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Still learning the ropes on Tumblr, but I've realized you can't put photos in the comments 👹!! That really sucks because I'm curious about what wallpapers you guys have!
Here are mine — one for everyday use and one for night mode
These are mine :)
Still learning the ropes on Tumblr, but I've realized you can't put photos in the comments 👹!! That really sucks because I'm curious about what wallpapers you guys have!
Here are mine — one for everyday use and one for night mode
I have cold hand disease where my hands are cold sometimes when it’s cold outside
Paycheck - Leon Kennedy
Summary: Leon Kennedy has never been fond of his money, he just never found a good reason to spend it properly, not certainly with hoe dull and empty his life felt, that is, until you came along, not only fixing his life purposes but his bank account as well.
Or basically, how Leon Kennedy started to grow fond of his big fat paycheck and his life in general thanks to you.
Contents: fluff, domestic bliss I guess….? Leon having a lot of money.
An: I wrote this imagining reader being a few years younger than Leon, maybe her being around 30+ while he is like 40? But however you like works, also, I thought this was kind of a drabble, but I guess it counts more as a one shot.
3,155 words
For a long time, Leon didn’t really care about the money.
At least not in the way normal people did, paying rent on time, investing in retirement, buying a decent pair of shoes that weren’t ruined by dirt or rain in European forests.
When he got “promoted”. Rookie cop turned into DSO golden boy, the numbers in his bank account jumped every year. Hazard pay. Overtime. Bonuses the size of someone’s mortgage.
He didn’t spend it.
Not really.
Sure, he did have obvious expenses, bullets, boots, bikes, bikes, yes, the Ducati in his garage, that one he did love, a testament to a fleeting impulse, a need for speed and control on open roads that felt like freedom. The cheap apartment he rented that he never called home, because home was just a launchpad for the next mission. Sometimes, he bought a better suit, something to make the meetings with the President feel slightly less like a farce.
But real spending? On himself? For himself?
Nah.
He told himself it didn’t matter. It felt absurd. The money was a monument to a future he was certain would never come.
He’d finish the mission. Cash the check. And what?
Buy another bike he’d probably total on a backroad? A bottle he’d forget he drank?
Sometimes, back then, he really didn’t see the point of making it to the next payday.
——
You didn’t fix him overnight. youd actually smack him if he ever said that out loud.
But you did show up.
Spain first. Then the cold archives rooms of the BSAA for whenever he needed data. Then the occasional classified overlap, “need an extra sniper, y/n? Send Kennedy. He won’t talk.”
It was always separate missions. Separate beds. Separate debriefs.
Until it wasn’t.
It started stupidly, as all important things in Leon’s life do.
You two had just come back from a mission you surprisingly had together in Virginia. Something about a small-time black market trader hawking G-virus samples like antique jewelry. you two spent three days underground, three more above, and by the time you guys staggered back to DC, you both looked like hell.
You ended up at his place, cause his fridge, unlike yours, actually had beer.
You sat at his cheap kitchen table, leg propped on another chair, taping up a sprained ankle. Leon leaned against the counter, still wearing his gun harness, scanning an unopened letter from his bank.
You caught him frowning at it. “Bad news?”
He shrugged. “Not really. Just my paycheck.”
You blinked. “You look like someone told you your cat died.”
Leon smirked. “If I had a cat, it would have run away by now.”
You snatched the envelope out of his hand, tore it open without asking.
Scanned the digits.
Whistled low. “Holy shit, Kennedy.”
He shrugged again, uncomfortable, defensive, and trying very hard to act nonchalant. “Hazard pay.”
you rolled your eyes. “Hazard pay?! This is retire-and-buy-a-lake-house money.”
Leon snorted. “What would I do with a lake house?”
you just smiled
“Maybe one day you’ll figure it out.”
——
His first “big” investment after he started dating you was actually small, grand stupidly small.
He was on a solo job in Chicago. Rain, again. He ducked into a shop while the city flooded around him. On the counter was a display case of simple watches, nothing fancy. Just clean, practical, a little sturdy.
The clerk asked, “Looking for something for your wife?”
Leon almost laughed. He mumbled, “Girlfriend,” before he could think about it too hard.
It was the first time he’d ever called you that out loud, even if nobody would hear him say it again for months.
The thing between you guys wasn’t complicated, you two just didn’t have the head and energy to give it a label, if he did thing about it though, you were his girlfriend.
He picked one with a slim leather strap, dark, elegant, exactly the kind of thing you’d mock him for fussing over.
When he got back to DC, he found you half-asleep on his couch, your laptop balanced on your stomach.
He slipped the watch on your wrist while you pretended not to wake up.
You teased him for it the next morning.
“Look at you, big spender.”
But you wore it every damn day.
——
The next thing leon bought wasn’t for you, it was for him. Well, technically, for the both of you.
He found an apartment. Bigger. Nicer. A top-floor unit with actual windows that let in light. The kind of place that had space, not just for a bed and a half-dead houseplant, but with enough space for two people. There was room for your books and his record collection, for a kitchen table where you could actually eat a meal together.
Leon picked it out while you were halfway across Europe on a cleanup mission with the BSAA.
He tried to brush it off telling you it was practical, something useful for the both of you.
He presented it to you as a tactical decision. "Better security. Closer to the DSO hangar. Central location."
You didn't buy it for a second, your eyes scanning the open plan living room, the modern kitchen, the view of the city skyline, and the walk-in closet he'd already half filled with your things. You saw the bathroom with two sinks. And you didn’t argue, smiling happily and nodding to his words.
——
Okay, well, then, the Ducati was just for him, because he so deserved it.
That’s what Leon kept repeating to himself.
When the paperwork for the penthouse cleared, you pressed your mouth to his ear and murmured: “Don’t you think you’ve earned a toy?”
Well what a funny thing to say, uh? You just loved getting stuff inside his head, and, well, yeah, his actual one was slightly used and old, and what can a man do other than listen to his woman, right?
So he did what Leon S. Kennedy does best: found the meanest, sleekest bike on the market, handed over his card without blinking.
He swore he’d be careful.
you swore you’d never ride on it.
Both were lies, but good ones.
——
Now, as much as you loved the fact that Leon had actually gotten that bike for himself, you weren’t entirely a big fan of being in it.
The Ducati was a point of contention. You hated it. More specifically, you hated getting on the back of it, clinging to Leon as he took corners at a speed you considered “a blatant disregard for mortality.”
Did you think he looked absolutely hot and breathtaking while driving it by himself? Of course you did! Doesn’t mean you want to die tomorrow tho.
You’d been joking. Really. Just a throwaway line one night in bed, your hair in his face, your voice muffled into his chest: “I should get something fast. A real car. So you can stop bribing me onto that deathtrap Ducati.”
So he decided to solve the problem.
Two weeks later, he tossed you the keys.
It was sleek, gleaming, and so new it practically sparkled under the DC streetlights.
The plates already registered.
The insurance under his name.
You stared at him in the underground garage, hands on your hips, mouth open.
“You’re kidding.”
He just grinned, the same grin that got him out of trouble with half the world’s worst people. “You hate my bike. This is safer.”
“Leon, this is a Porsche”
He leaned in, dropped his mouth to your ear, and murmured “Drive it. Don’t worry about the gas. Just don’t scratch it, Kay?.”
A Porsche, and man, did you loved it.
Sometimes, when you’re both feeling like having a little more fun than usual, to go somewhere, you take the Porsche. He rides the Ducati. During this times, he’ll glance over at you at a red light, you hair pinned back, sunglasses on, utterly in your element behind the wheel, and he’ll give you a nod.
You’ll just smirk back and hit the accelerator the second the light turns green, leaving him behind to catch up.
Yeah, he’d think, twisting the throttle. Good money.
——
He’ll never admit it to anyone’s face, but these days, Leon doesn’t hate his paycheck anymore.
It’s not just hazard pay. It’s not blood hush. It’s not a leash.
At first, during the beginning of his big expenses, you’d feel somehow guilty, you’d know him from before, when he wouldn’t spend a single coin in “useless” stuff, which for Leon, usually meant anything that wasn’t a gun cleaning kit, you’d tease him about it, about him not letting you pay, about him getting you tuns of things.
“What am I, Kennedy? Your sugar baby?”
He’ll always grin, the real grin, the crooked grin he saves for you alone.
“No, sweetheart. You’re my retirement plan.”
The money didn’t buy the quiet moments tho, the ones that make him feel like he could be normal someday.
It didn’t buy the mornings where you curled into his side, warm under a cheap blanket, mumbling about his alarm clock being “a government conspiracy”.
It didn’t buy the nights you sat together on that big stupid couch, feet up, watching the sun sink behind houses and buildings across the city.
But the money did make it easier to keep those moments. To come home to them. To make a home worth coming back to.
That was new. That was worth every penny.
Meet Me in the Pale Moonlight ✮⋆˙
kieran duffy x reader
rating: explicit (18+)
Spirits are high once Jack is returned from Bronte's capture, and the gang indulges in some much needed celebration.
But you're not looking to party. You just want to spend some time with the guy who's caught your eye, Kieran "not an O'driscoll" Duffy...
content warning: f reader, smut MDNI, friends to lovers, esteem issues, gentle sex, piv sex, cunnilingus, lots of feelings and also cum, filthy dirty, kieran deserved the world and also some pussy <\3
word count: 4.7k
The Van Der Londe gang had been engulfed in chaos ever since little Jack had been taken.
Abigail has been hysterical, John seems to have had his paternal instincts awoken, enraged that his child has been stolen from him. Dutch has been on a warpath, the others following him in his endeavours to return the little one.
All you can do is watch from the sidelines, a trusted member of the gang. A woman, but skilled with firearms and entrusted to keep the gang safe while the others search for the boy.
You spend your days protecting the others, and soothing your dear friend as she sobs for her son.
When Jack is finally brought home, the whole camp seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.
You watched as Dutch rode in, followed by John and a thankfully right as rain Jack.
“I’m fine mama!” The little boy called as his father pulled him off the horse, babbling away about the food he ate.
He’s completely unaware and innocent to the reasons why he was gone, to the fear everyone felt.
The joy now that he’s home.
It brought a smile on everyone's faces when Abigail wrapped her boy in her arms, thanking the others profusely for bringing her son home.
Immediately spirits had been lifted, the gang had finally had a win after months of losing.
One could say it's certainly a call for celebration.
Underneath the stars, drinks are opened and music is played, every somber face now has a giddy, drunken smile on it.
The gang hasn't been this happy since Sean had been returned, god rest his soul.
You sit beside Arthur at the fire, pleasantly buzzing after a couple of beers, singing along with everyone else.
But your eyes keep straying across the clearing, where a certain man stands idly away from the group.
Kieran Duffy leans against a table, his own beer in between his fingers as he gently sways side to side to the tune of Javier’s guitar.
He hadn't joined the others around the campfire, which you understand. But it just makes you want to be over there with him instead.
Not that you didn't enjoy partaking in the parting, it's just that you would rather do… well, him.
You blush at the thought, clearing your throat as if everyone else could have possibly heard what's going on inside your head..
“I’m gonna get another drink.” You say to no-one in particular. Arthur smiles up at you, giving you a drunken salute.
As you walk away from the campfire, you’re almost drawn into a conversation with Hosea, a drinking game with Karen, and a dance with Uncle. All of which you politely refuse with promises of joining them later.
You’re a woman on a mission, making a beeline to the silly man of your dreams.
“Hey, Kieran.” You greet, causing the man to jump and turn to you, wide eyed.
He relaxes when he realises it's you, a blush on his cheeks as he gives you a smile, nervously gripping his beer in suddenly shaky hands.
“Evenin’, miss.”
“Why aren't you celebrating with everyone?” You ask, leaning on the table beside him, your elbow brushing with his.
Kieran stiffens but leans into you, his temple nearly touching yours with the close proximity. Far too close for two uninvolved people, but the drink has loosened both of your inhibitions.
“Ah, you know… thought I'd let you all have your celebration. No need for me to bother y’all.” He says softly, somberly even with a slight drunken lilt to his voice.
“You ain't bothering no-one.” You say, “Especially not me.”
Kieran ducks his head, but you can see a small smile on his face, and his cheeks not covered by his scruffy beard have gone red, visible even in the lowlight of the campfire.
You take a sip from your beer, admiring the scene of everyone else having fun.
It's nice to be a part of something so jovial, but you can't truly enjoy it if Kieran is left out.
“Come on.” You extend your hand, “It's too loud here, let's go for a walk.”
Kieran cheers up immediately, taking your hand. He follows you willingly, his fingers intertwined with yours as you pull him away from the noise, and around the Shady Belle house.
A little ways away from the camp, you find a nice enough clearing to spend time with Kieran.
The willow trees surround you both like a curtain of privacy,, but the moon shines through the partings of their branches. Long grass is underfoot, slightly damp with this morning's rain.
The noise of the party can still be heard, so you know you’re not too far.
But far enough that you can have some peace and quiet with the man who holds your heart, even though he doesn't know that yet.
The moon reflects off of the dew drops on the grass and you sway slightly, turning to Kieran to give him a smile, “Much better-”
You’re cut off by Kieran’s lips on yours.
A surprised noise escapes you, but you melt against him instantly. The kiss is hungry, desperate, lips moving and teeth clashing as Kieran puts all of his energy into it.
And you reciprocate it all, your fingers twisting into his blue shirt and pulling his body to you.
For a moment, it’s just the two of you, tipsy and happy while you lock lips beneath the moon.
All too quickly, however, it stops. Kieran takes a step back, looking at you with wide eyes like he himself is shocked by what he just did.
It’s adorable.
He starts stuttering out apologises, clearly horrified at his actions.
“Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry.” Kieran whispers, looking away, “I just… really wanted to do that. B-but I shouldn't have just done that! Y-you can hit me now, if you want.”
You laugh, taking his face between your hands, soothing him and ceasing his anxious rambling.
“I ain't gonna hit you, silly. I might kiss you again, though.”
Kieran looks surprised, eyebrows furrowed as he stares at you with his jaw dropped, “...Huh?”
You chuckle, nudging your nose against his, “Would you like to kiss me again?”
“More than anything,” Kieran murmurs, “But… why do you want to kiss me?”
“Because I like you.”
“...Why?”
“Oh, Kieran.” You sigh, a smile remaining on your lips, though sadder now, “I wish you could see yourself how I see you.”
He just looks down at you, face held between your palms. His beard is coarse beneath your fingertips, his skin warm due to his flushed cheeks. He smells like cigarettes, beer and faintly of the distinctive smell of horse.
It's a scent that is so overtly Kieran, that you just want to bottle it up and keep it forever.
“How… Do you see me?” Kieran asks shyly as he looks away.
“Well for starters I think you are one of the kindest men I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.” You say earnestly.
Kieran chuckles, “I don't know about all that-”
“You’re polite with everyone here even when we don't deserve your niceties.” You continue, “The horses love you as much as you love them. You’re brave, though no-one else seems to see that. You’ve survived all the hardships life has thrown at you, and remained a good man through it all. You saved Arthur’s life, though you could have left him to the O’driscolls. You have the most beautiful eyes that I’ve ever seen-”
“Okay you can stop now.” Kieran laughs, the skin around his eyes crinkling, “You’re… I… see, I’m not as good with my words as you are.”
You giggle, bumping his forehead with his, “Do you like me as much as I like you?”
“More.” Kieran breathes, “Ever since I first saw you, up in Colter… god, it’s like you put a spell on me. “
This surprised you. You remember the day he was brought into camp. You had been talking to Hosea and Dutch when Arthur returned with an O’driscoll in tow.
You stood beside your fearless leader as he gave the prisoner a speech that you only half listened to.
Once Dutch had finished his spiel, the man's eyes turned to you. The fear you saw in them made you sad, and guilty. He looked less like a big, scary O’driscoll and more like a frightened street dog.
So you offered him a small smile, watching as his eyes softened slightly, despite being pulled away aggressively by Bill Williamson and Uncle.
Little did you know that that small act of kindness on your end had altered the trajectory of both of your lives.
“Every day has been worth living through just to see you whenever you pass.” Kieran continues, looking almost close to tears.
You hold his face harder, kissing his cheek to comfort him.
He sighs, his voice shaking, “When you first spoke to me… I could barely string a sentence together.”
The memory makes you smile, remembering the day he had been let free to roam after saving Arthur’s life.
You had been the one to pass him a bowl of stew, much to the chagrin of Pearson.
When you passed Kieran the bowl, his fingers brushed yours, and he had flushed bright red and stuttered out words that broadly resembled a “thank you.”
Ever since that day you had made an effort to give him the benefit of the doubt.
You spoke to him daily, sat with him when he was alone at the night watch campfire. Your feelings had grown for him rapidly, almost blindsiding you when you woke up one day realising-
‘Oh god, I’m in love with Kieran Duffy’
It had only taken you until now to find the courage to do something. The moods are high and the celebrations offer you privacy.
God only knows when you’re going to get this opportunity again.
“I love you, Kieran.”
Kieran freezes, his eyes meeting yours. He blinks at you, like he’s trying to translate those words in his head.
“You… love me?” He whispers.
“Yep.” You smile, “I love you, Kieran Duffy.”
Like the spark of a match, Kieran’s face lights up immediately. He steps closer to you and wraps his arms around your waist, his lips finding yours and kissing you fervently.
You wrap your arms around neck, fingers carding through the long hairs at the back of his neck.
“Wait.” He stops, stepping back and taking your hands in his own, his face earnest as he takes a deep breath, “I love you too, Y/N.”
“I gathered that.” You laugh.
Kieran beams further, stepping in your space again to resume kissing you.
The kiss grows hungry, neither of you willing to hide your mutual desire. Lips slide against the other, soft sighs and appreciative moans filling the air.
You bite his lower lip, earning a surprised yelp from him, before he opens his mouth, surrendering to your wandering tongue. As you explore, a wanton moan escapes Kieran, making you sigh with need.
Slipping your hands from his neck down to his hips, to push him gently. Kieran gets the message, sitting down on the grass, while you kneel with him.
Your knees bracket his thighs, not quite touching for fear of overwhelming your lover.
Kieran is needy though, and he grabs at your waist, pulling you flush against him so he can resume kissing you.
He’s eager, his tongue slipping into your own mouth now. It's messy and passionate, months of longing coming to an explosive end.
“God.. what are you doing to me?” Kieran sighs against your lips, looking up at you with half-lidded eyes, his hands kneading at your waist like a cat.
“I plan on doing a lot more to you, Mr Duffy.” You rasp, biting his lip and kissing along his jaw.
Kieran sighs contentedly, leaning back on his hands to extend his neck for you. You pepper kisses along the edge of his beard, following the lines of his throat.
A kiss to his pulse point makes Kieran shudder, a purr-like groan escaping him.
Your hands wander his torso as you kiss his neck and collar bones.
“Can I take your shirt off, Kieran?”
“Mhm, yes, please…” He whispers, practically shaking with anticipation.
His eagerness makes you even more desperate for him, your fingers working quickly to pull his blue shirt off his shoulders before working on his undershirt.
It's slipped off in record time, joining his shirt on the ground. You look over his torso admiringly.
He’s skinny, pale skin stretched across gentle curves of muscle from working tirelessly around camp. Dark hair dusts across his pectorals, a lone following his stomach and disappearing into his trousers.
Kieran holds his breath as you look him over, squirming slightly as he starts to feel self conscious. From his furrowed brow and slight frown, you can tell he’s worried you find him unattractive.
And that just won't do.
You lean forward to kiss his chest, right above his thudding heart. Kieran gasps at the feeling, settling back onto his hands again.
You trail kisses over his chest, going as far as to kiss one of his nipples. Kieran whimpers, before pressing his lips together to stop anymore of those embarrassing sounds.
“Nuh uh.” You chastise, “Don't hold back on me now, Duffy. I've waited too damn long to hear those noises for you to go quiet on me.”
Kieran blushes even brighter, but a tiny smile crosses his face.
You resume your worship of his chest, kissing down and following the line of hair down his sternum. Kieran writhes, fingers digging into the ground as he experiences sensations alien to him prior to this night.
You kiss the spot just above his belly button, looking up at him through your eyelashes.
Kieran looks ready to spontaneously combust.
His hands find your shoulders, travelling down your arms and then grasping onto your waist, tugging at the material.
“Wanna see you.” Kieran whines, pulling at your dress with shaking hands, “Take this off, please.”
“Behave.” You chastise half-heartedly, hands already going to the ties at the back of your dress.
Once undone, you let the garment fall to your waist. Your chemise is old and practically see through, your breasts and hardened nipples on display for Kieran to admire.
He gasps when he sees them. You blush, fiddling with his belt absentmindedly. But your attention is distracted when Kieran raises his hands, hesitating and looking at you.
“Can I…?” He asks, always polite as he hovers his shaking hands over your boobs.
“Of course, sweetheart.”
The term of endearment seems to make your poor man flush even redder, his head ducking slightly before he regains some semblance of confidence. His hands reach out, gently grasping at your breasts.
You bite your lip, letting him fondle them with an awed expression. Kieran’s fingers smooth over the material of your chemise, rubbing over your heated skin and perked nipples.
“Never seen a pair of tits before?” You tease.
Kieran frowns, defensive, “I've had other things to do, you know…”
“I'm sorry baby.” You giggle, arching to press your breasts harder into his hands, “If it makes you feel better, you’ll have access to these ones as much as you like, for as long as you like.”
Kieran’s brain seems to go blank at this, his lips parted as he stares at your breasts like they’re simply the most amazing things he’s ever been in the presence of.
He looks up at you, wistful, “Really?”
“Yes, my darling.” You purr, “All of me is yours now.”
Kieran moans at that, leaning forward to press his face against your chest, taking shuddering breaths like he’s trying to control himself.
The man seems damn near close to finishing with every sentence you say.
It’s about time you get to the main event. There will be time for taking things slow later.
You twist your fingers in his hair, bringing his face up so you can kiss him again. While you do that, you undo his belt.
Kieran shudders, melting against you as you kiss him and begin to remove the last items of clothing he wears.
Once his belt is undone, you pull away from his lips. He tries to seek you out again, frowning before his attention is diverted to you tugging down his trousers.
You tug them down to his thighs, pulling off his shoes and socks as well, before removing the rest of his clothes.
A prominent bulge tents his undergarments, and you swiftly tug those down too, exposing his cock.
Your eyebrows raise, surprised to see he’s a little bigger than what you had originally seen while he was tied to the tree.
When Dutch pulled his trousers down and threatened to held him, he had been quite small.
But now he’s a decent size, not too big too hurt but definitely big enough to bring you pleasure. Flushed and weeping, and hard enough to damage steel.
“It does that.” Kieran says softly, causing you to look up at him, “Uh, you know, gets bigger when I’m enjoyin’ myself.”
“Well ain't I lucky?” You grin, and Kieran beams up at you.
You reach down, grabbing the bottom of your chemise to pull it over your head. Kieran's eyes fixate on your breasts. You shuffle slightly to tug your bloomers down as well, throwing it to the pile of yours and Kieran’s clothes.
Kieran rests his hands on your hips; fingers flexing as he lies down fully. He looks up at you with wide and eager eyes, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.
You settle down against his thighs, his cock trapped between your bodies as you lean down to kiss him leisurely.
“You ready, darling?” You ask against his lips.
“Please, sweetheart. Need ya.” Kieran murmurs, pupils large and eyelids half closed as he looks over your face.
You reach down, finding his hard cock. Kieran inhales sharply at the feeling, a shuddered moan escaping you when he feels your heat brush against his weeping tip.
It takes one slow descent for your cunt to swallow him up, both of your hips meeting.
You release a satisfied groan at the fullness, closing your eyes for a moment to savour the feeling of Kieran filling you.
His cock throbs inside you, and you open your eyes to find Kieran watching you, his jaw slack and a dazed look in his blue eyes.
