveries to see what the job is like. Although it doesn't really go according to plan.

CW: Implied violence, use of weapons, description of injuries, blood, alcohol.

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AO3

Enjoy <3

When you get into work on Monday you have a plan. Not necessarily a plan to get into the store room but a plan to get answers. You don’t wait saying hi quickly to Johnny and Simon on your way up to John’s office. You take a breath in then knock on the door.

“Come in!” You hear him call. You walk in smiling. Confidence is key. He’s typing on the computer but stops when he sees you smiling and sitting back in his chair.

“How was your weekend?” He asks. He puts you at ease almost immediately. Don’t let your guard down.

“Good, got some housework done, you?”

“Mostly the same.” He says. “Did you need something?”

“Yes actually. In my last job when I first started, I had the opportunity to ride alone with one of the delivery drivers. To see what that side of the job was like. It really helped me get a better understanding of how the flow of goods work. I can use it to improve my work and make sure it’s the best experience for clients and easy for the drivers.” You explain pushing the nerves away.

“So you want to follow one of the drivers around?” He says his smile fading and his lips pressing together like he’s trying to think of what to say next.

“Just for the morning, I’ll still make sure all my work is finished before the end of the day.” You say. Reassure him, it’ll make him feel better.

“Okay.” He says getting up out his chair and heading to the door. You try not to look shocked that he said yes, you were expecting him to shut you down come up with some sort of excuse. You follow him out to the top of the stairs.

“Riley!” He calls. Simon walks up to the bottom of the steps.

“I want you to take the new recruit out with you she want’s to see the delivery side of the job.” Price says, Simon is frowning.

“But I’ve got the Renfolds job this morning,” Simon says.

“I’m aware, take her with you.” John says.

“What if I need help with my other job?” Johnny asks appearing next to Simon.

“Then you ask Simon for help.” John says almost sounding annoyed now. What kind of job would Johnny need to ask Simon for help in? More questions, burning questions you want answers too. John pats you on the shoulder and you hear him go back into the office as you step down to meet Simon. He does not seem too impressed.

“Why don’t you go print the invoices off and I’ll get the van ready.” He says his arms crossed, you can’t tell if he’s mad or just annoyed, his mask hides half his face, regardless he seems to be good at hiding his emotions. You nod heading to the reception desk to print them off. You don’t think Simon likes you too much, maybe this will be good forced to spend some time with him. You pick up the stack of papers hearing your name being called.

——————————

You drive out of the centre of London into what seems to be a very affluent neighbourhood, somewhere you have never been before. The houses just seem to be getting bigger. The ride had been pretty much silent. You needed to be careful when to ask the questions especially with Simon. You wished you could have been with Johnny or Kyle, they might have been easier to get answers from. With Simon you have to pick your opportunities wisely.

“So who is Mr Renfolds?” You ask, he sighs his hand gripping the steering wheel tighter.

“A client, a special client.” Simon says. That didn’t give you much information to work with. he pulls up to the massive gates of one of the mansions. Opening the driver door hopping out to go over to the intercom. A few seconds later he’s coming back into the van as the gates open.

“Very fancy.” You say. Simon just hums in response. As soon as the gates are open he drives in parking the van by the door. You both get out as you hear Simon open the side door on the van. When you go to meet him though the door is already shut again. He hands you what looks like a toolkit.

“What are we here to do?” You ask as you follow him up to the front door.

“You’ll see.” He says ringing the bell. You don’t like how cryptic he’s being maybe you should just be pushy. If you’re annoying enough maybe he will just give in and answer the questions for you. A few seconds later the door opens there is a man stood there, he’s older defiantly in his 50 or 60’s, balding dressed in a smart suit.

“Ah Mr. Riley, it’s a privilege again.” He says shaking Simon's hand.

“And who is this lovely lady, do you have an assistant now?” He asks reaching out his hand to you you accept it and shake it.

“Something like that.” Simon says before you can introduce yourself. Simon walks through the door to a case on a table in the centre of the lobby. You watch as Simon opens it as you stand behind him. Holy shit. It’s a weapon, a pistol. It looks scary as Simon picks it up turning it over in his hands.

“You say it keeps jamming?” Simon asks Mr Renfolds. You look over at him as he explains the history. How he bought it from a visiting American but has only managed to fire it once before the whole thing jammed up and stopped working.

“I wanted something small for protection, everyday use.” He explains looking towards you. You almost want to laugh. Small? everyday use? The weapon wasn’t small, it’s a hand gun sure but even in Simon’s hands it looks massive.

“Do you want any tea, coffee?” Mr Renfolds asks.

“We’re good thank you.” Simon says.

“I’ll leave you to it then.” He says and heads through one of the doors.

“This is very illegal.” You say leaning so you’re whispering to Simon.

“Open the kit.” He sighs. You do as you’re told opening it and setting it down on the table.

“Rich fuckers don’t care about the laws, as long as they can afford bail.” Simon says taking the weapon apart with quick efficiency. He reaches over for a cloth cleaning the barrel and blowing down it. He holds part of it up to the light, you have no idea which part is which now. You stand there watching him work like he’s done this a thousand times. He probably has. He takes tools from the box muttering to himself as he cleans the weapon.

“Do you have to do this a lot?” You ask. He looks up at you blinking.

“All the God damn time, they buy the weapons but don’t have a clue how to care for them.” He says. Once he seems satisfied he starts putting it back together.

“Go find him would you.” He says, you nod and heading in the direction Mr Renfolds left in. The mansion is massive and you feel like you’re going to have to search for him forever but then you see him in the kitchen. You enter not really know what to say. He turns when he hears the door open.

“Ah, finished so soon!” He asks jollily, clapping his hands together. You nod turning to leave and he follows you. You make it back to the foyer as Simon is packing the tool box away.

“Got anywhere I can fire this?” Simon asks as soon as he sees the Mr Renfolds who nods enthusiastically. You let Simon pass you as you both follow him down the stairs to a basement. He leads you through a door with a key-code, when you walk in you gasp. There is a full shooting range down here, like ones you’ve seen on TV. The place is smaller but there is a wall with a bunch of scary looking guns.

“I know, quite extraordinary.” He says sounding proud of the place.

“It’s definitely something.” You say, Simon is stood in one of the booths he takes down the pair of ear defenders hanging above him.

“Here, put them on.” He says, you take them out of his hand putting them on. They’re too big for you but it’s better then nothing you guess. Mr. Renfolds finds a pair too and pulls them on. Simon walks over to a table and picks up what looks like weapon magazines. He places them in the booth then you watch as he loads the pistol.

“What about you?” You ask, he turns to look at you.

“I’m used to it.” He says and starts firing off shots. Even with the defenders the noise still makes you jump. Simon’s stood with his arms stretched out, you watch as his muscles tense with each kick back of the gun. His eyes sharp focused on the target in front of him. You wonder if he misses it, having a weapon in his hands. It seems the be the only time you’ve seen him like this before, it’s almost like... comfort. He shoots until the mag is finished then reloads it he fires off a few more shots and when he’s satisfied he unloads the weapon, placing it down. He turns round and you take the ear defenders off.

“Brilliant, what a thrill!” Mr. Renfolds shouts going over to where Simon was standing.

“Perfect shots! I’m going to frame that pretend it was mine.” He nudges Simon, who takes the ear defenders out your hand and hangs them back up.

“Anything else we can do for you?” Simon asks.

“No, you’ve been a great help as per usual.” Mr Renfolds says, still gawking over Simon’s shots on the target. Simon nods.

“We’ll show ourselves out.” He says and starts to walk out the room. You say goodbye as you follow Simon back through the mansion to the van outside.

“So what you service people’s weapons? Do you sell them too?” You ask Simon as he opens the side door of the van taking the toolbox and putting it in.

“No that would be illegal.” He says slamming the door closed. You scoff waking round the van getting into the passenger side.

“What about all the guns in the store room are they just for personnel use?” You say raising an eyebrow.

“Sometimes.” Simon says sighing as he starts the engine. You huff frustrated, he’s not giving you the answers you want. Or he’s being intentionally vague. It’s like trying to get water out a rock. You’re about to speak when you’re interrupted by Simon’s phone ringing. He presses accept on the dash.

“Where the hell have you been I’ve been calling for ages!” It’s Johnny, he sounds pissed.

“We were in Renfolds basement.” Simon replies as he backs out the driveway onto the road.

“Kinky. I need your help, jobs a bust-” Johnny get’s cut off by what sounds like gunshot’s. Your stomach drops you look over at Simon.

“Johnny!” Simon is almost shouting. The van’s speeding up.

“Shite, I’ll send the location, I’m pinned down in the back of some old warehouse.” Johnny says, you feel sick. A few seconds later Simon’s phone buzzes. He unlocks it and passes it to you.

“Read the directions.” He says his voice low commanding it sends a shiver up your spine. You look down at the map.

“R-Right at the lights.” You say pointing, trying to keep calm.

“How’s the first ride along going lass?” Johnny says although his voice sounds strained, there are more shots.

“Interesting,” you managed to say. “Left down this road there’s an industrial estate.” At least that’s what you think it is.

“Aye, lass that’s it, what would Ghost do without you!” Johnny says, through more straining and more shots.

“I’d be there with you,” Simon whispers under his breath. You don’t think you were meant to hear that so you look back down at the phone.

“Right in here,” you point to the entrance the gate is open and Simon drives in. You can’t tell if you can hear shot’s or it’s just your mind playing tricks on you. You see the other van Simon parks behind it.

“Any chance on that ETA?” Johnny asks.

“I’m here stay on the line.” Simon says killing the engine, he bends over you and opens the glove box. He takes out two masks handing one to you.

“Put this on. Do not move from this van no matter what happens okay?” You nod following his instructions and pulling it over your face. You turn to look at him as he discards his black surgical mask pulling the balaclava on. His eyes dig into you and you swallow hard the hairs standing up on the back of your neck. Simon jumps out the van, slamming the drivers door. It makes you jump as you hear the side door open.

“Where’s Gaz?” You hear as Simon rummages through the van. This is bad, you have no idea where you are. You gave instructions to Simon but you weren’t paying attention to the names.

“Fucking hell Soap why didn’t you call sooner!” Simon sounds angry as you feel the van shake as Simon shuts the door. Your body is tense you don’t think you could move. Simon walks round the front of the van he’s wearing a bullet proof vest now, he has a rife in his hands as he pushes a magazine into it. You gasp as you see him. This is very serious. You don’t even have time to think of the consequences of that this means when a car pulls up.

You watch as John and Kyle get out slamming the doors shut. They’re also dressed in tactical gear with weapons bigger then you have ever seen. John starts pointing around and Simon and Kyle nod jogging off. John looks back at you and holds his thumb up. You’re just staring wide eyed, mouth gaping open as you bring your shaking hand up to give him a thumbs up back. At least your expression is mostly hidden. You have no idea if that’s the right thing to do but he nods and runs off in the same direction as Simon and Kyle.

You sit there waiting, trying to listen. You think you hear shots, distant pops and banging. Why are the police not here yet? The place did look empty and you were on an industrial estate but still, this is London, people would report this. Your heart is thumping in your chest beating rapidly. You were in too deep, this is dangerous. This could get you killed. These are real people with real guns. Maybe you should run, there’s bound to be someone nearby you can get a lift from. What would you even say? No. You push the thought away. You want answers, that burning curiosity that bought you here in the first place is back. Curiosity killed the cat. You think back to the room with the guns. To Simon walking round the van with a rifle in his hands. It was a good look on him, he seemed more relaxed with a weapon in his hands. Maybe now they would have to give you answers.

‘Aye, but satisfaction bought it back’ Johnny’s voice rings in your ears. You hope he’s okay, he sounded strained on the phone. The shots louder then the little pops you’ve been hearing here. They seemed to know what they were doing, of course they did they’re all ex-SAS, if anyone was going to be rescuing Johnny who better to ask. You’re not waiting much longer when you see movement ahead of you. You hold your breath hoping its them, all of them. You let out a sigh of relief when you see them come round. They all look fine, even Johnny. You want to get out the van and run over to meet them but you stay put remembering Simon’s instructions. Johnny waves at you when he sees you and you wave back. He walks over to the van and opens your door.

“Suits you.” He says winking. You see blood running down his arm.

“Johnny you’re bleeding!” you say gasping.

“Just a scratch, c’mon lass hop out.” He says moving to the side. You unclip your seat belt and swing your legs round jumping out the van. As soon as your legs hit the floor you wobble bracing yourself on the door. Johnny chuckles pulling the mask off your head and throwing it into the van.

“So strangest ride along you’ve ever been on?” Johnny asks as you walk round him your legs still feeling like jelly.

“Strangest anything I’ve ever done.” You say forcing a chuckle. You look past Johnny as Gaz walks over.

“Always have to have all the fun without us.” Gaz says as he pats Johnny on the back. Johnny winces.

“Aye, just the way I like it.” He replies.

“I’m going to stay with Price clean this mess up, LT will drive you both back.” Gaz says looking at you and nodding. You nod back at him, he smiles. The adrenaline is wearing off now and you shiver. What just happened? You watch Gaz walk away and Simon come over you hear the beeping of the car being unlocked. Johnny leaves your side to walk round to the front passenger seat. You watch as Simon walks up to you stopping before he opens the driver door.

“You okay?” He asks, his voice calmer now softer. It throws you off you were ready to be mad at him demand answers now he’s looking at you with those beautiful caramel eyes. You collect yourself ignoring the heat rushing to your cheeks. It’s just the adrenaline, you tell yourself as you look away.

“I’m fine,” you reply, your hand reaching for the passenger door handle. He hums, almost like he doesn't believe you. You get in the car sitting behind Simon putting your seat belt on.

“Job well done!” Johnny says. Simon scoffs. “We got ‘em didn’t we.”

“Who did you get?” You blurt out before you can stop yourself. Simon’s eyes look at you through the rear view mirror. It’s almost like a warning. Drop it.

“Got the bad guy’s lass, like we always do.” Johnny says turning and winking at you.

“What did they do?” You ask ignoring Simon’s warning as he drives out the gates onto the main road.

“They had themselves a nice little-”

“Johnny.” Simon snaps stopping him, your eyes flick to Johnny who looks less then impressed.

“You want to know you’ll have to speak to Price.” Simon says, he gives you the look again. You meet his eyes, this time not backing down you want answers.

——————————

When you get back to the garage Simon lets you and Johnny out as he goes to park John’s car in it’s usual spot.

“I don’t think Simon likes me.” You say to Johnny as you head inside.

“He’s like this to everyone.” Johnny says sighing. He’s not his usual chipper self. Maybe it’s the fact he still has a wound that needs seeing to. Or maybe it was the awkward drive back were no one said a thing after Simon snapped at Johnny. You could tell there was tension, whatever happened today was clearly not the way things were suppose to go. You follow Johnny up to the second floor and he flops down on the sofa.

“Do you need anything?” You ask feeling kind of useless.

“There’s a bottle of scotch in the kitchen, second cupboard from the sink.” He says smiling, and pointing over. You hesitate not knowing if he’s joking or not but he nods so you go over to look. Sure enough there is a bottle of scotch, it looks expensive. You grab a glass and walk back over to him. Putting it down on the coffee table.

“Christ you’d think after getting shot so much you’d get used to it.” He says as he opens the bottle pouring some in the glass.

“How many time’s have you been shot?” You ask.

“I stopped keeping count,” he smiles downing the glass. You hear the door open and watch as Simon walks in. He walks across the floor to the store room going inside.

“Want one lass? You look like you need it.” He says passing you the bottle. You nod blindly accepting it and taking a big gulp straight from the bottle. It burns as it hit’s your tongue and all the way down your throat. It’s horrible tasting like burnt wood. You’re pulling a face as you put the bottle back down that makes Johnny chuckle.

“Good ‘ol Scottish craftsmanship, it’ll put hairs on ya chest.” You cough as you hear the storeroom door close then Simon coming up the steps. He walks past you, his mask and vest are off he’s carrying a blue medical bag in his hand. He sits down next to Johnny.

“Off,” He says gesturing for Johnny to take his top off placing the bag on the coffee table. You get up to leave.

“Sit down lass, I might need someone to hold my hand.” Johnny pouts.

“That’s what Simon’s here for right?” You say as you sit back down looking at Simon who’s too focused on searching through the bag for something. Johnny pours himself another glass before taking his top off over his head. You can see the extent of the damage now. It looks bad or maybe it’s because it’s been bleeding for so long it looks worse then it is. Simon looks up at it and tuts rethinking his choice of bandages. You try to keep your eyes off Johnny he’s very good looking, fit and tanned with a nice stock of body hair. You can see tattoo’s down his arms and shoulder you haven’t been able to see before. You reach over and drink the scotch, you need it now. Johnny chuckles and you pour him another glass.

“What happened to not drinking on the job?” Simon says rolling his sleeves up.

“I was shot in the field.” Johnny says being dramatic. You smile the drinks going to your head.

“You were grazed by being stupid.” Simon says pulling some gloves on.

“You’re not as nice as the other nurses I’ve been treated by.” Johnny says. You can’t help smiling it’s like they’re intentionally winding each other up.

“I’m not a nurse, keep still.” Simon says gripping Johnny’s arm to hold it in place.

“Do you have to patch him up a lot?” You ask watching Simon inspect the wound. He looks over at you for a second.

“He makes a habit out of it.” Simon say sighing. You watch as he tips some liquid onto a piece of cloth.

