iluvnewports

[iluvnewports]

18+ only!

ੈ✩‧₊˚☣︎⚕˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ੈ✩‧₊˚☣︎⚕˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ੈ✩‧₊˚☣︎⚕˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ੈ✩‧₊˚☣︎⚕˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ੈ✩‧₊˚

You’ve been traveling with Joel long enough to feel confident when you say he’s the most complicated man you’ve ever met. 

You don’t usually get moments alone with him, but when you do, you find yourself sitting in silence, stealing glimpses at him. You care for him, more than he probably realizes. And yeah, you may find yourself admiring and thinking of him more than the average person. That’s your own secret, though. 

Because, unfortunately, you also know him enough to know your feelings could never be returned. So you say, and do nothing. 

But God, you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t touched yourself to the thought of him late at night when you’re supposed to be asleep. His large arms, his raspy, low voice. 

What you admire most, though, isn’t even anything physical about him; it’s the way he protects you. Joel makes you feel safe. You treasure it, despite knowing there’s no underlying possibility of him feeling something more. You sigh as you turn on your side.

You’re traveling to Lincoln in hopes of finding Bill, settling in an abandoned house for the night. You hope whoever it does belong to doesn’t come back tonight, considering the place seems lived in. 

Surprisingly, your mind is more quiet than usual as you lay still in your newfound bed. It makes it easier for you to drift away from your current situation. 

You think your usual bedside thought, that of a life far away from here. The thought of a normal life is abstract, one you can’t comprehend. You see it in your sleep, but you rarely dream of it, which brings another layer of ache.

You never remember much other than the feeling it brings you of security, comfort. Safety. 

You suppose that maybe you chase the feeling in Joel since it’s the closest you’ll ever get to recreating it. 

The thought evades you and you don’t think much of it as you feel your body weight sink into the mattress. You’re too tired to dissect that now. Your nose twitches in an itch as you disconnect from the world around you with small breaths guiding you to sleep. Sweet darkness, it overtakes you as the air stands still. It feels so foreignly beautiful, so somber… It…

It lasts for a total of 45 seconds before Joel pushes through your bedroom door firmly, yet quietly, breathing heavily as he limps towards your bed. 

You bolt upright as soon as the bottom of the door scrapes the carpet, blind to the dark room around you as your eyes adjust to the man hovering right above you. He’s slightly hunched over, grabbing at his jacket 

“Joel?” You whisper groggily as you rub your eyes, relaxing when you realize it’s him and not some stranger. He doesn’t reply, simply swallowing so thickly it's audible. Something is wrong.

“Are you okay?” Panic sets in at the sound of his ragged breathing and the way he doesn’t stand as confident as usual and he falls to his knees with a grunt, his palms splaying out across his thighs as he breathes heavily. 

You’re quick to push yourself off the bed, now kneeling down across from him. You place a hand on his arm, watching the way his head bows down and you find yourself laced with worry. “What is it?” 

He turns his right shoulder towards you, now noticing something you hadn’t before an arrow sticking out just left of his shoulder blade. You gasp, covering your mouth with both hands as your eyes flicker down his back and you don’t even notice the way he pulls out his knife to push into your hands. 

“C-cut it.” He swallows his stutter, pushing your fingers closed over the knife in your palm. Your head whirls in adrenaline, unsure of your ability to not damage him further. 

You know you don’t have an option, though, nodding hesitantly before circling to his backside on your knees, wincing to yourself as you notice the crimson staining his green jacket. You press a firm palm, letting the arrow slide down near the fleshy web between your forefinger and thumb. You suck in a soft inhale as he grows stiff beneath your touch, preparing yourself as if the arrow is stuck in your shoulder. 

“Ready?” You ask gently. He nods and you let out another breath before using your other hand to cut into the wood, your other hand serving as an anchor to keep him steady. Joel lets out a grunt but you push through his discomfort. 

“Fuck.” He winces through his teeth, heaving through the pain. He hisses another curse under his breath as you make another saw into the wood. “Just fuckin’—ah, just do it, quickly.” 

“Okay…” You nod despite the fact he can’t see you. You begin sawing against the wood quickly, trying your best to ignore his pained groans and winces as the thick wood snaps over, your fingers reaching to twist the last strands and pull it from the shaft completely, discarding the fletch to the side as you look at the splintered wood, hand remaining on his back for a touch too long. 

He’s breathing heavily, his left hand crossing over to grip his hurt arm, head still bowed as you feel the muscles of his back loosen slightly now that you aren’t sawing at the arrow shaft. 

Your face burns as you quickly remove your hand, clearing your throat. “It’s cut.” 

He sighs with a head shake, his face still down. “Good, okay. Good.” He swallows again. “Pull it out.” 

“What?” You blanch. 

“It didn’t exit my shoulder, I can’t do it myself.” 

“Joel, I don’t know—It’s barbed. If you can hardly handle—“

“I can handle it.” 

You sigh. You suppose you have no other option. You look back to the whittled-down shaft. “Let’s get your jacket off. So the head doesn’t get caught.” 

He nods, so you begin to gently peel it off of his back. He grunts out as you hit the shaft. “Sorry,” you murmur, pulling it off his arms so he’s down to his gray t-shirt. A large blood stain pools on the fabric, slowly dripping downwards. You pull the bandana you keep from your pocket, leaning around and gesturing for him to open his mouth. “Bite down on this.” 

He does, bunching it up and putting it between his teeth as he lets out some sort of snarl, baring his perfect set to the world. 

You grip the splintered wood as sturdy as possible, your hand resting on his back again. “Are you ready?” 

He lets out a hmph and you nod to yourself in reassurance. You count mentally in your head. 1…2…

You rip it out of him as hard as you can, the arrowhead dislodging from his back as his skin becomes textured beneath the fabric. He lets out a loud scream into the bandana, whimpering aloud as he falls over onto his palms, eyes squinted shut in pain. His back begins to leak viciously of blood and you’re quick to pull the rag from his mouth and push it against his back. 

You grunt in satisfaction, pulling his shirt up over his back to see the wound is much larger and his flesh is gored, broken skin sticking up as bloodied, bare flesh falls in on itself. You push the bandana against the wound. He continues to lean on his hands, panting as his skin glistens with a light sheen of sweat. 