“So beautiful.” He whispers, “God- h-how are you so perfect…”
“My love…” You sigh, grinding on his lap to provide you both with the friction you desperately need
Kieran shudders and groans, hips bucking slightly.
“Ready?” You ask him again, needing to know he’s okay, seeing as he looks like he’s close to passing out from the pleasure.
“Mhm.” He whines out.
You rise, letting only the tip of him remain before sliding back down.
Before long, you’ve found a rhythm, riding Kieran slowly to get both of you used to the feeling. With every rise and fall, Kieran gasps and moans whorishly, his neck arched back and eyes fluttered closed.
The sight is vulgar, watching the man you’ve grown to love succumb to the pleasure you can provide.
You ride him faster, harder, seeking out the whines Kieran begins to make. His fingers grip on to your hips, short fingernails making crescent shaped marks in your plush flesh.
A sharp thrust downwards makes Kieran gasp out, chest rising and falling rapidly, squirming below you as you begin to ride him vigorously..
“Hngh, fuck, feels so go-od!” Kieran whines, hips bucking up, “Don’t stop- oh fuck-!”
You moan, bouncing harder on his cock as he meets your thrusts.
His cock begins pulsing inside you, a fluttering heartbeat, and Kieran begins shaking. His moans increase in volume, his eyes rolling back.
You feel your own orgasm growing, riding him rapidly as you seek your release.
But a choked out curse from Kieran makes you realise this isn't going to last long enough.
“Wa-it, shit- I-I’m gonna-” He warns.
You gasp when Kieran moans and thrusts up, hips flush against yours as his face contorts. Warmth floods your insides as he cums inside you.
Oh well, it was fun while it lasted.
A small smile curves on your face, finding his cute face endearing as he murmurs out incoherent praises as his cock throbs.
His orgasm seems to last ages, his cock pumping for a few moments until Kieran’s cum leaks out of you. You rub your hands over his chest, comforting as he shakes and moans softly.
It takes a while for him to come back to himself.
Suddenly, Kieran’s eyes open and his face falls, looking up at you with a suddenly mortified expression, blue eyes hazy.
“Oh- I-I’m so sorry, you didn’t…” He sighs, looking away and to the side, “I’m so sorry-”
“Don't be.” You comfort him, bringing your hands from his chest to his face, leaning forward to kiss his cheek gently, “I'm glad I could make you feel so good.”
“You did.” Kieran nods enthusiastically, nuzzling against you, “I've never felt so damn good…”
Kissing along his cheeks, you rise, feeling his softening cock slip out of you.
Kieran whimpers as the cold air hits him, and both of your eyes widen when you see the copious amounts of cum that leaks from you. It floods down your thighs and over his spent cock, making quite a mess on both of you.
“Damn. You were pent up.” You chuckle, running your hands over his chest.
Kieran stares at the mess, before looking up at you with a shy yet eager expression, “C-can I…?”
“What, baby?”
“Can I clean y-you up?”
You nod, though confused, “If you want to.”
Kieran begins moving, and you collapse back against the grass with your eyes closed. It's a shame you didn't finish, but after seeing Kieran in such a state of euphoria, you couldn't really complain.
You hear Kieran shuffling around, and you let your legs fall open so he can clean you up.
“You can use my chemise to clean- oh!”
You gasp and your eyes open when you feel Kieran lick along your thigh.
He looks up at you, eyes wide and puppy-like as he begins licking your cum stained thighs.
“I didn't- I didn't know this is what you meant.” You murmur, enamoured by the sight of him between your legs.
“I’m sorry, should I stop?” Kieran asks, worried, “I heard how it feels good when guys use their mouths on their ladies, I thought-”
“Please don't stop, baby.” You urge him, spreading your legs further to encourage him.
He smiles, lying on his belly as he wraps his arms around your thighs, returning to his task.
Running his tongue over your inner thighs, Kieran licks up his spend passionately. He cleans your skin and leaves kisses in his wake, before dragging his tongue up to your cunt.
He looks up at you for permission, and you nod quickly, taking shuddering breaths.
Kieran dives in, licking a stripe from your hole to your clit, sucking on it fervently.
You devolve into moans, back arching as he begins eating you out messily and uncoordinated, fueled by pure desire and the need to make you feel good.
And it sure does make you feel good.
Sparks of pleasure coarse through you as Kieran fucks his tongue into you, drinking up his own release and moaning when he tastes you as well.
Because of how close to were before, you feel your orgasm creeping up on you quickly.
Kieran whines against your cunt, mouthing away at it as his eyes watch your face. The way he moans against you, you would think he was the one being pleasured.
You can feel your body being pushed forwards and backwards against the grass, and you look down to see Kieran pathetically rutting against the ground, trying to get some stimulation as he presses his face against your intimacy.
It has you cumming, and Kieran drinks up your release with an appreciative whine, eating you up eagerly until you’re worried you’ll be licked dry.
It feels too good to care, though.
He keeps eating you, and you wonder if he would be happy just lying her on his belly mouthing at you until the end of time.
But you want him inside you again.
“C-come up here baby.” You say, pulling him away from between your legs.
Kieran scrambles up, pressing his whole body against you as he urgently kisses you again, sloppy and desperate. You can taste yourself on his lips, and his scruffy beard is wet with your release.
He thrusts against your hip, blind to where his target is as he focuses on kissing you. You laugh against his lips, drawing your knees up to try to help him find your entrance.
Kieran refuses to separate his skin from yours for even a second, nudging at your cheek as he rubs his cock against your thigh.
“Can you put me in, please?” He asks, sweet voice raspy and shaking.
You reach down, finding his member and directing it against your entrance, and Kieran bucks the tip in. Without wasting a beat, he pushes forward.
“Ohh… yes…” Kieran breathes out, hands fisting into the grass as he pulls out and pushes back in fast, forcing a moan out your throat.
He smiles at the noise, repeating the action over and over again to keep extracting noise from you,
“You sound so pretty.” Kieran murmurs, awed as he watches your face.
You moan out, locking your thighs against his waist to encourage him, and Kieran gets the hint. He increases his thrusts, fucking into you wildly as he watched your face.
His eyebrows are furrowed, mouth open as he takes sharp breaths, eyes trained on your own blissed out expression.
“Does- does that feel good?” He breathes out, keeping the fast pace of his hips.
“Yes!” You call out, feeling him hitting the spot inside you that makes you see stars, “Don’t stop Kieran! Feels so good!”
Reaching down, you play with your clit, tightening around the man inside you.
Kieran moans, throwing his head back as he fucks you faster and harder, “S-say my name again… please, say my name-”
“Kieran! Oh god, Kieran!” You cry out, shaking as your orgasm crashes over you.
You shudder and shake, wrapping your arms around Kieran’s neck as he moans and his thrusts turn sloppy.
“Come on baby, cum for me.” You breathe, “Cum inside me Kieran, fill me up, show me how much you love me.”
“I love you! I love you so mu-ch! Oh yes, oh-” Kieran cries out, collapsing against you as he cums inside you for the second time. His skin is sweaty as you wrap your arms around his back, soothing him as he weakly thrusts a few more times to prolong the feeling.
After a moment, he moves to lie down beside you,kissing your shoulder as he murmurs out praises, telling you how much he loves you.
You look up at the moon, carding your fingers through his hair.
“I love you too, Kieran Duffy.”
Kieran rests his head on your chest, holding you close as you stroke his hair. Your sweaty bodies are pressed against one another, uncaring of your nakedness as you bask in the afterglow.
A twig snaps in the distance, and an owl hoots.
You’re suddenly on edge, a flash of concern going through you as you turn to look at the trees.
A flash of movement makes you furrow your brows, urging kieran up. He gets up sleepily, a dopey smile on his face as you dress the both of you and take his hand.
The camp had gone quiet as you return, and you make your way to your tent without issue.
Kieran falls asleep immediately, but you stand at the doorway, trying to see what was lingering in the swamps.
A shadow moves.
The moonlight reflects green.
In the early hours of the morning, you lie beside Kieran. You kept awake as he slept soundly cuddled up to you, your pistol in your hand.
You could have sworn an o'driscoll was hiding in the woods, hunting your man. And that just won't do.
Ain’t nobody gonna take him from you now that you have him.
AN/ saving kieran by giving him some pussy (doing what rockstar couldnt) this was filthy! i meant to post this a couple of days ago, but i wasn't happy with it and changed it lol xx
@spimderman & @gotthecosmonaut for my kieran lovers <3
Okami Amaterasu inspired by Mucha's style
conflicted spaces
Arthur Morgan x fem!reader
a/n: He doesn’t get TB in this. Why? Because this is fanfiction and I’m god and fuck canon (I just finished the game, I’m emotionally distraught and needed this)
Warnings: brief attempted SA
Summary: Your father is a gambling man and you’re always the collateral. He refuses to pay the wrong man and now you’re being dragged across country roads to a man you’ve never met. Arthur Morgan, an outlaw down to the bone, is in charge of making sure you get there in one piece. Except, he doesn’t feel right selling a woman off like she’s property.
You’re done being a doormat and letting the men in your life tell you what you’re worth. You’ve got three days to escape him, but you’re not prepared for the reality of the real world.
“Put your hands where I can see ‘em, cowboy.” Arthur’s shoulders tense and he curses under his breath. His hand darts to the revolver on his hip, but the second his fingers twitch towards it he hears a hammer being pulled back. The cool barrel of a gun digs into his neck and he raises his hand in surrender.
The man behind him lets out a familiar laugh and tugs him around. Arthur rolls his eyes and glares at Dutch. “The hell are you doing?”
Dutch clears his throat, still laughing slightly. “Relax, Arthur, but if I had been an O’Driscoll you’d be dead right now.” Arthur doesn’t point out that the only thing they have to worry about out here are the Lemonye raiders. He’s more focused on why Dutch is even out here. Rarely does he leave Shady Belle to traverse the streets of St. Denis.
None of them are particularly fond of the place. If he wanted to step in horse shit every other step he’d go to a stable. At least those smell better. Dutch slings an arm around Arthur’s shoulder, tugging him away from the saloon he was heading towards.
“You’re gonna have to save the cheating for later, Arthur, I need you for something.”
“You know I don’t cheat,” Arthur jokes and Dutch grins at him and it’s nice. This is familiar to him. This feels right. Dutch has been odd lately, the jobs he’s been taking, the risks he’s been imposing, none of them feels like the man he knows.
Now, Arthur would follow Dutch straight into hell without being asked. But he can’t abide by how he’s putting their people in harm's way. He’s felt like a stranger more often than not and he’s been doubting the people he shouldn’t. Right now, though, he can see the man he knows in the teasing curl of his lips.
“What’dya need?”
Dutch pauses in front of a tailor and pats Arthur’s chest. “I need you to look prim and proper for a party we’ve got tonight.”
Arthur’s brows furrow cynically and he scoffs. “Someone invited us to a party?”
Dutch hesitates, a stiff smile on his face. “Well, let’s just say someone is interested in our work.” Arthur wants to question him further, he’s hiding something from him. But Dutch is pushing him towards the door of the shop before he can argue. “And get a haircut, we need to look presentable not like a bunch of mountain men.”
Arthur watches as Dutch leaves, something heavy weighing down on him. Dutch doesn’t usually tell people about his plans beforehand. At least not every step of them. But this is odd, he’s definitely hiding something and Arthur isn’t sure he wants to know what.
With a resigned huff, he heads into the tailor. He has to mentally prepare himself for being stuffed into a starched collar and a stiff suit for the rest of the night. He hates these damn parties, hates having to pretend like he knows what the hell is being said.
Most of the people that attend are educated or pretend to be. And when he lets it slip that he’s more likely to shoot a gun than read a book they turn on him like jackals. You can’t let them see that you’re different than them or you’ll never get a word in edgewise.
The only part he enjoys is the booze and robbing them of their money. It’s not like they earned any of it. Most of it was made by breaking the backs of the people they mock for being too poor to afford a fancy suit.
Arthur takes a deep breath and looks for the cheapest suit he can find in the overpriced shop.
“Now,” Mr. Crane’s hand tightens around your bicep and he jerks you closer to him. You keep your face impassive, not letting him see just how much he’s hurting you. But you can feel your skin being stretched to its limits by his clammy fingers. “You’re going to behave tonight. I’ve got a few gentlemen I’d like you to meet.”
He looks at you expectantly but you keep your mouth firmly shut. His eyes narrow and he jerks you around roughly. “Understood,” you force the word out through gritted teeth. You’re trying to breathe as little as possible, not wanting to smell his cigar-laced breath any longer.
Finally, after a tortuously long moment, he releases you. You take ten steps back, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles from the silk skirt he’d forced you in. You glance out the window of his office, watching as the workers scramble to set up the tables for tonight. You can hear cooks in the kitchen, shouting out orders for the food for tonight.
Everything must be perfect. Mr. Crane never fails to deliver on his extravagantly indulgent parties. The man himself is the very embodiment of greed. You glance over with a disgusted sneer as he sinks himself into his leather chair and pulls out a wad of cash.
He catches your eye and sends you a sickly sweet smile. “This,” he waves the money at you and you track the movement boredly. “Is how much you’re worth, sweetheart.” Your brows raise in amusement and you scoff. More than you thought he would put up for you.
You wonder who he’s going to have transport you. He’ll need you out of the city soon, your father is starting to catch onto what’s happening. It took him long enough. You’ve been missing a month, you’d think he would have put two and two together faster. Then again, he’d never been very interested in you beyond what you were worth to others.
“When will I be able to meet these gentlemen?” You ask, taking a step towards him. Your eyes dart towards the letter opener on his desk and for a brief moment you picture yourself strabbing it into his fattened jugular.
But he flicks his wrist and like magic the door opens, his men coming inside and standing resolutely by your side. “Not anytime soon, my dear.” He looks to the men surrounding you and you take in a sharp breath, wishing you’d just taken the chance when you had it. “My associate is feeling quite tired, take her back to her room, please.”
They grab you by the elbows, even though it's entirely unnecessary. You wouldn’t run, and even if you did you wouldn’t get far with the chains he has hidden under your dress. A punishment for the first time you snuck from his home. You’ve been well behaved since then but he doesn’t trust you.
You’re whisked away without another word. The trek of the stairs is a slow one. They’re forced to help you navigate by lifting your skirts and not tripping on the chains. It no longer brings you any satisfaction to cause a hindrance in any of their days.
Before, you would think of being an annoyance as a small victory. But it’s not, it never was. It was just a way for them to keep you complacent by allowing you to think you’d done something for yourself. You believe your father used to do the same thing.
It’s just another way of keeping you quiet.
When you make it to your rooms, they shove you inside. Like clockwork, you hear the jingle of the keys and then the lock clicks. You sigh and take a step towards your vanity, working on touching up your hair.
You think the worst part of this must be how well you’re treated. You have meals made by a private chef. Your quarters are decorated more lavishly than they ever were at your father’s house. Yet, you hear the suffocating tick of the clock as it counts down your doom.
You’re not entirely sure what their plan is with you. You know your father had made a promise to Mr. Crane involving some land. Or perhaps it had been a wager. But as always, you were collateral when your father refused to pay up.
You know Mr. Crane wants you out of town so that he has more time to negotiate with your father, to call in the interest he owes him. You also know the only reason your father is interested in finding you is because you’re meant to marry the son of a business partner in two months. The money he’ll get from that will be enough to finally pay off his debts.
Except, now, Mr. Crane tells you that should your father refuse to pay you’ll be married to one of his associates. And the deal he’ll make from that will be enough to cover what your father has refused to pay.
No matter what, you’re going to be married off to some man you’ve never met and yet again be a quiet trophy on a shelf. It’s a very convoluted situation, one which makes you think leaping from a window might be a better fate.
None of the men your father or Mr. Crane is in business with are particularly kind. They’ve got more skeletons in the closet than there are in the graveyard. You doubt you’ll live a very happy life with whoever they pick for you.
You slump forward onto the vanity, trying to fight off the burning feeling in the back of your eyes. You’ve known this would happen for years. Even before Mr. Crane had you kidnapped, you knew that this would be your destiny. You would never get to be one of the free-spirited women who fought for the right to choose. You would always be forced into this role.
Yet, being so close to it coming to fruition makes you feel choked and suffocated. You can feel the noose around your neck tightening, the hangman’s fingers twitching as he waits to see you drop.
You dig your nails into your palm, taking in a deep breath and fighting back the wave of despair. Where there is doom, you also see a sliver of hope. Your next journey will be a long one. He’s hiring someone to have you transported to an area further up the map.
If you play your cards right you might be able to escape while you’re traveling. If you’re incredibly smart about this, thinking with your head and not your heart, you might have a shot at freedom.
You take in a deep breath, reapplying your makeup and resolving yourself to another night of mindless entertainment. But you hold onto that fleeting feeling of hope. You have a shot, you just have to take it.
Arthur’s heard of these parties before. Some Mr. Crane fella that likes to blow all his money on food and booze. He indulges his guests and when they’re weakest, gets their secrets from them. He’s a snake and everyone knows it. Yet, missing his party is social suicide. They have no choice but to go and indulge in him.
Arthur had never had any interest in meeting him or doing any business with him. But Dutch had informed him that’s exactly what’s happening tonight. They’ll mingle for a little while, maybe scout some other jobs, and then Mr. Crane will invite them up to his office for a private discussion.
Dutch still hasn’t told him what exactly their business with him is. He brought Hosea along tonight so he has to assume it’s not going to be anything violent. But he can’t think of anything else they could be good for.
“Alright, gentlemen,” Dutch places his hands on Hosea’s and Arthur’s shoulders, a scheming smile on his face. “Try not to embarrass me.” He slips behind them, heading up the stairs of the home. Hosea and Arthur share a brief look before they split up, blending into the background of the garden.
Arthur lurks near the bar, he knows he should be talking to these assholes, possibly learning something useful. But he can’t be bothered. He orders a whiskey, gaze surveying the partygoers. They’re all loud with painted faces and fake smiles. Not a goddamn person here seems to be genuinely interested in anything they’re doing.
“First time?” The soft voice beside him catches him off guard. He glances to the side and is surprised to see that you’ve slipped past him. He hadn’t even noticed you slide up next to him. You laugh at the look on his face and it’s the first thing here that seems real. “Sorry, it’s just that look on your face, I recognize the disappointment. You’ve never been to one of Crane’s parties before?”
“No,” he clears his throat, still recovering from the surprise. “Uh, I can’t say I have.”
You suck on your teeth, narrowing your eyes at the people passing by. “They’re not worth the effort. Everyone who leaves here leaves carrying his debt on their back.”
Arthur chuckles a little, lips twitching up into a small smile. He’s surprised by your frankness, most people like to hide behind passive-aggressive digs. He appreciates the straightforward attitude. “Then why are you here?”
You shrug and Arthur finds himself enchanted. He shouldn’t be, he’s never been one for romance. He finds women pretty and he’s been in love before, but he’s never bought into the idea of love at first sight. Or any of that mushy stuff that Mary Beth devours in those books of hers.
But you are absolutely gorgeous, dressed in a silk dress that’s so expensive he’s sure he could buy two new horses with it. Your fingers and neck are decorated in dainty jewels that you fidget with as you stare down at your drink. When you set your eyes on him again he thinks he might have been struck by Cupid’s arrow.
“I don’t have a choice,” you finally answer, sending him a stiff smile. “What about you? Why are you here?”
Arthur suddenly remembers himself, remembers why he’s here and what he’s supposed to be doing. The fog in his head dissipates and he’s disappointed in himself. Pretty women have never done anything except get him in trouble.
“Business,” he answers vaguely. Your eyes narrow and your brows twitch in discontent. Something like realization dawns on your face and you back away from him. The easy attitude you’d carried yourself with is gone, replaced by a vague look of distrust.
“Right, should’ve known.” You let out a rough sigh and Arthur can’t help but feel like he’s said the wrong thing. “I suppose I’ll be seeing you again soon.” You slip past him before he can ask you what you mean. He hears the faint sound of metal clinking as you walk back up the stairs.
Something silver flashes under your skirts but he can’t get a good glimpse of it. He feels unsettled as he turns back to the bar. The whole interaction was odd. From how stricken he was with you to how cold you turned.
He doesn’t know what you saw in him but it was probably for the best that you left when you did. Neither of you needed the trouble the other would bring. He shakes his head, downing his whiskey and muttering nonsense to himself about not thinking with the wrong head.
It’s not that much later that Dutch is appearing on the balcony and silently motions him forward. Arthur leaves the bar behind and slips up the same stairs you’d disappeared on. Dutch says nothing as he leads Hosea and Arthur through the house.
The mansion is a maze more than anything. Arthur loses track of all the turns they take and the winding staircases they descend. Finally, Dutch stops them all in front of two large oak doors. He raps once on the door and then lets himself in.
A large, balding man with a shiny head is perched on top of a leather chair. He looms behind his desk, fingers steepled as he greets them all with a false smile. “Ah, gentlemen, so nice to finally meet you.”
Dutch grins and motions to Arthur, “This is the man who will be doing the transporting, Arthur.” Arthur’s eyes narrow in confusion but he says nothing as Dutch moves to Hosea, “And this is my associate, Hosea. He’s a lot better with money than I am, Mr. Crane. You understand.”
Mr. Crane lets out a boisterous laugh that makes Arthur’s ears hurt and nods his head, his cheeks jiggling with the movement. “That I do! Well,” he waves them forward when they linger in the doorway too long, “come in, come in.”
Arthur closes the doors behind them as Mr. Crane lifts himself from his desk. There are two couches positioned in front of an unlit fire. He takes one of them and Dutch and Hosea take the other. Arthur perches himself on the armrest of their couch, eyes surveying the office like it might reveal the truth of their visit.
“I trust Mr. Van der Linde has kept this all quiet?”
“He has,” Arthur grouses.
At the same time, Dutch says, “Of course, Mr. Crane. I promised confidentiality and Dutch Van der Linde is nothing if not a man who keeps to his promises.” Crane nods, looking satisfied and Arthur holds back a laugh at how easily he seems to trust Dutch.
“Good, good.” He dips his hand inside his jacket and Arthur’s palm instinctively drops to where his gun should be. Of course, they’d had to give up their weapons before they came into the party, if he does has a gun Arthur can’t do a damn thing.
But he doesn’t, instead, he pulls out the thickest stack of cash that Arthur has ever laid his eyes on. A loud thud resounds through the room as he slams the bills on top of the table between them. Arthur’s eyes widen and Hosea’s jaw nearly drops at the sight of it all.
This would be enough to get them out of St. Denis tonight. Shock sours quickly into suspicion. What the hell has Dutch signed up for? “Now, this is the first half. This is simply for accepting the job and,” he gives them all severe looks, “for your silence.”
Arthur shifts uncomfortably on his perch and waits for Mr. Crane to finish. “The other half will be given once the package has been safely delivered.” There’s a certain lilt to his words when he says package that has Arthur’s hackles raising. Whatever is getting delivered is not going to be good.
Crane turns towards the bookshelves on the wall and calls out, “Darling, won’t you join us?” Arthur figures the man must have lost his mind, they should just take the money and leave. But there’s a loud creak and something like metal gears grinding together. One of the shelves pops open and the panel swings forward.
You pop your head out, glancing towards Crane and then taking a step forward. Arthur, without even thinking about it, finds himself sitting up, and brushing some of the dirt off his pants from the ride over.
At first, he’s so confused by seeing you again that he doesn’t realize why exactly he’s seeing you again. Then you glance towards him, a knowing look on your face and it clicks. You’re the package. You’re what he’s meant to be transporting.
He glares over at Dutch, when exactly did they get into the business of trading women?
Hosea voices his doubts in a much calmer manner. “If I may, sir, why does she need to be delivered so discreetly?”