“You might want that drink now Johnny.” Simon says. Johnny reaches over for his glass as Simon starts dabbing the wound.

“Ay ya fecking bastard.” Johnny says through gritted teeth trying to pull away from Simon who just keeps him in place. You could swear you see a smile form on Simon’s lips for a second. Johnny continues to curse Simon out even after he’s finished his drink. You hear the garage doors being pushed open and you look to see Gaz.

“Well that was quicker then I expected.” Johnny says. You hear the vans driven in as you watch Simon finish bandaging up Johnny.

“Will I live?” Johnny asks as Simon takes his gloves off and starts packing the bag back up.

“To see another day Johnny.” Simon says standing up. You watch as Gaz closes the doors again. Simon walks down the stairs and you hear the door to the store room opening again. You turn to Johnny putting his top back on. You still have questions you want answered.

“Johnny, what happened why were you shot at?” You ask, Johnny sighs.

“It’s just part of the job.” He says not giving you a satisfying answer. You hear footsteps coming up, more then one person. You turn to see John and Gaz, you stand up waiting as they come over. The storeroom door beeps and you see Simon making his way up too. Good they’re all here. Now you can get some answers. The scotch has filled you with confidence and you’re convinced you’re not leaving until they have explained what’s going on.

“I feel like I need an explanation. Not just about what happened today but in general. I know you guys are up to some shady shit. You make people disappear. And it’s upsetting because you seem like really nice people. And now I’m saying this out loud all I can think about is you making me disappear. Okay I think what I’m trying to ask is do you kill people?” It’s word vomit it doesn’t even make sense, you feel embarrassed heat rushing to your cheeks. So much for being cool and collected. Johnny laughs pouring another drink.

“Sit down.” John says, he’s smiling. Johnny passes you the drink.

“We don’t make a habit of it.” He says.

“The drinking at work or the killing people?” You ask downing the drink, it’s still disgusting, it still makes you gag and pull a face, you don’t know why you accepted it.

“Both,” He says taking the glass back.

“Why do you think we make people disappear?” Kyle asks as he goes to sit down next to Johnny. You feel sick, a lump forming in your belly.

“My neighbour recommended you, said you helped with her sisters stalker.” You say. Fuck. You realise what you’ve said after you said it. Maybe they won’t pick up on it.

“Recommended?” Simon’s low voice from behind you, you hear him take a step up to the back of the chair. You look up at John who’s stood with his arms crossed leaning against the balcony fence an eyebrow raised. You swallow hard.

“I guess if we’re all in the position to be spilling secrets who wants to go first?” You ask looking round at them all.

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#fanfic #cod #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #call of duty #simon ghost riley #john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #ghost cod #task force 141 #retired 141 #simon riley x reader #simon x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader

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morganski-19 · 27 days

Text

Chills Right to the Marrow Part 29

ao3 link| part 1 . . . part 26, part 27, part 28

Dustin’s not exactly sure what happened. He was patiently waiting for Steve to meet him in the lobby, but it’s been almost a half hour, and Dustin has no idea where he is. He already went back to check in Eddie’s room, but nothing. Then outside, nothing again. And Steve would never leave his stranded, so it can’t be that.

Which leaves Dustin completely alone, eating a Snickers bar that he got from the vending machine because they were out of Three Musketeers. The second one he got for Steve slowly melting in his pocket. Wondering if it was at the level where he had to go check under the bathroom stalls to see if any of the feet were wearing Steve’s shoes.

But he can at least be a little bit saner and go double check Eddie’s room again. Maybe Steve couldn’t find him and went back there to look. That would be the logical thing to do.

When Dustin opens the door, Steve has the chair pulled up close to Eddie’s bed hunched over and looking like he’s about to cry. Eddie’s looks like halfway there himself. Both of them jumping to hide that fact when Dustin entered.

“I didn’t know where you went,” Dustin says. Not sure whether to ignore or acknowledge what he just walked into. “I thought we were going to go home.”

Steve shakes his head gently, pressing his eyes shut like it will stop the tears from flowing. “Yeah, sorry. Could you just give me a second? I was just talking to Eddie about something.”

“It’s ok,” Eddie brushes off with his hand. “Take the kid home, we can talk about this later.”

“Are you sure? He can wait another minute-.”

“I’m sure. We’re good, ok. Go home.” Eddie looks at him like he really means what he’s saying. Not just pretending for both of their benefit. Not again.

Steve nods. Standing and pushing the chair back in place against the wall. “I’ll see you later then.”

Eddie waves Steve over and whispers something before letting him leave. Steve just snorts and smiles at whatever it is. Whispering something back before finally ushering Dustin out of the room. Some sort of weird energy radiating off of him in the car ride home. A mix between happy and sad that Dustin doesn’t understand.

“What was that about?” Dustin asks. Trying to do it without a confrontational tone.

Steve shrugs. “We just had something to talk about, that’s all.”

Dustin nods. “But you’re both ok, right? It looked like you were both about to cry.”

He’s trying to be gentle about the topic. Trying to calm the way he can ask about things. So it doesn’t sound like he’s pressuring his way into situations. That way people can feel like they can open up to him, and tell him what’s going on. Instead of just brushing it off and telling him it’s not his problem.

Because it was his problem. This was his friend. This was his family. He didn’t have siblings to fight through all of this with. He didn’t have parents who he could tell these things too. For the most part, it’s been Steve that he’s talked to about all this. It’s been Steve that he radioed in the middle of the night when he was so scared he couldn’t breathe. Or when he needed advice about school problems. Or anything.

Somewhere along the line, Steve became the sibling he fought through stuff with. That’s been a sure fact since he helped Dustin get ready for the Snowball. They were one of the mini units in the bigger organization.

It hurt when Steve hid things from him out of “protection”. Dustin didn’t need protecting, he needed transparency. He needed for Steve to know that Dustin’s here for him. Just as much as Steve’s there for Dustin. This was a two-way street.

“We were, kinda,” Steve says after a long break of silence.

“Are you ok?”

Steve puts the car in park, turning to Dustin with an almost relieved expression. “Yeah. I am.”

“Ok.” Dusting is choosing to trust that Steve would tell him if he wasn’t. “Just, if you start to feel not ok, you know you can talk to me about it. I’ll listen.”

“I know.”

There’s a knock at Dustin’s window. His mom waving hello with a gentle smile. Dustin knows why, he always knows why. It’s to invite Steve in to have dinner that he’ll refuse three times before giving in. He’s over there for dinner more nights that he would probably admit.

“Hi, Miss Henderson,” Steve says when he rolls down the window.

“Hello. I haven’t seen you in a while, Steve. Why don’t you come in for dinner?”

That’s a lie, she saw him two days ago when she returned a movie at Family Video.

Steve lets out a small huff, catching her on her lie. “I appreciate it, but I really should be heading home. I don’t want to bother you.”

“Oh, it’d be no bother at all. It’s the least I can do for all the time you drive Dustin around.”

Dustin rolls his eyes as Steve rolls out another excuse. His mother already coming up with a response that negates the excuse entirely. Steve takes a deep breath and turns the car off, accepting the dinner invitation.

He only refused twice this time. Steve is starting to be worn down.

They go inside and are almost immediately ushered to the table. Set with three places each with their favorite sodas. Because there wasn’t an option for Steve to not be here for dinner, and the three of them knew it. It was just in Steve’s nature to try and refuse.

Even though he knows that once Steve steps through the doors of the Henderson house, he never wants to leave it. It’s much smaller than his house, and a lot more cluttered. But that’s what makes it warm. Every time he walked into his house after an upside down event, with all of this clutter and décor surrounding him, he never felt more relief in his life. He was home.

Whenever he visits one of the other guys’ houses, that feeling is mirrored in its own way. That same feeling wasn’t there whenever he went to Steve’s house.

Dustin remembers the first time Steve ever let him come over. The house was pretty much what he was expecting. High ceilings and fancy flourishes. A room full of furniture no one was allowed to sit on and carpets that couldn’t be walked on with shoes. But there was something wrong with it. The house was only a home when Steve was in it.

Without Steve, it would feel like no one lived there. The walls only had a few pictures on them, and there were more shut doors than open ones. The kitchen sink only ever had a few dishes in it, and the couch only had one cushion with a permanent dent. The whole of it felt so empty.

The worst part was that Steve knew it to. It was a nice place to throw get togethers. It was nice to look at and imagine living there. But Dustin felt the pull from Steve to stay anywhere else for just a second longer. So he didn’t have to go to a place that didn’t feel like home to him.

It’s part of the reason that his mom invites him over to dinner so much. When Dustin told her about how empty his house was, they decided to build Steve a place in theirs. They didn’t have a lot of space, but it was easy for them to make it feel like there was more. For Steve to have his own coat hook when he came over, and a place to put his shoes. A chair at the table that was always his, and his own blanket when they had movie nights.

Dustin wanted Steve to know that this could be his home if he needed it to be. And he knows that it worked. He can see it in the way that Steve relaxes every time he walks through the door. How he is nothing but himself when he’s here.

But eventually he has to leave and go home. He hugs Claudia goodbye and tries to refuse the container of leftovers shoved into his hands. Even though Dustin knows he’s grateful for it. Steve says goodbye to Dustin with a brief hug and a ruffle to his curls. And then he leaves.

Dustin wishes he didn’t have to.

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#chills right to the marrow fic #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #dustin henderson #dustin pov #steve harrington #eddie munson #claudia henderson #claudia and dustin have adopted steve into their family #steve just doesn't know that yet #canon divergence #everyone lives no body dies #pre steddie #the burn has been started

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the-californicationist · 10 months

Text

Guile & Guilt (Ch. 05)

MDNI/18+ no exceptions

Link to AO3

THE NEXT MORNING

You were alone. The sun’s thin shafts danced across the empty side of the bed, the sheets crinkled and folded like unfinished origami, bent and twisted by the body you were missing. He was gone. You yawned, stretching, and then you froze in place, suddenly remembering more and more detail from the night before.

Johnny’s touch lingered on your skin like a bruise. You were unmarred, but you could have sworn he had left a tattoo behind with his fingertips so acutely did you feel the memory.

You padded out into the kitchen. It was still closer to dawn than it was to day, but on the counter sat two large coffees; a latte and a chai, for Pidge and for you. There was a note tucked underneath your cup:

Gone for a run. - J.

Chai in hand, you quietly retreated to his room and sat in bed watching the sun wake up. The feel of the smooth sheets on your fingers bring back brief, blurred flashes of Johnny’s affection from the night before, and the guilt hit your stomach like an anvil. You should have stopped him, shouldn’t you? You had plenty of time to. But, said the dark thing inside of you, you didn’t want him to stop, did you?

You wanted him to keep going.

Setting your drink down, you snuggled back into the covers to wallow in your regret. But instead, your body forced you back into the darkness where you and Johnny had been tangled as you slept in that very position. If you shut your eyes, you could almost feel his soft breaths and his hungry jaw as he scented your neck and hair. The heat of his chest radiated through your back, and the prodding…

It was your fingers that dipped into your waistband this time, thinner than his, but warm from the coffee cup, until they found your pink, wet shame. You drew quick circles around your clit, not far from the high you were chasing.

You thought about what would have happened if you hadn’t said his name. Would he have continued? He was caught somewhere between a dream and reality; you were still working on convincing yourself of that.

But, what if he wasn’t?

You moaned softly into the pillow. It smelled of him and you breathed it in. You touched yourself with renewed intensity, your fingers sliding across your slippery skin, sinking into your hole for more of your warm honeyed heat.

Maybe he would have begged you, softly, in that deep voice of his.

Just let me feel it, thief, just for a moment. Just the tip. I’ll pull it right out, lass, I swear it. I just need to feel you.

And all those other saccharine lies that boys like him were good at crafting. But, gods, would you fall for it. You’d nod your head, dumb and cowed, and spread yourself wide for him to find, to fit, to fill. The sound of him wetting his cock in you would have been so loud in his quiet room.

You moaned again, louder this time, unable to hold it back.

“Are you alright, lass?”

Shit!

You pulled yourself together. Two soft knocks on the door and your hand involuntarily jerked back, the snap of the elastic waistband stinging your skin. You fixed yourself and dragged the sheets over you again, panting quietly to hide the deeper gasps trying to crawl out of your lungs.

“Yeah, fine. How was your run?”

Taking the question as an invitation, the door cracked open and his hulking form emerged from behind it. His hair and shirt damp with sweat, smile widening as his eyes wandered across your body in his bed.

“It was good. You ready for your fitting? I’m your ride.”

You ignored that double entendre.

“Sure, just let me get changed,” you smiled, pulling your legs around to stand beside the bed.

“Aye, I’ll shower,” he shut the door behind him.

You let go of a huge sigh of relief and put your head in your hands. If he had walked in…

You shook it off and got changed as quick as you could. You threw your hair into a quick braid and knotted the end with a hair tie. You were still in one of his tee shirts, but you had put some leggings on with a pair of white sneakers. You reminded yourself - over and over and over - that you weren’t there to impress anyone. Especially not Johnny MacTavish.

He was in the kitchen with Hamish and Pidge when you came out, drinking coffee with them over the counter and chatting about their plans. Pidge greeted you, hugging you around the neck,

“Okay, dovie. Remember, I don’t care how the top looks. But, it’s floor length, and it’s glitz and it’s glam and it’s sparkles…”

“I remember! Silver sparkles. Red carpet. Don’t worry, I can handle it,” you tried to sound convincing.

Hamish laughed, trying to make Pidge seem like she was over-reacting, “I’m not worried, lass. I know you’ll pick a brilliant one.”

Pidge cut her eyes at him and said, “I’m not worried . But, she’s like me - we love our comfy clothes. She’s not Cherise who has to be in the latest whatever.”

Hamish pinched Pidge in some unseen place below the kitchen counter and out of your view, teasing her,

“Bet you’d look good in the latest whatever .”

Pidge squealed and smacked him for his insubordination. She turned to you, blushing and trying not to laugh,

“Okay, back here at two, yeah? We’ve got 259 invites to stamp. Fuckin’ postage is gonna break the bank.”

“Back at two. Invites. I am on it. Maid of honor mode is activated, babe. I promise,” you hugged her and turned to Johnny, “Are you ready?”

“For glitz and glam? Always,” his grin was sharp and inviting, as if dress shopping was his one true purpose and pleasure in life, even if it couldn’t have been further from the truth.

The dress shop was close, and you noted that Johnny didn’t try to hold your hand in the car as he had yesterday. You didn’t dwell on it. Okay, maybe you did.

“D’ya sleep alright, thief?” He asked over the radio during a lull where he wasn’t signing shamelessly.

His face didn’t give away much. You couldn’t tell whether he was recalling his lurid affections or just making small talk. You decided not to take the bait,

“Just fine. How about you?”

“Slept hard,” he grinned, searching for a parking spot, “Like a rock, aye?”

When he made his last comment, the obvious innuendo, he looked at you through his sunglasses, staring long enough to watch you flush. You avoided his gaze, looking at anything but him, feeling his eyes roaming over you. Your heart beat in your throat.

Johnny killed the engine and walked around to help you down from the Jeep, giving you his hand to steady you. It was warm and sure, none of his rakish commentary or teasing was left in his touch, just comforting sincerity. It was scary how quick your mind was to trust his earnestness and dismiss his roguishness.

The dress shop door knocked a small bell that tinkled as you walked through, announcing your arrival. No one was at the counter, so you looked around for a moment, waiting for someone to appear.

“Hello?” You called out into the store.

“Aye! Coming!” A tower of white lace ruffled and danced as someone moved behind it. Then, a short red woman emerged from the pile, pink-faced and out of breath,

“Och! Thought I’d drown in there.”

She laughed and you smiled with her, explaining your presence,

“I’m here for - ”

“The Hamilton wedding, aye? I’d recognize this rascal anywhere. You can always tell a MacTavish by the eyes. Bluer than the sky, they are.”

“Mrs. Dulvaney! Gonna make me get all sweet on ye, more than I already do,” Johnny pushed his sunglasses up over his mohawk and bent to kiss the woman on her big cheeks, kissing her hand as if she was Guinevere.

Based on her reaction, that was exactly how she felt. She turned to you,

“Better watch out for this one, lovie. Nothin’ but trouble.”

“Don’t I know it,” you commented wryly, earning a look from Johnny.

The shopkeeper led you past rows of cream and ivory wedding gowns to the bridesmaid section in the back of the store. One of the dressing rooms’ curtains was open, and several gowns were hanging, sparkly and orderly on their rack. The old woman smiled, explaining,

“Bridgette put all of her hens in silver sparkles, right? I pulled a few, but you’re welcome to look around. Don’t fret about the sizes, dearie. We’ll just pin you in.”

Mrs. Dulvaney was gone again, leaving you with Mr. Nothin-But-Trouble. He flipped through the pulled offerings with a discerning eye, looking like he knew exactly what he was doing, giving Michael Kors a run for his money.

You left Johnny behind, wandering through the rows of dresses, pulling one or two more pieces, opting for more conservative necklines.

“No, no, lass,” he furrowed his brow as he inspected your haul, “Sure these are for wee grannies! Shoulder pads, honestly?”

“Okay, fashion police,” you scoffed, “You find a good one, and I promise I’ll try it on.”

“You’re on, thief.”

He dug deep into the stacks, choosing two or three to drape over his thick forearm while you watched, a grin tugging at the corner of your mouth at his serious expression.

Turning at the end of the aisle, he came to a sudden stop.

"Och, sin an tè," he said with a sigh.