“What the hell happened?” You ask in a frantic whisper, looking behind you to see the door is still closed. Hopefully, Ellie hasn’t woken up. She deserves some rest. 

“Man… shot me, outside the house.” He breathes out, choking on a cough. “I slit his throat.”

“What did he want?” 

He shakes his head. “Said…” He clears his throat. “Said it was his house.” 

Your stomach churns at his broken words. “Jesus, Joel…” 

“H-had to. Said he w-would kill you…” 

You let out a sigh, keeping your hand firm against his shoulder as you help him up onto your bed. You disappear to find some bandages and come back to wrap his shoulder. 

He sits shirtless on your bed as you kneel down between his parted legs and fix the bandage, the gauze wrapping down the side of his torso. Your eyes drift down his abdomen here and there, your stomach turning slightly as you notice he has a happy trail. Your mouth almost salivates.

“You’re stupid.” You mumble more to yourself than him, “You know that?”

He lets out another hmph, though this one sounds to have some humor behind it, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lip. You tuck the gauze underneath the wrappings, both of you sitting in comfortable silence as you pull your arms back and look up at him with large eyes. 

“You okay?” You whisper. 

Joel looks down at you and nods slowly. You smile slightly, looking down at your knees as you push yourself off the ground. 

You’re surprised, though, when Joel reaches a hand to the side of your face, smoothing his thumb over your cheek. You settle back flat on your knees, immediately submitting to his touch. Your chin tilts back as you look up at him. 

He breathes out through his nose as his thumb moves to brush your lower lip, pulling it down so your bottom teeth are exposed. Joel hums to himself in thought. 

“You…” He falls short of his own words. He sighs to himself. 

His cock twitches as it hardens in his pants. You say nothing, looking between both eyes before raking down his naked chest. Your mouth widens subconsciously, not even thinking about it like it’s purely instinct. You notice the bulge form in the front of his jeans, simple denim masking it from your eyes as your mouth waters. He sighs again, gently. 

His thumb dips into your mouth slightly, grazing along the flat of your tongue before pulling out and smearing your saliva against the side of your lip. Your mind is racing. 

How did it turn into this? You’re not complaining. But… How? 

Are you dreaming? Did you actually fall asleep, and you’re deep within your mind right now? You can’t believe your own eyes, maybe your senses are lying to you. You can feel your underwear growing damp as your cunt clenches.  

You swallow thickly. Joel tilts his head. “Do you want something?”

You nod, your eyes never leaving his.  He drags your bottom lip down again. You’re convinced you’ll wake up anytime now. 

“Use your words.” 

“Yes.” You nod, his fingers moving with your head.

“Take it.” He whispers out. Your eyes trail down his bare stomach again, your heart leaping out of your chest when his stomach flexes because of his breathing. 

Your head falls as you push forward on your knees, bringing unsure hands up to rest on his thighs. It almost feels wrong, touching him here. You smooth your palms up against the denim, slowly gliding back and forth as you try and build the courage to do something about the situation in front of you. 

His bulge is rock solid and you’re staring it right in the eyes. You’re intimidated, you can admit that much. 

Joel pushes the hair from your face and leaves lingering touches in an attempt to make you feel more comfortable. You’re not uncomfortable, far from it, you’re simply nervous. Nervous he doesn’t actually mean it. 

Delicate fingers hook around the waistband of his jeans as your thumbs work to undo his button, peeling back the flaps to expose equally tanned skin beneath, his happy trail becoming thicker and more unmanaged. As his fly rolls down on its own from the pressure at which you pull the flaps apart, you bring your nose to his skin and begin pressing soft, slow kisses. 

He smells a mix of musk and sweetness and you’re unsure how. Maybe the pheromones, but fuck, just smelling him could be enough for you. 

Your lips stick against his skin and break away with a slight pull when you kiss him. After a kiss or two, you dart your tongue from your mouth and leave a wet trail behind, going further and further down until you physically can’t anymore because of his pants. Your hands slide up and down on his upper thighs, just near his hips as he lets out a content sigh. 

As you pull at his jeans some more, you reveal the base of his thick cock and almost gasp to yourself. A large vein runs up from the base, the cool blue contrasting against his warm skin nicely. 

You’re beyond wet and you can feel yourself dripping into your underwear so your slick presses against your cunt, now grown cold and slightly uncomfortable. You shift on your knees, squeezing your thighs together in hope of some sort of relief. The thought of sucking Joel off could just about get you off itself, wanting nothing more than to please him and hear him groan your name. It makes euphoria run through your veins, encouraging you to keep going. 

You pull at his jeans ravenously and he helps you by shifting upwards so his pants can slide down his hips and sit just below his balls. His cock, when the fabric passes down, flings upwards and the head stares you right in the face as your mouth salivates. 

You first notice how huge it is and you wonder how anyone can walk around with something like that. You swallow nervously, quietly. 

Your hand wraps around his shaft and you pick it up so you can lick a stripe up towards the head, causing him to groan lightly. This encourages you further, peppering kisses along the skin surrounding his cock as you dryly pump him slowly. 

You breathe heavily against his skin, hovering mere centimeters above as your eyes close in ecstasy upon hearing the symphony that passes his lips in a guttural moan. Joel’s hands twitch in need, wanting nothing more than to yank you by your hair and mouth fuck you senseless but decides to let you lead at your own pace. 

As you continue to leave light kisses surrounding him, wanting to take your absolute time and savor it, Joel rakes his fingers back through your hair, which makes your scalp tingle. He smooths your hair back and gathers it into one hand as the other runs down to rub the back of your neck. His chin falls to his chest as his eyes grow lazy in watching you tease him. 

He tastes so good, you want to savor it all as if you’ll never have the opportunity again. His satisfaction is all you need and your pussy clenches as his cock twitches in your hand, precum leaking from his blush-rose head. You lick your lips in anticipation. 

You decide to move your focus back to his member, spitting onto his shaft before continuing to pump him slickly as he lets out a heavy sigh, his grip on your hair tightening as you wrap your lips around his tip and swirl your tongue along the underside of his defined, crescent tip. 

You moan against his cock at the taste of his precum flowing onto your tongue, coating your taste buds in his essence. You slowly bob your head downwards, taking every inch you can down your throat, your eyes watering as you gag on his thickness. He pushes on your head until your lips meet the base, a grumble growing in your throat as you breathe in deeply through your nose. 