Mr. Crane laughs and your face twitches unpleasantly. You grimace, glaring at the back of the man’s head with something like murder in your eyes. He doesn’t know what he’s done to cause such a visceral look of hate and he doesn’t want to think about it. This whole situation is bothering him. You’re not here willingly, which means you’re not going to be transported willingly either.
None of this makes sense. Dutch would never have taken a job like this before, even when they needed the money. And there’s no way in hell a rich man like this one would want to pay a couple of grungy outlaws so much money. There’s got to be some sort of trick in all of this.
Cran clears his throat, “She’s a daughter of a, well,” he frowns and struggles for the words. “Let’s just say we’re in a hostile competition for a lot of land. This land, boys, could be very beneficial in expanding my business. He’s not interested in selling and, well, desperate times, desperate measures.”
You scoff, laughing slightly at him and rounding the couch. Dutch ignores you, Hosea looks uncomfortable, and Crane continues prattling on without missing a beat. “Should her father not pay me, she will be married to the associate you’re bringing her to. He’s promised me enough land and money to cover what I lost to her father. And if he does pay, she’ll be returned in time for her wedding here.”
Arthur’s eyes dart towards you and you send him a bitter smile. It makes him shift where he sits, hating the way your eyes bore into him. “I just need someone who's not afraid of getting their hands a little dirty to make sure she behaves while she’s delivered to my friend,” Crane glances over at Arthur. He asses him, the bulge of his arms in the suit and the scars on his face, whatever he finds must be satisfactory because he smiles over at Dutch.
Arthur stands, ready for Dutch to tell Mr. Crane that they’re not in the business of selling women off. But Dutch doesn’t, he smiles at Mr. Crane and reaches for the money, passing it off to Hosea to count. “Well, I do believe my friend Arthur is just the man for the job.”
“I think you’re right, Dutch.” He stands up now, pot belly nearly bursting the buttons of his shirt, and reaches for Dutch’s hand. “Pleasure doing business with you.”
Dutch smiles and takes his sweaty palm, “You as well, sir.” Dutch walks towards you and holds his arm out. “This way, my dear.” You glance between him and his elbow before rolling your eyes and reluctantly placing your hand on his arm. You follow him silently and obediently, no fight is left in you. Hosea follows after you both, a concerned look on his face.
Arthur remains in the office, standing dumbfounded and staring at the doorway you’d disappeared through. He’s struggling to process what just happened. Arthur has helped people get home safely before and provided protection. But he’s never been one to traffic a hostage.
Crane glances up, finally noticing him still standing there. He walks past him, patting his shoulder as he does and giving him an approving smile. “Don’t be afraid to take care of her should she get out of hand.” He’s nearly out the door but he looks back and adds, “Just don’t bruise her too much.”
Arthur’s fingers twitch for his revolver once more and he’s never wanted to shoot a man more. But he knows Dutch is waiting for him and he’d never make it out of here alive if he started a fight right now. Reluctantly, he makes his way out of the manor and towards where you’re all waiting for him.
He’s fuming by the time he stops in front of Dutch. He’s trying to help you onto his horse and Arthur finally realizes what the metal sound he heard earlier is. There are chains around your ankles and you can’t maneuver yourself on the saddle.
His eyes narrow and he glares at Dutch, “What the hell are you doing? We’re selling women now?”
Dutch glowers at the tone of Arthur’s voice. You watch them both passively, fiddling with the rings on your fingers and looking unbothered by the entire situation. “Watch yourself, Arthur,” there’s a clear warning in his tone but Arthur’s too upset to care.
They’ve done a lot of bad things. They weren’t good men. But this was just going too far. “We need this, Arthur. You want to get out of here, you want to keep our people safe?” Arthur let out a deep exhale, gritting his teeth together and nodding reluctantly. Dutch huffs, “That’s what I thought. We’re not selling anyone, Arthur. It’s a simple delivery.”
His jaw clenches as he watches Dutch struggle to help you again. “It’s not going to work,” you inform Dutch. You lift your skirts, flashing him the chains he hadn’t seemed to notice yet. Neither of you gets a chance to say anything as Arthur pulls out his gun and shoots the lock off.
He feels a little guilty at how startled you look. Your eyes widen until they look like they might bulge out. Your hands fly up to cover your ears as the sound rocks through you. It breaks violently through the silence of the night.
Dutch turns and gives him a stern look, “Have you forgotten the meaning of subtlety?” Arthur can tell he’s trying not to shout and drag any more attention towards you all.
Arthur glares at Dutch, something wicked brewing in his stomach. “The lady wouldn’t be able to ride a horse like that.” He mounts his horse and rides off without a look back. He can’t stand to be near you or Dutch any longer.
The reality of what they’ve turned into hits him like a bag of rocks and it makes him irate. They’ve never been these people. Never traded a person off like they were an object. He’s sure plenty of people in camp would have a problem with this. But he doubts Dutch will let them know the truth until the job is done.
And by then, everyone will be too happy with the money to complain. Dutch is nothing if not good at saving his ass. He’s hitching his horse as the rest of you ride into camp. He lingers by Diablo, resting a hand on the thick neck of the shire while Dutch helps you off the saddle.
His eyes narrow in on the way Dutch’s fingers glide along your waist as you jump down. You take a step back the second your legs are steady sending Dutch a dirty look that almost makes Arthur laugh.
He starts towards Dutch, ready to try and reason with him again. But he holds his hand up and walks away, not even giving him a chance to speak. Arthur lets out a rough sigh as Hosea comes up behind him.
He pats his shoulder comfortingly, “You should get some sleep, Arthur. You’ll ride with her to Strawberry tomorrow morning.” He almost walks off but he whispers a quiet, “I’m sorry,” before he goes.
Arthur glances towards you but you’re looking around the camp, eyes lingering on Javier as he sings by the fire. He swears he almost sees you smile but it's gone as quickly as it came. He takes his hat off, running his hand through his hair and letting out a tired sigh.
“Alright, come with me,” he starts towards the house. It takes a minute to realize you’re not directly behind him. When he looks over your shoulder he sees you with your skirts lifted, tiptoeing through the mud and trying not to get your pretty skirts dirty.
He rolls his eyes, storming back towards you. Your eyes widen at the look on his face and you stumble back a few steps. Undeterred, he bends over, throwing you over his shoulder and walking towards the house.
Your hands claw at his back, desperately grasping onto his shirt so you keep your balance. He storms up the stairs, ignoring the alarmed looks he gets from others in camp. He can already hear them whispering, wondering who you are and why he’s dragging you into his room.
They can make up whatever the hell they want. Arthur’s too pissed off to give a shit about rumors tonight. He drops you unceremoniously onto his bed and storms back out. He heads downstairs, rooting around in one of the chests for some extra clothes.
You won’t be able to ride to Strawberry in those ridiculous clothes. You’ll need some pants if you’re going to sit on the horse properly. He tucks the outfit under his arm and makes his way back to you.
When he opens the door your hand immediately darts away from his shaving kit and shoves itself under your butt. His brows furrow as he catches a flash of silver in your hand. He places the clothes down on the end of the bed, eyes drifting towards his shaving kit. Sure enough, his razor seems to be missing.
He lets out a sigh and you tense up, hand clenching around your prize. He briefly debates taking it from you. But he figures you should be allowed a modicum of comfort. Even if you did try and use it against him it’s dull, he hasn’t sharpened it in a while and you wouldn’t be able to do much damage anyway.
He lets you keep it, leaving you on your own without another word. He can hear the exhale of relief you let out when he walks away and it makes him feel just a little better about this. At least you’re not completely terrified.
You change into the clothes Arthur gave you. They’re a little big, but you appreciate the pants. It’s much better than the ridiculous dresses Crane had you in. You collect your dress and toss it out the window of Arthur’s room, watching it sink into the mud pit below. It brings you some satisfaction to see Crane’s pretty silk getting ruined.
You take off the jewelry you’d been given and stuff it into your boots. If you did manage to escape while you were traveling with Arthur then you were going to need some cash. You could sell off the jewels and hopefully, it would be enough to keep you comfortable.
It feels nice, to wear real clothes. Not being dressed up like a doll for once. You envy some of the women here, who can wear what they want. There is an appeal to the outlaw life. As long as you’re on the right side of it, which, currently, you’re not.
You slip out of the house before anyone has a chance to retrieve you. The whole night you were curled up around a dull razor with your eyes wide open. Spending a night surrounded by outlaws isn’t exactly restful.
You figure you might as well try and walk around before you’re on the back of a horse for the rest of the day. There are more people up than you’d expected. Luckily, you don’t see Dutch around anywhere. You don’t feel like having to deal with any more of his false charm or empty apologies.
The same man you’d seen strumming his guitar the night before is asleep next to the dying fire. A blonde woman catches your eye, she’s walking past some other women in dresses. They’re still asleep but she looks like she’s been up for hours.
There’s a bit of blood on her pants and you briefly wonder what she’d been doing. “Who are you?” She asks, surveying you from head to toe with suspicion in her eyes.
“A package,” you tell her bluntly, walking past her towards the only lit fire of camp. She follows you, a wry grin on her face as she watches you pour yourself some coffee.
“You’ve got a real attitude, I like it.”
You huff out a laugh, taking a sip of the burnt coffee and giving her a brief smile. “I’m sure my future husband won’t.”
She rolls her eyes and scoffs, waving you off. “Husbands, good for nothing. I loved mine but he was useless as a sack o’ flour. You’re better off without them.”
Your smile turns strained and you look down at your feet, at the boots that aren’t your own. You’ll never get to dress like this again. Or speak like this to a woman who isn’t afraid to voice what's on her mind.
“Yes, well,” you shrug and meet her eyes again, “I don’t seem to have much of a choice.”
Her eyes narrow and she frowns, “What’s that supposed to-”
“Mrs. Adler!” Dutch’s voice booms from across the camp and forces the others awake. Most of them grumble, but they’re quick to get started on morning chores. “I see you’ve met our guest,” he says your name with a flourish that almost makes you laugh.
He’s a good actor. He’s especially good at covering up his mistakes. “Yeah, what’s going on, Dutch? Who is she? Why don’t you guys ever let me in on this stuff?” She fires off questions rapidly, you almost don’t catch them all. There are clearly underlying issues here other than your unexpected presence.
“In due time,” he assures her, laying the charm on thick. But even you can tell he’s full of it. He’s not planning on letting her in on anything unless it benefits him. “And this is our guest, her fiancee has paid us handsomely to provide her safe passage back to him.”
He walks towards you, laying a hand over your arm and squeezing slightly. You give Sadie a stiff smile and let him lead you away. “I do believe it’s best that you just wait for Arthur, dear.” He gives you a look that lets you know it’s an order, not a suggestion.
Still, you play along, “I think you might be right, Mr. Van der Linde, thank you for the hospitality.” You run a tired hand over your face, sitting down on the stoop of the house and finishing off the rest of your coffee. Dutch watches you for a while, never straying too far from where you are and intercepting anyone who asks about you.
He spins quite the romantic tale of your lost love and how he desperately wants you back. You wish it were true, that you were living out some wonderful fairytale and were about to be reunited with the love of your life. Instead, it feels like one long walk to the gallows.
The wood creaks behind you and you don’t need to turn to see who it is. “Ready?” Arthur asks and you figure he means, ready to leave freedom and happiness and the will to live behind?
No, “Sure,” you toss the rest of the coffee into the grass and leave the mug on the stairs. You get to your feet and let him lead you towards the horses. He shares a brief look with Dutch as you pass by him but it doesn’t look entirely pleasant.
He makes his way toward a towering black shire and your eyes widen in horror. “What’s this?”
He works on saddling the horse up, not paying much attention to you. “This is Diablo.” You take a step closer and the horse starts huffing, swinging his neck towards you with his lips pulled back. You jump back a step back, eyeing him warily.
Arthur glances over and lets out a low chuckle, “He won’t bite. He’s just curious.”
“Mhm,” you give him a disbelieving look. “You’ll have to excuse me for being wary, I’ve not met a lot of horses.”
Arthur looks a bit shocked by your admission. “Really?” He questions, sounding doubtful.
You give him a brief smile and nod. “Hard to believe, I know, but I’ve lived a very sheltered life, Mr. Morgan. Haven’t had many opportunities for exploring on my own.”
He opens his mouth, looking like he wants to say something. At the last second, he stops himself, instead taking a step closer to you. You flinch away from him when he reaches for you and he lets out a sigh. “You can’t spend the next three days terrified of him, come on.”
He coaxes you forward and you reluctantly step closer to the beast. He chuckles at the scared look on your face. You don’t appreciate how much amusement he’s gaining from this. “Come on,” he mutters, taking your wrist and leading you closer to Diablo.
The damn thing is named Devil, how could you not be terrified of it?
“He won’t bite, I promise.” You don’t trust him but he doesn’t give you much of a choice. He presses your open palm to Diablo’s nose and you wince, bracing for him to lash out at you.
But he doesn’t, he lets out a soft knicker and it seems like he doesn’t even care that you’re there. You let out a relieved laugh, running your hand tentatively over his muzzle. It’s shockingly soft and oddly squishy.
He doesn’t seem to mind as you awe over him. You smile and glance over at Arthur but it drops when you see the odd look on his face. He seems perplexed by your reaction and you can’t fathom why. “You really never have ridden a horse before, have you?”
You shake your head, “No. I told you.”
He purses his lips and nods. You don’t know what it is about this that’s bothering him and you don’t care to ask. If he doesn’t believe just how strict your upbringing has been then fine. “Alright, come on, we need to get a move on.”
He leads you around to the saddle and helps you up on the back of the horse. It’s beyond odd, sitting on something in pants. Getting to spread your legs freely is something you are going to greatly enjoy during this journey.
Arthur takes off without much warning and you yelp, throwing your arms around his waist to steady yourself. He glances over his shoulder at you but says nothing. You turn your head, watching as the camp gets smaller and smaller.
The people mill about, greet each other, and break bread together. It hits you suddenly, this will be the last time you get to see people being free. If you don’t get out, if you can’t escape, your life will be filled with starched collars and powdered faces. You’ll never have a genuine conversation with someone again. You’ll be turned into pretty jewelry hanging off the arm of a man you never met.
The ride to Strawberry is three days at least. You have three days to get your plan together and to escape. You almost feel sorry for Arthur and the repercussions he’ll have to face losing you. But not sorry enough that you’re not gonna try.
Arthur’s speed evens out and you let your arms relax, easing away from him slightly. Your wrist jolts against the gun on his hip and you eye it curiously. If you had a gun there would be no doubt you could escape. You see Arthur’s fingers twitch on the reigns of the horse and you move your arms higher up his torso.
You doubt you’ll be a quicker draw than he is. He is an outlaw after all. You don’t think he’d have many qualms about delivering you to your fiancee with a few extra holes in your gut. Your mind drifts to the razor in your pocket and you consider it for a moment.
You’re sure you’d be quick enough to just whip it out and slit his throat. You sigh and dismiss the thought. You were a lot of things but you were not a murderer. There are lines you can’t bring yourself to cross. Besides, as wicked as what he’s doing to you is, you know he’s a good man.
It was an instinctual feeling. Mr. Crane and your father were both horrible, evil men. They knew nothing but greed and would never be satisfied by all the riches they reaped. They were the type of men you looked at and knew deep down that there was nothing left to save.
Arthur has undoubtedly bad things. You don’t become an outlaw without spilling some blood. He was weathered and rough from a hard life, but that didn’t mean there was nothing good left in him. You won’t have his blood on your hands, no matter how much you might want to get away from him.
As grateful as Arthur is for the silence, it is odd. He’s helped a few ladies find their way back home before and for some reason, they seem to think he’s the best listener in the world. It seems everyone who rides with him wants to tell him their life stories.
You’re completely silent, though. He has to keep looking back just to make sure you haven’t fallen off the back of the horse. You’re pretty complacent, following along with whatever Dutch said and coming along quietly. You seem beaten down, the fight dragged out of you.
He wonders what Mr. Crane had done to you. A few times, he’s seen just a glimpse of the spark that used to be there. But it was snuffed out before he got a chance to know it. He almost wishes you would talk. It would distract him from what he was doing right now.
It didn’t feel right, bringing you along to marry a man you’ve never even met. He has to keep reminding himself that it would have happened no matter what. Ladies like you are always sold off into a profitable marriage. The only thing he’s doing is switching up who the fiancee might be.
None of that makes him feel better, though. He should be helping you, not dragging you away to your worst nightmare. But, his people come first. The amount of money Dutch’ll get from this will be enough to get them all out of here. This could finally be the last score.
You gasp behind him and he whips his head around, immediately expecting someone to be following along beside you both. Maybe your father’s men or just some raiders. But he doesn’t see anything except a herd of deer running through the trees.
His brows furrow in confusion and he glances back at you. You’re watching them like they’re something spectacular. Arthur’s always been a fan of the quiet beauty of nature. He appreciates them in ways most folks don’t understand. But you’re looking at ‘em like you just found God.
“Never seen deer before?” He teases, chuckling a little at your reaction.
You startle, not realizing he had been watching. You clear your throat and look away from them sheepishly. He almost feels bad for ruining the moment for you. “No. No, I haven’t.”
He knows it's possible, but it’s astounding to him that someone truly lived their whole life in the city. It just doesn’t seem right. Cities are full of shit, smog, and bad people. Not even having a moment out of that your whole life seems like torture.
“I’ll just enjoy it while it lasts,” you mutter, eyes darting back to the tree line. But the deer are gone and you don’t look very interested anymore.
“Right,” he shifts forward, the air between you awkward. He’d only meant it in jest. He didn’t mean to remind you of what was about to happen to you. He doesn’t like the silence, not this time, it feels wrong. It makes him stew in his shame and that’s a nasty feeling.
Selfishly, he prods you for more. “A few days on the road, you’ll be eager for the city again.”
You laugh but there’s no humor to it. “I very much doubt that Mr. Morgan.”
“Arthur,” he corrects, “just call me Arthur.”
“Right,” your tone remains cold, “well if you don’t mind Arthur, I’d like to ride there in silence.”
He's got no other choice but to comply. If you don’t want to talk he won’t make you. He just wishes he could make this a little easier for you both.
Camping is something. You don’t have a word for it. It’s nice to be out in nature and embrace it for the first time in your life. But you really would not mind the comfort of your bed right now.
Rocks digging into your spine and head do not make for a good night’s sleep. You’ve been lying in front of the fire for hours, flipping around uselessly. It doesn’t matter how much you shift, the rock stays digging painfully into you.
You let out a loud huff, flopping onto your back and glaring up at the starry sky in defeat. At least the view is nice. In the city, you can’t see the stars. The smoke’s too thick and you never get a good look at them.
Out here, they almost feel fake. They’re so bright and beautiful, you thought the paintings in the museum had always been exaggerating just how breathtaking a night sky can be. But you were wrong. And you hate that there’s a potential future where you’ll never get to see this again.
“Would you quit squirming so damn much?”
You shoot up, resting on your elbows and glaring over at Arthur. He’s got his hat over his eyes, arms crossed, and looking like he’s been asleep for the past few hours. You hadn’t realized you’d been keeping him up.
“Some of us aren’t used to sleeping outside,” you hiss, throwing yourself back down to the ground. He doesn’t say anything for a while and you figure that’s the end of it. You clench your eyes shut, counting sheep in your mind and trying to force yourself asleep.
You hear boots crunching across leaves and your eyes fly open. Arthur’s standing over you, hands propped on his hips as he glares down at you. “Can I help you?” You snap when you get tired of the staring.
He scoffs and shakes his head, kneeling to be eye level with you. You’re startled by the proximity, an odd heat creeping up your neck. “Come on, I’m gonna tire you out. Maybe then you’ll get some sleep.”
You gasp, astonished at the audacity of his suggestion. “Excuse me?” You demand, tone incredulous.
His brows furrow before he shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “Not like that,” he grouses. “Get up,” he doesn’t give you much of a choice. He places his hand under your back, shoving you onto your feet. You stand with a slight stumble, glaring at him as you brush dirt off your shirt and pants.
You can’t help the snotty tone of your voice as you ask, “What are we doing?”
“Huntin,’” He answers gruffly, going over to the horse and taking the bow out of his saddle.
Your brows furrow as you recall the few stories your father told you of hunting bison. “Aren’t you supposed to use a rifle?”
He shakes his head and nods towards the treeline. You glance back at the fire before reluctantly following him into the dark forest. The moon is full enough that it provides just enough light for you not to be terrified of what’s lurking in the underbrush.
“Got a friend,” he tells you, kneeling and glancing at some tracks on the ground. “Taught me how to hunt properly. Bows are quieter, less disruptive, and they provide quicker, cleaner kills.” He looks back at you and motions towards the arrows, “Less pain for the animal.”
Your face slacks with something like astonishment. All you’d heard from your father was the thrill of the hunt, the satisfaction of the kill. He never mentioned keeping anything from the animal, using it for meat, or about how long it took for them to die. You’d never thought there was anybody who actually cared for the creature’s comfort as it died.
You suppose there’s going to be a lot about Arthur that’s different from the men you know.
“Arthur,” a twig snaps behind you, and your eyes widen. You drop your voice to a whisper, not wanting to draw too much attention towards you both. “I don’t want to kill anything,” you hiss.
“Ha!” He barks out a laugh and you purse your lips in irritation. He stands and looks at you, chuckling again before shaking his head. “I wouldn’t be so confident in your huntin’ skill, kid.”
You click your tongue and glare at him, “Don’t call me that,” you snap. It’s the same patronizing nickname your father loved to use on you and you detest it. He raises his hands in surrender and you roll your eyes at the smirk on his face. “Then what’s the point of this?”
He shrugs and heads further into the trees, you have no choice but to follow along behind him. “Figure you should be taught a few skills before I get rid of ya.”
You want to argue with him that there’s no point. If you are given to Crane’s associate, you’ll never set foot in the woods again. However, if you do manage to escape him, learning a few survival skills wouldn’t be a bad idea.
So, you keep your mouth shut and let him lead you through the forest. “How do you know where to go?” You ask, trying to figure out what it is he keeps looking at in the mud. He waves you forward, moving you so you’re standing directly in front of him.
“You see that?” You have to squint, relying solely on the light from the moon, to make out what he’s pointing at. There are some tracks in the mud that look vaguely like hooves. “It’s buck tracks, you can tell by the size.” He kneels and when you don’t follow he tugs you down by the sleeve. “You can’t rely on just the tracks, though. You have to look for other signs of ‘em.”
You glance around, noticing some crushed twigs and grass a few feet ahead. “Like that?” You point towards it and he huffs in amusement.
“Caught on quicker than I thought.”
You feel vaguely offended by that but don’t bother voicing it, just glare at his back as he gets up. You walk silently through the forest, letting Arthur show you which tracks to follow and which to avoid. You’re not comforted by how many cougar prints you find. You stare up into the branches always expecting something to already be looking down at you.
Miraculously, no wild cat chooses you for dinner as you track the buck down. You find him near a small stream, antlers dipping into the water as he takes a drink. He’s got to be one of the most gorgeous creatures you’ve ever seen.
You’ve lived your whole life in St. Denis. The most you’ve seen are overworked carriage horses and mangy dogs. No life slips through the cracks of that place. There’s just smoke and misery. This is nature, real beauty. It’s breathtaking, the way the leaves ripple in the wind and the starlight reflects in the water.
You can’t imagine seeing this and wanting to tear it down to put up an oily machine that contributes nothing to the earth but death. It just makes you hate your father more. It also makes you more resolved to not be forced back into that life. You can’t do it. You can’t have this one taste of freedom and then let it go without a fight.
Arthur pulls the bow out and nocks an arrow. You glance between him and the buck and rapidly shake your head. “No,” you hiss, “I don’t wanna kill it.”
He rolls his eyes and moves you in front of him. You don’t have much choice as he places your hands on the string and guides you into the right position. “Relax,” he murmurs in your ear as you fight against his grip. “You ain’t gonna kill it.”