It was hanging on a mannequin, but he didn’t care. He looked at the mannequin and then back at your body, sizing you up. Then, he put his hands around the plastic girl’s waist, and eyed you up once more before smirking knowingly and reaching for the zipper..

“Johnny, you can’t have the display,” You chastised him, imagining his hands on your ribs as they had been in the small pool in the mountains, imagining him digging into your clothes as they had last night.

“Says who?” He began to undress her, pulling the shining fabric up over her headless form. Smug and satisfied, he handed you the gown.

It fit all the criteria; glittery and slinky, floor-length with a high neckline. But, there was no back. From neck to hip, you’d be bare.

“Johnny,” you protested, holding it up by the shoulders and letting it cascade heavily to the floor, “This might be…distracting.”

“Aye,” he said, giving no further explanation, his eyes glued to the gown in your hands.

You sighed, but you kept your word. Johnny was sat in a plush chair like a king after much doting and prodding from the shopkeeper. He was facing the fitting room, which was little more than a closet with a curtain. You shimmied into the room and tried on the first dress that Mrs. Dulvaney had suggested.

When you emerged, they were both sitting there, appraising you like judges on a game show, their faces reflecting boredom and disappointment.

“So…” you shrugged, looking at yourself in the mirror. You looked like an Elvis impersonator.

Johnny and Mrs. Dulvaney shook their heads in the mirror.

You retreated and tried on the next one. This version had poofy sleeves.

“Oh!” Mrs. Dulvaney couldn’t contain her amusement as you came out of the dressing room.

Johnny did not endeavor to control his disgusted expression,

“Creepin’ Jesus! You look like if 1982 was a person, lass. Back in the room with you, mhèirleach! Christ Almighty.”

You shucked off the offending gown and went through the stack. You decided to try on Johnny’s choice, just to shut him up.

It fit like a glove. You didn’t really have the body for slinky gowns like this, but it was as if someone had cut it just for you. The glittery overlay gleamed across a sheer slip, the same color as your skin, making it seem as if all you were wearing were the sparkles themselves. The high collar sat proudly at the base of your neck, and when you turned to see your back in the mirror, you were stunned by how you looked. Pretty.

You swallowed your nervousness and heard Johnny protest,

“You stuck in there, lass? C’mon. Can’t be that bad. Nothing’s as bad as the last one.”

He was laughing as you came out of the room, but when he saw you, he stopped. It was as if you were controlling time itself, and he was frozen in it. Johnny rose to his feet as if to greet you, and the shopkeeper’s eyebrows raised, looking at him and you with a coy smile on her face.

When she realized he wasn’t going to say anything, Mrs. Dulvaney commented,

“My word, lovie. Suits you perfectly, it does.”

“Aye…” Johnny agreed, his voice barely a whisper as his eyes swept down your body and back up again, studying every inch.

You smiled, turning in the larger mirror to view the back again,

“Should probably choose one that doesn’t show quite so much skin, perhaps.”

“The front is modest enough, and you could wear your hair down,” the shopkeeper suggested.

Johnny moved toward you as if compelled. He reached over your shoulder for your braid and, ever so gently, pulled your hair tie from it, letting the locks loosen and tumble across your back.

You thought he might step back to get a better view, but he stayed close, right over your shoulder, even going so far as to put a hand on your hip, standing behind you in the mirror, just like two portraits in a frame, his enormous form shielding you from the room. It was just you and him in the mirror, as if you were the only two people in the world.

He stared into your eyes through the looking glass, and you met him there, waiting for his approval. He smiled, a bit shy and out of character,

“Look at you, mo mhèirleach. Stunning.”

You sighed, relieved,

“Well, if it’s not a thousand pounds, I’ll take it.”

Mrs. Dulvaney looked at Johnny before looking back at you,

“Oh, I’m sorry. He already paid for it. I thought… my mistake.”

“Johnny! How much do I owe you?”

He grinned hard enough to make the skin on his nose wrinkle together,

“Don’t listen to her, Mrs. Dulvaney. She likes to carry on sometimes.”

“Hey! I can’t - I don’t want to owe you,” you protested.

“Why?” He spun you around, still holding your hip, “Think I’ll cash it in? Enough of that, thief. You’re starting to sound like my sister.”

“How much did it cost?” You pressed, staring up into those famed blues as bravely as you dared.

His eyes softened, unwilling to war with you,

“You’ve been takin’ care of Pigeon while I’ve been away, and don’t say you haven’t. I know Hamish didn’t fix that leak in the sink. The man’s keen, but he’s no handyman. I dinnae ken just how much you’ve been doing for her until I was here this summer, but I ken it now. So, pull your fangs out of me, thief. Let me pay my own debt, aye?”

Confidently, his hand came up to cradle your cheek, resting against your jaw, smoothing over your skin like wet clay, molding you just so. You leaned into it, forgetting yourself, forgetting the shop, forgetting your promise.

Mrs. Dulvaney reminded you,

“Ahem, shall I get you a wee box?”

“Aye, thank you, love,” Johnny told her, releasing you to get changed. He followed the older woman to the front desk, tactical black in a sea of white lace.

You couldn’t form a coherent thought; it was only Johnny in all of your senses, but you saw your hair tie wrapped around his wrist, and you didn’t have the heart to ask for it back.

He carried the box for you and put it in the boot, securing it under some of his gear.

“Right,” he slammed the back door and leaned over the edge of his huge tire to stare at you, “That’s sorted. Lunch?”

You smiled,

“Alright, as long as we’re back before two.”

He let out an exasperated sigh,

“Don’t worry, lass. I remember the rules.”

You hopped back in the Jeep for a short drive. Winding roads and arching hills followed you just outside of town. He pulled over into what looked like an empty gravel patch and helped you down again.

He didn’t let go of your hand this time. Able to sense your hesitation through the rigidity of your grip, he grinned down at you, squeezing your palm tighter,

“I said I remembered them, not that I agreed. C’mon, this way.”

There was a small dirt path that led into a small clearing, and just through the tree cover you could see the beginnings of an ancient ruin. Broken stone walls and reinforced edges gave way to a sprawling castle.

You gasped,

“What? Where has this been hiding?”

His wide smile couldn’t be contained,

“Land of Kings, lass. Cannae go twenty paces without trippin’ over a wee castle or two. This place does the best kebabs, I swear.”

“Kebabs?” You couldn’t believe what you were seeing.

Off to the side of the ancient ruins, a small food cart sat steaming with its owner, waiting (it seemed) just for you and Johnny to arrive.

Johnny ordered for you,

“Two lamb and two Iron Brus, please.”

While he waited for the food, you explored a bit, marveling at the old walls, the hints at life, the old fireplace that had half of its chimney still standing. You dared to touch the stones, wondering how many hands had touched the same one before you, wondering if lovers had read sonnets to each other under the eaves of the windows, wondering how many families were born and lived and died among the masonry under your fingertips.

After a while, Johnny found you and jerked his head for you to follow him, his hands full with your lunch.

He led you to a short wall and sat against it. You sat with him, the grass and clover soft beneath your legs. The view was spectacular. You could see most of the grounds, but you could also see down into the town itself. You watched everyone bustle and hurry along with their lives, driving little cars, carrying little bags, all oblivious to your stolen hour with a man who knew the rules and sought to break them.

The man passed your food to you and cracked open your soda. You commented on his choices, teasing him,

“Bit presumptuous of you. What if I didn’t like lamb?”

He glared playfully,

“But you do.”

You laughed,

“Okay, you got me. But, how’d you know?”

“They pay me to be observant, lass. And of all the observant bastards, I’m the best at it,” his tone has turned a bit sour, and you wondered why. You pried, gently,

“Do you like it? The…army?” You lacked the vocabulary to have this conversation.

He took pity on you, smiling softly as he unwrapped his kebab,

“Yeah, I’m good at it. Really good.”

“But do you like it?”

Silence, then a cutting laugh,

“Mm, that’s a hard question, thief.”

You felt like you should apologize, like you shouldn’t have pressed into a bruise that you had no business knowing about. He ate his kebab unbothered, though, and you took another chance,

“Why don’t you want me to call you Soap? Isn’t that your army name?”

Army name? You were kicking yourself for not coming up with something cooler like alias or even call sign. What was wrong with you?

You thought he might laugh, that he might tease you for calling it something so lame. But, he didn’t. He stopped eating, taking a moment to look out over the vista, the wind blowing through the ends of his hair. He didn’t look at you at first, but he replied,

“I don’t want you to call me that because… well. We were pinned down outside of a warehouse one night. Low on ammo, fuckin’ air strike got held back, out of options, ye ken? We could either hold tight and pray the fuckers didn’t find us, or we could make our way through the building. My mate had taken a goddamn bullet to the thigh, so I knew he wasnae waitin’. Cleaned out the whole warehouse on my own. Called me Soap. Not a speck of dirt left alive.”

It was your turn to be silent. The grass wasn’t as soft. The wind, once a gentle breeze, now overwhelmed you. There was an aimlessness to the quaint movements of the townsfolk down below you, a desperation.

You reached out your hand and found his. Perhaps he would pull away, shying from the salve of your touch, but he didn’t. He clutched at you, and you kissed the top of his shoulder experimentally, suddenly full of pluck in your imaginary little kingdom,

“Johnny it is, then.”

“Thank you,” he nuzzled the crown of your head and planted a kiss of his own.

The guilt was still there, haunting you in the shadows, but Johnny’s abject disregard for it had made it small and dulled its teeth. Selfishly, you ignored it while you were in this dreamscape, these ruins, where you were hidden.

You finished lunch and made it back to the car, holding hands through the castle walls as you walked, a thousand years too late to be its lord and lady. Johnny asked about your writing and your poems, and you told him the simple version. You sang with him on the drive. You made it back before two, untangled your fingers from his, and walked into… a catastrophe.

“Babes! There you are!” Pidge’s face was streaked with tears, “Roger’s got class tomorrow, so we have to finish these bloody invites quickly. We’ve got to get him back to Peggy’s before dark. Och, Christ, if it wasn’t two hours away!”

“Hey,” you grabbed her gently by the arms and glanced up at Johnny, “It’s gonna be okay, Pidge. We’ll take care of it, Johnny and me.”

You hated to see her so distraught. There were only 259 invitations. How hard could it be?

“What?” She looked stunned, “You will? Babes, there’s…”

“Two… hundred… fifty-nine…” Johnny laughed, supporting your decision to swoop in and help, “We know, Pigeon. Take the lad home. Give Peg my love, will ya?”

Hamish came around the corner with two duffel bags,

“What’s going on, love?”

Pidge fought back tears of relief as she filled him in,

“They’re going to do the invites, Hammie.”

“All of them?”

“All of them!” You laughed, interrupting her, “If you need to go, just go. Are you staying the night?”

“Yeah,” Pidge sighed, releasing all of her balled up stress, “We’re going to get her fitted in her dress, pick out jewelry, that sort of thing. Oh, gods! Why do you always save the day?”

She hugged you so tight around your neck that you lost your breath, but you hugged her back and whispered into her hair,

“Because I love you, Pidge.”

“And you know where to drop them off?”

You nodded,

“Yes, go on! We’re fine. Roger,” you shook the boy’s hand, “Nice to see you!”

Roger smiled and Johnny hugged him and Pidge and swept them out the door. All of the bustle and chaos subsided, turning into quiet silence once again. He turned to you with a strange look on his face,

“What have you done, thief?”

“I think I just said we’d address 259 invitations.”

“Aye,” he pulled his hands down his face and shook his head, “Red or white?”

You furrowed your brow,

“What?”

“Wine, love. ‘Cause fuck doin’ this shite sober.”

SIX HOURS LATER

“249! This calls for a celebration, mhèirleach,” Johnny cried out, reaching for the second half-drunk wine bottle, refilling both of your cups.

You raised your glass and smiled, watching the pink of his cheeks reach his eyes as he laughed with buzzed joy.

“Ten left,” you sighed, glancing at the clock, “and it only took us… six hours?”

“Christ,” he chuckled, “You and your charity.”

“Forgive me,” you begged, joking with him.

“Always,” his answer was a little more serious than teasing. There was a muted darkness to it that leaned towards suggestiveness.

You stamped 250 and 251, both shipping all the way to Dublin, apparently. Carefully spelling the names across the top, you stole stray glances at your partner, watching as he licked and sealed the edges of 252 and 253.

You’d talked about everything under the sun with him while your fingers bled from paper cut after paper cut. You had two bandaids already, and he had fawned over you, making sure they weren’t applied too tight.

You’d found out a lot about Johnny MacTavish. You learned about his friends, and their funny names. Ghost was a huge Manc with a penchant for masked theatrics on the battlefield. Gaz was a snarky daredevil, and Price was their fearless leader. Hearing about Gaz shooting terrorists upside down from a helicopter was the highlight of your night, and you couldn’t wait to meet them all.

You’d heard about his father who lost his life in Bosnia doing almost the same job as Johnny, and about how Pidge had taken it very hard. You’d known a little about him, since it was usually difficult conversations about their mom’s lost battle with cancer that was the pressure point. You’d met Pidge two years after her death, so you knew a lot about what the family had been through. But, it was rare for Pidge to bring up her father, and now you knew why.

Now, it was just Brigette and Johnny, still living together in their childhood home, frozen in time and yet moving at light speed toward their own separate lives.

You picked up the conversation where it had dropped off, stamping his sealed 253,

“So, Pidge doesn’t want you in your uniform at the ceremony?”

He shook his head dismissively,

“No, she’d come un-fuckin’-glued, she would. I’ve got my kilt, so I’ll be fit, don’t you worry your wee head, thief.”

“I bet you make the kilt look damn good,” you smiled, making a loopy letter L on the next envelope.

You missed his reaction, focused on your letters, but he had paused and you looked up to watch him. His eyes were wild and bright, staring right at you, caught mid-lick on 255.

He didn’t say anything, but his tight grin was reward enough.

256, 257, and 258 went by in a quiet blur, and then he held up 259, triumphant.

He licked it and passed it over to you. You stamped it and tossed it in the box.

“Holy shit,” you laughed.

“Aye,” he sighed, getting up and stretching a bit from sitting so long. Your eyes caught the hem of his shirt as it rose above his navel, showing off abs and a dusting of dark fur.

“You heading out tonight?” You asked, having heard buzz after buzz of notifications on his phone all night long. It was only around eight o’clock; plenty of time for a pub run.

His eyes narrowed down at you, mid-yawn,

“No, why would I?”

“Oh,” you shrugged, trying to brush it off as casually as you could, “I just saw Cherise had texted you and -”

“Love,” he waited for you to look up at him, his huge arms bulging as he leaned back against the countertop, staring you down with a white-hot intensity, “If I wanted to be out with Cherise, I’d be out with Cherise.”

He left the counter and walked over to you slowly, sitting in the chair closest to you, pulling both of your bandaged hands into his, staring down into them like he was trying to divine some sort of truth,

“I know Pigeon thinks she knows best, and for a while, she did. Maybe she still does, on some things. But, on this,” he squeezed your hands, “She has no right to decide what I want for myself. And look - I know I’m not…” he scoffed, “ boyfriend material, or whatever the shite, but when I saw you in the kitchen, stealin’ my shirt, drinkin’ out of my mug, sleepin’ in my bed… I couldnae say no. I’ve been sayin’ no to myself a lot, lass. Lettin’ my whole life rush by me. You hit me like a punch, so you did. Woke me up.”

You held onto every word like it owed you money, watching his face for any signs of the playboy you’d been warned about, but finding only Johnny. It was hard to protest, but your heart was tearing in two thinking about your friend and her brother. You sighed,

“Johnny, I can’t…”

“I know you cannae betray her. I know that. I know you won’t. But, you’ll let me, won’t you? Let me pretend that I can have you, just for tonight. I’m back in Sakhra tomorrow morning, but tonight I’m here with you. Just once, I’d like to know what that feels like.”

“And what happens to me?” You were whispering for some reason, matching his low voice, telling a secret you didn’t know how to keep, “What happens when you’re in Sakhra and I’m still here? Alone.”

He sighed, rucking his hands through his hair and standing up, pacing in the kitchen like he was waiting on bad news. Johnny shook his head, staring at the floor as he admitted,

“I dinnae ken what to do…”

You stood and joined him in the dimly lit kitchen, following some old recipe without a name, kneading dough that shouldn’t rise, baking bread you shouldn’t be breaking. Your hands found his broad, warm chest and you let him curl his arms around you.

“Just tonight, then,” you whispered again, as low as you could so that the angels might not make it out.

His whole body responded to your concession, lighting up like a fire in a hearth,

“Aye, mo mhèirleach, just tonight. And tomorrow, I’ll be gone, and you can call it a dream.”

He bent to kiss you and you dissolved into him like sugar into hot water, syrupy and sticky, cloying and saccharine. You were engulfed in his scent and his heat; he folded in and out of each of your senses, buttery smooth and suffocating. His hands were everywhere all at once, furious in their grasping, and eager to put skin on skin.

You were lifted, like you weighed nothing, frothy and light, spinning against his body until your legs wrapped around his hips. He walked you to his room, shouldering open the door with a cruel shove, suffering no obstacle. You fell, having been released from him, feeling like you would tumble forever downward before bounding on the soft mattress, the same sheets that held your secret sins holding your brazenness now.

You reached for his shirt and his buttons, and you were stopped. He held you, panting and breathless, shaking his head,

“No, thief, not you. Let me.”