Your other hand comes up to cradle his balls and he moans, yanking his hand from your hair to tug back on your hair. You immediately release his cock from your throat, coughing as tears blind your eyes and the slime of your throat coats him so his shaft and head glisten against the moonlight casting through the window. 

You don’t cease fondling his balls as you dive back in, bobbing up and down on his cock as your other hand pumps him in a stroke that twists up and down. Without gagging yourself, you can hardly take him in your mouth, but it’s of no concern to you. All you want to do is please him. 

You moan against him again and he moans in sync with you as he grips your hair tightly, forcing himself down your throat. His hips pick up, pushing himself in and out of your mouth with deep groans as you cease all motion and allow him to take control. 

The thrusts, harsh, soon become viscous as soon as he stands up and rips himself from your mouth, turning you around and towering over you. Sliding back into your mouth, your head rests against the bed as he leans into you, two hands planted on each side of your temple to maintain himself. 

You’re blinded by tears as he fucks your mouth so harshly that it hurts your jaw from keeping it open. You suck air in through your nostrils, eyes falling shut blindly as your jaw begins to close slightly from the tired ache. 

“Keep your mouth open, baby.” He demands when your teeth graze his skin, one hand falling to pull your bottom jaw down, keeping it in place. You try to unhinge your jaw and loosen up, wanting to give him everything and anything he wants. 

As he continues to throat fuck you viciously, you claw up at his naked hips as you squeeze your thighs together for release. Smoothing your palms up and down gently, you wrap your fingers around his sides, pulling him into you even deeper, if that’s even possible. He moans out into the open air, head falling backward in ecstasy as his chest glistens. 

His left hand has moved to the back of your head as she fists a ball of your hair aggressively to have your throat move against him. His hips become sloppy as his moans follow, stuttering. 

“I’m gonna—fuck,“ He pants out, his head falling back down to watch you and you make stern eye contact, your hands firm on his legs for some sort of leverage. “I’m gonna cum,” 

You nod as best as you can, whining against his cock as tears stain your face and you can’t see anything but a tanned blur. Your thighs chafe together as you feel your pussy purr at the guttural sounds he heaves. 

“Do you—augh—want it?” He asks lowly, heavy breathing interrupting his words. You whine a sound of approval. 

Joel nods to himself as he squishes your face against his hips, his sputtering hips hardly moving as his hands hook around the back of your head. You gag, pushing against him in an urge to breathe, and when he finally allows you to push free, his cock falls from your throat as a web of saliva connects from your bottom lip to his cock.

He begins stroking his cock with your slick saliva coating it, moaning under his breath. “Where do you want it?” 

You sit up and maneuver yourself back onto your knees, sticking your tongue out of your mouth as your wet lashes bat at him silently. You don’t have to say anything for him to understand. 

He jerks his cock harshly as he moans your name, spurts of cum flying from the slit of his angry red tip and covering your face in hot liquid, a massive load drenching your face as your tongue tries to greedily catch it all. 

Joel’s hips sputter as he holds his breath before releasing the most deep, primal groan you’ve ever heard, similar to the ones he let out when you were cutting the arrow’s stem, though this one is raspier and more guttural. 

He tugs at the head so every last drop is dispensed on your face. Your eyelids feel heavy as his semen weighs on your eyelids, feeling him shift around you as you continue to kneel submissively. 

You suddenly feel fabric swipe your face and you’re able to open your eyes to see Joel wiping the cum from your face with his bunched-up bloodied t-shirt in his hand. Your jaw is slack as he holds your chin up to see you better, his jeans now pulled back up as his brows furrow in concentration.

When your face is relatively clean–still, a little sticky–your thumb sideswipes your cheek before the rag can wipe the cum up, pushing your semen-coated thumb pad and licking it clean. Joel sighs as he watches you, standing upright before discarding the t-shirt somewhere behind him.

You’re nothing but a mess in your underwear as you shift your weight in between each foot, looking up at him timidly as you wait for his next word.

#angst #joel miller #the last of us #the last of us hbo #tlou #tlou fanfiction #joel tlou #the last of us fanfiction #smut #y/n #tlous x y/n #tlou hbo

[iluvnewports]

Heart Spurs

You and Arthur were never meant to be. But, despite everything, you can't help yourself.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ

Arthur Morgan is a solemn man. He knows he isn’t good, and he has no intention of being good. Even for you. And you know that.

Maybe that’s why you feel so betrayed by your own feelings. 

He’s never tried to change himself or lie saying he’ll be better; Arthur is or isn’t. And that’s what made it so hard. You’ve always thought that, a love like that? It’s enough to change a man. But apparently, you were wrong. 

Every time he comes around, hoping maybe you will too, it only breaks you further. You wish he’d just stay away, but he doesn’t; he won’t. He never will. 

Arthur found himself in and around Saint-Denis, for business of course. It always is. He had sent you a letter in hopes you two could meet again. You give in as you always do. For such a hard man, he held such a soft spot for you. Vice versa. 

You two meet no place in specific, just some road in town. He has flowers for you, some he probably stole, you think to yourself with a grin as you accept them. Some English Mace and some Hummingbirds sage, all held together with twine. You smell them, smiling to yourself. 

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, Mr. Morgan.” You smile into the bundle of flowers. It feels like it’s the first time all over again, it always does. Your heart betrays your own mind as you smile foolishly. 

Arthur lets out a low chuckle, resting his hands on his belt as he looks you over, hat shading his face beneath the bright sun. His chuckle leads to a sighing breath out. “I could say the same thing, darlin’.” 

He turns, gesturing you forward with a hand on the small of your back as he guides you down the street. The soft fabric of your dress is foreign to his calloused hands. “How long it’s been, miss? Two, three years?” 

“Somethin’ like that.” You nod, holding the bouquet close to your chest. “About two and a half, give or take.” You shrug. 

“How’s your father?” 

You think on this, another shrug, though this is more indifferent. “He’s okay. Drinking more since ‘Ma died.”

Arthur stiffens at this. He knows it’s a sore subject, your mother dying, especially considering it’s around the time he walked away from you again. Guilt twists in his chest everyday over it. He left you at your worst, at your lowest, yet you’re somehow still here giving him the time of day. Always with a smile. 

“I’m real sorry about that.” Arthur says lowly, his hand falling from your back as his eyes stay strayed towards the ground. “For everything.” He adds in a murmur, hardly audible. 