It doesn’t bring you much comfort, but if you’re going to make it on your own, sometimes you’ll have to do something you don’t like. “Now,” his hand drifts down your bicep and you suck in a sharp breath. “Don’t hold it too long, you’ll get tired.”
It’s dawning on you just how close you both are. You’re kneeling on the ground with him behind you, essentially cradling your body to him. You’ve never been this familiar with a man before, it’s making your brain short-circuit. You can hardly pay attention to what he’s telling you.
He lifts your elbow slightly and points you towards the left. “You need to keep your arm steady even after you let go or your aim will be off. Take in a deep breath and release on the exhale.” You give him an apprehensive look, still not wanting to hurt the buck. He just nods and there’s something in his gaze that lets you relax slightly.
You release the string and the arrow flies over the buck’s head, burying itself into the tree behind it. Its head shoots up and it turns towards you both before dashing off. You let out an astonished laugh, glancing down the bow and then back at Arthur.
“My god, I’ve never shot anything before.”
“Congratulations, you’ve killed your first tree,” he remarks dryly, but you see the glint of humor in his eye.
He gets to his feet and offers you a hand up. You smile up at him, undeterred by his attitude. “Thank you for this,” you tell him earnestly. He gives you an odd look but nods anyway. He doesn’t understand just how important this is to you. Knowing how to do something like this is the difference between life and death when you’re on your own. Of course, he doesn’t realize you’ll be making an escape attempt soon.
He retrieves the arrow from the tree and you run your hand over the curve of the bow. You wonder just how much he’d miss this if you took it from him.
Arthur’s tearing down the camp and you’re standing by Diablo, feeding him some apples. You stroke absentmindedly over the horse's muzzle, watching Arthur intently. He’s too busy pulling the tent apart to be paying attention to you.
You got better sleep last night than you did at Crane’s. He was right, hunting had tired you out. You were eager enough to sleep that you didn’t even feel the rough ground underneath you. He seems to be a little more lax about his watch over you.
Something about last night must have eased him into a sense of comfort that you’re not going to run. That’s his own fault, though. You glance over the curve of the hill, noticing a carriage that will be passing by soon enough.
You look back at Arthur and ease slightly away from Diablo. Arthur is still collecting the blankets and rolling them up. He turns towards the dying fire and tosses the rest of the coffee out. You take another step back and he keeps his back to you.
Slowly, you release Diablo’s reigns, giving him one last apple before you turn on your heel and run down the hill. Your foot slips out from under you and you let out a loud yelp as you go flying headfirst down the grass.
You land on your back with enough impact to make the breath rush out of you. But your descent is still going and you’re flipping over headfirst into the road. You slide forward, the dirt scraping up your chin as you cough and try and catch your breath.
“Look out!” You roll out of the way just before the carriage rolls over you. Someone shouts your name from the top of the hill and you see Arthur glaring down at you. He starts towards you and you scramble to your feet.
“Stop!” You scream, waving your arms wildly and chasing after the carriage. The man gives you a bewildered look as you throw yourself at him. “Please, sir, I’ve been kidnapped, you must help me get back to my husband.”
The man looks behind you, sees a very angry Arthur bellowing out your name, and moves to the side. “Hurry up,” he urges, giving you a hand on the bench beside him. You let out a relieved breath, taking his hand and throwing yourself the rest of the way up.
He whips the horses, hurrying them along all the while Arthur is yelling after you. It’s not hard to believe that he would kidnap you. He looks half-crazed as he follows along behind you. You turn over your shoulder, giving him a brief wave and a smile. “Thanks for the help,” you tell the man beside you. You offer your hand and name.
He glances down at it but doesn’t take it, instead looking forward and ignoring you entirely. Something uneasy settles in your stomach but you push it aside. You blame the feeling on the adrenaline still pumping through you.
“Where are you headed?” You ask, glancing into the back of the carriage. You notice some moonshine and a crate full of guns but decide not to question it.
“Said yer husband’s waitin’ for ya?” He demands, completely ignoring your question. You stare at the side of his face but his expression isn’t giving anything away. He comes to an intersection. You see a sign pointing towards a town and figure he’s going to take it, but instead, he pulls onto a smaller trail leading to the woods.
“Um,” you clear your throat uncertainly, glancing back at the sign. “Yes,” your voice cracks and you know you sound like you’re full of shit.
He laughs and the sound sends chills down your spine. You rip your eyes off of him, looking down at the horses and suddenly realizing just what you’d gotten yourself into. “You sure about that, little lady?”
Something cold digs into your side and you gasp quietly, looking down to see a gun pressed against your ribs. “You scream, run, or do anythin’ to piss me off and I’ll put a fourth hole in ya.” When you don’t say anything he digs it harder into you. “Understand?” He growls and you can do nothing but nod your head.
You want to move, want to shove him off the side of the carriage and make a run for it. But you can’t, you’re frozen solid. You’re so petrified with fear you can’t even blink. You think you’re holding your breath, as if taking in air is going to set the gun off.
He grins, a blackened curl of lips over rotted teeth, at your obedience and comes to a stop in the trees. “What are you doing?” You whisper, staring at the secluded area with a newfound sense of horror.
“Shut up,” he snaps, his voice echoing through the quiet of the woods. You hear no birds or animals and you feel so alone it makes you want to cry. He gets off the carriage and turns towards you. “Down,” he demands. Your eyes dart towards the reigns of the horses and he pulls the hammer of the gun back. “Don’t even think about it.”
You lift your hands in the air, slowly slipping down the seat. He doesn’t appreciate you taking your time He grabs the front of your shirt, jerking you further into the trees and tossing you to the ground.
You let out a rough groan at the impact, blood staining your shirt as your elbow slips across a jagged rock. It’s like something is snapped loose in your mind. He comes stomping towards you, kneeling between your spread legs and it finally clicks.
You lunge forward with a shout and he rears back in surprise. You wonder how often someone’s actually fought against him or just let it happen. You don’t want to die, you don’t want to get shot by this scum, but there are a lot of things worse than dying.
You grab the arm holding the gun, jerking it around, and knocking it out of his hand. “You bitch!” He hisses, bringing his open palm down across your cheek. The smack rings through the trees and ricochets through the air. Your head whips to the side so hard you think you might have snapped your neck.
Blood dribbles out from your lips, your teeth having bitten into the fat of your cheeks. You spot the gun nearby, the silver of the barrel glinting from under the leaves. Just as you reach for it, he’s wrapping his hands around your ankles and dragging you back towards him.
You feel like screaming as your hands desperately grasp at the dirt underneath you. But there’s not enough air to scream. You dig your nails into the mud, feel them split against the rocks, and kick at his chest hard enough to make him lose his breath.
His grip on you loosens and you throw yourself at the pile of leaves. Hands groping for something solid. Just as he flips you over you wrap your hand around the handle of the gun. You pull the trigger and the bang is deafening.
Your ears ring and your hands are trembling from the recoil. His jaw goes slack and he tumbles on top of you. You let out a grunt, breath pushed out of you by his weight. You scramble against his chest, something warm making your hands slip as you struggle to roll him off of you.
You glance over, waiting for him to spring back up. But there’s something dark pooling around him and sinking into the dirt below. There’s a hole in his chest and his eyes are already flattening. You fall back against the earth, staring up at the trees above you.
The sounds rush back to you all at once. The birds singing, deers prancing somewhere in the distance. You hear a stream rushing nearby and let out a stunned laugh. There’s a smile on your face but there’s nothing to be happy about.
You think you might be in shock. Mind still trying to catch up to what just happened. You glance down at the gun in your hand and toss it to the side, not wanting it near you anymore. Only a second later do you reach for it again.
You struggle onto your hands and knees, checking over yourself for any injuries that you might be numb to right now. The only blood on you is from the dead man on the ground. You keel over, hands on your knees, and suck in a deep gasping breath.
You stumble back, limping towards the carriage. You dig around in the back of the wagon, tugging out a giant hunting knife and walking towards the horses. You cut them loose, keeping the rope on one of them and tugging yourself onto her back. You tuck the knife in your belt and nudge her side, leading her forward gently.
You don't even have time to process the fact that you’re riding a horse on your own. Your body is moving on autopilot. You can only think about getting ahead, getting away. What just happened will hit you later. You slump against the neck of the horse, adrenaline leaking out of you and exhaustion catching up.
He’s going to find you and he’s going to kill you. Leaving while he had his back turned. Getting on some carriage with a man you’ve never met before. How dumb do you have to be? You can’t trust people out here. Not when there are gangs, raiders, hell, he’s encountered a few cannibals.
For all he knows, you’re already dead and he’ll be delivering a body to the train station. The thought makes him curse and urge Diablo forward. It’s not hard to follow the tracks of the carriage, what concerns him is when they lead into the forest instead of the town.
“Goddammit,” he mutters, “the hell have you done woman?” He leaps off Diablo, figuring it will be easier to track you on foot. He follows the paths of the wheels, finding the wagon abandoned and the horses cut loose.
His brows furrow in confusion as he wanders around the side and spots a lump in the leaves. All he can see is the bottom of a boot and blood splattered across the orange of the fallen leaves.
His stomach plummets and he races towards it. But it’s not you buried under the foliage, it’s the man who offered you a ride. “What the hell?” He kneels, brushing the leaves off his chest and frowning when he sees the blood splattered all along his chest.
He doesn’t need to look long to figure out what killed him. He’s sure the bullet buried in his heart did the job. Arthur curses and stalks away from the man. There are prints where the horses were but there are too many to tell which one you might have taken.
He’ll have to rely on instinct to find you. You’re becoming a real pain in the ass for what was supposed to be a simple job. Still, he can’t help but be a little relieved that it was a stranger and not you lying dead on the ground.
He turns back onto the road, taking the turn into town. Someone on horseback rides past him, they look disgusted by something up ahead and it makes alarms go off in his head. He urges Diablo forward, running the rest of the way into town.
An unsaddled mare lazily eats some grass as the sound of a rushing river meets his ears. Diablo’s hooves sound off against the wood of the bridge. He finally sees what disturbed the other rider so much.
You’re sitting on the railing of the bridge, legs dangling dangerously over the edge as you stare down into the crashing waters below you. Arthur gets off his horse, approaching you slowly. He doesn’t want to startle you and have you go tumbling over the edge.
He calls out your name and you glance briefly over at him. Blood is splattered across your neck and the front of your shirt is soaked with it. He knows it isn’t yours but it still puts him on edge. “What’re you doin’ kid?”
You don’t answer him, “Did you follow me?” He eases up beside you, straddling the railing so he can catch you if you slip. He nods and you let out a rough sigh. “Is he dead?”
He scoffs, “Sure as shit hope so, don’t know how someone would survive that.”
A manic laugh bursts through your lips and you double over your head falling into your hands. Arthur surges forward, steadying you before you dive headfirst into the river. “Alright, let’s go,” he quietly urges you around. You don’t put up a fight, letting him maneuver you how he likes.
He gets you on your feet and leads you back to Diablo. You latch onto the horse's reigns immediately, stroking your hand over his mane. Your silence is concerning. Arthur doesn’t know what your regular behavior is, the most he’s seen of you, you have been quiet. This is different, though. He’s seen this sort of quiet in women before and it never ends pretty.
“You’re alright, come on,” he tries to keep his voice low so he doesn’t set you off. He keeps his hands light as they land around your waist, giving you help onto Diablo’s saddle. Your gaze is distant and you move like someone else is controlling your body.
He collects the mare you’d brought along with you and leads both horses into town. He’ll have to get a saddle for her, she already seems attached to you. And maybe taking a horse with you into the city will let you escape a little.
The town, at least, is on the way to Strawberry so he doesn’t have to worry about being too far off schedule. Though, that’s the least of his concerns right now. His eyes keep darting up to you. Waiting for you to try and bolt again or finally break down. It doesn’t look like anything is going on in your head, you seem completely distanced from the situation.
It’s a good thing for him. He can’t handle a distraught woman. He’s not a kind enough man for it.
He hitches the horses in front of the hotel. You turn in the saddle, staring down at him and waiting for a hand down. You slide easily through his hands, landing in the mud with a dull thud and heading up the stairs of the hotel without prompt.
He huffs and follows after you. He doesn’t know how to explain the blood on your clothes away and hopes he won’t have to. The man running the place, thankfully, doesn’t have many questions. He looks disturbed but keeps his qualms to himself when Arthur slips him a little extra cash.
Arthur guides you up the stairs with a light hand on your back, opening the door of the bath for you. “Alright, here’s your room key. I’ll be out for a while so, just,” he sighs, taking in the blank look on your face and shaking his head. “Try not to cause any more trouble.” You nod and close the door behind him.
There’s no worries that you’re going to make a run for it again. He’s sure whatever happened in those woods was scarring enough to make you want to go back to the city and never see country folk again. He wouldn’t blame you, there are some nasty people out here. Himself included, but he could never imagine hurting a woman like that. It just ain’t right.
He heads to the shop across the street, buying some new clothes for you that actually fight properly. The horses are brought to the stables and he goes ahead and gets a paper for your mare under your name. Diablo will be faster tomorrow if he doesn’t have to carry the weight of two people. You might make it to your handler in time.
Arthur still doesn’t feel right about this whole thing. Leaving you with a man you’ve never met feels even worse knowing what happened to you today. He doesn’t think you being so calm about it all is a good thing. Shouldn’t women react?
Dutch likes to tell him women are a more sensitive breed. He’s seen some tough ones in his life, but this seems like the time to be in hysterics if there ever was one. He heads back to the hotel, planning on just leaving the change of clothes in your room.
He passes by the bath and hears an odd sound seeping through the cracks. Frowning, he presses his ear up against the door. A man passes by him, giving him a disgusted look as he goes into his room. Arthur sighs but he stays where he is.
It’s clearer now, you’re crying and it’s hard to listen to. It's the type that makes it hard to breathe. That sort of crying makes your ribs ache and bruise. It’s wrong to keep listening to such a vulnerable moment. So, he does what he planned, drops the clothes in your room, and then heads to bed himself.
Sleep comes easier than he thought it would. It’s not as restful as he’d been hoping but it draws over him faster than it normally does. He’s always been a light sleeper, though. It comes from years of having to be on guard in case some O’Driscoll is gonna try and slit his throat while he’s asleep.
When he hears the door creak his hand is already on the trigger of his revolver as he shoots up in bed. The glow of the lamps outside illuminates what’s clearly a woman’s form. But he can’t see your face until you take a step further into the room and the moonlight provides some light.
“Arthur?” You whisper his name, peering into his room. “Are you awake?”
“I am now,” he grumbles. With a sigh, he shoves the gun back under his pillow and runs a rough hand over his face. “What'd ya want?”
You let out a low breath and rock back on your heels. “I’m sorry,” you mutter. “I just, I can’t sleep. I keep thinking he’s gonna creep out of my closet or bust through the door, I-”
You cut yourself off but he can hear the emotion thickening your voice. He clenches his eyes shut in irritation, arguing with himself over what he’s about to say. “You wanna sleep in here?” He mumbles reluctantly.
You close the door immediately, practically running towards his bed. “You don’t mind?”
You’re not really giving him a choice, but he’s not going to say that to you. “No.” He grabs a pillow and blanket off the bed and rounds the end of the mattress. You frown as you watch him toss everything to the ground.
“Well, what’re you doing?”
“What’s it look like?” He snaps, angrily gesturing towards the floor. “I’m givin’ you the bed.”
You bite your lip and he feels horrible instantly because you look like you’re about to cry. He’s not trying to be rude but you woke him up in the dead of night. What’d you expect him to say?
“I was sort of hoping we could share the bed.”
His eyes widen and he glares at you in disbelief. “You mean-”
“No!” You cut him off with an aggrieved sigh. “You fool, that’s not what I mean at all. I just don’t want to be alone, alright?”
“Look,” he scoffs and shakes his head. “I don’t think I’m the man you want to bunk with for company, alright. I’m not that kind of guy.” You glare at him and snatch his pillow and blanket off the floor.
“Don’t be so damn stubborn.” You aggressively fluff the pillows, throwing the covers back and gesturing towards them, your brow set in anger.
“Right,” he huffs, “I’m stubborn.” He reluctantly crawls into bed and you follow behind him. It’s not that he minds sharing a bed with a pretty lady. He’s just not the sort of guy you should be coming to for comfort.
He doesn’t think he can provide whatever it is you need at this moment. But you seem to think otherwise as you inch towards him slowly. He lays on his back, arms under his head as he watches you out of the side of his eye. You think you’re being subtle, slowly moving into his side until you’re flush against him.
He doesn’t say anything to object and you don’t bring up the proximity. He doesn’t want to admit it but it is nice having someone else beside him. He’s so used to camping out on his own. He hasn’t had anyone beside him in a long while. He lost interest in women of leisure a long while ago. And ever since Mary, he’s given up on any sort of intimacy.
He hates to admit it, but he finds himself easing towards the warmth you provide. The second you feel him reciprocating you’re inching a tentative hand around his waist, cuddling closer to him. He recognizes it for what it is.
He’s always been looked at as someone who can protect, at least by the gang. He’s their muscle. To most others, he incites nothing but fear. It should be the same for you. But after what happened today, you just see someone who can keep the monsters in the dark away.
He doesn’t mind being used like this. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and waits until he feels you settle to ease into sleep again.
Arthur figures you should both get breakfast in town while you’re here. He reasons you should enjoy a hot meal before you’re on the road again. You don’t point out that you know he’s just trying to ease you into the day.
You appreciate it, honestly, but yesterday wasn’t your first run-in with men like that. It’s become incomprehensibly normal in day-to-day life, even for a city girl like yourself. You’d cried everything out in the bath once you’d scrubbed your skin raw.
You don’t think Arthur will ever understand just how much his presence helped you last night. If you’d been on your own, jumping every time you heard the wood creaking outside, you’d have driven yourself over the edge. He protected you, even if there was nothing to be protected from.
You don’t think he gives himself enough credit. Ignoring the situation you’re both in and what he’s taking you to do, he’s a good man. While the caliber of the men you’ve met is questionable at best, he’s one of the best ones you’ve ever known. At the end of the day, he disagrees with the whole situation, but he’s doing this for his family. That’s admirable in its own way.
But, god, does he have poor conversational skills. “So, yesterday.” You glance up from your toast, brows raised in question. He clears his throat, eyes darting between you and his food like he can’t choose what to focus on. “That man, did he…”
He trails off and you feel your hackles rise. “Don’t worry,” you hiss, a bite to your words, “I’m still pure for my husband. Your pay won’t be docked, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
His hand clenches around his fork and his eyes bore into yours, “That’s not what I meant,” he growls. “I wasn’t worried about that,” he snaps, “I was worried ‘bout you, woman.”
You take in a deep breath, actively biting your tongue from saying something spiteful. He wasn’t being rude, that’s just what you’re used to. “I’m sorry,” you concede lowly. “Nothing happened,” you repeat without the attitude.
“Well,” he huffs and goes back to his breakfast, “good,” he settles on dully.
“Good,” you agree quietly, pushing the rest of your food around. You find your appetite dulled and you push the plate away. You lean back in the booth and stare out the window. The horses seem to be getting on well enough. “Did you name her?”
Arthur gives you an odd look and you nod towards the mare hitched next to Diablo. He swallows the food he’d been chewing and takes a swig of his coffee. “No, figured you’d want to do it.”
Your brows furrow and your lips quirk in confusion. “Why?”
“She’s yours, ain’t she?” He grouses.
You shake your head, “Nope,” you tell him, popping the p. “I just took her so I’d have something to get me to town.”
“Yeah, well,” he sounds less sure of himself and he’s looking like he made a mistake. “I thought she’d be nice for you to have with you in the city. A way for you to get around without relyin’ on someone else.”
You can’t help but smile, something in your chest easing away at the kind gesture. “I appreciate it,” he lights up a little at your approval, but you crush it in an instant. “But I can’t keep her, I won’t be allowed to. I’ve tried to have my own horse before, hard to control something that can get away from you,” you tell him blankly. There’s no emotion in your voice because it’s something you’re used to.
He looks slightly horrified at how blunt you are. He can’t comprehend not having that freedom but he fails to recognize that he’s got a leash of his own. You doubt a man like Dutch would ever let his main asset just run off to wherever he wants to.
A few people walk into the saloon, the women giving you odd looks when they see the pants on your legs. You smile cheekily at them, reveling in what you know will be a short-lived experience. You’ve never been on the receiving end of a judgmental look like that.
You’ve always blended in. Been the perfect wallflower for the men in your life. You were never something to gawk at or cause trouble. It’s a relief to stick out for once, to break the mould for the first time in your life.
Arthur clocks the interaction and chuckles. “Missin’ the skirts yet?”
“Not one damn bit,” you tell him, smiling as you take a sip of your coffee. “I’m going to miss being able to run around without having to lug an extra four pounds of fabric behind me.”
“Ya know, you could just wear some pants, you’ve got a choice.”
You grin patronizingly at him, propping your head on your chin and watching him finish the rest of his breakfast. “You don’t know city men very well, do you?”
“Glad for it,” he grumbles, distaste clear in his tone.
A laugh breaks through your chest, the first real one in a while. “I’m going to be marrying one, Arthur. I won’t have a choice in much of anything anymore.” You can tell he wants to object, tell you there’s always a choice.
He’ll never truly understand what’s going to happen to you, though. You’re no longer human once you’re married. You’re cattle and property, meant to be bred and shown off. You accepted your fate a long while ago. And after you’re failed escape attempt, you’ve realized this is what you were always meant to be. There’s no point in fighting fate.
“Don’t apologize or argue,” you tell him, no spite or bitterness in your tone, just the honest truth. “I don’t mind anymore, really. What place is there for me in this world, anyway? I can’t exactly take care of myself.”
“You did a damn good job yesterday,” he snaps back quickly. He doesn’t seem too keen on the way you’re talking about yourself. But you’re not lying. Yesterday was a wake-up call. If you let yourself get screwed over by a hillbilly that quickly then how were you ever going to make it on your own? In your defense, you were raised to be dependent, you never had a chance.
“Sure, but that was a one-off incident. I’m not going to run again, Arthur. There’s no point. And there’s no point in fighting against the way things are, they’re never going to change for me.” You take in a deep breath, the easy mood ruined by your sincerity.
“I’m just gonna wait by the horses.”
You slide out of the booth, leaving Arthur to stare pensively at his plate. You’ve nearly slipped through the door when Arthur calls out, “You should name her.” You pause at the doorway, glancing back at him. He’s settling the bill at the front and you walk back out to the horses.
The mare picks her head up as you walk towards her, ears perked and tail flicking. “Hey, girl,” you run a hand over her muzzle, admiring the sleek silver of her coat. “I guess I should name you.”
You run a hand over her mane and swing yourself onto the saddle. “How ‘bout Bullet, it’s how I got you, anyway.” A dark joke, but it eases the macabre feeling hanging around you.
Arthur walks out of the saloon, tucking his money away into his bag. He lifts himself onto Diablo, glancing over at you with a knowing glint.
“Name her?”
You resent how smug he sounds. “Bullet,” you answer reluctantly.
“Bullet?” He questions, tone incredulous.
You grin at him, “It’s how I got her.” There’s a slightly stunned expression on his face before it slacks away into something more amused.
He shakes his head and nudges Diablo forward, Bullet follows alongside him eagerly. “Clever,” he mutters.
“Not really,” you snort, running a hand over her neck lovingly. “But I think it works for her.”
“Your husband’s gonna have his hands full with you,” you know he means it in jest. The lightness of the conversation turns into something heavier. Realization sinks over both of you and the smiles slowly drop away. “I-”
“How much further to Strawberry, anyway?” You effectively cut off whatever train of thought he was going to follow, distracting you both from the truth.
“Half a day,” he tells you, frowning when you refuse to meet his eye again. Half a day. That’s all you’ve got to enjoy the last bits of freedom you have. You’re gonna take your damn time getting there, that’s for sure.