Lost and pliant, you let him take you apart, peeling your clothes away, piece by piece, kissing the skin as he revealed it. Your blood rushed through your body, chasing his mouth, pooling in your lower belly, exciting your flesh, swelling your folds. You felt it tingle, and you reached for him again, trying to pull him on top of you.

That was what he wanted, right? What all men wanted. A sheath for their blade? But, oddly enough, he didn’t take the bait. Instead, he shed his shirt and pants, joining you on the bed, his face lingering by your belly, kissing you softly, licking your thighs and leaving little bruises on your hips with his mouth. Johnny finally found his way to your core, much to your aching relief, planting slick, languid kisses against your mons and lips, sucking at their softness.

He moaned like he was the one feeling the pleasure, looping your legs over his arms and moving your body up the bed with a purposeful shove, still suckling from you like a bee from a flower; as if his life depended on his work. You couldn’t help but run your hands through his hair, the silky smoothness of his mohawk too tempting to tug and scratch at his scalp.

If you did, he rewarded you for it. Every tug of his hair earned you a whining groan, and long gentle scratches on his head meant that he would gaze up at you through those long eyelashes with a heady, feral hunger. He lapped at your slick heat, fucking you with his mouth, eating you in a way you hadn’t imagined possible.

You were sobbing out long, growling cries of pleasure, begging him for more and more. He was all too happy to obey. When you came, he would edge you through it, pulling you along the crest of each wave of your pleasure like a buoy through the tide, keeping you afloat so that you might feel each and every salacious ebb of it.

“That’s it, lass. Come for me. Such a sweet cunt, like honey…”

You lost track of time, of everything. The only thing that existed was Johnny’s mouth on your pussy, and you were his prisoner. He could have told you to light yourself on fire and you would have hurried to do it. You were burning anyway. Your body was aching from the tension of coming over and over, sweating into the sheets from your exertion. Typically, he would have been begging for his turn by now, but Johnny was not a typical man.

You tried to stop him. You pulled his mouth away with some difficulty, making him face you, motioning for him to come and take the position his cock had generously earned between your thighs, but his mouth would hear none of it, shaking his head and returning to his post, dutiful and insatiable.

“Johnny, please…I’m - I can’t…” You couldn’t form words.

He smiled at your plight,

“Want another, mo mhèirleach? I’m so close. Give me another, lass. Please.”

He sucked at your clit with a dedicated fury, his hands pulling you in to his mouth, lapping right at your coiled nerves, fraying them, sparking them like kindling. You cried his name, hoarse from doing so, and you watched as his face contorted with pleasure as he thrust his hips into the bed, shamelessly humping the mattress, coming from your ecstasy and the little friction he could find.

Johnny called out for you and you held his hand, looping your fingers in his as you had in the castle, in his car, helping him come down from his high. He panted, recovering bit by bit, slowing his movements, kissing you chastely in all of the spots he’d been torturing.

He crawled up your body, finally, covering you with his hulking mass, sweating and heavy. You were trapped in his arms, your hands feeling his chest hair for the first time, cradling his face, watching him smile from utter bliss.

“Thank you, love,” he kissed you on your mouth, meaning it.

You chuckled, breathless,

“Me? Goddamn. I should be thanking you. Are you sure you don’t need me to…”

You reached your hand down to peel his ruined boxer briefs away from his softening cock, wet and messy from his orgasm on the bed. He caught your hand in his, stopping you,

“No, you cannae break your promise. You haven’t, thief. Dinnae worry. It was me. Just me. I just…needed to know.”

He curled you close to himself, folding you into him completely, and you slept there with him, naked atop the sheets, not caring who might see you.

DAWN OF THE NEXT DAY

You woke before he did, still curled inside of him, cocooned in his warmth like a reluctant butterfly, your wet wings still remembering his sweet work. Your breathing must have changed, because he woke too, looking down at you pleased yet hungry. He kissed you, soft as could be, and his fingers found your pussy just as they had when he’d been half-dreaming of you. Johnny touched you with confident purpose now, whispering in your ear so that you could feel his warm breath inside of it,

“Morning, mhèirleach.”

You gave him Shakespeare, teasing him for his love of poems. It was too fitting not to,

“Morning? It is not yet near day. It was the nightingale, and not the lark, that pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear…”

He was extremely pleased with your offering, raising his eyebrows, wanting you to continue. You did,

“Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree: believe me, love, it was the nightingale.”

He put on his best face for remorse, trying to remember his part,

“It was the lark, the herald of the morn. No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks do lace the…uh…

“Severing…” You helped him, smiling like a fool.

“...severing - um… clouds in yonder east…”

“That was good!” You kissed his cheek, rewarding his attempt, and then, sobering, you asked him, “Do you really have to go?”

He became serious with you, sighing into your skin,

“I do. But, I’ll text you all my mornings until we have another, aye?”

“Another? I thought you said we wouldn't…”

“I know what I said, thief.”

You kissed him until the last moment, and the click of his door as he closed it behind him made your heart ache. You lay there wondering about consequences and lovers and families and their houses until the sun sliced through the glass and into your eyes, glossy and full of uncertainty.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Chapter 06

#cod mw2 #cod #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish smut #johnny mactavish #john mactavish x reader #cod mwii #call of duty fanfic #johnny soap mactavish #guile and guilt

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reallyhatethiswebsite · 5 months

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Inspired by this pic made by @infernally_fond

Read on AO3

When the devil asks if you want to play, you’re supposed to say no. It’s a lesson most people learn as children. Some don’t take it to heart. They say yes instead because the devil promises he will give them something they desperately want in return.

Tav says yes because she fancies him.

That’s alright. They aren’t playing a game of life or death, and her soul isn’t on the line; just her dignity, and she never had much of that to begin with. Only an idiot would agree to a game they don’t understand. Tav isn’t stupid (honest!) but Raphael’s easy smile and request for her company – mostly the smile, it’s a dangerous weapon put it away damn you – chased off all her answers that weren’t ‘yes, of course, I’d love to play Lanceboard with you!’ So now she sits in his room at Sharess’ Caress watching him watch her across the table as she bumbles and bullshits her moves, losing pieces and losing her mind, because she knows he knows she has no idea what she’s doing but he hasn’t said a damn word about it.

He chooses a piece. She watches his long, deft fingers carefully position it on the board. Lucky thing. “Your move,” he says, languid. Everything about him is relaxed, even his posture. He’s resting his cheek on his fist, elbow on the table. Awful manners; must’ve been raised in a barn. His dark eyes glint in a way that makes it obvious he’s enjoying her squirming, her buffoonery. His expression is cooking her from the inside: not-quite-placid, could be conceived as bored if not for the subtle smoulder, a quirk of mildly sadistic amusement. If he keeps staring at her like that, she fears she might do something foolish.

She blindly grabs her piece. She doesn’t know which it is; knows it’s hers from the colour and that’s about it. Smacks it onto a square that’s (probably) alright. Nods, leans back in her chair, pretends to be confident with her approach, her strategy. “There. Your turn.”

Raphael blinks lazily at her. At the board. “Inspired. Truly,” he drawls, making his next move. “By madness, but nonetheless.”

Tav purses her lips. She doesn’t miss the way his gaze flickers to them. “What is madness but a denial of reality? That’s what you said before, right?”

His mouth twists with a lopsided, barely-there smirk. He surely doesn’t miss her glances, either. “Indeed I did. And what reality are you denying at this moment, little mouse?”

Knowing how to play this bloody game, she thinks, wishing he’d challenged her to checkers instead. “Letting you win,” she responds. Round peg, square hole – put her piece here, steal the piece she jealously witnessed him fondle, strangle it in her fist for its crime. He chuckles; rich, deep, raspy.

“A daring manoeuvrer, and highly illegal.” Yet he does nothing to rectify her blatant ignorance. (Actually, devil, what’s illegal is that chuckle). He simply makes his next move. “You know, it’s usually customary for one to be aware of the stakes of a game before they play it.”

And this, Tav thinks in resignation, is why he’s let me trample all over the match like a drunken elephant. She never learns. Somewhere, Wyll is shaking his head in disappointment.

“You didn't tell me there were stakes,” she accuses; considers pouting but doubts that would work on this crafty creature. “I thought we were just playing for fun.”

“And we are, my dear friend,” Raphael coos, terribly entertained (bastard). “What’s more fun than the thrill of a daring wager?”

“The security of knowing I’m not going to lose my soul?”

Raphael’s grin stretches; sharpens. “Oh, but I thought you were going to beat me. Where has your confidence gone, all of a sudden?”

He’s wretched. Vile. Despicable. Tav is so attracted to him it’s ludicrous. “I’ll win,” she snaps, “and then maybe I’ll take your soul instead. I’ll put it in a little jar and keep it with my other shiny baubles and all the things Scratch dug up. How’s that for a wager?”

“Riveting. Inexperienced, as far as eternal torment goes, but it’s a start,” the devil praises, pleased when Tav scowls at him. “Though, as delectable as your soul would be, it isn’t quite what I had in mind.”

“What, then?”

“Hmm…” He makes a show of drumming his fingers on the table in thought. Large, lithe, well-groomed; she likes his hands. Often wonders what other kinds of magic they can do. (Look away, Tav! This is serious!) “How about, if I win, you tell me exactly why you agreed to this game. Why you abandoned the safety of your companions and entered my den alone. Why you were so eager to say yes. And don’t think about lying, little mouse. I’ll know if you do.”

Well, shit. Letting him eat her soul didn’t seem like such a bad idea anymore. One does not simply inform a devil that they like him – especially not this devil. He will use that knowledge, that power, for naught but nefarious purposes, manipulating her much more than he already does. The worst part is, Tav knows she’ll enjoy it. You’re well and truly fucked, mate, as Karlach would say.

Stomach in her shoes, Tav plucks up all the courage and stupidity she has left. “And if I win? What do I get?”

“That’s up to you,” Raphael says. He clearly thinks he has the upper hand. He’s right, but damn him anyway.

Fine, then. In for a penny and all that. “If I win, I want a kiss.”

She’s surprised him, she can tell. She’s surprised herself, scarcely believing she actually said that, but it’s out there now, in the open, lingering like a bad stink. She’s basically already given him the answer he wanted, but Tav isn’t under the illusion he didn’t know beforehand. The power, you see, comes from getting her to admit it aloud.

“A…kiss,” he repeats slowly.

“Yes.” She sticks to her guns despite her racing heart, sweaty palms, impending sense of doom. “From you, obviously.”

He considers it for a long moment, statuesque, giving almost nothing away. Tav does her best not to squirm out of her seat, pretends to be as aloof and unaffected as he is, to questionable success. The satisfaction glittering in Raphael’s dark eyes makes her grind her teeth. He’s toying with his food, as he is wont to do. Stretching out this moment until she’s at her most uncomfortable. Pulling her nerves taut. The split second before they break, he responds.

“Acceptable. Shall we continue, then?”

“Let’s.”

Tav expects a massacre. Tries to mentally prepare for him to pull the rug from beneath her feet, decimate her pathetic attempts, and then string her up by her metaphorical toes and bleed her for every embarassing confession and admission she can give while he gorges on her emotional turmoil (and masochistic delight). That isn’t what happens. Instead, she wins – in about as loose as the term can be used, but still.

“My, my!” Raphael exclaims, faking every bit of awe as he beholds the board, the claiming of his king, the crumbling of his miniature marble empire. “It seems my devilish wits weren’t enough to stop the might of the Hero of Baldur’s Gate. I’ve been bested. A villain, defeated. Quite the fitting end for this little tale. Don’t you agree?”

Tav sits in stunned silence. Of course he let her do this. She’s not completely delusional (yet), but the implications for why are taking their sweet time sinking into her holey grey matter.

“Ah, but I suppose the Hero wants what she’s owed,” the devil continues, sweeping his arms in a grand gesture. “Let it never be said that I am not a man of my word. Come then, Tav. Claim your prize.”

For a moment, Tav doesn’t move. In some ways this is worse than if he won. Raphael waits, a smirk teasing its way onto his face. He’s challenging her. Daring her. Come into my lair, said the spider to the fly. She’s already here, and alright, she might be stupid, but she’s not a coward. Her knees only tremble slightly as she stands, makes her way to him.

He gets up, too.

He’s not much taller than her, but Tav feels like she’s approaching a mountain. The coals that have been simmering in her belly all evening catch flame. This close, the smell of him is overwhelming: cherries, smoke, fire. The heat he gives off can’t be anything but Infernal, despite his human guise. Anticipation sets her jaw, her throat dry. It’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking as he slowly, slowly, leans forward, dark eyes fixed on her mouth. His breath is hot as it fans across her face. Tav’s lips part unconsciously, eyelids closing. He’s but a whisper away, the silk of his sinful mouth a phantom against her own…

He kisses her cheek. The left one, high on her cheek bone, and though he’s completely composed, she can hear the brief huff of amusement leave his nose as he pulls away.

“There you are,” he says, jovial, almost business-like as she gapes at him, humiliated, flabbergasted, furious. “One kiss, its nature wholly unspecified, delivered as promised. I always deal fairly.”

This fucker’s trying not to laugh. Tav can see the tell-tale twitch of his lips (lips whose imprint burns on her cheek, entirely not where she wanted thank you very much) and the gleam of delight in his eye. Oh yes, he’s had fun with her today.

“Is something wrong?” He asks her innocently when she does nothing but glare at him.

“No,” she grits out.

“Good,” he purrs, unable to stop the shit-eating grin from spreading across his face. “I’d hate to hear that you’re dissatisfied with your victory. I did my very best to acquiesce. As a little advice for the future, from one thrill-seeker to another: you might try being more specific with the terms of your wagers. After all, what’s that saying you mortals are so fond of? Ah, yes. The devil’s in the details. Keep that in mind for next time, hm? Ta-ta.”

A click of his fingers, a spark of hellish magic, and she’s standing in the middle of their rooms at the Elfsong tavern.

“Arsehole!”

From where he’s lounging on a sofa, Astarion lowers the book he’s reading enough to raise an eyebrow at Tav. “Who’s the arsehole, darling, and what have they done?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tav mutters. “Where’s Gale? I need to learn how to play lanceboard.”

#baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 raphael #raphael x tav #raphael bg3 #fanfic #cringe

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twola · 1 year

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Passerine : Chapter 1

PAIRING: High Honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader

When a run-in with an O’Driscoll leads you to a fate worse than death, it’s up to Arthur to pick up the pieces.

Warnings: This fic has graphic descriptions of non-consensual sex, violence against women, the trauma thereafter, and somewhat unhealthy coping mechanisms. If any of that content makes you feel uncomfortable or triggers you, this may not be the fic for you.

➵ AO3 Link ➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ Next

“Don’t look so glum there, cowboy. I’ll be sure to put your money to good use.”

Arthur Morgan glares from across the table, pushing the pile of coins in your direction.

“The hell are you gonna do with that money?” He spits, but cannot help the grin that begins at the side of his mouth.

You toss your braided hair over your shoulder. “As I damn well please, Mister Morgan. I think I’ll take myself to town.”

Pushing the dominoes into the center of the table, you stand and relieve Arthur of his money.

“Maybe I'll find me a nice stable boy and treat him to dinner.” You tease, knowing just how to rib the man in front of you.

He snorts, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one at the table, “Ain't you just a proper lady, wine and dine the boy before robbin’ him blind.”

“Claro, Arthur, sounds like you have some experience with that.” Javier chuckles from his seat across the campfire. You look over at Javier and wink, laughing under your breath.

Arthur rolls his eyes, taking a drag from his cigarette. You laugh as you deposit the coins into the pocket of your dress.

“The pleasure was all mine, Mister Morgan.” You curtsy in an exaggerated manner before stepping away from the table and taking your leave.

Arthur shoots up as you walk away, heading toward where the horses are hitched across the camp. A pleased smile crosses your face as you hear his heavy footsteps behind you.

“C’mon now, you ain’t really gonna go blow that money in Valentine of all places,” Arthur complains, taking a drag of his cigarette as he follows you.

“Cattle town is gonna be the best place to pick up a strapping young stablehand, Mister Morgan. Besides, didn’t you and Lenny just blow through an embarrassing amount of money in Valentine two weeks ago?” You spin on your heel and press your pointer finger into his chest accusingly.

“That was - that’s… that’s different.” He sputters, almost dropping the cigarette from his mouth. A tinge of red stains his cheeks as his eyes dart away from you.

“Mhmm. Sure…” You roll the second word in a drawl imitating the man’s rough voice, the ‘u’ sounding more like an ‘o’ and ‘a’ smashed together.

He scowls in response.

“Are you seriously going to Valentine for that?”

You laugh, reaching your horse.

“I’m gonna go check out a lead I heard from one of the workin’ girls in town.” You pull on the strap of the horse’s saddle, tightening the holster where your repeater is tucked into.

“Y’want company?” Arthur asks, dropping his cigarette on the ground and snuffing it out under his boot. God, this man is about as obvious as they come.

“Nah, I’m a big girl. ‘Sides, I’m just lookin’. I’ll be sure to find ya when it’s ready to hit though.” You pull yourself up into the saddle of your gelding, a young silver-coated trotter.

“I’ll be back to take more of your money, I promise, Mister Morgan.” You laugh as you settle yourself in the saddle, looking down at him as he rolls his eyes at you. “Don’t miss me too much, cowboy .” You lower your voice to sweet registers as you lean over your saddle closer to him.

The very hint of a blush blooms on his cheeks again before he looks back to the ground.