You tsk. “Going solemn on me, Mr. Morgan?” Your tone is sarcastic. 

“You really are too good for me, you know that?” He smiles. “Always with a smile on your face while the knife twists in your gut.” 

You smile with a nod. “So I’ve been told.” 

“That’s my girl.”

You blush at this before letting out a long-winded sigh, which Arthur can decipher exactly. The wedge of silence between you two grows and stretches as you walk, the sound of the bustling city around you ringing in your ears. The pavement beneath your feet is sturdy, your boots clicking heavily on the side street. 

“Anything in particular you wish to do?” You ask. This revives the conversation and the previous mood. There was an underlying bite to it, but it's better than tense silence and knowing you’re upset with one another. 

The past has passed, so why can’t you?

Perhaps you can start by not giving Mr. Morgan the time of day after everything he’s put you through. But you only quiet that voice in your head. 

“I have a few ideas.” Arthur watches a trotting horse trot by with its owner. “Maybe one of those moving picture shows. I’ain never seen one before.” 

You snicker. “Not surprising. When’s the last time you got a little culture in ya, mister?” 

Arthur rests his hands on his belt again, another small laugh falling from his lips as he looks to the ground in a small blush. You were always pushing him to do things like this, to show him the beauty of life and others. He always did it for you, to make you happy.

“A while.” Arthur admits, scratching the back of his head which causes his hat to tip forward. You like the way he talks; he says so little yet it always says so much. You look at him, squinting with the sun in your eyes. He looks quite handsome, that you can admit. 

His beard is far past a stubble but isn’t too long, though his mustache is a bit fuller. His jar is sharp and his hair is shorter than last time you saw him. The sides are shaved down while the crown of his head holds longer strands, his hair pushed out of his face in a sort of cowlick as small strands frame his face. 

He looks dapper too: Black leather gloves matching his black tie and leather vest, the cuffs of his rust-brown button-down rolled up to his elbows. His forearms, they’re so tan and defined. 

You catch yourself staring, it isn’t proper. Not for a lady. You look back down the street, it’s a little warm today. You wonder if he regrets the black leather. If he regrets coming here to see you. 

You’re both standing outside the tent of the picture show, looking over the sign. “A quarter?” You scrunch your nose in disgust, scowling. “Next thing you know they’ll be asking us to sign away our own lives.”

Arthur lets out a small laugh at this, nodding. “I reckon,” he murmurs, pulling out two quarters and flipping them at the man in the booth. You're still holding your bouquet. 

As you walk within the tent, you raise them to his attention. “What am I to do with these?”

Arthur gives them a once over, gently pulling them from your hands. He plucks a big yellow flower from the top before throwing the bouquet into a nearby trash bin. You gasp, furrowing your brows in anger as he gently places the flower in your hair, just towards the side of your crown. 

“I resent that, Mr. Morgan.” You pout at your gift being tossed aside so thoughtlessly. He smiles, charming you as always as his hand moves to the small of your back to guide you into the showing room.

“If it means so much to you, I’ll get you more.”

An eye roll escapes you, improper, sure, but you can't help yourself. The two of you settle into your chairs next to one another, the grainy, black-and-white picture ticking down. It’s mute, the only sound between you two being your own breaths. 

You surprise yourself because halfway through the show, you gently place your hand atop his. You two look at one another and his eyes grow soft whenever he sees you, something you recognize from long ago. Your heart feels heavy and warm in your chest all the same. 

You watch the movie and all he can do is watch you. You catch him numerous times, a smile peeling across your face which you try to fight. 

The showing is quick, maybe about ten minutes. You two leave the tent, laughing with one another as you discuss the movie. Arthur is beyond impressed with it all, propping his elbow with you holding onto it as you two walk down the street. You recognize how familiar and normal it all feels, being with him again. 

“Are ya hungry?” Arthur asks. 

You purse your lips in thought, looking ahead as you continue to walk. “Perhaps a little. What says you?”

His head tilts as he looks down at you, a lopsided grin creeping on his face as the corner of his mouth turns upright. “Starvin’.”

Your lips purse into a smile. A lot of smiles have been passed around today. Your cheeks hurt. They’re pink.

“Why don’t we go ridin’?” You ask suddenly. 

“Ridin’?” Arthur stops, the two of you standing as people walk around you, like a gentle ocean surrounding you. He rubs at his chin in thought, stroking at his beard. “I suppose we could. Anywhere specific?”

You shake your head, looking between both of his eyes. A cold steel blue-green. “No.” You say softly. It’s been too long since you two have ridden together since you’ve had a ride at all. Arthur nods to this. 

“C’mon then.” Arthur jerks his head in the opposite direction, guiding you back around and off towards his horse. He adjusts his hat atop his head. 

“Do you wish to eat first?” You ask, trying to be considerate.

Arthur is quick to answer. “No.” He rests his gruff hand atop yours on his forearm as he escorts you. His fingers soothingly rub the back of your palm as he looks at your hands between you. 

“Perhaps I can lead?” You ask slyly. Thinking of him saddling behind you, gripping onto your waist as you lean forward, rushing the steed. 

Arthur lets out a hearty chuckle at this, shaking his head. “I don’ think so, miss.” 

“That so? The thought emasculate you?”

“None of that, no.” He stops just shy of his horse, turning to look down at you as he grabs at its lead. “Just thought you’d like to remember what it’s like to ride with a real cowboy.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek, face coated in a light blush as he unties his horse. Soon thereafter, he lifts you up onto the saddle so you’re riding side saddle, the side of your knee resting on the leather as he continues to climb up just in front of you. His horse is beautiful, a brown and white Affaloosa if you had to guess. The white is speckled down its neck and across its back, its hair white to match. 

You pat near its rear, rubbing softly as you begin trotting at a gentle pace. “She’s beautiful. Gotta name?”

Arthur goes up to pet the side of her face, patting her. He pauses before answering. “…Scout.” 

You nod, continuing to pet the horse as she walks with a sway in her step. “That so?” You ask, your voice growing somewhat solemn.

 “And I suppose it’s a coincidence that it’s my mother’s maiden name?”

“It keeps you close to me.” He says quietly, still rubbing the horse's neck. “She always did like me better.” 