You slow down from the steady trot Arthur had led the horses into, easing Bullet into a slow walk. You’re slowly getting the hang of riding a horse. It’s easy when she’s so intuitive. By god, though, your ass is sore.
Arthur shoots you a questioning glance at the slow pace and you shrug. “Might as well take the time I’ve got left.”
“You’re actin’ like you’re on death row,” he chuckles.
“Aren’t I?” He falls silent and you don’t know what’s bothering him but you don’t have the energy to inquire.
He’s slowing you down on purpose, he knows it and you know it. Neither of you says a damn thing about it but it’s bugging him. He shouldn’t be this bothered by a job. He knows how to separate himself from what he does. He just can’t this time.
There’s something about you that glows. You’re sitting beside him on the peak of a hill, overlooking the roads below you, and laughing as you make up stories for the people that pass by. It’s a far cry from the beaten-down woman he’d seen at Crane’s house.
Even after what happened yesterday, you somehow manage to seem happier. There’s nothing about it that makes him happy. This feels like the last goodbye of someone who knows they’re going soon. The last bout of happiness before they just give in.
You’re not gaining your spark back, you’re just giving in to what you think is inevitable. But it doesn’t have to be inevitable. You could fight back you just refuse to. He’s sure growing up the way you have, you don’t think it's possible to stand up for yourself.
But you don’t have to give in like this. You don’t have to roll over and let someone else dictate your life. Which is rich, coming from him. He’s practically Dutch’s lap dog now. Even when he disagrees he still follows along behind him.
He shouldn’t even be thinking like this. He can’t criticize you for not standing up for yourself when he’s the one thing standing between you and freedom. “Not hungry?” You nod towards the uneaten meat on his knife.
He shakes his head, plucking it off the blade and passing it to you. You give him an odd look before popping it in your mouth. “Ya know,” you mutter around a full mouth. You take a moment to swallow it down before smiling over at him. “I’ve grown up with private chefs my whole life, but there’s is something infinitely more satisfying about this.”
He takes his hat off, running a hand through his hair. He snorts at your comment, “I find that hard to believe.”
“No,” you shake your head, insistent, “I mean it. Being out here, hunting the game myself, I don’t know, it’s nice.” You shrug and lean back on your hands, gazing across the way at the trees and river.
“You can always get a bow and go hunting.” He speaks to you like it's a cut-and-dry truth that you’re just not accepting. Your face screws up and you give him an annoyed glare.
“No. I can’t,” you tell him again. Where your words were patient before, he can tell you’re growing irritated at how much he’s pushing this.
“Yes, you can,” he snaps. “You don’t have to keep yourself boxed up in some manor in the city. Get out, woman, do something with your life!” His voice echoes through the air and you flinch back from it, lips pulling down into a sneer.
“You know, that’s really easy for you to say, Arthur. You have a goddamn choice. Sure, I grew up with a silver spoon in my mouth, little miss rich girl crying about being pampered.”
He lets out a rough sigh, “That’s not what I meant-”
You cut him off, getting to your feet and glaring down at him. “You got to grow up with a choice. What to do with your body, your life, your career. You get to have an education if you want it. Every goddamn door is open to you. You don’t get hated for not wanting to have a family. You get to choose. And as much as you insist I can too, you will never understand the position I am in.”
You kick dirt over the fire and head back towards Bullet. “It’s a double-edged sword, Arthur. Sure, my life might be comfortable, but it’s never really gonna be my life.” He stays there on the ground, too stunned to get up.
You glare down at him, impatiently waiting for him to get a move on. This isn’t how he wants things to end. He doesn’t want you to go off thinking he’s just some ignorant fool. But he is, much as he denies it, he’s always been a fool.
He should never have thought he could make a difference in your life. Not when he’s the one backing you into this corner. He could have helped you escape the very first night he saw you. But he was too selfish to let you go, now you’re both paying for it.
He mounts Diablo and you both head back to the roads silently. You’re moving faster now, leaving him behind if he lingers in one area for too long. You’re too pissed off to enjoy the rest of your day and he hates that he ruined it for you. You, at the very least, deserved a slower journey towards your future.
You’re in Strawberry before he’s ready, he’s sure you aren’t. “Hey, we could-”
“I think that’s him.” You cut him off before he says something stupid like spend another night in town before you go. He’ll miss you, he thinks. Odd, he’s known you such a short time but it’s been so different having someone beside him as he rides. It was nice, what he wished he and Mary could have had.
Arthur follows your gaze and lets out a tired sigh. Sure enough, some prim and proper ass is standing in front of the ticket station, foot tapping impatiently. He’s got a large bag beside him, gaze wandering around expectantly. He doesn’t doubt the man who looks like he’s got a five-foot stick up his ass is Mr. Crane’s associate. He’s got the same slimy glint.
You slide off Bullet and Arthur follows suit, taking the reigns of both horses and leading them towards the platform. The man’s eyes narrow in on you before lighting up. He calls out your name and it’s like a mask being dropped over your face.
The spark is gone once more, a subdued and demure smile resting on your face as you wave at him. “I apologize for my dress,” you tell him as you walk up the steps. “Pants were more conducive to such a long ride.”
He takes your hand, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles that makes Arthur roll his eyes. “No apologies necessary, I brought you a change of clothes. I figured you would be less than put together after such a journey. I’m only sorry I couldn’t accompany you.”
You scoff and nod along, “Okay,” you mutter, not believing a word of his bullshit. You take the bag from him and move towards the saloon to find a room to change in. They both watch you leave, though the other man with a much more devious glint in his eye.
Arthur’s hands tighten on the reigns of the horses, anything to keep him from reaching for his revolver. He’s already getting a bad feeling about this. There’s nothing trustworthy about the man in front of him.
“Mr. Finch,” he holds out his hand and Arthur gives it a distrusting look before reluctantly shaking. Finch attempts to squeeze the life out of his hand but Arthur can barely feel it. He tightens his own grip and revels in the way Finch’s face blanches.
“Arthur Morgan.”
Mr. Finch looks him up and down in the same way Crane had. He sees a commodity, not a person. “I trust,” he drawls, “nothing unsavory happened.”
Arthur feels rage bubbling in his gut. The only damn thing he cares about is whether or not you’re “pure.” Not if you were okay or injured during the journey. If he told him that he’d punched you out for talking back Finch would just ask if you were bruised.
“She’s fine,” Arthur grits out.
“Oh, good, good. Glad everything went smoothly.” Finch has a way of talking he’s found most self-important men do. He draws everything he says out, and forces you to listen to him speak. Makes you pay attention so he can pretend he has power for a moment.
His gaze darts behind Arthur and he turns just in time to see you slipping out of the saloon. The dress Finch has provided you is ridiculously large. It poofs out at the waist in a way that makes Arthur wonder how you’re going to fit into your seat.
You look beyond uncomfortable. Grimacing as you join them again. You try and plaster a smile on but it’s a struggle. You look to Arthur, a finality on your face that makes him want to throw you over his shoulder and run. He’s doing this for the others, he reminds himself. They’ll be on a boat to Tahiti in a week.
“Thank you, Mr. Morgan, for everything.” The smile you leave him with is real, if just barely. Something lurks under your words that Mr. Finch will never understand and Arthur knows it will drive him crazy.
“Let’s go,” Finch grabs your hand, looping it through his arm and tugging you towards the doors of the station.
“Wait!” Arthur calls out, feeling foolish when you both look back at him with perplexed expressions. “You’ll be wanting Bullet, won’t you?”
Mr. Finch answers for you with a condescending tone, “She won’t be needing a horse, thank you.” You give him a knowing smile, turning away and slipping through the doors of the station and onto the train.
Arthur stays rooted where he is, something crawling up in his chest and rooting around restlessly. The whistle blows and the wheels start cranking slowly forward. Arthur just barely catches a glimpse of you through a window as the train chugs past.
“Shit!” He hisses. He tugs himself up onto Diablo’s saddle and urges him after the train. He was born a fool, he’s always going to be a damn fool. But he’d have to be a complete moron to just let you go.
Mr. Finch keeps a painfully tight grip on your elbow, jerking you through the passenger cars and practically throwing you into your seat. You land with a thud, your arm bouncing against the window painfully. You keep a stoic expression, trying not to let him break you so soon.
He takes a seat beside you, straightening out his jacket and tugging on his tie. Something white flashes in his jacket pocket and you lean forward, perplexed when you realize what it is. “What is that?” You question, not quite believing your eyes. Finch glances down at the thick wad of cash in his jacket and grins.
“Oh, this? Mr. Morgan must have forgotten to collect the rest of his payment.” He sends you a condescending smile and you flinch away in disgust. “He was too enamored with my fiancee to pay much attention, I’m afraid.”
“That’s his money,” you snap, the volume of your voice catching the attention of a few other passengers. Finch sends them apologetic smiles, making you seem like a mad woman. “He earned that!” You object, eyeing the money warily.
His hand snakes out, gripping you tightly around the arm and dragging you towards him until your noses are nearly touching. You nearly gag at the smell of his cigar-infused breath. It’s not like when Arthur would smoke one, you didn’t mind that. But this was making you sick to your stomach.
“Let's get a few things clear, I will not be dealing with an obstinate wife. You can either get yourself in order or I’ll do it for you.”
Your lips pull back in disgust and you jerk yourself out of his grip. He’s not as strong as he pretends to be and you’re not going to be scared into submission again. “I’m not your wife yet. My father still has time to pay.”
He laughs at you, spittle flying from your lips and sprinkling across your cheeks. “He has time to pay, but that doesn’t mean he’ll be getting you back, sweetheart.” Your eyes widen with the realization and you want to throw yourself off the side of the train.
You never had any chance to get out of this situation. Mr. Crane was always in control of it all. To even think of having a hope of getting back home was foolish. To believe for a second that you were going to escape this had been utter idiocy.
He sees the crestfallen expression and sinks into his seat with a satisfactory look on his face. He thinks you to be subdued. But now you’re nothing more than a cornered animal with no other choice of escape. You’ve got nothing left for you, nothing to hold onto.
As much as you’d thought you’d bonded with Arthur, you were still nothing more than a job to him. You were nothing more than a commodity to be traded between men. You would never have a say over your life.
You have nothing, you doubt you ever actually had anything left for you. You glance over at the man beside you and feel a cool dread blanket itself over you. Nothing left to lose.
There’s a solid weight tucked into the bodice of your dress. Its cool metal has been warmed by your skin. Its handle curves around your ribs and it only has one bullet left. You reach down the front of your dress, fingers curling around the revolver you’d stolen from a dead man.
Finch glowers at your inappropriate behavior “What are-” You pull the gun out, turning it on him. He jumps back in shock and throws his hands in the air on instinct. “Please-” you revel in his pathetic pleading only for a moment. Pulling the trigger a second time is surprisingly easy. The screams that ring out through the train car are less enjoyable. “Shit!” He cusses, hands coming up to try and staunch the flow of blood pouring from his stomach.
You slip your hand into his blazer, stealing the money before he can object. You run out of the passenger car, leaping to the flat car with all the cargo. It will take a few minutes for them to catch onto what happened and figure out where you went.
You don’t know what you’re going to do now. You’re stuck on a moving train, there’s nowhere for you to hide. You hadn’t thought when you’d shot him, you just wanted that smug look on his face to disappear.
“Where is she?” You hear the guards shouting out your name, flipping over crates to find you. They’re still at the front of the train, but you don’t have long until they start moving back here.
God, what have you done?
You just know, if you made it to that train station, you were never going to make it out. His men would be waiting there to transport you. You’d be watched every second of your life, you can’t do it again. You can’t be locked in a gilded cage, that’s not a life worth living.
There’s no escape for you. Nowhere left to run, nowhere to hide. You glance over the left side of the train. There’s a slight dip into a deep ravine. The crashing water looks almost peaceful from up here.
You don’t know if it would be a quick death but you know it would be merciful compared to what’s waiting for you at your last stop. You keep your eyes on the water, see yourself taking control of your life for the first time, and take a step up on the rail.
Someone shouts your name from the right side of the train and you gasp, arms circling wildly as you almost go toppling over the edge. They shout your name again, panic laced in the tone. This doesn’t sound like Finch or any of the other guards. You whip around and find Arthur riding his horse beside the train.
“What the hell are you doing, woman?”
Your brows furrow in confusion and your eyes dart between him and the ravine. “Jumping! What the hell are you doing?”
His gaze narrows and he shouts to be heard over the rumble of the train tracks. “Stopping you from being a goddamn fool. Get over here!” You hear the guards getting closer as they storm down the rest of the train.
You don’t have long to make a decision, you can already see his horse struggling to keep up with the speed of the train. There’s a bridge coming up in a moment, he won’t be able to go any further and they won’t be able to come after you.
It’s a split-second decision, one that has you pushing off the railing of the car and rushing towards him. You don’t have time to doubt yourself or plan this out further, you take a running leap off the train, towards his outstretched arms.
He barely catches you in time, jerking on the reigns of the horse and bringing him to a sudden stop before all three of you go tumbling into the water. Shots fire off on the train, but they’re gone before they can do any real damage.
Your chest heaves as you dangle from his arms, fingers digging into his shirt desperately. Your heart is pounding so hard against your chest that you almost can’t hear what he’s saying, but you get the gist of it.
“The hell were you thinking? Trying to jump off the damn train! You’re a fool, woman.” He tugs you onto the saddle the rest of the way. As much as he tries to sound angry you can feel his relief in the way he squeezes you close to him.
“Thank you,” you whisper, head sinking into his neck and breathing in the familiar scent.
He sighs, struggling between yelling at you more and just enjoying the fact that he got to you before you did something neither of you could recover from. “You’re welcome, just,” he pauses, holding you a little closer, “don’t be so damn stupid again.”
You laugh and it’s a little wet as tears start to pool in your eyes. “I’m not planning on it.” You sit up, easing away from him and glancing over your shoulder. You watch as the train grows smaller until you can only see a plume of smoke and nothing more. “What the hell are we going to do?”
He sighs and turns the horse around. You maneuver yourself around, facing forward and pushing back against him. “I don’t know. Dutch ain’t gonna be happy about you comin’ back with me.”
You bite your lip, a hundred different possibilities swirling through your head. You’ve never been able to make a choice before, faced with it, you’re overwhelmed with options. You can’t pick one so you blurt out the first coherent thought you have.
“What if we don’t go back?”
Arthur stills behind you, “What?” His tone is low and filled with something you know means he’s ready to say no.
“Just for a little while,” you rush the words out quickly, trying to fight for a chance to get him to listen. “We can send this to the camp,” you tug out the wad of cash you’d stolen from Finch and Arthur barks out a laugh. You feel his chest tremble behind you and it makes you grin.
“Did you steal his money?”
“Your money, technically,” you correct, grinning over your shoulder at him. “Besides, he doesn’t need it anymore.” He gives you a concerned look but you just wave him off. “We can send the camp some money and go off on our own for a while.”
“I don’t know, kid.”
“Don’t call me that,” you interrupt, glaring at him. “It’ll only be for a little while, Arthur. Come on, I’m free for the first time in my life, enjoy it with me.”
He looks uncertain and you know it’s an odd notion to him, putting himself first instead of the camp or Dutch. You’re sure he’s never done it before. Breaking away from them instead of going about like the loyal soldier he is.
“Just a little while?”
You nod, turning just enough to tuck the money in his pocket. “Just a little while,” you swear.
“John Marston!” You frown, turning away from the oven and glancing out the window. Arthur’s grinning by the gates of the horse pen, leaping over the wood, and walking out to greet someone. You abandon the stew, heading towards the door of your home.
Outside are two horses, one with a woman and her son, and an abandoned one. The owner is currently bringing Arthur into a brief embrace, John, you presume. Arthur’s told you about him a bit. They weren’t always close but it was getting better before Arthur went away.
Sometimes you feel bad, having dragged him away from everything he was familiar with. You meant it when you said you only wanted to be gone for a little while. You knew if you went back immediately there would be hell to pay with Dutch and you’d both be put to work.
You’d be going from one owner to another. All you’d wanted was a few weeks on the road on your own. But a few weeks turned into six months and then a year, and it was Arthur telling you he couldn’t go back. He couldn’t stand what the gang was turning into. What Dutch was turning into. All you’d given him was an excuse to finally get out before it all blew up.
You walk down the steps of the home Arthur built, wiping your hands off on your apron. You give a brief wave to the woman you assume is Abigail. She waves back, slipping off the horse and helping Jack down.
Arthur pulls away from John, turning towards you and motioning you forward. John gives you an apprehensive look. “Do I know you?”
Arthur gives him your name, throwing an arm over your shoulder and pulling you in closer. “That job Dutch got from Crane.” John’s face lights up with recognition and he smirks.
“I see,” he shakes his head and gives Arthur a knowing look. “It’s always a woman with you, isn’t it?” You snort at how aggrieved Arthur looks. “Well,” John turns towards you and smiles, “nice to finally meet the woman that got him under control.”
“Nice to meet you too,” you smile lightly at him, pulling away from Arthur. “Are you going to be joining us for dinner?”
“No, he’s not,” Arthur answers at the same time John says, “I would love to.”
Arthur and John share a look you can’t understand. You glance past John and wave Abigail forward, “Come in, please. I’d enjoy the company.”
“Forgive my obstinate husband, he tends to linger where he ain’t wanted.” She brushes past him and you lead her inside your home. Leaving Arthur and John to bicker outside. Jack stays outside, smiling up at Arthur. You know he’s missed the boy, you’re sure he’s okay entertaining them for one night.
Abigail helps you set the table while Arthur and John catch up over a bottle of whiskey. Arthur tried to pull out a cigar but you’d shut that down quick. He’d had a cough a little while ago and the doctor advised cutting down on tobacco if he wanted it to go away. You know it’s hard but you’re cracking down on how much he smokes.
“We got the money you sent,” John’s telling Arthur as they come over to join you all at the table. Jack eagerly hops into the seat beside Arthur before you can snag it and you grin. “Dutch blew it all and wouldn’t tell us on what. He kept saying we still needed another score.”
John shakes his head and the distant look in his eyes makes your stomach churn. “You’re a lucky bastard you got out when you did, Arthur, truly.”
“Hosea?” Arthur questions and you grimace at the look on John’s face. You can see Arthur deflate as John shakes his head.
“There was a bank robbery, Molly told the Pinkertons we were going to be there, he didn’t make it.”
Arthur’s hand clenches around the fork and you wish you could say something that would make him realize it’s not his fault. “I should have been there,” he mutters.
“Wouldn’t have done anything, man. Hosea had given up in the end. We all had. It was so damn divided, the family was gone.”
“Still.” Arthur insists, glaring down at his plate like it had offended him.
“No,” to your surprise it’s Abigail that snaps. “Dutch was gone and that bastard Micah just kept pushing him over the edge. The only thing you would have done is get yourself killed. You’re damn lucky Arthur Morgan.”
You’re sure he’ll still blame himself later. Reason a hundred times over that had he been there something would have been different. Even if it was him on the other end of the gun he’d be happier knowing someone else hadn’t died when it could have been him. You couldn’t stand that these self-sacrificing ideals Dutch had drilled into him were still present.
But you know Abigail and John help ease the guilt slightly. It’s on Arthur to let it go entirely, though you doubt that will happen anytime soon. John picks up on the change in mood, he’s reluctant to let the night sour so soon.
He turns towards you with a look that makes you feel like you need to prepare for trouble. “So you did all that to escape getting married. And then you marry this moron?” He motions towards Arthur and you can’t help but laugh.
“John!” Abigail snaps but he only smiles at her. You can see the way she fights the twitch of her lips and it makes you smile in turn.
You correct him, “We’re not technically married-”
“Might as well be,” Arthur argues, glaring at John. You reach across the table, taking his hand in yours and gently squeezing. You can’t help but laugh at him.
“Yeah, we might as well be,” you agree. “But it was never about not wanting to be a wife. I just wanted to have a damn choice. That’s what I got out here. I can hunt or cook. Sew or go out and make some money. And it’s a lot nicer being a wife out in the country than it is in the city, I’ll tell you that much.”
“Here’s hoping,” Abigail mutters. She glances towards Arthur, “That’s why we’re out here. We got word from a few people that you might be lurking around here. John’s thinking of getting a house, really settling down.”
Arthur sighs, leaning back in his chair and glaring at John. “That’s why you’re here? You want a handout,” he accuses.
“No!” John snaps. “Dammit, Arthur, why you always gotta assume the worst of me?”
“Because it’s usually true,” Arthur mutters. “If that’s not what you want then what is it?”
John purses his lips and lets out a spluttering breath. “A loan,” he lands on, struggling to find the right word.
Arthur barks out a laugh, slapping his hand on the table and poking a knowing finger into John’s chest. “I knew it!”
John swats his hand away and glares. “Look, Morgan, I only need a little. Just to buy some animals, get started on the house.”
“What’d ya want Marston, my whole damn house?”
Abigail lands a gentle hand on your arm and nods to the porch. “They’ll be at it for a while.” You nod and leave the table, following her to the swing out back. She settles down on it with a sigh, gazing out at the trees that line your home.
“You’ve got a nice life out here.”
You smile fondly, “I like to think so. We’re thinking about getting a few cows, maybe starting a proper ranch.”
Her face lights up at the idea and she laughs. “That’s what John wants. It’s unbelievable how similar they are, they’re too thick-headed to see it.”
You can still vaguely hear them bickering inside the house. You peer inside and see Jack sitting at the table, watching them both with an entranced expression. You can’t help but grin at the look on Arthur’s face. He’s laying into John but he looks happier than you’ve seen him in a while.
You know he’s missing everybody, has been for a long time. Maybe if Abigail and John are close by he’ll have that sense of familiarity again. “The others,” you start, turning back to Abigail. “Charles and Sadie, what happened to everyone else?”
“A few of them are living good lives, some of them aren’t. Most of them are drifting, not ready to give up the outlaw life just yet.”
“It’s hard to watch the world change while you’re still stuck in the same spot.” You brush some hair out of your eyes and smile at Abigail. “Me and Arthur are gonna help you and John. But I’d like it if you were both close by. It would be nice to have someone familiar near us, we’re pretty lonely up here.”
She gives you a brief smile back, “I think that would be nice.”
John’s voice picks up from inside and you jump, “Oh that’s a load of bull-”
Abigail’s smile drops and she leans over your shoulder to shout, “Watch it!” at John. You laugh when you see the perturbed look on his face. She motions towards his son and Arthur gives John a smug look.
“You gonna help him?” You ask Arthur as you settle into bed later. He opens his arms, pulling you into his embrace once you’re settled under the covers.
“John?” You nod, brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes. “Yeah, ‘course I’m gonna help him. But there’s nothing wrong with jerking him around a little bit first.”
You roll your eyes and shake your head, tucking yourself under his chin. You almost think he’s asleep but then he’s speaking up again. “We should really do it.”
You pull back, brows furrowed in confusion. “Do what?”
There’s a certain look in his eyes that causes something to swirl in your stomach. It’s not an unpleasant feeling, just an excited one, “Get married.”
You give him a bewildered look, shaking your head in disbelief. Nearly five years you’ve both been living out here and he’s never once mentioned getting married. You never thought you two actually needed it. You always knew what you were to each other, how much you meant to one another.
You were each other’s salvation. There’s no telling what graves you would be laying in were it not for Dutch bringing you both together. You hadn’t thought he wanted to be married, he always told you he’d given those dreams up. “You really mean that?”
He shrugs like it’s the easiest decision in the world. “Might as well, right?”
You shake your head, but there’s no fighting the way your lips curl up. “You’re a fool, Arthur Morgan.”
He nods, dipping his head down to press a gentle kiss on your temple. He treats you so gently, it makes you want to cry. But then he goes and says something ridiculous like, “Yeah, a fool for you,” and he makes you laugh.