This dance, the give and take, the teasing, it’s all burning in your gut deliciously. Somewhere along the way of robbing, thievery, and general skullduggery that the gang lived by, you and Arthur began this flirtation.

You’d be blind not to notice him - especially when he’s been apt to chop wood shirtless around camp. Karen may or may not have smacked you upside the head after catching you staring.

And you - you know you’re not any vixen - you certainly don't have Karen’s bosom, but you’ve noted Arthur’s stare at times, lingering for longer than is socially appropriate.

Also, there’s Mary Beth and Tilly teasing you that Arthur looks at you like a lost puppy. Karen drolls on that whatever this is between you is getting obnoxious and you two should just get in bed together and get it over with.

Maybe if Blackwater hadn’t happened the way it did, you’d have done that by now. It's been a while since you’ve been on your back for anyone , and certainly, since joining this gang a year back, you’ve been trying your damnedest to prove your worthiness as a thief, without sleeping your way around the camp.

But Arthur… Arthur; the stalwart enforcer, the muscle, the fearless, at times ruthless second in command… Somehow, underneath that bloody and hard exterior is a quiet, unsure, and unconfident man.

You're in the painfully obvious stage of…. whatever this is between you, where the attraction is undeniable, the tension is palpable. Perhaps it was when Arthur insisted on teaching you how to shoot when a coach robbery in Colorado went south. Perhaps it was the way he curled his arms over your back to help you aim the repeater. Perhaps it was the way his rough, low voice whispered in your ear to keep both eyes open when aiming…

Speaking of which, his rough, low voice interrupts your thoughts.

“You be careful now, Miss.”

“Always am, Mister.”

Arthur nods and gives you a two-fingered salute as you urge your horse into a trot away from the camp, passing Karen on your way while on guard duty. She waves, and you toss some crude joke at her, to which she laughs back, fading out of view as your horse makes it past the brush and woods to the main road. The gang had settled at Horseshoe Overlook several weeks ago after the mess of Blackwater and the terrible time in Colter. Things were slowly returning to normal - jobs were starting up again, there was money to be made.

The golden late afternoon sun falls behind the mountains as you steer your horse through the Heartlands, skirting east of Valentine and into the heavily wooded Cumberland Forest.

Some harlot with loose lips was talking up a client she had, some feckless man from the East who set up in a cabin north of Cornwall’s oil fields. Sounded like he had money, by the way the girl was talking in the saloon. All you had to do was a little scoping out, recruit some of the men for the job, and reap the benefits. You could see the pleased look on Dutch’s face when you bring back the haul, having orchestrated an entire robbery and provided for the gang. You would finally feel worthy .

The low light of dusk descended on the forest by the time you reach your destination. You hitch your horse just off the road, grabbing your binoculars and slinging your repeater over your back before quietly trapezing through the high grass and trees toward the clearing where the cabin stood. Luckily for you, the side you approached from sloped down a rocky hill, and there was a ledge perfect for spying upon the cabin and its occupants.

You sidle up to the ledge and stoop to your knees, then to your belly as you pull a pair of binoculars from your dress pocket.

There we are.

Sprawled out on the ledge, peering through your binoculars with a repeater strapped across your back, you grin. A light is lit within the cabin, shadows of its occupant moving around. Hell, from the one window you can see in, things look clean and new. A sitting duck. You decide to stay another half hour to see if you can delineate any other people in the cabin.

None such exist. You snort, giggling to yourself with glee - this was going to be great. Tomorrow you would recruit Arthur and Javier, maybe John if he was feeling up to it, storm into this cabin, and rob this city slicker blind. Foolproof .

“You think you can just move in on my spot, huh, missy?”

A cold shiver goes down your spine as you whip your binoculars to the ground in front of you. Sprawled out on the grass of the ledge, it was near impossible to reach your repeater at this angle.

Not that it would have helped anyway.

The butt of a rifle meets the back of your head and all goes black.

You awaken with a piercing pain in the back of your skull. It takes you moments for your vision to come into focus, but when it finally does, you find yourself indoors, the stench of stale cigarettes nearly overbearing.

Blinking, your eyes become less cloudy as you realize that you’re bound. Your hands are tied tightly behind your back, the fibers of rope rough against your wrists. You lay atop a bed of some sort, though calling it that would be generous. You struggle against your bindings, groaning against the fabric tied tightly against your mouth, gagging you.

A door opens across from you, and as you strain to get your bearings in the dark, the light from a lantern floods the room. Decrepit, falling apart, dirty - a wardrobe with a door hanging off and random items thrown in. Bottles litter the floor.

A chair with a rifle- no wait - a repeater slung over the back of it, hanging by a strap.

Your repeater.

“Now, what do we have here, little miss?”

Your eyes dart back to the stranger walking into the room, the man places the lantern down on a side table.

“I got to thinkin’- who could this little lady be that’s scopin’ out my lead?”

He leans on the bed, uncomfortably close. You squirm as far as you can from him on the bed, your teeth clenching down on the gag in your mouth.

“Yer one of Dutch’s girls, ain'tcha? Colm’ll love this.”

O’Driscoll.

Of course. Dutch had said Colm was operating in the area. Hell - it wasn't two weeks ago that a bunch of the men cleared out a safe house full of them; the green-scarved assholes. Stupid, stupid. Why didn't you take up Arthur’s offer to come with you?

You narrow your eyes at the man and finally notice the green bandana at his collar, tucked into his dirty flannel shirt. He pulls an old, beat-up cabbie hat from his head and tosses it to the ground. His dark hair is disheveled, as is his beard.

“I’ll be bringin’ you back to our camp. Colm will want to be speakin’ wit ya. Y’know, he can be quite a convincin’ man.”

You continue to try and scoot yourself away from the man, a dirty, rough-looking scoundrel - just what you pictured when an O’Driscoll came to mind. Unfortunately, the bed where you’ve been deposited is against the wall, and you've quickly run out of real estate to put between you.

“The boys are hittin’ that house now, ain't gonna lose it to any stinkin’ Van der Lindes.” He spits with derision over Dutch’s name.

He turns and spits on the floor before moving closer to you. You try to buck and withdraw further to prevent him from touching you, but between his encroaching figure and the wall, you are trapped.

“But while we’re waitin, might as well have some fun.” He grabs your leg to stop you from moving. He yanks, hard, pulling you across the bed toward him. You yell into the gag. He pulls your boots off and tosses them across the room, they skitter across the floor. His hands dive under your skirt, finding your knees, and where your stockings end at your thigh. They are peeled from your legs as you try to squirm from his grasp.

Tears run down your face as you struggle, the screams reduced to animalistic cries with the fabric between your teeth. You pull on the ropes binding your wrist but are unable to make any headway other than rubbing the skin of your wrists raw behind your back.

“Y’know, pretty little thing like you, maybe I should make you my wife.”

The man looks over you, giving you a toothy grin. He leans over and takes your shirt in two hands and pulls, buttons fly and fabric tears as you struggle against him, yelling against the gag in your mouth. The shirt is pulled from your body in torn pieces before he starts to pull at the fastening of your skirt. You buck your knee up and hit him on the chin. Smarting from the blow, he works his jaw a bit before slamming his fist across your face.

You’re left dazed, vision going temporarily black. You feel your skirt loosen around your waist. There is a tearing of cloth, ripping, and as you’re reeling from the blow to your head, you feel your bloomers torn from your hips. Your threadbare chemise is all that shields your body from this man.

The terrible clicking sound of a belt being undone pierces the stillness.

“Now, now, you haven’t been too nice to me tonight, miss. Think it’s time ta teach you some manners. I know ol’ Van der Linde prolly doesn’t teach you shit.”

He climbs onto the bed, looming on his knees above you. You try to wriggle your arms free, but the rope behind your back is tight against your wrists. You meet his eyes as a cold sweat overtakes you.

He laughs, the bastard. Standing on his knees above you, he undoes the buttons of his trousers one by one. He yanks his shirt up his abdomen before peeling his trousers down to his knees, one hand stroking his hardening cock.

You scream again but gagged as you are, your efforts are in vain.

Hands return to your thighs. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying hard to close your legs, but strong fingers move up to your thighs again and shove your knees apart. Fabric is pushed, higher, higher. The hem of your chemise is hiked over your hips, baring your naked skin to your captor. He lets the fabric go and it pools around your ribcage.

Tears burst from your eyes as you begin to hyperventilate behind the gag.

“Pretty miss.”

You feel the blunt head of his cock push against your opening, insistently demanding entry. A sob wracks your body as the man above you grunts, pressing hard against you. A piercing pain flashes through your hips, and the opening of your cunt burns as he breaches you, the head of his cock forcing his way in. You’re not prepared for anything like this, and the drag of his skin against yours is a pain like you’ve never felt before.

He groans in pleasure, pushing further into you, and tears continue to spill from your eyes as the pain worsens. He presses his whole body down on yours, your arms screaming in pain as they are forced into an unnatural angle beneath both your body and his.

You thought the burning would never end, the scraping of your inner walls, but the man finally bottoms out, and with a pleasurable moan, he thrusts himself fully inside you, his pubic bone hard against your own.

He rolls his hips, pulling out slightly, and pushing back in. In some small mercy, your body has betrayed you, and your cunt becomes wet enough that the pain becomes less and less excruciating. The energy, the fight, the fire you had, it all seems to have left you, with each heinous thrust of your captor into you, your body becomes more and more limp. Your soul crushed with each squelching noise and moan from the man atop you.

He continues on, and you turn your head, staring at the wall. It’s all you can do, focus on the crack in the beam supporting the structure. Your body moves back and forth on the bed as he rolls his hips against yours, thrusting in and out, in and out. He looms over you, his arms bracketing in your head, hips mashed together, warm skin on warm skin. If it weren’t so painful, so raw, so violating , it would remind you of lovers past, tangled up in bedsheets and limbs.

But this feels like it’s never going to end. It feels like hours that he takes you, each push of his body into yours is a little less of you left.

“Fuck , you’re tight, woman.” He grits out, thrusting harder into you, more erratically, “So g-good.”

Thankfully, he finally pulls out of you, stroking himself to completion, and spatters his spend over your mound.

He grunts as he rolls off of you, stumbling off the bed and pulling his pants back up. He redoes his belt without looking at you.

“You’ll be a popular one ‘mongst the boys, with a tight little cunny like that.”

You stare at the wall, unable to think, unable to move. Your chemise lays limply on your stomach and your legs hang open, your muscles scream against the abuse.

“Maybe later I’ll fuck ye in the ass, surely yer even tighter there.” The man reaches over and grabs a handful of your behind from the side as if to stake his claim.

You just close your eyes. He removes his hand from your skin as he mumbles something. The door opens and closes to the bedroom of this small cabin. You're left alone, your cunt aching, arms protesting, voice hoarse.

What seems like hours later, you hear a loud commotion outside the door. A violent crack pierced the night. You pray that it’s not more men coming to violate you further, tears flowing from your eyes again. You’re unable to find the strength to do anything. You can’t endure this endlessly. Maybe they will have mercy on you and kill you.

The door bursts open.

You are barely able to raise your head, but you make eye contact with the room’s new occupant. It is not your captor, nor any of his green-scarved comrades.

No, it is a lumbering man with honeyed hair and a black hat you’d recognize anywhere.

“Jesus Christ.”

Close, but Arthur Morgan is the closest you could get to a savior right now.

He slams the door behind him.

You cannot do anything but stare, your limbs don’t work, and your muscles protest. Even your neck gives out, and your head lays back on the bed, a strangled noise coming from your throat.

That’s how Arthur finds you. Bound and gagged, sprawled out on a dirty bed. Stripped to a chemise, hiked up over your hips. Your legs open, another man’s drying spend splattered in the dark hair shrouding your cunt. All you can do is stare at the ceiling with cold and broken eyes.

Arthur rushes over to you, throwing his rifle to the floor. It clatters in the silence of the room. He grabs the hem of your chemise, pulling it down over your thighs to give you some semblance of modesty, before grabbing his knife and cutting the fabric tied around your jaw.

You take a shuddering breath, and turn your eyes to the ceiling, unable to look at him. He leans over you and takes his knife to the ropes binding your wrists. They snap, and you somehow find the strength to whip your arms to your front and curl your knees into your chest, trying to make yourself small.

Arthur slowly, carefully places his hand on your shoulder, and you shiver under his touch, a sob escaping your mouth.

“Darlin’.”

Your head, tucked into your knees, raises, and your eyes, full of tears, find his. He stares down at you with such gentleness, but in those blue eyes, a sadness, a fear glimmers.

Your face crumbles as you sob again. Arthur quickly sheds his brown leather jacket and lays it over your shoulders. He sits down on the bed next to you.

“C’mon, let’s get you back to camp.”

“N-no.” You stutter. The thought of anyone else seeing you like this was terrifying. You can’t take the stares of the others. You couldn’t take the fawning of the other women, the clucking of Susan as a mother hen when one of her girls gets hurt. Hosea’s pitying expression. Dutch’s righteous anger. You couldn’t take the pity, the tutting, the attention.

“I don’t- I don’t want to go back there tonight.”

You don’t want to go back there dressed only in a chemise, horseless, with tear-stained cheeks. It would be obvious to everyone what happened.

“Alright. Okay. We’ll figure it out. But we gotta get out of here. Ain’t no tellin’ when anyone else’ll be back.” Arthur looks over his shoulder at the door to the bedroom.

He moves from the bed, taking his rifle and slinging it over his shoulder. You pull his jacket around your shoulders tighter. He moves about the room, surveying out a dirty window before grabbing your repeater from the chair and swinging it over his shoulder as well.

“Stay there. I’ll be right back.”

He unholsters his revolver from his belt, pushing the door open and shutting it quickly behind him.

You swipe at your eyes in the silence with the back of your palm. You barely have enough time to collect yourself before Arthur swings the door open and you jolt. He reholsters his revolver and moves toward the bed.

“C’mon, got the horse out front. Let’s get outta here.”

Without letting you stand; or even question him, he swings his arms around your frame, hoisting you from the bed as if you were nothing. One arm hooks under your knees, the other behind your back. You allow it. Normally, you would scoff at being treated like some damsel.

But things weren’t normal now.

Arthur’s heavy steps echo through the cabin as he moves quickly, out the door of the bedroom and through the main room, which was in just as much of a state of disarray. In moments he’s passed through the front door, onto the porch for a step, and into the glen where a ramshackle camp had been set up.

The moon shines bright in the sky. It must be close to midnight.

You peer over Arthur’s shoulder as he moves away from the structure. A crumbled body lays on the porch, contorted in an unnatural position. The bloodied face of your captor stares back at you, a bullet hole between his eyes. You close your eyes and turn away, leaning your head onto Arthur’s collarbone.

His arms tighten around you as you release an audible, shuddering breath.

Arthur swings the mare to the north of Valentine, westward to avoid any other bandits in Cumberland, skirting the cliffs along the Dakota.

The blue waters of the river gently rush by as Arthur slows his mare to a walk, her heavy breathing loud in the night as she’s worked up a lathing sweat on her coat.

You’re astride the saddle, Arthur’s jacket wrapped around your frame, fit securely against him, where he holds you tightly with one arm across your stomach and one hand fisted in the reins as he sits behind you.

He allows the horse to splash several steps into the waters before she stops to lean her head down to the river.

You look at the water for a moment as the mare drinks her fill.

“Can- can we stop here?”

He pulls on the reins, urging his mare back toward the bank of the river. She whinnies with discontent. “What d’ya need?”

The arm around your stomach tightens its hold briefly.

“I… I want to wash off.” You say softly, almost too soft for him to hear it. But he does, his mouth pulled into a straight, serious line.

“Course.” He says, voice gruff. Arthur swings his leg back over the horse’s rump, his spurs jingle as his boots hit the ground. He gently places his hands on your waist, slowly, assuredly pulling you from the horse.

“D’ya need-”

“No. I’m fine.” You interject, not able to meet his eyes. You shrug off his jacket and press it toward him, he takes it as you turn away, walking barefoot toward the riverbank. You slowly edge around stones along the shoreline, trying to save your feet from any sharp edges.

You slowly wade into the water, not bothering to strip yourself of the chemise you’re wearing. Arthur turns away, stepping back from the riverbank.

You wade out several steps until the water laps at your knees. You gather the soaking wet hem of your chemise and pull it above your hips with one hand, the other one cupping water and bringing it up to your cunt, rinsing away the viscous reminder of your violation.

You openly sob, shaking, as you drop the hem of your chemise and start to sink further into the water. You vaguely hear splashing behind you and before you know it, you’re lifted out of the water.

Arthur walks you back to dry land, his arms looped protectively behind your back and under your knees. He places you gently on an overturned log next to the tree where he’d hitched the horse.

“Sweetheart, you’re gonna freeze in just your underthings like that.” Arthur places his leather jacket around your shoulders again. You can’t stop crying, your voice cracking over shuddering breaths.

“P-please don’t take me back to c-camp.” You stutter, shivering, voice cracking as tears spill down your cheeks unbidden.

Arthur sighs, taking his hat off his head to wipe his forehead. He places it back on his head before looking around.

“How about I get you a room in Valentine for the night? I’ll buy you a new dress ‘nd then we can figure it out.”

You nod, swiping the back of your hand over your cheeks in a sad attempt to dry your eyes. Another shuddering breath escapes you.