You exhale gently. It doesn’t upset you, simply catching you off guard. Scout begins to pick up her pace, so you decide to stop petting her and lean into Arthur’s back, wrapping your arms around his abdomen as you inhale. He smells as he always has. Tobacco, mostly. Your temple rests against him as he rushes Scout, causing you to vibrate and rock within the saddle. 

You let your eyes fall close as you feel Arthur reach a hand down to cover your two interlocked hands, gripping onto you like his belt as the other holds the horse’s reins. You can feel the wind pushing your hair back, likely causing loose strands to fall from your pinned-up hair, but you don’t really mind. The wind wisps past your ears, booming into your eardrums, almost soothing you. 

The stray flower in your hair comes loose and you open your eyes just in time to watch it fly away from you, just like everything always has. 

You mourn the lost flower for a moment, despite there being hundreds like it in the grass around you. But it was your flower. It’s interesting how quickly something can become sacred, even when there’s nothing special to it at all. 

What made Arthur Morgan so special? 

What separates him from the hundreds of men already wanted? He’s not a good man, a kind man. He doesn’t want to be, need to be, have to be. He’s killed people, robbed them blind. You’re no stranger to that. 

What made you so special?

Perhaps it’s a curse, to love a man who you may never have. Maybe you’re paying for something you can’t quite remember. Sins long before you were even born. 

And did he truly love you, too? Just as deeply? Or is it no more than a mission, breaking you just as easily as it is for him to rob a man?

He’s fiercely loyal, that you do know. But to whom?

To Dutch, of course, that much you know. But what about you? Would he… kill you if Dutch so much as asked?

You don’t think you even want to know. 

“You’re quiet.” He speaks his observation into the wind which carries his voice to your ears. “What’re ya thinkin’?”

“Nothin’ in particular.” You mumble. You’re not even sure if he can hear you, probably only able to feel your words vibrate into his vest. 

After a few more moments of riding, you feel yourselves begin to slow down to a light trot. You let out an easy breath. You finally lift your head from his back, looking at your surroundings. You’re in the countryside, small white clovers surrounding you all as a stream rushes close by. It sounds soothing, puts you at ease. 

You break your hands apart and pull them from around his abdomen as Scout comes to a standstill, Arthur jumping down and grabbing you by your waist to help you down as well. 

“What a gentleman,” You say dryly, dusting off your skirt as you look around. There are a lot of wild clovers and flowers around. 

Arthur pats his horse and you find yourself sitting in the grass, tucking your legs beside you as you adjust your skirt. You look up to Arthur with wide eyes. 

He tucks a loose strand behind your ear, probably one that flew out during riding. He bends down, crouching in front of you as he rests a hand on your cheek, rubbing his thumb just beneath your eye. 

“I…” He speaks, trailing off as he huffs out. Whatever it is, he can’t bring himself to say it. You look between both of his sea-green eyes, both of you slowly lurching forward until your lips meet in the middle. 

A slow, tender kiss is shared between you, your lips dragging slowly apart so he captures your bottom lip gently, suckling at it softly before letting it go and pressing his warm, plump lips back against you. His hand cradles your face, still crouching as his other hand pulls you into him, palm pushing against the back of your head. 

You sigh into his lips as he moves his gentle kisses towards the side of your face, kissing your cheeks and down to your chin and jaw. You shake your head, pulling away as you push against his chest. 

“I can’t,” You breathe out, head still shaking. “I can’t, I’m sorry.” 

Arthur swallows with parted lips, looking over the worry soaking in your face. He falls into a kneel, still holding your face. He shakes his head back. “What’s wrong?”

You swallow down a knot in your throat, it’s almost painful. “Arthur.” You feel disconnected from your own words. He looks between both of your eyes, eyebrows furrowed with worry.

“You can’t. We can’t.” You shake your head, grabbing his hand from your face and holding it in your own. You want to cry. 

“Okay.” He nods. He understands, he just got lost in the moment. He respects you enough to stop, to not question you. You know this, but it only frustrates you more for some reason. 

“It’s not okay…” You trail, shaking your head in frustration as you push his hands away, not harshly though. “This isn’t okay.” 

“I don’t know how you mean.” 

You’re silent and you can’t find it within yourself to look at him. Arthur sits down across from you, his knees bent upwards as he watches you fiddle with the clovers near your skirt. You need to say something, trying to find the courage within yourself, but how can you when you lose yourself every time you look into his eyes? 

“Why did you ask me here?” You ask, still avoiding his gaze. 

“I’ve missed you.” He whispers. 

“You don’t get to say that.” You pause, shaking your head. “Not to me.”

Arthur doesn’t say anything. The flowers beneath your fingertips are frail, it almost makes you breathe out a scoffing laugh. Is this how he sees you?

“I think of you every day.” You murmur, shrugging to yourself. “And every day, I’m reminded you’ll never be mine. Not entirely…

“Does that make me selfish?” You look at him with large eyes, glossy from holding back your teary grief. 

Arthur shakes his head. You’re the least selfish person he knows, you’re selfless. Perhaps too selfless, at that. Because if you were the least bit selfish, you would’ve been done with him long ago. You would’ve never agreed to meet him today. 

“Why does it have to be this way?” You ask, this time it isn’t rhetorical. 

“I don’ know.” Arthur looks down at your hands, watching them pluck grass strands. He grabs your hand, gaining your attention so you’re forced to look at him, something you’re not brave enough to do on your own.

“I’ve lived a bad life.” He nods sternly, accepting the weight of his words. Your heart lurches in your chest, tears building in your eyes so your eyesight is blurry, though they don’t overspill just yet.

“But you’re the best thing that I’ve ever done with myself.” 

You fold your lips inward in an attempt to keep the tears back. You nod, sniffling. You break into a bitter laugh, smiling as tears break your eyes and stream down your cheeks. Arthur pulls you into him, shushing you as he places a hand on your head, rubbing your temple with his thumb. He closes his eyes, exhaling. 

The two of you sit in silence in this beautiful field, the wind whistling past your ears as you breathe gently.

“I’ve missed you too.” You whisper into his chest, sniffling as he continues to soothingly rub your back and head. You turn your body to look out at the skyline as he holds you in his lap. How can a criminal with so much blood on his hands be so comforting?

“You’ll never change, though.” You recognize aloud. 