You tug him down, lips nearly touching his. “Yes,” you whisper, “I’ll marry you.” You were always scared of living a life like this. Being tied to one man for the rest of your time on earth. But he’s not some city man looking to make you into a pet. He lets you live, breathe, and be free. He’s a partner not a warden and that’s all you’ve ever wanted.
end. — I do not own the characters or the game Red Dead Redemption 1/2, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.
soda pop's "i need you to fill me up" is so real. i need them them to fill me up too-
It was a headache at first. And then the itching—oh the itching! She clawed at her head relentlessly, to no avail. Something other than relief sprouted beneath her fingertips.
But her pain was soothed instead of scorned, her horns met with kindness instead of a knife.
Guys i finally got the Leon keychain i was trying so hard to get him!
♡ It's The Most Wonderful Time-out! ♡
A/N: is this late? 100% but it's time for some CHRISTMAS HYBRID TIMEEEEE!!! A HUGE thank you for the patience from my amazing sunshine anon for this commission <3 Personally I think the title is hilarious, do- do you get it- the most wonderful time of the year- plz laugh-
Warnings/content: 2nd person (you/yours), fem pup hybrid reader, puppy's first Christmas! Grumpy ol' man Vendetta Leon, Leon is referred to as daddy! Reader in time-out, visiting the hybrid park, angst and fluff, mentions and descriptions of gore, all gets resolved in the end!
Word count: 7,430 approx.
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December 23rd
Time out. Oof, those words. They were enough to take the swing right out of your tail.
This definitely wasn’t your fault. On the scale of 1-10 you’re like, a -5 when it comes to being in trouble. Totally. It wasn’t your fault it had rained, or your fault you wanted to jump in the the new layer of snow and got all wet and muddy, the only part that might have potentially, potentially been on you was tracking said mud and sleet through the living room. The living room rug to be exact. The rather expensive, difficult to clean because daddy sometimes ‘truly can’t be fu- bothered’ rug. That was the one rule; he could deal with mess on the floorboards, the tiles, but not the carpet. The stains were just too hard to get out.
Leon could handle dirt and grime absolutely, he’d take it over guts and gore any day of the week, public holidays and Christmas included. But coming home from work after a long day, hands stinking of gunpowder and grease, only to find muddy streaks and pawprints all over the rug was his last straw. The coffee machine in the office had been broken, his magazine clip had taken three different attempts to click into place despite the million times he’d done it before, and the armoury’s practice range had been down for maintenance. This was just the gasoline flavoured icing on his flambe flaming shit excuse for cake.
Woosh. Fire.
So, there you were. Plopped back into your pen, favourite squeaky toy just out of reach sat beside Leon’s chair as he scrolled through whatever’s on his phone. Teddy was right there, all worn out fluff and stringy neck ribbon, you were being taunted! This was torture, punishment of
the worst degree. The only thing that would make it even more awful was going to bed without a kiss goodnight. But even Leon wasn’t that cruel.
Don’t get it twisted, he was feeling guilty about this too. The face you made when he walked through the door told him plenty. Big, round eyes, head bowed and tail anxiously thumping. You knew you’d gotten carried away. But you also knew better. And it’d been so long since he actually disciplined you. This was long overdue, half chewed toys left sopping wet in the bath after tub time, weeks of chased squirrels and rabbits, staying up way past your set bedtime. This was what really sealed the deal though. So, you do the time, you do the crime.
Even now he could feel your eyes boring into the back of his head, like two teary, glossy lasers set to melt his old hardened heart. Every half-hearted thump of your fluffy tail, every scuttle of your nails against the floorboards as you got comfortable, every tiny whimper you seemed hesitant to let out. Not to mention your poor attempts at being ‘completely and totally cool’ with your timeout since he often caught you staring up at him through the bars, eyes following each swipe of his fingers over his phone screen. And when he craned his neck to check on you, you were swiftly looking in the opposite direction, swearing you weren’t just tracking each of his movements. How couldn’t you though? You were obsessed with your owner, Leon was your daddy at the end of the day no matter how many play pens or crates he had to put you in so you’d behave.
His poor princess. You were killing him, really. He’d survived well over 15 years of bioterrorism just to die at the hands of his pup-hybrid’s big wet pathetic gaze. Could flood a village with the amount of tears you shed a week, but he loves you and that tender heart of yours.
The real question was how much longer could either of you take? Leon knew it was a ‘you do the crime, you do the time’ type of deal, but was this truly teaching you anything other than how to master your pouty bottom lip? You’re his favourite fluffball, fuzzed up and huffy, chuffing and rolling over onto your back like you’re ready to play dead if it gets you out.
And honestly? He was caving. He was only a man after all.
You’d softened him, even if he didn’t want to admit it. Three years ago he’d have scoffed at the thought of even owning a hybrid, let alone being this attached. But now you were glued to his side. Now he just felt like an old man, worn and tired, your sunshiney attitude and warmth had thawed through him like no heater had. He’d been frostbitten before meeting you, whether he’d known it or not.
He couldn’t bear it. Yeah, time was up.
So his heavy footsteps muffled through socks padded across the floorboards to you, although you tried to act like you didn’t care (and failed miserably). It was pretty obvious how much this mattered to you, because your tail was whipping something fierce, so hard it had your hips wiggling.
“C’mon, darlin’. Think you’ve learnt your lesson.”
Those big eyes pierced his very being and soul as you gazed up at him from behind your lashes, ears all floppy and face streaked with past tear tracks. God, you’d been crying over this too? Might as well just rip his heart from his chest and stomp on it.
Even as he turned around and sat back down on the couch, looking over to you expectantly, you seemed to hesitate at first. Glancing at the spot where the rug had once sat in the centre of the living room, right in front of the coffee table, with guilty furrowed brows. Then it was back to looking at Leon, back to melting him with those heartbreaking watery eyes.
“Oh, my sweet puppy.” He couldn’t help but croon as you made guilty little steps over to him, every tap of your feet filled with shame, tail swaying with embarrassment. You were a walking heap of emotions, and he was ready to scoop you up and put you back together. “Here she comes, there we go. Tough day for our girl.”
You’d missed it, oh how you’d missed it. At your heart you truly were just a puppy, in need of the loving praise and sweet words that only he could provide. You weren’t the mushiest pup in the litter, but there was nothing like a good hug from your daddy. That much was clear from the way you melted into Leon’s body as soon as you were sat in his lap, your tail thumping delightfully against his knees while you burrowed into him. Paws kneading his shirt so you nestled into him just right.
“I know it was rough, honey. M’ sorry. But sometimes daddy has to discipline you, y’know?” the thick pad of his thumb encased your chin just enough to tilt your gaze upwards, his hand sliding over the curve of your face so he could wipe your tears away. “And it hurt, didn’t it?” “Yeah..” “So next time you think about stepping on the rug with muddy feet, you’ll remember how much we both hated this, and you won’t do it, isn’t that right?” “,,Yeah.”
“That’s right, baby. My poor girl.” That last statement came out as a small sigh, rubbing the soft fuzz of your floppy ears tenderly between his fingers. Even now as he gave you a talking down your tail never stopped thumping against his leg.
No matter what, you loved him. That must’ve been why they called it puppy love. And it made his heart ache something fierce. You were too good.
Leon felt like the worst daddy in the world sometimes, he wasn’t gonna even try to lie about that. Sometimes he scratched behind your ears too hard, or you didn’t understand one of his jokes and ended up getting pouty and upset, sometimes he didn’t throw the ball right or pick out the right snacks. But all of that was nothing compared to the biggest issue.
His intoxicated escapades were at the very top of that list.
Raids of the fridge and mumbling to himself, slumping his jacket off only to pass out on the edge of his bed. Leon knew you didn’t like when he got drunk, it was probably what hurt him the most about all of it. Not the gunshots echoing through his skull when his shot glass hit the table, or the recoil of a pistol wracking his shoulder when he ran into a wall too hard.
No, it was the look on your face.
How you seemed to curl yourself back into your pen, watching with a lowered head and a hesitant gaze, tail somewhat tucked. The foggy memory of the face you pulled when he was too rough petting you or spoke too loud while sloshed. That’s what ached, what truly stung like a bitch.
He was supposed to be the one protecting you, caring for you, and because of his own problems now you’d seen a side of him he never wanted you to. He’d made your hands awaken to the crack of eggshells beneath them when you stepped towards him, you were familiar with the shell’s powdering like that of bullet sulfur, and inner yolk gold as the streaks in his hair back then. Knew of the blood that sometimes hung in the middle of it all, and in the worst scenario the curling of bones left over.
But still at the end of the night, drifting between a muddled haze of asleep and awake, he’d hear you make your way slowly towards his bed, the mattress dipping when you climbed up and curled up at the bottom of the duvet. Because, despite it all, you wanted to be close to him.
Because, despite it all, he was your person. So he dumped what he could of the remaining bottles, stashed a few shitty cans for safe keeping in case things got too hard, and stopped being a regular at Jerry’s bar.
He was doing it for you, maybe only for you.
Now he had you sat in his lap, buried in his shoulder and curling in as small as possible. Trying to become one with the skin of his arms and fabric of his shirt. You wanted to crawl up under his jacket and be carried as one with Leon, you’d do it if you could.
He had to do something.
“What am I gonna do with you, huh?” Oh, that voice. Despite the icy weather outside, despite the cold that hung in his chest from time to time, his tone always tried to be warm with you. Soft. like those mutts learning to gentle their snarls and unclench their teeth, to stop growling. He was so used to the sneering, the sarcasm, snapping when someone got too close or said the wrong thing to him. But you were so fluffy, so fuzzy to the world, so unaware and loving. So he had to wear a muzzle, and he learned how to adjust.
Why? Because he couldn’t be a violent dog if he had his very own puppy. “I dunno..”
A lopsided smile spread across his cheeks at the look on your face, chin tilted and tail squirming as you look to him. There’s still the matter of that guilt still hanging in your face, stray strands like an unruly mop of hair.
“I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna squeeze ya.” While you were still processing Leon’s comforting words and the lull of his voice, he was quick to gather you in his arms and press you tight to his chest. Immediately you were bathed in the scent of his shirt, the natural smell and comfort of his body. A warm blanket of safety had been draped over your blankets in the form of his presence. He squeezed your body nice and close until you squeaked out a yapped laugh, the fluff of your ear squished against his stubbled cheek.
“Oooo, good squeeze. Get all those nasty feelings outta you.”
“Daddyyyy, you’re smooshing me!” These were the moments he really cherished, ones where your tail swung and you squirmed in his arms with that smile of yours.
“Awww, well that’s how you know that it’s a real good squeeze,” His voice waved every time he swayed you slightly from side to side, bringing bubbly giggles from your throat that drifted up into the air and popped right at his heart. “It’s like juicin’ an orange, gotta shake and twist you till you’re all better.” “I don’t wanna be juice!” You howled out playfully, throwing your head back like the dramatic little thing that you were.
“Oh you don’t huh? Then you gotta keep smiling for me baby, it's just that simple.” He pushed his cheek up against your own. God, how he loved that smile, the sound of your tail thumping across the fluff of the sleek couch. There you sat, cute as a button, curled up atop his legs and snuggled in close like the sweetest, softest stuffed animal. “Tell you what, we get you one last snack, and then we’ll tuck you in, and tomorrow we’ll go into town. Catch everything before it all closes up.”
You were already half asleep in his arms by the time he’d finished talking.
December 24th
Planning the day out was the easy part, executing it was hard. Not only because Christmas was right around the corner which came with its own chaos, but because you were- well, you. Overly loving, over committed, overly loyal and lovely you. Leon swore you must’ve been the cutest looking leech or tick in a past life.
You insisted on putting together an outfit that yes consisted of your favourite bows and daddy’s most comfiest shirt that smelled like him. But even his ‘I’ve worn the same blue shirt for 3 years’ ass could tell when things didn’t coordinate together. So he did the gentlemanly and not-wanting-you-to-look-like-a-disaster-oustide-ly thing and helped you into some cute fleecy stockings, complete with a soft sweater and your favourite skirt. Gloves of some sort were a must, you had a thing for pawing at whatever you could get your hands on no matter how cold it was, and you were in your fuzziest boots. Adorable. Like a Christmasy puffball, a fluffy ornament. All you needed was a pair of angel wings and a halo and you’d be ready for the top of the tree.
“Look at her, look at that posture and stance. Look at that trot. That’s a well trained leash dog right there.” A smirk tugged at Leon’s lips as he watched you pad in step with him, the lacy trim of your skirt swaying whenever your foot met the sidewalk. This was the very same puppy who sat staring at him from her crate with the most pitiful eyes yesterday, rolling over onto your back like you might die from lack of attention. And now you were practically skipping, a bounce to your tail with every step.
You were lucky enough to live in a small enough part of the city. Not too urban, but definitely not rural. An outskirt area that was a nice walk away from the nearest hybrid park, long enough to get you warmed up for the real fun. And even after Leon had you off the leash you were staying in step with him, glued to his side with the sweetest smile on your face. In fact it took a little coaxing and the presence of some other pups for you to finally run around.
Leon knew you could be sociable when you truly wanted to be, but even for such a smiley little thing sometimes you simply preferred his company to anyone else’s. You could be skittish, a bit shy, and it truly threw him off guard when that part of you poked its head out from behind the warm rays of sunlight that radiated from your very being. It was adorable, really. Watching you curl into his leg with a slightly swishing tail of fluff, giving a small wave only to burrow into him. But today you were doing well, today you chose to shake out your jitters. And yes, he wouldn’t admit it, but he was proud of you.
No matter how many times Leon brought you out here, letting you experience the wonders of a normal domestic life, it never stopped being nothing short of magical to watch you shine. You had this magnetic aura that always seemed to follow you around, people were drawn to you and that sunbeam that clung to the smile on your face. The warmth that you spread to those around you.
You truly were his sunshine.
“Leon?”
A voice he hadn’t heard in a few weeks thanks to his time off work caught his attention, and sure enough as he looked over his shoulder there stood Ingrid Hunnigan. Bundled up in a long overcoat with a recyclable cup in her hands, steam wafting from the lid in smooth swirls through the crisp cold air. Already her glasses seemed to be fogging up again, despite so clearly being cleaned only recently. Yeah, he didn’t realise how lucky he was to have decent vision despite all the bullshit he’d been through. Glasses on top of the trauma and broken bones might’ve done him in.
“Hunnigan? The hell are you doing out here?” It wasn’t defensive or aggressive, moreso confused. Intrigued, interested. It wasn’t often he actually saw her out and about. A little silly in all honesty for him to think that, Ingrid always had some sort of plans around Christmastime. Her holiday decorations, complete with lights and glowing reindeer atop a tiled roof, were nothing to scoff at.
“It’s been a while since I’ve seen the snow in person, I figured I’d go for a walk to get a feel for it.” She shrugged, hands tucked into her pockets.
He was listening, or at least some part of him was. The other part was blurring through his peripheral vision to make out the blob of colour and wagging tail that was you balling up snow as you ducked behind a tree, playing with one of the other hybrids. If you asked anyone in his line of work, they’d say Leon is a hardass. He’s committed to his work and gets his job done, and he’s passionate about what he does whether that’s good for him or not.
But with you? With you he was just a man. Just your owner, your person. And that was such a relief.
“How’s she doing?” Ingrid asks out of habit. Every woman in the office can’t help but ask Leon about his perfect princess. And of course he laughs, shaking his head.
“Spoiled as ever. Really enjoying my time off with her.” Much needed confirmation, he knows he’d never hear the end of it if he dared tell Hunnigan about the time out incident. Best to keep it lighthearted now. Even as her face seems to.. Falter. What was that about?
“Listen, about the Phillis report..”
And then that lightheartedness was gone. If it weren’t for the icy chill that surrounded him, Leon would’ve gone a new shade of pale in the cool winter light.
It never used to bother him. It never phased him on the outside. But now? With you?
The Phillis report. A family with a hybrid that had been a target for a bioterrorism attack.
A hybrid.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw you smiling, the red tips of his ears pricking at your laughter, the soft crunch of snow beneath people’s feet feeling much louder now as they passed. Everyone’s footsteps were unique, every thud and crush that left a print. Evidence. Clues. Cases. Work.
A hybrid like you. Everything was muddling together into the nastiest shade of grey water freezing over into ice. He hated his job. If he could pull the pin on a grenade, jump on top of it and coat the walls of that godforsaken office in his blood and guts he would. Because that’s what they were asking from him. They were asking him to die for them. Jumping from subject to subject, he was playing jump rope and hopscotch with his morals and intrusive thoughts over one simple statement in the middle of the holidays. How the mighty so quickly fell beneath twinkling lights and atop brightly wrapped presents.
The pulse of his heart had managed to spike, thundering fast and heavy in his chest. Eyes half an inch wider, pupils shrunk.
It could’ve been you. It- “Please, don’t. I’m just- I’m trying to not think about all of that. Not with her here.” It came out a bit too rushed, like his body had forced each syllable from his lips to get a point across. A safety measure, a precaution for his well being.
Leon had already spent countless nights tossing and turning over the paranoia of you being caught in his work. Now it had gotten so bad that even the mention of a hybrid being involved in a case made him sick to his stomach.
Because what if that had been you?
His throat almost closed itself off to the world as he got his words out. Ingrid’s face was creased in worry at the state of him. How had one statement so quickly pulled him through a 180? “It’s our first Christmas together, I can’t ruin that. I can’t.” Swallowing felt like choking down gravel but he managed to nonetheless.
Hunnigan’s gaze softened, because she knew exactly how much it would ruin a perfectly good day if she were to stretch this out. She knew you were bouncing around somewhere without even looking for you amidst the snow and differently shaped animal ears and noses. You were the centre of Leon’s world, even if he didn’t know it. But those around him, those like her and Claire and Rebecca, could see what a difference you’d made. “I get it. Just.. don’t worry about rushing it, okay? It can wait until next year.”
“Yeah.. Yeah, thanks.” Automated. Robotic. Leon felt like he was backseating his own life as he responded, hearing Hunnigan’s shoes click as she prepared to walk back to her apartment complex. The sympathy ebbing from her expression only made him feel more sick, and yes that would’ve made him feel bad if it weren’t for him being on the brink of what was most likely a panic attack.
“Merry Christmas, Leon. Take it easy.” He couldn’t get the words out, settling for a stiff nod. Work. Work, work, work. It followed him everywhere no matter how fucking hard he tried to escape it. Think of something else, he scolded himself through the deafening heartbeat in his ears. Anything else. Think of you.
Padding your way over the snow, he watched on in an attempt to calm himself down as you bounded around the park like a bunny. Maybe a fox, the type that burrowed deep under the flurries of fresh powder with yipping laughter. All he knew was you were enjoying yourself, and that was all that mattered. That was all he focused on as his breathing steadied. With a short, still somewhat breathless whistle, your ears stood on end. Immediately your head thwipped to him, and you were merely a blur of pink and white that came scampering towards him. Yeah, that got a snort. Good. He needed to laugh more.
“There’s my girl.”
And there you were indeed, practically barrelling into his leg so he let out a hoarse ‘oof’ at the impact. Complete with a whispered “Hi daddy,’ that somehow managed to calm his heart in ways no medication or therapy could. Maybe he could start you out on service hybrid training, get you certified. Nah, you were too cuddly for that. Plus the vest would have to be pink or you just might refuse to wear it. So for now, he figured he may as well treat you.
“How about some hot cocoa, hm? You were a good girl after all, took your punishment like a champ.” Lie. Big, fat lie. If the ladies at the office ever caught word of how Leon had put you in timeout he’d be getting the most gruelling of death glares. His grave would be trampled on as they sprinted their way over to comfort you. He couldn’t really blame them, though, how could you not run someone over to pet someone as precious as you. You, currently sticking your little tongue out to catch the delicate snowflakes floating down from the sky as you approached the cafe. That’s what he had to keep reminding himself of in this moment. He did all of this for you. Trying to drown out the sinking ache in his stomach as if he’d swallowed an anvil, that son of a bitch must’ve been hidden between the bubbles of his saliva, or maybe the frost that dripped from the roof.
So yeah, he was using you as the most sweet looking distraction right now, watching your wide eyes take in the wood grain and sleek walls of the coffee shop tucked into a corner of the park. On your best behaviour as you both stood in line until you got to the register. The metal tang in the back of his throat definitely had nothing to do with the gut weight still lingering after talking to Ingrid. Nope. Must’ve been the cold.
“Yeah, can we grab one long black and one.. Hm.” For a moment Leon caught himself rethinking his decisions. Was it really the best idea to give you something that had ‘cocoa’ in the name? You guys had yet to test how you’d react to chocolate after all. Taking the time to test and breakdown what food and beverage you could eat or simply didn’t like was a meticulous process, but better safe than sorry. “Wait, that was on our testing list..”
“Daddy?” Sorry puppy, daddy’s too busy having a small crisis over whether or not you can actually drink what he was ordering for you.“Is it- It should be safe for you to have hot cocoa, right?” “Daddy.” This time it was flatter. Unimpressed.
“I mean you haven’t had a bad reaction to anything yet despite being part puppy but, it’s technically chocolate to some degree so-
“Daddy!”
The tugging at his wrist was enough to get his attention back on you, the draw of your big dewy eyes and scrunched nose luring him in like a fish to bait.
“Sorry, sweetheart.” “Turn brain switch off.”
Sometimes he thought you were pretending to be as curious and innocent as you are, because you so easily sensed when he was anxious or worried. Like an instinct. Sure, he loved you to bits, but you weren’t the brightest bulb in the- light store? Batch? He’d come up with a better analogy later. Either way, the point stood. And yet you always did that little head tilt when something seemed off. That bulb flickering to life.
“Right, puppy. Daddy’s turning the overthinking switch off.” Leon reassured as best as he could. And it seemed to satisfy. “Good daddy.”
He couldn’t help but snort again at that. “Thanks, baby.” Being praised for his minute efforts in managing his thoughts by his very own puppy hybrid. By the time you hit the register he was still smiling despite the storm in his head. “One long black and a hot cocoa, please.”
But oh, how quickly it faded into thunder clouds. Even as he gave the barista his name for the order and walked over to wait for your drinks, it lurked over him. A sickening thickness in his throat, like tar tobacco and nicotine had clogged his windpipe. He was on auto pilot when he collected the recyclable cups and placed one of them into your eager hands, not recognising his own voice as he warned you about it being hot.
Leon was stuck between reality and dissociation, his feet leading both of you on the path back home that you’d taken enough times to have memorised. And even as you blew on the surface of your cocoa through the spout of the cup’s lid, you could see it in his eyes. That distant look. Deflated, the same as when you chewed on your favourite squeaky toy too hard and it popped.
“Daddy? You’re all droopy.”
Your voice was high and puzzled, all floppy ears and arched brows in confusion. Did he not like the park? You’d had a wonderful time making snow angels and bounding through the white powder like sweet icing sugar atop a winter cake. Maybe daddies just didn’t do parks well, like how you didn’t do the vet too well.
“Sorry, sweetheart. Daddy’s just thinking about things.” It had him staring out so far his eyes hit the end of the sidewalk, through the ice and snow to the cement. One hand held your leash, the other swiping past his lips. Hoping to wipe away the residue of his frown.
It didn’t work. “But the switch..” Oh, don’t give him that tone. So heartbroken, so worried. It broke him.
“I know, I know the switch honey.” Already he was rubbing over the crease between his brows. This conversation couldn’t happen, not here and not now. “But sometimes- sometimes it’s not that simple, you know? Sometimes the switch doesn’t work.”
You supposed that made sense. Still, you couldn’t help but wonder. And pry, just a smidge. You could be a little pushy and shovey, whether you meant it or not. “Well, whatcha thinking about?”
What wasn’t he thinking about was the real question. It was all blurring together.