He patiently helps you climb onto the horse’s saddle, settling himself in behind you and leading the mare away from the riverbank. The moon hangs high in the sky as the hour churns later, closer to midnight as you reach the road eastward to Valentine. Over the hours, the sky darkens, clouds moving to obscure the light of the moon as thunder rumbles in the distance, a storm rolling in from the mountains.

Arthur curses under his breath as the wind blows in the scent of rain. Still another hour to Valentine, even pushing the horse at an uncomfortable pace. He pulls you closer to his body as fat drops of rain begin to fall.

By the time you reach Valentine, the roads are choked with mud and a soaking rain pours from the sky. You shiver under Arthur’s coat as he urges the mare around the back of the Saints Hotel. He slides off the saddle of the horse, looking up at you.

“I’ll go get a room. You can meet me at the back door over there.” He says before pulling you down off the horse by your waist, putting you on the ground gently. You shuffle his coat to cover your head as he hitches the horse to a post.

Your feet squelch in the mud as you make your way to the back wooden stairs, waiting for Arthur to return. It's only a few moments before he does, rounding the corner in the night like a man on a mission.

“Here”, he presses a key into your hand, “second door on up the steps. I’m gonna go down to the general store ‘fore it closes to get some clothes and food.”

Arthur pulls a revolver out of his belt, pressing that in your hand as well. “Don’t open the door for anyone but me.”

You nod gravely, pulling his jacket tighter around you. As the rain falls, you slowly make your way up the stairs, and Arthur watches you enter the hotel before turning down the muddy street toward the store.

You pad quietly down the hall, reaching the door Arthur had mentioned and inserting the key into the lock. The door swings open and you quickly shut it behind you.

You place Arthur’s jacket over a chair, tucking the revolver into a pocket, and rub your arms as you move closer to the fireplace. Fortunately, with the weather, the hotel staff had kept the fire lit. The room was small, the wallpaper fading, but for Valentine, it was the best one could get. You survey the room before landing in the mirror, finally looking at yourself.

The mirror reflects a ghastly sight, and your dirty, threadbare chemise does little to shield you. Your hair is half out of its braid, plastered to your skin. Your feet are covered in mud, shoeless as you are. Red-rimmed eyes betray you in the reflection.

You grit your teeth and yank the chemise off of you, throwing it in the fireplace with a groan of frustration. The fabric, though wet in areas, quickly caught aflame.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, breathing heavily. Searching your reflection, you look for something , some mark, some scar, some kind of wound that showed what you had been through. Your kind, outlaws, wore scars like badges of honor. Javier’s dance with the gallows painted on his neck. John’s bout with wolves across his face. Bullet wounds and stab marks are a testament to the survival of this kind of life.

You sigh, tears escaping your eyes again. As you look over your nude form, you grit your teeth. There was nothing, other than some chafing on your wrists from ropes and fading redness on your cheek.

Your hand starts to shake as you lift it from where it hangs at your side. A shaky breath, a barely concealed sob, the popping of the fire, that’s all the sound that exists in this room. Your shaking fingers move to the cradle of your hips, to the hair over your mound. Your index finger presses inward, parting the seam of your core as you wince. You’re swollen, and as you trace up to the opening of your cunt, you gasp aloud in pain, pulling your finger back from your irritated skin.

Your gasp melts into a full-blown sob as you sink to the floor in front of the fireplace. You weep, pulling your knees into your chest, trying to block out the memory of the man’s hands on you, his length inside you.

Trying to block out the look on Arthur’s face when he found you.

You wrapped yourself in a blanket and sat in front of the fire. Three quick raps on the door pull you from your fugue joltingly.

“Hey, it’s me.”

You stumble up, pulling the blanket closer around yourself, and unlock the door. You back away from it as it swings open, Arthur stepping in with his arms full of wrapped packages. He moves past you and deposits them on the bed, before turning back toward the door.

“I’ll let you dress. There’s plenty of food here. I’m going to take the horse just outside of town and camp there.”

Fear creeps into you. “B-but…”

Arthur turns and looks at you.

“P-please don’t go.” Your eyes water over again as you clutch the blanket closer to yourself.

“Are y’ sure?” He asks, pulling his hat off and shaking the excess water from it.

“I’d like you here.” You whisper.

“Whatever you need. I’ll do whatever you need.” He replies quietly, eyes trained on yours for a moment, sincerity in those blue-green pools.

He steps toward the fireplace, moving to kick off his boots and leave them by the door.

“I’ll… I won’t look.” He mutters, pulling a chair from next to the door and placing it in front of the fireplace, taking a seat and rubbing at his forehead tiredly.

You shuffle back toward the bed and unwrap the package Arthur placed there - a simple grey dress, long-sleeved with petticoats and a new chemise lay folded underneath the brown paper. You drop the blanket and let it puddle on the floor, dressing yourself in the clothes quickly.

“T-thank you. I’ll have to pay you for these.” You murmur softly, tying the last fastening on the skirt before turning around and facing him.

He nods his head in the negative, but continues staring at the fire. “No y’ don’t. It’s fine.”

You look around the room forlornly, but finally, exhaustion begins to set in. You sit on the bed and the wooden frame creaks under your weight.

“Y’okay?” Arthur does finally turn around and look at you, concern alight in his eyes.

It takes you a moment to respond.

The twinge in your hips, the hoarseness of your voice. The chafed skin of your wrists, the overextension of your muscles. The memory, weighing you down like an anchor.

You’re so tired.

“No.”

You can barely recognize your own voice. He certainly can’t. You don’t wait for a response as you move to lie down in the bed, turning away from him.

Arthur watches you settle in, pulling the worn blanket over yourself. Sighing to himself, he turns back to the fire, pulling his hat off and running his hand through his hair.

He shoulda killed that man slowly.

You awaken in bits, blinking into existence. Slowly accumulating to your surroundings, you press yourself up into a sitting position, finding yourself on the bed in a hotel room. Arthur is across the room, sleeping in a chair, his legs propped up on a chest, his hat over his face. The fireplace smolders with the last bit of embers from the night. Sunlight filters in through the dusty lace curtains.

Swinging your legs down to the floor, you wince slightly as the bed’s frame creaks loudly. Arthur jolts in his chair, his hat falling to the ground.

“Sorry…sorry-” you whisper, knowing how miserable it is to be woken suddenly.

“`S fine,” Arthur mutters, covering his mouth with his palm as he yawns.

You rub your upper arms quickly to warm yourself up, staring at the empty fireplace.

“Y’ want to go back to camp?” Arthur’s voice pierces the stillness that had settled in the room.

“Y-yes. I think so,” you pause, “Arthur…”

“Mm?” He doesn’t look up from pulling on his boots.

“Please don’t…. Don’t tell anyone.”

He stops, looking up at you. “Course,” nodding gruffly, a serious expression on his face. He places his hat on his head and throws his brown jacket over his shoulders. He moves toward the fireplace, grabbing the rifle and repeater balanced against the frame, and slinging them both over his shoulder.

“A-Arthur…” you pipe up again, your voice small, “I don’t, I don't have shoes.”

Arthur raises his eyebrows before cursing under his breath after looking at your feet, partially obscured by your skirts. “ Shit , lemme… Lemme go down to the store and get some.”

“I have more at camp. You don't have to. We’re goin’ straight there, right?”

He nods, and you make toward the door, “Just… check out and I’ll meet you around back.”

“Alright, I‘ll just be a minute.” He gruffly nods, grabbing the key to the door and heading out. You hear his heavy footsteps make their way down the hall and the stairs.

You sigh, straightening your skirts, and look yourself over in the mirror for a moment. Was it obvious? Did you look different? Would people know?

It would not do to dwell. You move to the door, open it, and quietly relatch it before quickly moving down the hall and out the back door, rounding the raised deck to the old staircase behind the hotel. The wooden stairs creak under you, as you carefully pad down to the enclosed yard behind the hotel. You cringe when you look at the wet, muddy ground between you and Arthur’s horse, several feet away, hitched to a post outside the hotel’s property.

Arthur rounds the corner from the front and looks at you standing on the last stair. You frown, “I’ll be right there.”

The outlaw doesn't take that answer. Rolling his eyes, he stalks toward you, his boots squelching in the mud.

“Wait, Arthur-”

He picks you up like a sack of potatoes, over his shoulder, your behind high in the air as he turns toward his mare several feet away.

You screech indignantly, “Put me down, you big oaf!”

“I'm sure your ladyship doesn't want to be in the mud with us low-lives.” He snorts, reaching his mare after passing through the soggy ground.

“I swear , Arthur-”

Arthur heaves you forward, and you grunt in surprise as you land on the rump of the horse, his hands sliding to your waist to steady you. Your hands fly to his shoulders for more support.

For a moment, everything was as it was. The back and forth, the playful name-calling. The blush rises on your cheeks as you feel his fingers curl ever so slightly against your waist.

And then you wince briefly, a shot of pain through your hips, and Arthur pulls back his hands as if they burned you.

“ Shit , I didn’t-” he stutters, eyebrows raised and eyes wide.

“Wasn’t you. Wasn’t you.” You reply quietly, your hands leaving his shoulders.

He frowns, his eyes moving from you to the ground, where the horse’s hooves stamp lightly; the mare irritated by Arthur’s jolting.

Arthur runs his hand down the mare’s neck, leaning in to whisper something in her ear, calming her. He takes another look at you, his mouth drawn in a tight line.

“Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

The return to camp is blessedly uneventful. You even manage to slip in without anyone noticing your bare feet. You are able to sneak into your small tent and at least throw an old pair of boots on before anyone notices you’ve returned.

Charles speaks to you first, having found your gelding making his way back to camp. You’re able to craft a story about being bucked outside of Valentine, and how it was fortunate for you to be marooned so close to town, where you hung around knowing someone with the gang was liable to swing by. It was believable, especially with Charles knowing that your horse could still be temperamental. He doesn’t push with any further questioning.

People don’t bother you. You’re able to settle into normalcy, or at least feign it.

The nights turn cold, and much like the spring blizzard that trapped the gang in the Grizzlies, cold winds blow down from the mountains. A day is spent hanging extra canvas on everyone’s tents to guard against the chill on the overlook.

And you find yourself staring at the pitch of your small tent in the small hours of the morning, as the campfires have burned down to embers and even the hardest drinkers have gone to bed.

You can’t sleep. Your bedroll against the ground gives you little solace as you sigh, rolling over for the umpteenth time. It’s not necessarily insomnia keeping you awake.

It’s fear. It’s been days since you returned to camp atop Arthur’s horse, and you’ve gotten sleep in fits and bursts, but one harrowing nightmare about green bandanas and a laughing voice and hands all over you has shaken your already winnowing psyche.

You roll fully to your stomach, pressing yourself up to your hands and knees. Tossing the woolen blanket you were under aside, you grab a dress from the pile of clothing and shrug it on over your chemise before crawling out of the tent.

Wrapping your arms around yourself against the cold, you quietly shuffle across the campsite toward a large wagon not far from the edge of the overlook.

Sighing, you run your hand through your hair to calm your nerves. The worst he could do would be to throw you out, right?

That would be pretty terrible, you muse as you snuck between the canvas flaps of the large tent.

“A-Arthur.” You whisper.

The outlaw shoots up in his cot, about to reach for his knife on the table next to him before he realizes it’s you.

“What is it, what’s wrong?” He grunts, his voice rough with sleep.

“I just- just… can I stay with you?”

“Sure- sure. Here,” he pulls the blanket off of him, making to stand up from his cot, “I’ll sleep on the ground.”

“N-no,” you step forward, placing your hand on his shoulder, preventing him from standing, “I-…”

You sit on the cot next to him, wringing your hands together. “It’s just… y’ make me feel safe, Arthur.”

Silence falls between you.

“I’m sorry, I should go. I shouldn’t have woken you up.”

He places a large hand over yours, stopping you from standing. He lays back down, lifting the blanket to allow you to slot yourself next to him.

“C’mere.”

You slowly ease yourself down next to his form, a tight squeeze on the cot. As you press against him, he pulls the blanket over both of you, leaving his arm to lay over you.

It makes you feel secure. You settle in, placing one of your hands on his chest. You don’t remember falling asleep.

Arthur awakens with a crick in his neck. Why the hell was he sleeping on his side? Blinking awake, it only takes him a moment to realize that you’re pulled tightly against him, your head tucked under his chin, your hand lightly over his chest.

You were so full of fire and energy and life before. Now, you're curled into him with a fear that kept you up at night.

He swears he’s gonna kill every O’Driscoll he ever comes across.

You fall into a sense of normalcy. Days go by, you sew and do laundry on the cliff, you help Pearson with meals, and clean up after supper. You put on a cheery face and laugh and mask everything that you’re feeling inside, and by the time night falls, you are spent, bodily and emotionally.

The camp grows quiet in the night and you sneak to Arthur’s tent, into his waiting arms. After the first two days of waking him to ask to stay, he took to waiting until you crept in, pulling you into his embrace and somehow trying to make both of you comfortable on his cot, which was a lost cause half the time.

But you sleep. You actually sleep. Unlike the first few days of staring at the pitch of your tent, you get well-needed rest in this space.

Arthur’s turned the lantern down low, and sits in his cot clad in his union suit, sketching in his journal when you enter the tent, your long coat tight around your shoulders.

He quickly tosses the journal aside and stands up, moving toward you to help you slide the coat from your frame.

“Y’didnt need to s-stop.” You stutter, your teeth chattering.

“Was just waitin’ for you anyways.” He replies, placing your coat over the chest at the end of his cot. He pulls you toward the bed as he sits down, first moving to get himself comfortable, pulling the woolen blanket that was piled at the end of the bed over his frame. He lifts the blanket, motioning for you to crawl in.

It's a practiced movement at this point, for the past several nights, you and he have worked through awkward arms and elbows, sleeping positions that do not work, to what does.

You curl in next to him; your head laying on the curve of his shoulder.

“How did you know to find me?” You whisper, hand firmly on his chest. Your eyes can't meet his.

Arthur frowns. “I knew I shoulda just come wit’ you. I shoulda trusted my gut.”

One of his large hands moves to tuck an unruly strand of hair behind your ear. Finally, you're able to meet his eyes, those azure pools you would happily drown yourself in.

“Went to Valentine. Saw some O’Driscolls hauntin’ about. Figured I would go ruin their day. Heard ‘em talking about a new spot they had up in Cumberland.”

You swallow. You know how the story ends from here.

“ ‘M sorry, sweetheart. I shoulda been there for you.” His hand moves from behind your ear to cup your cheek, “I didn’t keep you safe.”

“Ain’t your fault.” You quietly reply back. Before he can retort back, you bury yourself in closer to him, pressing your forehead into the hollow of his neck.

“I promise, I’ll never let anythin’ happen to you again. I swear.” His rough voice whispers into your ear as he winds his arms tighter around you.

It’s a nice thought. Here, in his small cot, wrapped up in his large frame, you certainly do feel safe. But you know, you’re criminals, outlaws, robbers. There’s no way to keep that promise.

But you’ll allow it for now, at least.

He catches you staring out over the cliff, off into the distance, and the winding Dakota valley. It's still a cold and chilly place, and this morning, after you’ve crept away from his tent and redressed in your own.

Pushing a steaming cup of coffee into your hands, he tries to follow where your gaze goes, down the valley toward the cliffs on the other side of the river, in West Elizabeth.

“How would you feel ‘bout gettin’ outta camp? Just for a night.” Arthur postures. You don't look at him, taking a sip of coffee.

“Where?” Your voice is small after you swallow.

“Somewhere o’er there?” he motions toward the area you’re looking at, across the state line, “Just thought y’might need to get away.”

You look up at him, he’s always been a full head taller than you. “Alright, Arthur. When can we go?”

“Now, if you wanna. Already told Dutch I was gonna look up a lead over near the train station.”

Before you know it, you’re atop your gelding following Arthur down the trail toward the river, your repeater strapped to your back as if things were normal, you were heading out on a job. But you and he know, things have been anything but normal.

You travel for most of the day, down and up valleys and under the shadow of Mount Shann. There isn't much conversation, the plodding of the horse’s hooves taking up most of the air around.

As the afternoon sun begins to wane, Arthur brings his mare to a stop, “Let’s settle in here for the night.” he nods toward an open glen not far off the trail, obviously used as a campsite in the past, the charred remains of a fire in the middle of the clearing.

You bring your gelding toward the glen, and wordlessly, you two unpack and begin to set up a small camp. Arthur sets up a small tent while you gather kindling for the campfire.

By the time you return with a handful of kindling, Arthur is clearing out the ashes from the last fire. You place the branches on the ground next to him, and he takes pieces and arranges them before pulling a matchbook from his satchel, which he has tossed against a large overturned log.

In the silence, he gets the fire started and moves from a crouch to sit on the log, an arm’s length away from the growing flames.

You stand opposite him, unmoved since you returned to the camp.

“Can I ask you something?” You say, eyes still on the fire he’s stoking. It's the first you've spoken since leaving Horseshoe.

“Course,” he grunts, adding another piece of wood to the flames.

“Will you… touch me?”

A long exhale.

“Darlin’, I don’t know if that’s the best idea.”

“Oh- I… I’m sorry. I…”

He couldn’t want you, not anymore. The way he saw you. Of course he doesn’t want to touch you after seeing you like that. You’re damaged goods .

You hang your head in defeat, cheeks blazing red. A sense of shame crawled over you as your vision clouded over with unshed tears. Before all this, the teasing back and forth, the heated glances, the good-natured ribbing… it was all gone.