Silence. He snakes a hand around your abdomen, fingers digging into your side, though it doesn’t hurt. He sighs. 

“No.” He pauses. “I won’t.”

You sniffle, laughing to yourself. “…Why?”

Arthur exhales. “I…”

He pauses, closing his mouth for a moment. You already know his answer. You begin to speak before he can finish.

“Is it all more important? More than me… more than us?” 

“No.” He’s quick to answer. “No, of course not.” 

“Then…” You shuffle in his lap, back laid against him as your hair whips in the gentle breeze. “Why can’t you?”

“It was a pact made long before I met you.” He sighs. “When I met you, everything had changed. I changed. I wanted—want—to be the man you need.”

Arthur cradles your face from behind and you lean into his touch. “But I’m not sure I ever can be.”

You pinch your eyes shut as you soak in his words. Your mouth opens to protest but it only snaps shut again when you realize it’s all so pointless. Nothing you say can or will change his mind. You’ve tried everything: and nothing has worked. 

You’re so comfortable. Your mind can’t wrap around the fact that this may be the last time you see him; at the least, for the next few years. Your heart is heavy as tears begin to spill over again, crying with a stone face so as to not alert him. 

Why can’t he make it easy?

“I’ll come with you, then.” Your words leave your lips before you can even realize or stop yourself, though you don’t think you would anyway. 

Arthur pauses his movements, going stiff beneath you as his breath catches in his throat. “What?”

“I’ll come with you.” You restate calmly, continuing to look forward and act as if you can’t feel the way his body has gone shell-shocked. 

“D’you mean that?” 

You watch the skyline, birds circling, and clouds creeping slowly. The sky is clear and blue, the sun shines down into your eyes as you squint, and despite your blurred vision due to your tears, you can appreciate the beauty of a day like this. Scout grazes in the corner of your eye, eating grass as a rabbit scurries by in the distance. A brown rabbit. 

Your stomach growls. You can feel your hair grazing your cheek, it tickles. You wish you never gave up painting, you’d wish to remember this moment forever.

“Of course.”

#arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #ao3 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption two #red dead redemption community #red dead online #y/n #angst #angst with a happy ending #fluff

[iluvnewports]

Canary | Part II

part I here

Tumblr hates posting my foremats!

18+, minors dni

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You’ve been walking around with a head held high lately and it’s not hard to see why. 

It may or may not involve a certain driven English bastard turned wanted murderer. And the couch. And that one time in the car. Maybe also, possibly, a subway bathroom stall. 

You’ve both agreed to keep this whole situation to yourselves and while you think you’re acting completely nonchalant, you can’t deny there’s a certain pep in your step. Same for him. He’s been a little less brutish than normal. 

Things have been calm, as calm as things can be when you’re one of the most wanted criminals in the country, but you’re not sure what else you’d call it. Starlight—Annie—has been trying to get her hands on a sample of Compound V, per the plan that Butcher didn’t really care for. He doesn’t really like Annie on account of being a Supe, but you like her just fine. She’s funny and sweet, though she can act pretentious at times. But Butcher can’t see past the fact of what’s in her DNA.

Just another stark difference between the two of you, you suppose. 

Annie got a lead from Stormfront's laptop about the Sage Grove Center, explaining why you and the rest of the group are now standing about ninety yards away, half of you dressed in orderly scrubs. You, Butcher, Hughie, and Annie decide to hang back just in case while M.M, Frenchie, and Koniko go inside. 

You and Butcher sit atop the van’s roof, Butcher flat on his stomach looking down the scope of a rifle at the building as you sit criss-crossed beside him, eyes squinting as you look up to the sky, hair blowing back into your face. You two haven’t said much to each other but it’s okay. It’s a comfortable silence. 

You know he’s in a mood right now since Annie is here helping physically. He can do with her leads, sure, her undercover work, but he hates having to be around her. You’re hoping your presence can at least help some to put him at ease. You look over, watching Annie and Hughie awkwardly flirt. Their dynamic is so odd, but can you really say anything? Even if it’s odd, it’s sort of cute. 

“Are they in?” You ask, unable to see much because of the distance. 

“Yeah, looks like it.” He lowers the scope, poking up a bit. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” You know what’s bothering him and you don’t expect him to talk about it or share it with you first. Sometimes you have to poke the bear. 

“What about?” He asks as he looks back through the scope, surveying the area. You smile to yourself; yup, just as you expected. 

“Maybe the fact that you’re not too happy with Annie being here.” You poke at him. 

“Oh for fucks sake, are you all on a first-name basis now? Braiding friendship bracelets while you all suck off the Supe?” Butcher scoffs as he looks over his shoulder at you. 

“Yeah, I made mine in green.” You flash your wrist sarcastically as you prop your knees up more comfortably. “You know we wouldn’t have this lead without her.” 

Butcher purses his lips, lowering his scope as he furrows his brows in thought. You’re right and he knows it. He opens his mouth to talk, but just as he does, a loud boom sounds throughout the sky. Flying. Butcher quickly picks up his scope, waving his hand at you to get low and you comply. 

It’s Stormfront, landing just close enough that she doesn’t see the giant hole in the fence that Annie had made. You watch in horror, grabbing the walkie from near Butcher. 

“M.M, Stormfront is here, be careful.” You warn them quietly, not expecting a reply as you scoot towards the edge of the roof, Annie offering a hand before you jump. You gladly accept her help with a smile and a small ‘thanks’.

Butcher lowers his scope as he mutters a curse under his breath, shaking his head as he notices you standing down with Starlight which he doesn’t like. “Looks like Stormcunt is here.” Butcher huffs. Always a wrench in the plan, some way or another. 

“Oh God, what do we do?” Hughie panics slightly. 

“Nothing, that’s what we fuckin’ do.” Butcher stands up, rifle in hand as he nears the edge. Annie offers her hand to him which he ignores, jumping down as he leans into the open van door to grab his handgun just in case, cocking it and placing it in his belt behind him. 

You hear Annie sigh and you shoot her an apologetic look as Hughie looks more pitiful than anything.

Your walkie crackles and you pull it from your waistband, holding it up between the four of you. Butcher’s ears perk up as he turns, all waiting and looking at one another as the radio static continues. 

“They’re experimenting on… on the patients. Compound V. Against their will,” crkkkkkk, “this is so fucked.” M.M whispers as you hear a commotion on the other end. “They’re just… killing them.” Another radio crackle. 