He simply shook his head. Made the bangs of his hair sway when he did. “Don’t worry about it, pup. It’s a conversation for another time.”
Well, that didn’t seem right to you. Usually Leon was so open with his feelings towards you, so you couldn’t help but nudge him. This time not with your nose or paw, but with your words. “But..”
And then his voice was lighter, as if he’d dropped the weight he’d been carrying over to one shoulder. Giving the illusion that things were better, that things were normal. But that shoulder still slumped. “Hey, weren’t you telling me something about Jill’s dog Carlos showing up on his own today? What was that about?”
It still dragged.
At first you were very willing to tell him, the very concept of a hybrid on their own both bewildered, confused and excited you. Carlos was a big shaggy furred fella, he always played fair and shared the good treats Jill handed out.
But you knew this tactic. It was the same as when you’d ask him questions and instead of giving you an answer he’d pick up the nearest squeaky toy and suddenly you were playing fetch instead of talking. This time you were all the wiser.
“You’re trying to distract me! I don’t get it, when people say certain things you go stiff and wonky.” You couldn’t help but frown up at him. It didn’t feel fair, not knowing these things about him. A whole year together and yet sometimes he looked more like a stranger, dodging your questions and petting your ears so you’d move on. But you weren’t expecting him to furrow his eyebrows and sigh low in his chest, the way his forehead creased and nose flared. It was the same look you got before time out, only this one seemed more defensive than the last.
“Not now, sweetheart. Please.” Leon’s tone was flat, no room for argument no matter how much your wriggled and squeezed your body between the cracks. Your tail’s wag deflated, slowing to nothing more than a slight sway. The snow felt a little colder after that.
December 30th
Christmas had been nothing short of a success in the Kennedy household, with Leon’s living room being covered in scattered wrapping paper and a whole new variety of toys in pastel colours. He was delighted. This may have been one of the few times he actually enjoyed a holiday rather than loathing it. Maybe it was because you were there, so he wasn’t spending it alone like he usually did. The way you’d spun in circles and yapped happily about it being Christmas morning.
It had been your first real Christmas ever. Your first Christmas not spent in a cage, where you got toys and ate warm meals with the man you loved, with Claire and Becca and Chris and Jill coming over for lunch under the fluorescent glow of the Christmas lights you’d insisted Leon put up. You’d sat by the tree unwrapping gifts with the fastest wagging tail Leon had ever seen, ears perked to attention and eyes wide and sparkling. He was glad, honoured really, to witness this moment of pure unbridled joy for you.
The two of you spent most if not all of Boxing Day lazing around the house in your pajamas, cuddling by the fireplace and bundling under blankets for more than a few naps. Lazy days, oh how you both loved them. Soon it was the 26th, then the 27th,so on and so on.
Now, the christmas paper had been collected, the tree’s decorations were slowly taken down in day by day intervals, and you sat politely by the glass door to the backyard watching the snow. Leon figured if there was ever a time to truly explain to you the truth behind his career, it was likely now. A tough conversation to have, but one that needed to happen. He just couldn’t leave you in the dark like this, not any longer.
“Hey, sweetheart?” “Hm?”
There it was. That innocent lilt, the curve of your neck as you craned to look at him. You were something too pure to be sitting on the floor of his home. You deserved mattress upon mattress like the princess and the pea, only he wouldn’t be an idiot like the ones in that book. Leon knew better than to leave under the bed unattended in case there were coyotes trying to nip at his sweet girl’s toes and tail.
Softening, that’s what he was doing. Cracking. This wasn’t going to end well and he knew it. “Y’know how daddy doesn’t like to talk about work?”
Uh oh, now you knew it was time for a serious talk. Not like when you dirtied the rug, this time you weren’t in trouble. Still you looked at him so gently, with such trust while that mountain of fluffy fur behind you swished. Because if it was serious, it was important. “Yeah.”
Leon patted the spot on the couch beside him, complete with a pretty pink bone print blanket for you to settle on, to which you trotted yourself over as dainty as could be. Hopping up next to him, a tail curled around your back. Getting yourself cozy under his arm with your head nestled right next to his chest. Listening to the steady thrum of his heart as his pulse picked up. Doing so much, yet so little, and it all comforted him.
It was starting to sink in. He was telling you. He was opening the casket, dragging the corpse of his past through the dirt to pose for a real, living person. How was he supposed to break this to you? How did you even word his job without saying ‘I might die one day’?
“Well, that’s cause what I do is pretty dangerous, puppy. I don’t want to worry you with all the stuff I have to do.” The violence, the bloodshed, the screaming. Flashes of red that haunted his dreams, the ones you’d nudge at his face over until he’d wake up because you heard him muttering in his sleep.
“Why?” You were so oblivious to his little inner world, the one he made sure to hide from you. The one filled with guilt and shame. He wanted to keep it that way, but what choice did he have? How could he keep you safe if you had no idea what you were being kept safe from? You should be worried about what colour skirt to wear, or if your collar matches your outfit, not this bullshit.
“Because it’s just better for you to sit and wait for me to get home at the end of the day, baby.” It was better for you to expect him home every day.
It was better for both of you if you just always thought he was coming home.
It made his heart break so hard his ribs snapped thinking about you sitting by the big bay window, tail flicking and throat weeping whimpers if he didn’t show up for a few days. Then weeks. Then eventually someone would have to take you in, pack up all your toys. They’d find the list he kept stashed on the top of the fridge just in case; instructing anyone who found you on just how you liked your food and which stories to whisper in your ear at night when the thunder got too loud.
You’d never go willingly. Someone would have to leash you and tug you out the door to their car. You’d cry. You’d cry so hard your throat would die out hoarse. It would probably be Claire or Chris or Becca picking you up, he’d have to hope. The thought of some stranger from the DSO taking you from his home, your home, the home you shared together, had him swallowing down a lump. He knew you’d never recover from it. It would shatter you, after sitting in a kennel alone for so long and finally crawling out of your shell, just to lose the person you so clearly loved more than anyone else. Fuck, Leon could feel his eyes watering.
But he couldn’t do that to you. He just couldn’t. It would be the cruelest thing in the world for him to abandon you without any choice in the matter. If he were a stronger man he’d have retired by now. But he wasn’t stronger. He had no backbone when it came to his job, the government, the United States as a whole. Some fucking hero. He was more like a lapdog, breaking his neck for a board of people who didn’t give a shit about him. Taking the scraps he was offered.
“Daddy, you’re crying..” Your sad voice pulled him back into reality, where you were now taking those soft hands of yours to wipe away his tears. Wet streaks that lined the creases forming in his scarred over skin. He was getting too old for this. Too old to be bottling up these feelings for days on end. Wearing himself down for the sake of denying what he felt.
“Fuck, sorry sweetheart. It’s just.. It’s my job to keep you safe. But it’s also my job to keep everyone else safe, too. And your daddy’s been through everything, honey. Zombies, parasites, bioterrorism, war, the whole five yards. I’ve had so many people turn their backs on me or- or look to me for help for so long that it drives me crazy to even think of you worrying about me not coming home.”
How long had it been since he’d cried? Really cried? How much more could a man like Leon take? Sure he was strong, he had to be. Built up from broken beginnings on bloodied glass, shitty past relationships and world-ending catastrophes. But he was only human for Christ’s sake.
And maybe he was finally starting to sober up to that realization.
“I always think you’ll come home..”
Of course you did. Of course you, this sweet angel of a puppy girl, looked up at him with those watery eyes filled with confidence in such a statement. As if you loved him so much it almost poured from your lash line in heart shaped droplets. You had such hope despite where he’d adopted you from. Had he done that? It was odd to think about. How someone as shitty as him (in his perspective at least) had gotten you to blossom and bloom into the sweet thing you were today.
“Yeah, why’s that honey?”
“Cause you’re Leon, and Leon is the strongest person I know.”
The weight of your head now resting against his shoulder was like an anchor that stopped Leon from washing out on the beach of his despairs. He wasn’t left to drift off into oblivion, to drown in his sorrows and regrets. He had you. You had him. A hand came out to instinctively pet over the warm fuzz of your floppy ears, and he seeked out the comfort that came with your presence.
It was comforting, the quiet. Not tense or awkward. Like the waves of the ocean sloshing to a slow and serene sway after a tsunami or a tidal wave. To know you saw him as your hero, that you held him in such high regard. It made every grey hair and creased feature feel worth it. Everything he did, he did it for you. And for once it didn’t feel like a pressure, or a burden, it was a responsibility he was glad to shoulder. Like he were your knight in shining armour.
“Why’d you never tell me you went through all that stuff?” Even now as you spoke your voice was low and soft, sweet to his ears like a drizzling of warm honey right to his cochlea. Those homemade remedies for aches and pains.
Even now he found himself chuckling to get through this, an ache in his chest with each exhale. Someone had set a cinderblock on his chest, and you were mustering up all the strength in those little paws to ease it off. “And ruin what we’ve got going on right here? I wasn’t gonna risk that.”
Apparently that was the wrong answer, because now you were perked upright with the slightest of pouts perched atop your lips. Disagreement etched into your features. “S’ not ruined, dummy. It just means I get to say I love you a whole lot more.”
Now it was his turn to snort sincerely. Always so stubborn. Adorable, sweet, but stubborn. "Oh, is that so?”
“Mhm. So when things are yuck it’ll be easier to remember that I love you. Cause I’ll say it as many times as I gotta until you believe it.”
You ruined him, and not in a bad way. You took the world’s smallest pick to the world’s coldest iceberg and chipped back his layers sliver by sliver. Sculpting him back into what he once was before the world dumped cold water onto him and froze over the softness that lay within.
Leon’s hand stroked aimlessly over the curve of your head, tracing over the edges of your hair gently. Even with the scrapes on his knuckles and bruises on his palms he always made sure to be soft with you. His voice, half cracked and brimming with affection, was quiet as he whispered back. “I love you too, puppy. You’re my best girl.”
Firewood crackled in a low, jagged white noise in the background, smoothing into a quiet simmer that cast a warm orange glow against the walls. Bathing the room in heat, one that you both let wrap around you like a safety blanket. You found haven in each other, because no matter what, you always came back to one another. Leon was your owner, after all. It was his job to ensure you had the best life, with all the comforts you could ask for and then some.
And he planned to do just that. Whether it meant dumping out all the alcohol in his house or not.
“So.. Do I get more presents?” It’s a teeny voice against his shirt that had him tilting his chin down to look at you.
“Well no puppy, the next holiday is New Years Eve. We don’t give presents then, only Christmas.” A pretty straight forward explanation, or at least that’s what it felt like to him.
“Why?” Another chirp.
His brow arched. “Cause Christmas is only once a year, sweetie.”
“Why?” And another. “Okay, we’re not starting this.”
God, just wait until you find out about birthdays. Then he’s done for.
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words to use when writing
Appetite:
craving, demand, gluttony, greed, hunger, inclination, insatiable, longing, lust, passion, ravenousness, relish, taste, thirst, urge, voracity, weakness, willingness, yearning, ardor, dedication, desire, devotion, enthusiasm, excitement, fervor, horny, intensity, keenness, wholeheartedness, zeal
Arouse:
agitate, awaken, electrify, enliven, excite, entice, foment, goad, incite, inflame, instigate, kindle, provoke, rally, rouse, spark, stimulate, stir, thrill, waken, warm, whet, attract, charm, coax, fire up, fuel, heat up, lure, produce, stir up, tantalize, tease, tempt, thrum, torment, wind up, work up
Assault:
attack, advancing, aggressive, assailing, charging, incursion, inundated, invasion, offensive, onset, onslaught, overwhelmed, ruinous, tempestuous, strike, violation, ambush, assail, barrage, bombard, bombardment, crackdown, wound
Beautiful:
admirable, alluring, angelic, appealing, bewitching, charming, dazzling, delicate, delightful, divine, elegant, enticing, exquisite, fascinating, gorgeous, graceful, grand, magnificent, marvelous, pleasing, radiant, ravishing, resplendent, splendid, stunning, sublime, attractive, beguiling, captivating, enchanting, engaging, enthralling, eye-catching, fetching, fine, fine-looking, good-looking, handsome, inviting, lovely, mesmeric, mesmerizing, pretty, rakish, refined, striking, tantalizing, tempting
Brutal:
atrocious, barbarous, bloodthirsty, callous, cruel, feral, ferocious, hard, harsh, heartless, inhuman, merciless, murderous, pitiless, remorseless, rough, rude, ruthless, savage, severe, terrible, unmerciful, vicious, bestial, brute, brutish, cold-blooded, fierce, gory, nasty, rancorous, sadistic, uncompromising, unfeeling, unforgiving, unpitying, violent, wild
Burly:
able-bodied, athletic, beefy, big, brawny, broad-shouldered, bulky, dense, enormous, great, hard, hardy, hearty, heavily built, heavy, hefty, huge, husky, immense, large, massive, muscular, mighty, outsized, oversized, powerful, powerfully built, prodigious, robust, solid, stalwart, stocky, stout, strapping, strong, strongly built, sturdy, thick, thickset, tough, well-built, well-developed
Carnal:
animalistic, bodily, impure, lascivious, lecherous, lewd, libidinous, licentious, lustful, physical, prurient, salacious, sensuous, voluptuous, vulgar, wanton, , coarse, crude, dirty, raunchy, rough, unclean
Dangerous:
alarming, critical, fatal, formidable, impending, malignant, menacing, mortal, nasty, perilous, precarious, pressing, serious, terrible, threatening, treacherous, urgent, vulnerable, wicked, acute, damaging, deadly, death-defying, deathly, destructive, detrimental, explosive, grave, harmful, hazardous, injurious, lethal, life-threatening, noxious, poisonous, risky, severe, terrifying, toxic, unsafe, unstable, venomous
Dark:
atrocious, corrupt, forbidding, foul, infernal, midnight, morbid, ominous, sinful, sinister, somber, threatening, twilight, vile, wicked, abject, alarming, appalling, baleful, bizarre, bleak, bloodcurdling, boding evil, chilling, cold, condemned, creepy, damned, daunting, demented, desolate, dire, dismal, disturbing, doomed, dour, dread, dreary, dusk, eerie, fear, fearsome, frightening, ghastly, ghostly, ghoulish, gloom, gloomy, grave, grim, grisly, gruesome, hair-raising, haunted, hideous, hopeless, horrendous, horrible, horrid, horrific, horrifying, horror, ill-fated, ill-omened, ill-starred, inauspicious, inhospitable, looming, lost, macabre, malice, malignant, menacing, murky, mysterious, night, panic, pessimistic, petrifying, scary, shadows, shadowy, shade, shady, shocking, soul-destroying, sour, spine-chilling, spine-tingling, strange, terrifying, uncanny, unearthly, unlucky, unnatural, unnerving, weird, wretched
Delicious:
enticing, exquisite, luscious, lush, rich, savory, sweet, tasty, tempting, appetizing, delectable, flavorsome, full of flavor, juicy, lip-smacking, mouth-watering, piquant, relish, ripe, salty, spicy, scrummy, scrumptious, succulent, tangy, tart, tasty, yummy, zesty
Ecstasy:
delectation, delirium, elation, euphoria, fervor, frenzy, joy, rapture, transport, bliss, excitement, happiness, heaven, high, paradise, rhapsody, thrill, blissful, delighted, elated, extremely happy, in raptures (of delight), in seventh heaven, jubilant, on cloud nine, overexcited, overjoyed, rapturous, thrilled
Ecstatic:
delirious, enraptured, euphoric, fervent, frenzied, joyous, transported, wild
Erotic:
amatory, amorous, aphrodisiac, carnal, earthy, erogenous, fervid, filthy, hot, impassioned, lascivious, lecherous, lewd, raw, romantic, rousing, salacious, seductive, sensual, sexual, spicy, steamy, stimulating, suggestive, titillating, voluptuous, tantalizing
Gasp:
catch of breath, choke, gulp, heave, inhale, pant, puff, snort, wheeze, huff, rasp, sharp intake of air, short of breath, struggle for breath, swallow, winded
Heated:
ardent, avid, excited, fervent, fervid, fierce, fiery, frenzied, furious, impassioned, intense, passionate, raging, scalding, scorched, stormy, tempestuous, vehement, violent, ablaze, aflame, all-consuming, blazing, blistering, burning, crazed, explosive, febrile, feverish, fired up, flaming, flushed, frantic, hot, hot-blooded, impatient, incensed, maddening, obsessed, possessed, randy, searing, sizzling, smoldering, sweltering, torrid, turbulent, volatile, worked up, zealous
Hunger:
appetite, ache, craving, gluttony, greed, longing, lust, mania, mouth-watering, ravenous, voracious, want, yearning, thirst
Hungry:
avid, carnivorous, covetous, craving, eager, greedy, hungered, rapacious, ravenous, starved, unsatisfied, voracious, avaricious, desirous, famished, grasping, insatiable, keen, longing, predatory, ravening, starving, thirsty, wanting
Intense:
forceful, severe, passionate, acute, agonizing, ardent, anxious, biting, bitter, burning, close, consuming, cutting, deep, eager, earnest, excessive, exquisite, extreme, fervent, fervid, fierce, forcible, great, harsh, impassioned, keen, marked, piercing, powerful, profound, severe, sharp, strong, vehement, violent, vivid, vigorous
Liquid:
damp, cream, creamy, dripping, ichorous, juicy, moist, luscious, melted, moist, pulpy, sappy, soaking, solvent, sopping, succulent, viscous, wet / aqueous, broth, elixir, extract, flux, juice, liquor, nectar, sap, sauce, secretion, solution, vitae, awash, moisture, boggy, dewy, drenched, drip, drop, droplet, drowning, flood, flooded, flowing, fountain, jewel, leaky, milky, overflowing, saturated, slick, slippery, soaked, sodden, soggy, stream, swamp, tear, teardrop, torrent, waterlogged, watery, weeping
Lithe:
agile, lean, pliant, slight, spare, sinewy, slender, supple, deft, fit, flexible, lanky, leggy, limber, lissom, lissome, nimble, sinuous, skinny, sleek, slender, slim, svelte, trim, thin, willowy, wiry
Moan:
beef, cry, gripe, grouse, grumble, lament, lamentation, plaint, sob, wail, whine, bemoan, bewail, carp, deplore, grieve, gripe, grouse, grumble, keen, lament, sigh, sob, wail, whine, mewl
Moving:
(exciting,) affecting, effective arousing, awakening, breathless, dynamic, eloquent, emotional, emotive, expressive, fecund, far-out, felt in gut, grabbed by, gripping, heartbreaking, heartrending, impelling, impressive, inspirational, meaningful, mind-bending, mind-blowing, motivating, persuasive, poignant, propelling, provoking, quickening, rallying, rousing, significant, stimulating, simulative, stirring, stunning, touching, awe-inspiring, energizing, exhilarating, fascinating, heart pounding, heart stopping, inspiring, riveting, thrilling
Need:
compulsion, demand, desperate, devoir, extremity, impatient longing, must, urge, urgency / desire, appetite, avid, burn, craving, eagerness, fascination, greed, hunger, insatiable, longing, lust, taste, thirst, voracious, want, yearning, ache, addiction, aspiration, desire, fever, fixation, hankering, hope, impulse, inclination, infatuation, itch, obsession, passion, pining, wish, yen
Pain:
ache, afflict, affliction, agony, agonize, anguish, bite, burn, chafe, distress, fever, grief, hurt, inflame, laceration, misery, pang, punish, sting, suffering, tenderness, throb, throe, torment, torture, smart
Painful:
aching, agonizing, arduous, awful, biting, burning, caustic, dire, distressing, dreadful, excruciating, extreme, grievous, inflamed, piercing, raw, sensitive, severe, sharp, tender, terrible, throbbing, tormenting, angry, bleeding, bloody, bruised, cutting, hurting, injured, irritated, prickly, skinned, smarting, sore, stinging, unbearable, uncomfortable, upsetting, wounded
Perverted:
aberrant, abnormal, corrupt, debased, debauched, defiling, depraved, deviant, monstrous, tainted, twisted, vicious, warped, wicked, abhorrent, base, decadent, degenerate, degrading, dirty, disgusting, dissipated, dissolute, distasteful, hedonistic, immodest, immoral, indecent, indulgent, licentious, nasty, profligate, repellent, repugnant, repulsive, revolting, shameful, shameless, sickening, sinful, smutty, sordid, unscrupulous, vile
Pleasurable:
charming, gratifying, luscious, satisfying, savory, agreeable, delicious, delightful, enjoyable, nice, pleasant, pleasing, soothing, succulent
Pleasure:
bliss, delight, gluttony, gratification, relish, satisfaction, thrill, adventure, amusement, buzz, contentment, delight, desire, ecstasy, enjoyment, excitement, fun, happiness, harmony, heaven, joy, kick, liking, paradise, seventh heaven
Rapacious:
avaricious, ferocious, furious, greedy, predatory, ravening, ravenous, savage, voracious, aggressive, gluttonous, grasping, insatiable, marauding, plundering
Rapture:
bliss, ecstasy, elation, exaltation, glory, gratification, passion, pleasure, floating, unbridled joy
Rigid:
adamant, austere, definite, determined, exact, firm, hard, rigorous, solid, stern, uncompromising, unrelenting, unyielding, concrete, fixed, harsh, immovable, inflexible, obstinate, resolute, resolved, severe, steadfast, steady, stiff, strong, strict, stubborn, taut, tense, tight, tough, unbending, unchangeable, unwavering
Sudden:
abrupt, accelerated, acute, fast, flashing, fleeting, hasty, headlong, hurried, immediate, impetuous, impulsive, quick, quickening, rapid, rash, rushing, swift, brash, brisk, brusque, instant, instantaneous, out of the blue, reckless, rushed, sharp, spontaneous, urgent, without warning
Thrust:
(forward) advance, drive, forge, impetus, impulsion, lunge, momentum, onslaught, poke, pressure, prod, propulsion, punch, push, shove, power, proceed, progress, propel
(push hard) assail, assault, attack, bear down, buck, drive, force, heave, impale, impel, jab, lunge, plunge, press, pound, prod, ram, shove, stab, transfix, urge, bang, burrow, cram, gouge, jam, pierce, punch, slam, spear, spike, stick
Thunder-struck:
amazed, astonished, aghast, astounded, awestruck, confounded, dazed, dazed, dismayed, overwhelmed, shocked, staggered, startled, stunned, gob-smacked, bewildered, dumbfounded, flabbergasted, horrified, incredulous, surprised, taken aback
Torment:
agony, anguish, hurt, misery, pain, punishment, suffering, afflict, angst, conflict, distress, grief, heartache, misfortune, nightmare, persecute, plague, sorrow, strife, tease, test, trial, tribulation, torture, turmoil, vex, woe
Touch:
(physical) - blow, brush, caress, collide, come together, contact, converge, crash, cuddle, embrace, feel, feel up, finger, fondle, frisk, glance, glide, graze, grope, handle, hit, hug, impact, join, junction, kiss, lick, line, manipulate, march, massage, meet, nudge, palm, partake, pat, paw, peck, pet, pinch, probe, push, reach, rub, scratch, skim, slide, smooth, strike, stroke, suck, sweep, tag, tap, taste, thumb, tickle, tip, touching, toy, bite, bump, burrow, buss, bury, circle, claw, clean, clutch, cover, creep, crush, cup, curl, delve, dig, drag, draw, ease, edge, fiddle with, flick, flit, fumble, grind, grip, grub, hold, huddle, knead, lap, lave, lay a hand on, maneuver, manhandle, mash, mold, muzzle, neck, nestle, nibble, nip, nuzzle, outline, play, polish, press, pull, rasp, ravish, ream, rim, run, scoop, scrabble, scrape, scrub, shave, shift, shunt, skate, slip, slither, smack, snake, snuggle, soothe, spank, splay, spread, squeeze, stretch, swipe, tangle, tease, thump, tongue, trace, trail, tunnel twiddle, twirl, twist, tug, work, wrap
(mental) - communicate, examine, inspect, perception, scrutinize
Wet:
bathe, bleed, burst, cascade, course, cover, cream, damp, dampen, deluge, dip, douse, drench, dribble, drip, drizzle, drool, drop, drown, dunk, erupt, flood, flow, gush, immerse, issue, jet, leach, leak, moisten, ooze, overflow, permeate, plunge, pour, rain, rinse, run, salivate, saturate, secrete, seep, shower, shoot, slaver, slobber, slop, slosh, sluice, spill, soak, souse, spew, spit, splash, splatter, spout, spray, sprinkle, spurt, squirt, steep, stream, submerge, surge, swab, swamp, swill, swim, trickle, wash, water
Wicked:
abominable, amoral, atrocious, awful, base, barbarous, dangerous, debased, depraved, distressing, dreadful, evil, fearful, fiendish, fierce, foul, heartless, hazardous, heinous, immoral, indecent, intense, mean, nasty, naughty, nefarious, offensive, profane, scandalous, severe, shameful, shameless, sinful, terrible, unholy, vicious, vile, villainous, wayward, bad, criminal, cruel, deplorable, despicable, devious, ill-intentioned, impious, impish, iniquitous, irreverent, loathsome, Machiavellian, mad, malevolent, malicious, merciless, mischievous, monstrous, perverse, ruthless, spiteful, uncaring, unkind, unscrupulous, vindictive, virulent, wretched
Writhe:
agonize, bend, jerk, recoil, lurch, plunge, slither, squirm, struggle, suffer, thrash, thresh, twist, wiggle, wriggle, angle, arc, bow, buck, coil, contort, convulse, curl, curve, fidget, fight, flex, go into spasm, grind, heave, jiggle, jolt, kick, rear, reel, ripple, resist, roll, lash, lash out, screw up, shake, shift, slide, spasm, stir, strain, stretch, surge, swell, swivel, thrust, turn violently, tussle, twitch, undulate, warp, worm, wrench, wrestle, yank
mE??? in lo ve wtih…vidEO GAE M CH ARCTR???? h aha no……taht woudl be ST UPID……video ga em cahrcter…..just plygons……..
me for the past week and i'm so fucking maddd
STOP👏TAGGING👏XREADER👏IF👏YOU👏USE👏AN👏OC👏NOBODY👏 FUCKING👏ASKED👏FOR👏THAT👏OKAY???