“Darlin’….I don’t want to hurt you. You…you’re hurtin’ sweetheart, I don’t want to be the one hurtin’ you more.”

“I don’t want him to be the last person who touched me!”

You clap a hand over your mouth, surprised at your outburst.

“ ‘M sorry, I-I’ll go now-”

“Darlin’. It ain’t- I ain’t… surely, you can have a better man than me touch you. I ain’t a good man.”

“But I want it to be you, Arthur. I- I feel safe with you. You’re… you’re… I… I choose you.”

He looks at you with a pained expression.

“Please, Arthur. I…want to forget. I want to forget … his hands on me….” You shudder, “I want this to be my choice.”

Silence.

“…And I want you to choose me too.” Your voice drops into a low murmur as you stare at the ground. You’ve bared the last thing you’re hiding from him. He’s now seen and heard everything. He’s seen you at your worst, your lowest.

“Darlin’ girl. You’ve always been my choice.”

From his spot sitting on the overturned log, he reaches for your hand, dwarfing it in his own. His rough and calloused fingers close around yours.

“I never want to be the one hurtin’ you. I don’t know if you’re ready for this.” His thumb runs over your knuckles gently. You finally meet his eyes.

“ Please.”

Something in Arthur breaks, it cracks like a piece of porcelain. He gently places his hands on your waist, pulling you toward him. “Tell me what it is you want.”

“ You, Arthur.”

“C’mere,” he says, guiding you down to his lap, where you perch on his thigh, “we’re gonna go slow. You tell me right away if you wanna stop.”

Your hand moves to his jaw, and you lean in and press your lips against his. One of his hands finds the back of your head, the other splayed out on your lower back, as he gently presses his tongue against your lips, urging them to open to him.

You open your lips with a contented sigh and allow him to pull you even closer into his embrace, his tongue pressing against yours insistently. You don't know how many times you had envisioned this, before the O’Driscoll, when things were a bit simpler.

His hand slowly moves from your lower back to your behind, and he tests the waters by giving it a gentle squeeze. You yelp happily into his mouth, your hips moving over his thigh of their own accord, shifting in his lap. He gives a grunt of approval and squeezes your rear again.

Your hands find purchase around his shoulders, digging into the leather of his jacket. In one roll of your hips over his lap, your thigh juts up against his growing erection, hard and hot under you. In response, he bucks his hips up, to press against your thighs, chasing some kind of relief for his burgeoning cock.

You moan, loudly, into his mouth. He pulls away from your lips, breathing heavily. You’re also panting, your eyes meeting.

A question lays unasked between you, the inches between your wet lips and his, the twitching of his fingers against your rear, the hardness of his cock under your thighs. The dampness blooming between your legs.

You push yourself up against his shoulders, standing from his lap. He looks at you, questioning, his hands moving up to your waist.

“Please.” You say, stepping back from him and his arms fall to rest on his knees. You move toward the tent he had set up and look back at him anxiously as you lower yourself to your knees in front of the opening.

He shoots up from his seat, assuaging your fears.

You scoot back into the tent and lay yourself on the bedroll, watching intently as Arthur shrugs off his jacket and leaves it on the ground just next to the campfire. His gun belt clatters to the ground, clinking as it falls. He drops his hat at the mouth of the tent as he sinks to his knees to enter.

Arthur moves into the tent, his large stature overtaking most of the room in the small tent. He pauses, on his knees, and doesn’t move any further.

“Y’ sure you want this?” He asks, his voice low, but sincerity shines through.

You balance yourself on one elbow and reach with your other arm toward him, beckoning him to crawl over you. You kick your boots off and toss them to the side of the tent. He takes his off as well, spurs clinking as they fall to the ground.

Almost hesitantly, he leans over you, his arms bracketing in your shoulders and his knees on either side of yours. You meet him halfway, pressing your lips to his while throwing your arm around his neck, guiding him down over you. You lay out on the bedroll as he trails his lips from yours, leaving kisses down your jaw.

He suckles gently at your earlobe, and you moan in response. One of his callused hands cups your breast through your shirt, kneading it gently. Your hand flies to his hair, carding through it as you begin to pant.

Arthur looks at you, waiting, patient, and you open your knees slowly, letting him trail his hand up your thigh. He watches for any sign of discomfort, any hesitance, any fear, or pain.

He finds none, and presses forward, trailing his hands up, up to dust your inner thighs. You give a pleased sigh as he moves toward your center, bucking your hips slightly when he presses against your clothed core. Your bloomers quickly become even more damp under his ministrations.

You push at his suspenders, peeling them down his arms as his hands work to untangle themselves from your skirts.

Arthur sits up, pulling at the buttons of his black shirt and shrugging it off, reaching his union suit underneath.

You let out a breath, watching him unbutton the waffle-knit long underwear, with each button, more and more of his skin is bared to your stare. Pale underneath his clothes, his chest is scarred and marked and covered in wiry dark hair.

By the time he has undone all of the buttons on his union suit to his waist and peeled his arms from the fabric, he notices that you have made no move to disrobe.

“Y’alright?”

You slowly nod, averting your eyes from his frame.

“You wanna stop?” Arthur reaches out to you, placing a finger under your chin, gently tipping your chin up to bring your eyes back to his.

“How could you want me after that?”

“Oh, sweetheart….”

You pull away from him, whipping your head toward the tent’s opening. You place a hand over your forehead and release a ragged breath.

“I wanted you when I taught you how to shoot. I wanted you when you kicked my ass at dominoes. I wanted you each and ev’ry time you shared my tent. I want you now, ain’t nothin’ gonna change that.” Arthur places his hands on his knees as he moves to sit next to the bedroll.

“Y’sure?” You ask, your previous confidence waning.

Arthur chuckles, motioning to his crotch. “You want me to prove it to ya?”

You blink - indeed, his cock swells against his work pants as he shucks his boots off. You’re staring, again, at the bulge in his pants, held back by a measly few buttons.

You look up to his eyes again, and there’s such kindness, such truth, such gentleness, that your fears and reservations are assuaged. You reach for the buttons of your blouse, threading them through their eyes as he returns to stand on his knees in front of you; undoing the buttons of his trousers, opening the fly.

“Lemme show you how much I want you, woman.” His voice is low, cut like rough-hewn stone, and the reverberations go straight to your cunt.

You shed your shirt, tossing it in a corner of the tent out of reach. You begin to unlace your skirt as you hear the rustling of fabrics together and glance up to see Arthur rid himself of his pants, leaving only his half-undone union suit on his body. The fabric clings to every inch of him, every carved muscle and tendon, every bit of sinew binding this man together. His cock strains against the cotton.

Your skirt is tossed toward the corner of the tent where your shirt is crumpled.

“C’n I help ya?” He whispers, chest heaving.

“Yeah…yeah.”

He reaches forward as you lean back, his hands finding your waist and working on the fastenings of your petticoats. They slide from your waist and you move your hips to let him pull them from your body.

You pull your chemise over your head, baring your breasts to him, clad only in your bloomers. You see him swallow, his eyes scanning your frame. He removes his hands from you and starts to undo the last three buttons of his union suit. You recline, watching him, letting him take the initiative to bare himself completely.

He threads the buttons through their eyelets and pushes the fabric down from his waist. His eyes are on you, gauging your reaction, as he pushes the suit down, down over his hips, shoving the cotton down his thighs.

His large cock springs upward, framed by chestnut curls, his balls hanging heavy between his thighs. You look back up at his face, and your thumbs hook into the waistband of your bloomers and start sliding them down your thighs. You are both rid of the clothing in moments.

“God, yer beautiful,” Arthur murmurs, his hands tightly at his side, holding himself back.

“Touch me. ” You whisper, laying down on his bedroll. Arthur leans forward, crawling on top of you, placing one forearm next to your head to balance himself. His other hand traces your jaw before he lowers his head to catch your lips.

It’s gentle, surprising you. Arthur Morgan is a man made of violence and brute strength. You’ve seen him tear men apart and beat them stupid. You’ve seen him kill and maim and shoot and stab, but now, here with you, his hand traces down your neck, your chest, across your breasts, down, down to the cradle of your hips. All as he slots his lips against yours, gently, so gently opening them so that his tongue can press against yours, a low rumble echoing from his chest.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, moaning weakly into his mouth as his fingers snake between your thighs, gently pushing them apart. A single finger presses into the seam of your body, and you cry out in pleasure as he moves that finger up and down it. He grunts as he coats his fingers in your wetness, your eagerness for him.

It goes on for minutes, hours, years? You don’t know. But it’s so different, to be lost in pleasure instead of pain. Arthur presses into you and you touch him, wrapping your hand around his cock and pumping it slowly. Whispered, urgent words pour from your mouths, interspersed with moans of pleasure.

Settling between your hips, he braces his arms on either side of your head, and you feel the hot length of him press against your inner thigh. Wanting you. Needing you.

He leans in to kiss your brow. “Still alright?”

You nod, pressing your lips on his jaw quickly. He groans in response, pressing his hips forward.

The head of his cock nudges against your opening. Your eyes widen, and immediately, his hand finds your face, cupping your cheek gently. “We can stop, we don’t gotta do this.”

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, “I wanna be yours, Arthur.”

“You can be mine and we don’t have to do this, sweet girl.”

“You still wanna do this…right?”

“More than anythin’.” He confesses, “but we do what you want. There’s plenty of time.”

“Please. Please , I want you, Arthur.”

He presses forward, gently as possible. He doesn’t force. He doesn’t buck. He leans heavily on one elbow and draws one hand down your frame, fingers tracing across a pebbled nipple, your soft belly, and the cradle of your hips. He raises his hips only slightly, snaking his hand right to where your bodies meet, to where you’re stretched taut around him. He finds the bundle of nerves of your pleasure, rubbing it in circles. You gasp, a high keening moan he has to immediately smother with his lips. He continues his ministrations, and your eyes flutter closed, your hands moving to his back, nails leaving crescent-shaped marks on his skin.

He groans, pulling back from your lips to breathe before laying his forehead against yours. Taking a breath, he pushes his hips down on you, fully sheathing his cock in your core. It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t burn. It’s not anything like before. You’re left with the sensation of being filled, warm, and secure underneath him.

“Y’okay?” He whispers, pressing his lips to your cheek briefly. One of his hands runs through your hair, brushing it back from your forehead.

“ Yes,” you breathe back, “you’re so good…”

He smiles, and you’re smitten by the way the wrinkles at the edge of his eyes move. Arthur rolls his hips, sliding his cock inside you, and thrusting back, a long, slow stroke. You both moan as Arthur presses his face into the balled-up blanket next to your head, trying to suffocate the whine he is unable to keep to himself. One of your hands works up his neck to the nape, carding your fingers through the hair there.

His arms move to brace on either side of your head, and you cross your ankles over his hips as he raises his head above yours again. His jaw hangs open as he rolls his hips, moving both of your bodies atop the bedroll. You arch your back, throwing your head back on the blanket, baring your neck to him, where he leans in and places open-mouthed kisses on your skin.

Your breath becomes faster, high-pitched whines escaping your throat as he continuously rolls his hips into yours.

“A-Arthur…” you stutter, half whisper, half pleading.

He pushes himself up, looming over you with his hands planted firmly on the bedroll, on either side of your shoulders. He takes you in, your pupils blown, a red flush creeping down your neck and chest. Your breath devolves into panting.

“Oh sweet thing, gonna come for me?”

You squeeze your eyes shut as your hands move to clench his forearms. “Y-yes, yes - I’m gonna-”

A gasp tumbles from your lips when you feel him shift above you, a calloused thumb finding its way back to the hooded skin over your bundle of nerves, pressing in light circles on it as he continues thrusting into you at a clipped pace.

“I, oh god- keep goin’- don’t stop.” You cry, trying to keep the volume down as tears collect at the corners of your eyes. The stimulation of Arthur’s hand on your pleasure and the incessant roll of his hips sends you reeling.

“Tha’s it, come for me, darlin’…”

You thrust your hips upward, arching the small of your back as the wave hits you. Arthur covers your mouth with his own to stifle the keening cry you emit as every muscle fiber in your body clenches at once.

The glide of his cock as he rocks into you becomes even smoother as your slick covers it, warm and wet and cloying against his balls and all over your thighs.

Arthur groans into your mouth, pressing himself against you fully, crushing you into his chest, the entire length of his frame against yours.

He grunts out the syllables of your name as his thrusts become more erratic. He wants to spend inside you, so much , but that was a step too far, an irresponsible chasing of pleasure, an intimacy he has not earned with you. But the idea is planted in his mind, and as he courts that precipice, he can only think about how it would feel. Thrusting deep inside your warm body, feeling the constriction of your inner walls against his length. Maybe he’d be lucky enough and you’d come too, the spasming of your core drawing him over that edge, pouring himself into you.

“T-tell me where-” he grits out into your ear, panting.

You doom him with your reply. A death sentence, his life finally catching up with him. A merciless finality in high-pitched whispers.

“M-make me yours, Arthur-” you whine breathily.

He can feel the coil tightening low in his gut as he continues to thrust, grunting with exertion, trying not to plunge over that cliff just yet.

“Mine.” He grits out, pushing his hips deep into yours, and finally the rope snaps. Arthur doesn’t just fall off the precipice, he swan dives, “G-god, girl- fuck - you’re m-mine. ”

You whine, loudly , and he feels you flutter around him and he grinds himself hard against your pubic bone, releasing deep inside you, the warm spatter of him milked out by every clench of your cunt. An embarrassingly needy moan escapes him as he drapes himself over you, utterly and completely spent.

Arthur pants in your ear for a few moments, trying to catch his breath. A wet sheen of sweat has developed on your bodies, but now as the movement dies down and you both float down from your highs, you shiver slightly under him.

Arthur immediately pushes himself up, pulling his softening cock from you with a grunt, and repositioning himself to lay at your side. He draws a blanket over your nude forms, settling you in across his chest, his arm winding around your shoulder. You hum, satisfied, satiated, warm, and happy .

“You feelin’ okay, sweetheart?”

“Better now.” You sigh into his chest, your ear pressed over his heart, thrumming steadily in his chest.

“Didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You smile and nod your head against him, “Not at all.”

He places a kiss on the crown of your head.

“Good. I’d like to do that more often, if you’ll have me.”

You press your hand over his pectoral, lifting yourself to fully look at him, your hair a messy curtain over both of you.

“I am yours now, Mister Morgan. Said it yourself.” You whisper with a grin.

Arthur’s other hand lightly traces up the ridges of your spine, “Means I’m yours too, beautiful girl.”

The blooming soreness in your hips doesn’t burn, it doesn't hurt. Arthur's large hands press against your skin, warm and secure. His frame dwarves yours, but in his arms, you feel safe. Dare say it, loved.

For this moment, at least, the world does not exist outside the tent. For this moment, at least, you can chase the demons out of your mind and slowly start to heal from the experience.

You know you’ll have Arthur next to you.

You smile, tucking your head into the curve of his neck.

“I like the sound of that.”

#rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption #arthur morgan x reader #red dead fanfic #red dead smut #18+ minors dni #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan smut #passerine #twolafic #ao3 #rdr2 fandom

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lolamarlowe65 · 2 years

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just spent 10 minutes blasting cola (cause lana gets it) and imagining the lotus position with james…

OH FUCK anon you just gave me an idea

James Hetfield x reader

“𝓐𝓵𝓵 𝓱𝓮 𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓼 𝓽𝓸 𝓭𝓸 𝓲𝓼 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽𝔂 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓽𝔂 𝓫𝓪𝓫𝔂.”

“It’s not just two horny humans anymore, it’s two hearts.”

one shot x reader

disclaimers : age gap (modern day james), smut, fluff, unprotected sex, cursing, smoking, for my romantic (but horny) james lovers, kids go back to ur parents <33

4.3k words

AO3 link

༄♡. 𖧹⋆✰

It’s a late Saturday night and my friend asked me to join him at the bar he sent me the address of. I don’t know this town very well. To be honest, I just came here because of him. I needed an excuse to move out from my old town and see something new and this guy I was talking with seemed like a good exit door. Truth is, this man is not as nice and good as he seemed. I’m the typical case of a woman manipulated and lied to just for sex. And even, I used him too in a way so if the sex is good what’s so wrong? But even this is bad. He only thinks for himself and himself only, not caring if I finish nor if I like it. He calls me, we hook up, he comes and then leaves telling me he’ll take me on a nice date next time. It never happened, and it will never do. I don’t even want to. I don’t even know if I want to stay here. So what am I doing here still running after him to be treated like shit? Here’s the answer, I just don’t have anything better to do. I don’t know anybody and I’ve got no idea how the people in this city are. So I go to every single one of his so-called “dates” waiting for a new day to start. When I find something better to do I promise that it will be passionate and most importantly; fulfilling. Fuck.

Standing in front of the bar I light myself a cigarette waiting for him. We usually have a drink and then go straight to it. Saying I’d need a drink to be able to hook up with him would almost sound like unconscious rape so I will not say that, I consent to this bullshit. But I definitely need something to drink to be able to listen to him and his tremendous fucking ego.