Your brows furrow as you raise your head to look at Butcher with an equally worried—or angry—face. He goes to snatch the walkie from you but you jerk your hand back, slapping his hand away with a head shake. Anger bubbles within his chest, scoffing at your hand slap, as if he were some sort of child. 

You say nothing as the walkie-crackles cease, placing it back onto your pant’s waistband. You all stand in tense silence, looking at one another as Butcher fumes silently, ready to pop a vein as he looks at Annie. 

Butcher suddenly points his loaded rifle straight at Annie’s face, Annie gasping as Hughie immediately starts panicking, shouting, “Woah!” Your jaw drops.

“Real fuckin’ convenient that as soon as we get here Stormcunt shows up. But it’s just a coincidence, right?” Butcher looks down the line of the barrel, steadying it so it’s pointed directly center of her forehead. “And now they’re sayin’ they’re experimenting on people, killin’ em. You Supes, all the fucken same.”

“Butcher, she’s on our side!” You try and reason with him, shouting at him in hopes he’ll listen.

Annie’s eyes glow brightly as you can feel the electricity crackle within the air, your body hair standing up on end. “Get that thing out of my face.”

“Or what? You’ll kill me?” Butcher laughs coldly, shrugging. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Butcher—!” Hughie tries to interject.

“Oh shut the fuck up, Hughie.” Butcher spits venomously. “You’re just as bad seeing you’re banging the cunt. Sleeping with the enemy, eh?” 

“Billy!” You finally shout which causes him to lower his gun and look at you. You breathe in sharply, slicing your hand through the air firmly. “Put the goddamn gun down.” 

“Oh so you’ll only listen unless you’re fucking one of us, that’s great to know.” Hughie laughs bitterly.

“Hughie…” you trail off. 

“No.” He shrugs you off, shaking his head. “Just shut the fuck up.” Your heart aches in your chest at his sudden coldness, your brows furrowing as hurt morphs over your face. You’ve never had him snap on you like this, despite everything you two have been through. “You want to talk about sleeping with the enemy? How could you be with someone like him? He abandoned us!”

Butcher notices your silence, watching the way hurt paints across your features. He lowers his gun down by his side as he goes toe to toe with Hughie, towering over him. “Watch yourself Hughie.” He warns.

Hughie throws his hands in the air, laughing before stepping forward, seemingly not backing down. “Fuck you, Butcher.” 

It’s now you and Annie trying to talk both of them down, pull them apart, but they won’t budge. “Guys—!”

An alarm rings out loudly, causing everyone’s head to turn as you turn on your heels and grab the walkie. “M.M? Is everything okay?” 

No response, an explosion going off somewhere within the building. And that’s when Butcher clocks Hughie straight in the jaw who falls like a sack of potatoes, Annie diving down to comfort him as he holds his bleeding nose. Butcher points at him, his voice falling very low. “You don’t fuckin’ talk to her that way. Not around me.” 

You’re embarrassed by the encounter, watching the way your two friends look at you as they lay on the ground. Your face burns, too blindsided by rage and betrayal to fully comprehend what he had just said. You immediately snap your walkie off your hip and push it into his hands, tears welling in your eyes as you send a look of apology towards your hurt friends before climbing into the van without another word. All you want is to be alone right now. 

Butcher scowls at your action, calling back to M.M on your walkie, which you can’t really hear as it’s so muffled behind the closed door. You lean away from the door, looking in the other direction of the van so no one has to see the angry tears slipping down your face. God damn, he’s such a fucking brute. It’s a different conversation within the bedroom, but he should know better than anyone else that you don’t like to be submissive anywhere but. You’ve always hated the way he needs to assert himself, and now you’re directly involved.

The way Hughie looked at you… you can’t stop thinking about it. He looked so hurt, so betrayed. You two have always been like siblings, you always had each other’s backs. He took it so hard when Butcher seemingly disappeared off the face of the Earth. You were too, but you were strong, for him. If you’re Butcher’s canary, Hughie’s yours. 

The leather is sleek against your clothes and you can almost slip around in your seat as you try and pose yourself away from the door, knees dipping down towards the left. It’s silent outside the van and you can only assume that they’re all staring at each other intensely. It is Butcher’s specialty, after all. 

You’re brooding in silence, ready for it all to be over, hoping your friends are safe. 

Until it’s not. Until you hear shouting. And before you can look behind you, the van is suddenly flipping onto itself three times over, rolling about in the empty field. Your body thrashes around the metal van, throwing you into the back of the van as you’re thrown around, hitting all walls and corners as your body contorts and bends in ways you didn’t think were imaginable. It all happens so fast, it’s all such a blur, that you can’t comprehend it until you’re lying on your side as the van tilts and steadies right back up on its wheels. 

You slowly push yourself up, arms wobbling beneath your weight as you grunt out. Everything is so heavy, so blurred, so dizzy. You hear your name being called by three separate voices but the ringing in your ears is too loud to get past. You weakly push the doors open as they’re pulled, stumbling out onto the grass and almost falling to your knees as you look around. 

“Y/N…” Butcher looks as Annie gasps to herself, Hughie covering his mouth as you hold your hands out, trying your best to focus on what’s in front of you. Your torso is itchy, you feel itchy and you feel warm. 

You look down to your stomach, a large fragment sticking through the upper right of your stomach, your torn skin jagged and ripped apart as crimson clots around it slightly, thick crimson pouring down your frontside. You cough, your knees buckle. 

You collapse.

“Oh my god.” Annie gasps as Butcher jets down to scoop you up into your arms, carrying you bridal style as your head lulls back limply. All chaos and anger are put to the side, enemies become allies as they set aside their differences for the common goal of saving you.

Butcher looks down at your stomach, blood staining his clothes and palms as his worried eyes scan your colorless face. “Can you cauterize it?” He looks up to Starlight, who stutters over herself, gesturing to your wound. 

“Maybe—! I-It won’t last long!” 

“Do it, for god's sake, just do it.” He shakes his head, lifting you up at an angle so she can have access to your torso. She burns the wound with the fragment still inside, stopping the bleeding—for now.

“What about them?” Hughie asks, referring to M.M and them. Butcher shakes his head, immediately rushing forward towards the way of the road behind the thick woods. 