The wrong thing is not the fact that you write a story with an oc, no, that's not the real problem, really.
IT'S JUST THE FACT THAT YOU USE THE WRONG TAG SO YOU HOPE MORE PEOPLE READ YOUR STORY. BUT BELIEVE ME IT'S JUST FUCKING ANNOYING 'CAUSE WE AREN'T ABLE TO FIND THE RIGHT FICS IF YOU KEEP DOING THIS!!!
There are people who like to read more stories with ocs than reader inserts, so use the fucking right tag go reach that community and stop spamming your stories among ours.
I don't think you get it but, you know, the purpose of fanfics with reader insert is to make the reader imagine her/himself as the mc of the story. The best part of these fics is the fact that EVERYONE can be included in them.
SO WHY THE FUCK DO YOU HAVE TO RUIN THEM BY MAKING THE MC A PERSON THAT LOOKS COMPLETELY DIFFERENT FROM THE READER AND EVEN HAS A NAME THAT IS NOT THEIRS?
Not to be dramatic but i hate y'all.
And the fact that it's always the same fandoms and we all know who we're talking about...
crucifixion
synopsis: perhaps god loves her, but he does not love her enough to save her. or, a character study of eddie's sister and the attemped crucifixion in jason carver's basement. (1.6k) contents: ambiguous ending, character study, religious guilt, bullying, assault, jason carver being a creep, attempted crucifixon, blood, angst, blood again, short and not sweet (inspoed by ethel cain's 'preachers daughter')
masterlist!
the carpet of jason carver's house burns her knees.
she's got a white knuckled grip on his tear stained carpet, fisting handfuls of the fancy material. his sneakers dig into the back of her neck as echoes of laughter ring out through the basement.
her knees are held open from behind, heavy hands grasping the back of her knees, straddling a makeshift cross. andy has her knuckles pinned to the edges of the cross, nails digging into her skin. he smells like cheap beer as he leans over her head, the edges of his letterman swinging into her vision.
on the opposing wall, a high-hanging crucifix of jesus stares back at her. the wood seems to mock her, dripping with blood and splintered, an awfully unrealistic rendition of jesus pinned with nails.
they seem to mimic one another.
while he wore a woven crown of thrones, a harsh mimicking of a crown from the roman soldiers, she wore a hawkins cheer bow, stiff and heavy against her head. the wrap around his waist is blood stained and ill-fitting, much like the pleated skirt around her waist.
she wanted to scream. she wanted to bash her head against the wood underneath her, to escape from the basketball team's unforgiving grip, to flee from the laughter surrounding her.
jason's voice fades in and out of her hearing as blood runs into her ears. he's reading verses, or something similar to the sort, as his voice raises in strength before dying back down.
she had heard whispers of an exorcism floating around the locker room after cheer practice, but she had brushed it off. ever since the earthquake with patrick and chrissy's deaths, satanic allegations had begun to follow her. she had brushed it off, turning a blind-eye to the crosses hanging around her friend's hands when they sat together, had turned a blind eye to the crumpled papers with verses that had been shoved in her locker.
she knew that the allegations had followed eddie much longer. they had begun in eighth grade, sparked to life by the music he listened to and the shirts he wore. an old girlfriend of wayne's had even tried taking him to church, but he had slipped away in the middle of the service.
but now, now she couldn't help but think.
how many times had eddie been threatened with exorcisms by their peers, with their hissing tongues and harsh words? had eddie suffered a similar fate to her?
did they hold him down in his freshman year, dizzy from poorly disguised alcohol in his cup, nauseous from the smell of mrs. carver's candles? did they shove his head against the countertops against he bled, hissing words into his ear, his warm blood getting onto the sleeves of their lettermans?
"jason, please" her throat was sore from screaming. her voice tickled the back of her throat, swallowing around nothing as the pressure from andy's chest sunk onto her back.
as the lapels of andy's letterman brushed against her back, she shivered as she caught sight of her own letterman, crumpled to the floor and trampled by the hawkins basketball team.
"just a little longer munson," jason's shoes settled infront of her face, grasping her cheeks in-between his hands as he crouched in-front of her, holding her leg in-between his bent legs. his class ring dug into the fat of her cheeks as he grinned, "we're just seeing if the devil's got you. we can't save your freak brother, but we can save you"
-
as eddie sat in a theater room, shuffled away in the back of hawkins high, he couldn't help but gnaw at his fingers. something stirred in his gut, making him wince as he watched his fellow teammates shuffle in, each member bringing their respective items.
-
jason lets her go after she recites a few passages from the book of revelation, hoisting her and her makeshift cross against his wall. the rest of the basketball team sat and watched, snickering and laughing as she slumped against the drywall.
andy had pulled her into the back of his truck, speeding down the roads as she clung to the truck bed. he had stopped in the middle of nowhere, drug her out from the back, and sped away before she could even process what had happened.
she stood in the center of the road, blinking at the red break lights as he fled away. the moist air clung to her skin as she stood in the road, unsure of what to do. leaves shuffled around her as she shuffled off to the side of the road, walking along the bike lane.
she's not too sure how long it takes her to walk home, barefoot and bloody as she shuffles along the roads, blinking away shock as she goes.
rocks dig into her feet but she cannot feel anything but the chill seeping into her bones. she wraps her fingers around the rope burn on her right wrist, raw and bloody from her mock crucifixion.
-
she's not too sure when jim hopper picks her up, too focused on the aching pain in her feet.
all she knows is there is no god in hawkins tonight. if there had been a god, he has been gone since her birth.
perhaps there was once a god, watching over her, keeping her safe from harm. but now, now as she walks down the interstate, blood seeping out of her wounds, she knows god has abandoned her.
he has left her to fend for herself. ashamed of the cruelty of his childre, god has left her to suffer in hawkins.
-
wayne's scared.
she can tell from the way his eyebrows are furrowed, brown eyes shining in the dim lighting of the trailer. hopper is holding an old dish rag against her head, applying pressure.
she tries to pull away but his grip on the other side of her head pulls her back. wayne's fiddling with her wrists, turning them in his grasp as they talk back and forth, the words incomprehensible to her ears. her feet still hurt.
she should be in bed. it's a friday after all. dinner is a distant thought in her head, lurking in the back as she tries to remember if she sat their alarm clock for six.
did she have homework?
-
it's almost a new day when eddie finds his way home. the roads are practically barren as the town settles down, majority of lights flickered off.
he expects to find his own home dark, his sister and wayne in their respective beds, preparing for another week. instead, he finds all the lights on, a cop car sitting outside with it's lights still flashing, yet no officer was in the car.
if the front door hadn't been thrown open, with the looming figure of jim hopper barely visible from eddie's van, he would've turned around and ran for the hills.
instead, he's slow to walk up the porch, confusion growing as he spots wayne talking to jim hopper, clutching a bloodied hand towel. wayne barely spares him a glance as he walks in, worry stretching across his face as he turns back to hopper.
then eddie sees her.
she's slumped on the couch, her cheer uniform a crumpled mess on the floor, left in the gold sleeves and briefs the cheerleaders wore underneath their uniforms, her bow uneven and crumpled in her hair.
there's dried blood in her hair, dark and unsightly against her curls, sticking to her forehead and dripping down the side of her neck as she leans against the couch cushions.
there's blood on her wrists and legs, pale skin littered with forming bruises and blood, her eyes are unfocused as they droop, darkened with exhaustion.
he can't seem to breathe past the lump in his throat.
her chest falls in a terrible rhythm, stopping and rising in uneven intervals, mimicking the breathing habits of someone with horrible sleep apnea.
blood is smeared on the floor from her feet, staining the carpeted floor of their trailer as she leans back against the pillows, unaware of eddie's presence.
and he wants to scream.
wayne's hand finds it's way onto the back of his neck, and before eddie can protest, the man is dragging him into his bedroom. with a grimace eddie can't make out, wayne shuts the door, leaving him alone.
but all he can do is sit and think about the blood on the floor.
-
eddie doesn't know how long he sits on wayne's bed before the door creaks open. hopper had left in a flash, sirens blaring down the road as he pulled away from their trailer.
his sister dangles from wayne's arms, cleaned up. bandages seem to cover her entirely, a small bit of tanned skin peeking through the bandages. wayne had even tried his best at a braid.
they don't talk as wayne lies her down on the bed, pushing down eddie's shoulder. it's like a ghost is beside him as she lies silent, unmoving against wayne's comforter. she's swaddled in a jacket that looks unfamiliar to eddie, a long fur coat he had never seen before, stupidly similar to the ones the russians on the televison wore.
her breaths are unsteady, coming out in slow puffs that leave him on edge, constantly waiting for the next, and even as wayne kills the lights and climbs into the other side of the bed, eddie waits for the puff of breath.
-
as he lies in bed, he knows that there is no god in hawkins. there is no god that saved his sister. there is nothing but cruelty and judgement in their town.
Good job!
Dirty Cop || Sukuna Ryomen
✵ ft. Policeman Sukuna x f.reader
✰༄ wc: 3k
༻ warning: smut, p in v, porn with plot, Dirty Cop (Sukuna), (slight) cúnnilingus, marking, rough, Sukuna mean is mean (obviously) , missionary, swearing, etc.
✰★✰★✰★✰★✰★✰★✰★✰★✰★✰★✰★✰
Sukuna is a corrupt cop, known for his ruthlessness and disregard for the law. He had taken many lives, and his name was whispered in fear among the citizens. As a prisoner, you had fallen afoul of his twisted sense of justice.
The cell was cold, stark, and barren, with little more than a cot and a bucket for a toilet. The sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway, growing louder as they approached your cell. The door swung open, revealing Sukuna, his eyes gleaming with malice.
"Well, well, well, look who we have here." He snarled, leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest. His expression was cold and cruel, devoid of any remorse or pity. "You've been causing trouble, haven't you?"
Sukuna stepped closer to the bars, his eyes raking over your body. He was dressed in a police uniform, the badge glinting ominously in the dim light. His ego was evident in his stance, his superiority clear in his demeanor.
"Perhaps we can come to an arrangement? Perhaps you can serve me instead of rotting in this cell." He suggested, a predatory grin spreading across his face. "What do you say, prisoner?"
"Arrangement?" You snorted, trying to mask the fear that gripped your chest. You knew what he meant, and you weren't interested in becoming his pawn. But fear coursed through your veins, making you doubt your choice. "What kind of arrangement are we talking about here, Officer?"
Sukuna's grin widened, his eyes flashing with dark delight at your hesitation. He leaned closer, his voice low and seductive.
"Oh, I think you know exactly what I'm offering. You see, I have a particular taste for those who dare to defy me. And I find you most...intriguing." He purred, reaching through the bars to trace a finger along the edge of your jaw. His touch sent shivers down your spine.
"Now, you can either accept my offer and perhaps find yourself a bit more comfortable in this hellhole, or you can continue to defy me and suffer the consequences." His eyes locked onto yours, daring you to resist. "The choice is yours, prisoner."
Your heart pounded in your chest, your mind racing as you considered your options. Sukuna's touch sent a wave of revulsion and fear coursing through you, but you couldn't deny the power he held over you.
"What do you want from me?" You asked, trying to hide the tremor in your voice. His power was undeniable, and you were acutely aware of the danger you were in. "What do you want me to do?"
Sukuna's smile widened, his eyes darkening with pleasure at your submission. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered:
"I want you to serve me, little prisoner. I want you to do my bidding, to be my toy when I desire. And if you please me, I might just release you from this cell." His fingers trailed down your neck, sending chills down your spine.
"But if you displease me...well, let's just say your stay here will be much less comfortable." His voice was a low growl, his eyes gleaming with malice.
You swallowed hard, hating yourself for even considering his offer. But the thought of enduring more torture and torment in this cell was almost worse than submitting to him. Your mind raced as you considered your options.
"Fine...I'll do as you say. Just get me out of here" You whispered.
Sukuna's eyes narrowed in appraisal, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk. He straightened, pushing away from the bars with a flick of his wrist. The sound of keys jingle in the empty hallway and he open the door to your cell.
As you stepped out of the cell, the sudden freedom was almost overwhelming. But the relief was short-lived as Sukuna's hand clasped around your arm, pulling you close. His touch was cold and unyielding, a reminder of his power over you.
"Good choice, prisoner." He purred, his lips brushing against your ear. "Now, let's see what you're made of."
He led you down the hallway, past other cells filled with screaming prisoners. The sound of their torment was a constant reminder of what awaited you if you failed to please him. Your heart pounded in your chest, your mind racing with fear and uncertainty.
Sukuna stopped in front of a door, the symbol of a badge embossed on it. He opened it, gesturing for you to enter with a smirk.
Step into the office, and you'll find yourself in a room filled with the stench of decay and corruption. Papers and files are scattered across the desk, a testament to Sukuna's disorganized lifestyle. The walls are adorned with pictures of his previous victims, their lifeless eyes staring back at you accusingly.
Sukuna closes the door behind you, locking it with a satisfying click. He turns to face you, his eyes gleaming with danger. "Now, little prisoner, let's see what you can do for me."
You stood frozen, your heart pounding in your chest as Sukuna's gaze bore into you. The room was suffocating, the stench of decay and corrupt
ning overwhelming. You could feel the accusing eyes of his previous victims upon you, and the weight of your situation pressed down on your shoulders. Your mind raced with fear and uncertainty, but you forced yourself to stand tall, meeting Sukuna's gaze with as much defiance as you could muster.
"What do you want me to do?" You asked, trying to hide the tremor in your voice. You knew that submission was the only way to survive in this hellish place, but you couldn't bring yourself to show weakness.
he didn’t say anything and he walked in a secret room behind his paper wall and you followed him knowing he was going to kill you if you don’t. The room was a dungeon/room the walls was black and there was a bed with red sheets and blankets
As you entered the room, your heart pounded in your chest. The walls were painted a dark, ominous black, and the bed was covered in red sheets and blankets, creating a disturbing contrast. You couldn't shake the feeling that this was where your fate would be decided.
Sukuna turned to face you, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Strip," he commanded, his voice low and seductive. There was no room for negotiation in his tone.
You hesitated, your mind racing with uncertainty and a tinge of desire because it was no surprise that Sukuna was fucking hot. But you knew that disobeying him would only lead to more pain and suffering. you began to undress, your heart pounding in your chest.
"Good. Now get on the bed." He ordered, his eyes raking over your body with obvious pleasure.
You climbed onto the bed, your body shaking at the things that was going to happened. Sukuna circled around you, his eyes lingering on every inch of your naked form. His gaze was predatory, his touch cold and unyielding as he examined you like a piece of meat.
"I'm going to teach you who's in charge here, little prisoner." He growled, his voice low and menacing. You could feel his eyes on you, assessing and judging. The anticipation was almost unbearable, and you couldn't help but wonder what he had in store for you.
"Spread your legs." Sukuna commanded, his voice a low growl. Without waiting for a response, he pushed your thighs apart, exposing your most intimate parts to his gaze, he started at your cunt watching it glistening with arousal.
You felt a blush creeping up your neck as he inspected you, his eyes gleaming with darkness and lust. His rough his fingers begin prying your wet folds apart his finger slowly trails up your cunt harshly flicking your clit in ways that left you feeling more needy and desperate.
You moaned softly, your body arching involuntarily at his touch. This wasn't what you expected, but the sensation was undeniable. You couldn't help but feel a tinge of excitement mixed with fear. He pulled away, his eyes gleaming with triumph.
"You're going to learn to serve me well, little prisoner." His voice was low and seductive, his eyes gleaming with malice. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. With a flick of his wrist, he secured them around your wrists, pulling them above your head and securing them to the bedpost.
You gasped at the sudden movement, your heart pounding in your chest as he moved closer. His eyes were cold and calculating, his touch rough and unyielding as he prepared to take what he wanted.
he then reached his hands his the drawer pulling out two nipple clamps
As he approached you, you couldn't help but feel a mix of fear and excitement. His eyes were dark and hungry, and you knew that he was going to take what he wanted, regardless of your feelings. You tried to steel yourself for what was coming, but your body was already reacting to his presence.
he attached the nipple clamps, causing you to yelp in surprise.
The sudden pain was intense, but it was quickly overshadowed by the surge of arousal that coursed through you. You couldn't help but moan at the sensation, your body betraying your fear and submission.
Sukuna smiled, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Good, little prisoner." He purred, his voice low and seductive.
his rough hands begin to pinch and pull at the nipple clamps making you moan and whimper at the pain and pleasure you pull at the cuffs already feeling overwhelmed pleasure.
Look at you, already drunk off the pleasure like a bitch in heat” he says with a dark smirk on his face, you tried to pull your thighs together but he quickly pressed his knee against your cunt, you moan at the friction unintentionally bucking your hips against his knees as he continues to grope and pull at your breast and nipple clamps
"You're a filthy little slut," Sukuna growled, his eyes gleaming with lust. He released your nipples, and stood up, leaving you panting and whimpering for more, he begin to take off his police uniform
As he stripped off his uniform, your eyes widened at the sight of his toned body. He was a beast of a man, his muscles rippling with power and authority.
When he finally took off his pants his cock springs out his was think and his pink tip glistening with pre cum, your cunt throbs with need
"So, you like what you see?" Sukuna purred, his eyes gleaming with malice. He ran a hand down his cock, smirking at the sight of your arousal. He knew he had you right where he wanted you.
"Beg for it, little prisoner. Beg for my cock." He commanded, his voice low and seductive. He knew you wanted it, knew you needed it. And he intended to use that to his advantage.
"Please..." you whispered, your heart pounding in your chest. You couldn't deny what you were feeling, the need for him consuming you.
"Please what?" He demanded, his eyes gleaming with dark delight. He wanted to hear you say it, to hear you beg for his cock.
"Please fuck me, sir..." You begged, your voice barely above a whisper. You couldn't deny the need any longer, the desire for him overwhelming your fear and submission.
Sukuna smiled, his eyes gleaming with victory. "That's what I like to hear." He growled, his eyes raking over your body. He climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between your legs. Your eyes widened at the sight of his cock, throbbing and ready for action.
he rubs his cock in between your folds teasing your clit and getting his cock wet from your arousal
Please hurry, sir” *you cried with need, your cunt clenching around nothing, he suddenly slapped your cunt making you yelp “don’t fucking rush me” he said with a dark smirk, he continued to tease you for a few more seconds before pushing his cock into your tight cunt, you moaning at feeling the delicious stretch of his thick cock.
he grunts at feeling your tight wet cunt he continued to push into you until he bottoms in you he grips your hips tightly then he pushes out all the way until his tip is at your entrance then he slammed back into you making you moan out and tug at the cuffs, he slams back into you one more time before creating a rough pace.
your body had no time to adjust to his size, the sudden invasion causing you to gasp and moan. The sensation was intense, your body protesting and welcoming him at the same time. His cock was thick and hard, stretching you in ways you never thought possible.
"You like that, little prisoner?" Sukuna growled, his eyes gleaming with malice. He knew you needed this, needed him. He began to pump into you, his rhythm rough and demanding. You couldn't help but moan and buck your hips against him, your body begging for more.
"Yes, sir...please don't stop." You begged, your voice barely above a whisper. His cock was filling you, his movements rough and unyielding. You couldn't help but clench your cunt around his thick cock making him groan and grip your waist harder.
"Good girl." Sukuna purred, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He increased his pace, his thrusts harder. You could feel his cock hitting your g-spot, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.
His hands goes up and pull on your nipples clamps making you moan louder and your hands grip the cuffs, he continues to slam into you making sure you feel his thick cock. You could feel his cock stretching you, his movements rough and dominating. The pleasure was intense, making your legs shake from how overwhelming the pleasure was.
"Fuck, you're tight." He growled, his eyes gleaming with hunger . He reached down, and begin rubbing your clit and rubbing it in circles. The sensation was too much.
Fuck…I’m cummming” You screamed, your hips bucking against him as you came. The orgasm was intense, your body trembling with the force of it. But it wasn't enough, the need still gnawing at you, demanding more.
"Again." Sukuna commanded, his eyes gleaming with triumph. He didn't let up, his thrusts relentless. You could feel him hitting your g-spot again, you wrap your legs around his waist pulling him deeper inside you.
"Please...please, sir..." You begged, your voice hoarse from your earlier scream. You couldn't deny the need, the desire for more consuming you.
"You like being used like this, don't you?" He growled, his eyes gleaming with malice. He increased his pace, his thrusts harder. You could feel him hitting your sweet spot again, the intensity building once more.
He lifts your hips up at a new angle he begin groaning indicating he was coming close.
“I’m gonna fill you pretty cunt, so full of my cum be grateful I’m giving a lowlife like you my cum” he groan wrapping his hand around your neck his thrusts turn erratic and his begin to bite into your neck muffling his groans.
you moan as well and he grips your hips and he fills you to the brim with his cum he slowly thrust into you riding out his high a few seconds later he pulls out of you his cum dripping out of and you whimpered as his pushed his fingers inside of your cunt making sure his cum stays.
Making sure you get all of my cum don’t you waste a drop” he says before pulling out of you and putting his fingers in your mouth
“Clean them” he say darkly and you flip your tongue around his finger making sure you get a taste of all his cum he then pull his finger out of your mouth and took off your cuff you pant and try to catch your breath you watch as he gets dressed putting back on your uniform.
“I’ll let you stay your useful for something” he says before walking out leaving you as a mess on the bed you decide to stay in the bed and go to sleep since I know once he gets off work there plenty of more rounds.
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Credits to the artist for the picture