While I’m waiting I see this group of guys enter the bar. They look older than me, around their 50s maybe even if they definitely look younger than that. There’s four of them, one of them has long black hair nicely put back in a braid, another one has grey hair and wears a hat. To be honest, I just heard the third guy call him a “dumbass” so that’s how I’d describe him. This third guy has a very beautiful face, I must admit, with long curly salt and pepper hair. But this is nothing compared to the fourth guy. I think I have never seen a man that attractive, he’s quite tall and he’s got short white hair. He wears a black shirt that exposes his heavily tattooed arms. My fucking god he is hot. I can’t see clearly because it’s nighttime but I’m pretty sure he’s got ocean blue eyes. Which would be the cherry on the cake for my heart. I feel like I know them from somewhere but that might just be me. They’re all laughing and joking around and the fourth guy I was talking about notices me and says hello with a smile from afar. He must have noticed me creeping over them, shit. At least his smile is beautiful. I say hello back and leave them to enter the bar.

I can’t believe it! While I was lost watching over those guys I didn’t notice this fucking asshole was 30 minutes late! Fuck it! I’ve had enough! I call him twice before getting him over the phone.

*”- Yeah baby I’m sorry I’m late.” he says in an unbothered voice. “I had something more urgent to do.” he adds.

“- Something? That’s what I am? Something? You fucking asshole! Could you at least have the fucking decency to tell me you will not come?” i answer, obviously pissed.

“- Hehe sorry!” he laughs slightly. “It’s okay, you agreed it was nothing serious between us so just go home and next time I’ll take you on a nice date.” he dares to say.

“- What the fuck? You think I want to see you again? Get fucked!” i yell.

“- Do whatever you want, it's not gonna change my life much, you’re too frigid for me anyway.”

“- Too frigid?? Maybe if you knew how to use your dick properly instead of shaking it around in my pussy to come after 30 seconds I would be more expressive! What the fuck do you know anyway? You probably don’t know what pleasure on a woman looks like since you’ve never been able to give it to them!”

“- Bit-” i hang up before he can say anything else.*

I also block his number, he already sent me a few messages. What the fuck? I know I was not thinking too much about this but I won’t accept to be treated like property. I don’t want to waste this time I spent alone outside so I decide to go inside for a drink before going back to the shitty place I’m renting. That’s decided, fuck this town, I don’t wanna stay here. I’ll go fool around the west coast or lose myself in some mountains. I’m an artist, I don’t have money so I’ll see what I can do.

Sitting at the bar drinking my vodka I notice the guys from earlier in the booth on the corner. The light is still pretty dark so I can’t seem to really catch their expressions. Whatever man. My time at the bar is just me looking at those guys while talking to the waitress who’s also been with a lot of assholes that just wanted to play with her. Her name is Hailey, we got along so well she gave me her number. I don’t wanna get drunk so I just sip my drink slowly to retard the moment I’ll have to go.

“- Hey girl, stop looking over they must have enough!” Hailey commands with a laugh.

“- What do you mean? Can’t even see them well from here.” i answer, taking a sip of my drink.

“- They’re the guys from Metallica! They had some shooting for a video to do around here that’s why they’re here. I can’t believe they’d choose to come to this bar out of all the ones in town. I must admit that they’re actually pretty normal humans!” she explains.

“- What did you think, they were aliens?” i say, completely unbothered.

“- When your band is that orgasmic, yes. Like I’d love to meet a human man that could make me feel like they do.” she laughs.

“- I’ll drink to that!” i say taking another sip of my drink.

“- You look completely out of this? You not into metal?”

“- Oh.. I very much am. It’s just… I don’t even know what to think anymore with all that happened tonight. And I mean.. It’s cool that they’re here and all but what do you want me to do. It’s not like I’m gonna become their best friend. Here they’re just four guys sharing a drink after work.” i chuckle.

“- I guess you’re right.” Hailey tilts her head.

Hailey takes the tray and goes in the back of the bar to serve some drinks. I’m left alone for some time trying to think about what’s next for me to come. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize Metallica before, I guess I can’t see very well in the dark. So the first one was Rob I think, then the “dumbass” was Lars, the fourth with the beautiful face Kirk and of course James. The tall tattooed one with the black shirt, no wonder I thought he was hot. I always thought so. Whatever era of his, I think he’s my ideal type. If you saw the guy I was supposed to meet with tonight you’d laugh at me for lowering my standards so much. But listen. A girl like me could never get a guy like him. Plus, to him I’m surely a young chick who doesn’t know what she wants. It’s wrong though, I know what I want. Something deep and passionate with somebody that’s not afraid of telling me they care about me. Something adult. It’s 2023 and I can’t believe guys like this asshole I was supposed to hook up with still exist. Okay if you want casual sex but be honest about it and get sex education for Christ’s sake. Now I want a man like James. At least a man that’s like how I would imagine him to be. I laugh by myself thinking about how dumb I am to think about this.

“- What’s so funny?” a deep voice asks me.

I almost choke at the surprise. Here he is, sitting next to me. James fucking Hetfield. I also see the other guys leaving the bar saying bye to me and James with a wave of hand. I turn my head to look at James clearly saying it all with my face. What the fuck is going on.

“- Nothing.” i cough. “Just silly thoughts.” i smile.

He is so beautiful. His face in the light is even more satisfying to look at.

“- Seems interesting.” he answers playfully.

I chuckle slightly. But I can’t wrap my head around why he would talk to me. I should be the one here all “stars in my eyes” asking him how he’s doing. Wait? Is he flirting with me? I turn my head to look at him in the eyes and go straight to the point.

“- James? What exactly do you want?” i ask, trying my best to stay composed.

“- I don’t know.” he holds my gaze. “What do you think I want?” he smiles.

“- A bouncy young chick you’ll never see again to blow you tonight?” i sarcastically answer. “If you want just that from me you can get fucked.” i continue.

I had my quota of assholes for the night and I don’t want to have the beautiful image I have of James to get broken too. Now that would really piss me off. I deeply hope it’s not the case. That he does want to fuck me but also to care about me. That he wants to be this passionate and deep relation I was thinking about. Or at least hear he wants to fuck me good and well and respect me. Just that. Just this would turn me on. Just this I would be willing to risk. I can hear James laugh at my raw words. At least he isn’t the type of guy to get his ego crushed because I talked coldly to him.

“- Not at all.” he stands up and puts himself behind me while approaching my ear. “I mean, I would love to make love to such a beautiful woman but certainly not use her and leave. I see things in a deeper way.” he whispers.

My eyes got bigger instantly. That’s all I needed to hear. I look into my pockets for the dollars I need to pay for my drink. I put them on the bar and stand up, taking James’s hand and dragging him out of the bar. His hand feels so good I can’t even explain the feeling. It’s rough but soft and the way he presses my hand into his to be sure he is not mistaking my gesture turns me on even more. It’s not just lust. There’s something so romantic about this.

Once outside the bar I stop, realising I don’t know where the fuck I’m going.

“- Where’s your hotel?” i ask, pressed.

“- Just at the end of the street.” he answers.

“- Kay, let’s go.”

I start walking confidently but James stops me and makes me look at him.

“- Are you sure about this?” James asks.

How thoughtful. I mean, it’s the bare minimum but I’ve never been asked that before. The guys I have been with didn’t give a shit. They could fuck and so they did without asking me if I was completely okay with it.

“- And you? Are you?” i answer.

“- More than anything.” he cups my face with hands.

He’s taller than me by a good head but I don’t feel threatened by his height. His hands feel so good and his eyes give me so much admiration, I just can’t resist.

“- James…” i almost whisper.

“- Tell me your name so I can beg for you. Because this doesn’t seem real.”

“- Y/n…”

“- So fucking beautiful.” he lets out. “Prove me it’s me real and I’m not just dreaming that the hottest chick in this town wants to go back to my room with me.”

I know what to do. I slowly put my hand on the back of his neck to pull him to me and just like that I kiss him. His lips are so soft and hot, I never felt such a thing while kissing somebody. It’s so overwhelming that my heart starts beating at an unhealthy beat. But also, it’s so peaceful, it’s exactly what I want to feel for the rest of my life.

I let my lips go from him and look at him, studying the blue of his eyes. Something changed. It’s not just two horny humans anymore, it’s two hearts.

“- Shit.” i hear James say.

He takes my hand back and this time, he is the one leading the way, being careful with every step I take for me not to be lost. I don’t know what he’s thinking and that makes me feel a mix of excitement and fear.

When we arrive in front of his hotel my heart starts to pound again. What is about to happen? Is he really in for it? If I mistook what he wanted from me I could at least say that I fucked Metallica’s singer. At least. That’s what I repeat myself. But the other part of my brain tells me to let go and see what’s gonna happen without any questions.

Waiting for the elevator to come he holds my hand tightly, like I am about to disappear into space.

The elevator comes and I am left here with him, just the two of us standing next to each other. The hotel is very big, so the elevator takes time and every minute feels longer than the other. Because I can’t touch him, because I can’t feel him. This highway to whatever is going to happen is the longest road I’ve ever had to take. But the best one yet.

As a way of waiting, I let my head rest on his arm next to me. His beautiful tattooed arm. But before I could really settle my head here James turns me around to kiss me.

“- I’m sorry, I can’t wait.” James almost whispers.

I moan into his mouth as a way to give my approval and he grabs me by the back of my thighs and wraps my legs around his waist, my arms going straight to hold the back of his neck. His lips derive from my lips to fall into my neck, biting the skin he leaves trails of kisses on. Fuck I didn’t knew I was that sensitive here. I need his lips on mine, I need his tongue to play with mine so I turn his head around with one of my hands, my lips practically begging at this point. As I deepen the kiss, I let his tongue enter my mouth and play with mine. God, it’s like he’s trying to look for all the places that make me feel good.

“- Wait wait James!” i exclaim.

“- What?” he answers, kissing my neck.

“- There’s cameras in elevators? Right?” i ask, afraid we might have been seen.

“- I couldn’t give less of a shit baby.” he responds immediately, letting a laugh out of me. “They can see a beautiful woman they’ll never have if they want.”

“A beautiful woman they’ll never have” what does he mean by that? What do you mean never have? I have no more time to be lost in my thoughts because the elevator just opened. James carries me through the hallway in the same position as we were in, my legs wrapped around his waist and my arms around his neck. One of his hands is on my ass, which makes me weaker than I would admit and the other is around my waist. I’m so glad that it’s late, nobody is walking around the hotel. I can also feel the hardness in his pants, teasing me just enough for me to get wet. I know what is gonna happen now, he’s gonna fuck me, and he’s gonna do it good. I’ve been waiting for this. And I can’t believe that none other than James Hetfield will do it. I’m so horny just thinking of it.

Opening his hotel room door he wastes no time to close the door and he drops me on the bed. Towering over me, he goes back to where he was before, kissing me, my neck and now the birth of my breasts. I push James's head slightly to have room to remove my shirt, which, when he understands my attention, does for me. My bra goes away at the same time as my shirt and here I am, topless, in front of a man that makes me feel so confused about my feelings.

“- Perfect. So perfect.” i hear him groan.

I moan at the touch of his soft lips sucking on my nipples. He bites them and sucks on them like he found a new instrument to play. I could come just because of this, this new feeling is incredible.

“- I want to make you feel so good.” James tells me, smiling.

I freeze and moan at his desire. Nobody has cared enough for me to do that. To want that. To care about my pleasure. James’s voice is so low and rough that it almost vibrates through my body, sending shivers to my heart and pussy. There’s nothing I can do. I want him. Whatever if he throws me out of his room after, I want him.

“- Can I?” he asks, his hands on the border of my pants.

“- Yes, but remove this before.” i answer, grabbing the end of his shirt.

He gets the message and lets me remove his shirt from him. What a beautiful sight. His body can tower over me easily, with his muscular back and broad shoulders. His tattoos I think are the best thing about this. It makes him look even more like a piece of art, and it contrasts his fit chest and stomach in the most beautiful way there is. He smiles at the way I look at his body. This smile, his tremendously beautiful smile.

James slides down on his knees right in front of the bed. He grabs my foot and removes my shoe, and does the same for the other. He then removes my pants to leave me only with my panties, my pussy throbbing at his gaze.

“- Even your legs are perfect. How have I not found you before?” he says, slowly kissing my legs.

I can’t think straight with James lips now kissing the interior of my thighs, getting dangerously close to my pussy at every one of his pecks. I slid my hand in his hair, avid for his touch.

“- James, please.” i beg.

“- Don’t beg darling. What you want I shall do. Tell me. What do you want?” James answers, languidly.

Breathing hard and shortly, I try to gather my words. I can’t believe this is happening.

“- Mmh…” i moan, trying to remove my underwear. “I want your lips…” i breath heavily. “Right here.” i finally say, resting my hand on my pussy.

James eyes glimmer as his gaze is fixed on mine. He doesn’t say anything but grunts in approval and removes my hands away from my panties, removing them by himself, leaving me fully exposed to him. His head dives instantly in between my legs like he’s been starving for it. Oh my god! That’s good! My hand in his hair, I keep him in between my legs, not wanting it to stop.

“- What a pretty cunt… what a pretty sight.” he whispers, latching on my clitoris.

This is the first time somebody eats me out. This is the first time I am feeling this and yet I know he’s better at it than average. His tongue alternates between my clitoris and my slit and my legs start to shake. But here’s the thing. I don’t want to come right now. I want to come with him. While he’s in me.

“- Ja..James!” i exclaim, lifting his head up with my hands. “I want you.”

James puts himself on his knees and kisses my lips softly. So desperate for him I open his belt and pants. James puts his fingers under my chin and locks his gaze into mine.

“- Look at you. So desperate for my cock. I’m such an asshole making you beg for me. I should be the one doing that. I should be the one begging for you to even deserve the desire you have for such an old man.” he says.

He finishes removing his pants and underwear and only now I realise how big he is. I have never had something like that. His cock is thick and big with a vein poking along the shaft. It looks more than ready to be in me. And this makes me even more horny.

I raise myself on my knees too and put my hands on both sides of his face.

“- I think I’ve got a taste for men who are older. Or maybe just for you. Because no man has ever made me feel what you make me feel. Just in an hour, you’ve made me more fulfilled than I have ever been.” i admit, kissing him.

Sitting on the mattress, James grabs the back of my thighs so I can sit on him and wrap my legs around him. I wrap my arms around his neck, again. This position we’re in, the lotus, is so intimate, like something you would do with your partner, not an unknown chick you’ve met an hour ago. My tits press against his chest and both our hearts beat at the same pace. His cock is teasing my entrance and his gaze is locked in mine.

“- I should find those boys and teach them a lesson. How dare they have the audacity not to make you feel fulfilled.” he kisses my neck. “This will never happen again as long as you’re with me.” he adds, his head buried in my neck.

Did he just ask me to stay with him? Did he just say that he wanted to be with me? I can’t even think about it more as I feel his cock entering me. It’s stretching me out. And it feels so good.

“- Fuck, this is so big!” i bite my lower lip.

I moan and he starts to move into me slowly, he’s so deep and I can barely hold it together.

“- That’s it babygirl, you’re doing good.” he tells me, removing the hair out of my face.

The way he talks to me makes me crazy. The way he holds me makes me weak. The way he looks at me makes me feel alive. This is what I meant when I said I wanted something passionate and deep. Talking about deep, the connection we have as his cock moves in and out of me is incredible. You can probably see the stars in my eyes. And I can see the fire in his.

“- Mhhh… James! AAahh!” i scream, feeling numb.

“- Oh y/n. Mmmh…” he grunts. “You are so beautiful bouncing on my cock like this.”

“- Stop… mmmh… stop telling me those things…” i let out in between whimpers. “Or I’ll be sad… mmh… when I have to go.” i add, hearing him groan as an answer.

I feel my release coming. I’ve never felt that good. The only times I have come before were when I was touching myself, it’s the first time a man will do it. And what a man. I will be sad when I have to go, I wish I could have sex with him everyday, I wish I could kiss him every minute. It might sound cliché to feel such things towards a man like him in such a short time. I said he’d fuck me and fuck me good. But he’s making love to me.

I see his face flinch and he kisses me.

“- I can feel you tighten around my cock...mmmh..” he says. “Come. Come for me baby.”

I can also feel his cock twitch in me. I know he’s about to come too.

“- James… mmmhh… please! Come in me! Please! Aaahh!” i tighten my arms around his neck, throwing my head into his neck, coming as i implore.

“- Fuck… you are so amazing.” he says, out of breath, coming deep into me, letting little whimpers out of me.

I can hear his heartbeat through his chest as his cock softens into me. This feeling is so peaceful and makes me forget about what is to come next. It makes me feel so important and cared for. It’s two hearts. And I don’t wanna leave. He’s making me crazy. Here, in his arms, in this position, I don’t want this to end.

“- Y/n.” he calls. “Stay with me.” he demands, his hands falling on my waist. “Stay with me. I’ll take you anywhere you want, give you everything you want. I know it’s selfish to ask you to leave everything so I can be with you but I need you. I don’t know how, I don’t know why. But I do.” he begs.

“- Oh James. I fucking hate this town. Take me anywhere you want.” i answer.

I was the loneliest and most bored woman on earth some hours ago. Now I’m the happiest and most fulfilled. I think, while James locks his promise with a passionate kiss on my lips.

༄♡. 𖧹⋆✰

A/N : the lotus like man i just want to do that with james it feels so deep! thank you anon because this gave me an idea for this oneshot, i wrote this with of course, cola in my mind because lana does gets it. i usually write stuff with rough sex and all but something more soft from time to time doesn’t hurt, hope you’ll love this anon, and everybody else (james you can take me anywhere) <33

#like james i just want to lotus with you #take me i'm yours #metallica #james hetfield #james hetfield smut #metallica fanfiction #james hetfield fanfiction #metallica smut #james hetfield x reader #lola’s delusions

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