“Fuck them, they’re on their own.” He shakes his head as he looks down at you, the inner conflict of the situation settling across his features. You’re in between unconsciousness and reality at this point, slipping between the two gradually. Hughie and Annie follow closely behind Butcher, both unsure of his plan but following along anyway as they hold worry within their hearts. Hughie regrets snapping on you if only he could take it back. 

Then you wouldn’t have been in that fucking van. 

“We need a car,” Butcher says thickly, pulling you closer to him as fingers hook from beneath and wrap around your body. Your cheek rests against his inner forearm, groaning with furrowed brows. You’re so beyond frazzled that the pain is instead a dull, uncomfortable throbbing throughout your body. Tame, yet enough to drive you mad.

The three of them eventually flag down—or really, carjack—someone’s car on the road, leaving them behind with a card for Susan Raynor with him as Annie speeds down the road, Butcher holding you close in the backseat.

“Please let me do this. You gotta’ let me do this one fucking thing for ya’.” Butcher whispers to you, rubbing at your cheek as he holds your face. Your legs lay across his lap as you lean against the car door, Butcher leaning forward just enough so he wasn’t putting any weight on you. “You’re going to be okay.” It’s more of a plea to God himself than reassurance. 

He tucks a stray hair behind your ear, somehow bloodied deep red. Your face is so pale, so drained of life and color as he holds your face, wiping his thumb over your cheek again just to feel you. He repeats his soothing mantra to not go insane. 

“You’re going to be okay.”

—

You’re somewhere calm, in a serene field that stretches for miles, perfectly cut grass with small flowers. You look down; you’re barefoot, wearing a flowing dress that cuts off just above your knees, loose sleeves comfortably falling down your arm until it elopes around your wrist. You’re clean, comfortable, calm. 

You place two hands on your stomach, smoothing down your dress as you lift your head. There he is, in all his glory. Butcher, standing about six feet away from you, same beach shirt with the two buttons popped open, glistening chest expose with chest hair poking through. 

“‘Ello gorgeous.” He walks towards you, grabbing your two hands as he gives you a once-over. Everything is perfect; you don’t feel nervous, embarrassed. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” 

You smile, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. You don’t need to question why you’re here or where you are. Everything is perfect.

The scene changes and suddenly you’re laying on your back, plush grass pillowing your back as the collar of your dress is pulled down beneath your chest, wetness coating your nipple as Butcher’s tongue swirls around your left breast, sucking slightly as you sweetly moan into the air around you, fingers tangling within his thick black hair. Your leg is exposed as he pulls your leg up against his side, fingers gripping and digging into the flesh of your thigh as he grinds against your cotton underwear. 

He kisses your neck, lapping his tongue upwards and suckling on your ear. His heavy breath sends chills down your spine and your skin ignites in chills when he whispers in your ear in response to your moans, “I know sweetheart, I know.” 

Everything changes again and you’re now on top of him, dress hiked up your legs as you grind on his cock. His hands grip your hips, pulling you back and forth, cock wedged up your cunt as you bounce slightly, head lolled backward as your pants are met with the breeze of the open sky above you. Butcher sits upright, pulling you into his chest as you gyrate back and forth, cock plunging deep within you and causing that amazing friction you know all too well. His tongue finds its way back to your breast, suckling on it as you moan out. 

You’ll never get used to how big he is, it’s as if he breaks you in every time, stretching you out for his liking. He bites down on your breast, causing you to wince as you grab both sides of his face, forcing him to look at you. 

“Sorry love,” he smiles, lips parting as he watches you ride him with such intensity, such need. Your back arches against him, his arms wrapped around you as he pushes into the arch of your back further against him. The light-headed feeling is slowly making its appearance, the burning between your legs becoming more intense as your lower stomach bubbles, your panting picking up and you moan out into the air. Your ears ring as you’re pushed over the edge, straight into the arms of your climax, Butcher gripping a fist full of hair as your eyes fall shut. He nips at your throat, giving you the perfect balance of pleasure and pain as you cry out, cock rubbing into you and hitting the spot as you feel his cock twitch inside of you, spilling his seed as you clench around him, tip repeatedly hitting your cervix with a dull pain that can only be described as feeling right. 

Eyes shoot open and you’re faced with a white ceiling, the feeling of IVs stuck in your arms making you cringe as you lay up in a hospital bed fit with a gown. You’re disoriented, bright light blinding you as you sit up with a wince, your hand flying to your stomach as you collapse back down. You can feel the rough stitches beneath your gown’s thin fabric. 

Looking around, you notice Butcher facing the window, his back to you as he stares silently, lost deep in thought. The sun is setting. It’s nice to see it from this height instead of being stuck in some dark, wet basement. 

“Are you okay?” You ask him, knowing what sort of things he can get into when he’s left in that mind of his. As soon as he hears your voice he immediately turns, his features relaxing as he gives you a once-over. 

“You get impaled and almost die and ask if I’m okay?” Butcher chuckles as he walks over to your bed, placing two hands on either side of your cheeks and planting a lasting kiss on your lips. 

“How’re you feeling?” He asks in a whisper as if you’ll break apart into his hands if he’s too loud, allowing your face to relax as he sits down across from you. 

You shrug nonchalantly with a hum. “Little sore.” 

His hands still haven’t let go of your face, eyes flickering between both of your own. “Yeah?” He humors as if to say no shit. 

“Kind of stupid to bring me to a hospital.” You wrap your hand around Butcher’s forearm as you rub against the rough skin, his arm hair soft against the pads of your fingers. “It’s a miracle I didn’t wake up handcuffed to the bed.” 

You watch Butcher’s face contort into a smirk, just watching the dirty thoughts run across his mind. You tsk, and when he opens his mouth, you put your finger up and press it down to the pad of your thumb, signing “no,” as you hum with a brow raised. He releases a breath in humor, smiling as he tilts his head. Hands slide down your face, one resting on your shoulder as the other rests within the crane of your neck. His face suddenly falls, now looking at you solemnly. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” He shakes his head, brows furrowing and he can’t even look into your eyes, instead looking down between you. “This should’ve never happened. None of this was supposed to happen.” 

“Butcher…” You trail off with a small sigh, shaking your head as you place your hands atop his in comfort. “It isn’t your fault. Shit like this is just inevitable, in our position, our line of work. The way we live. It’s our hand dealt.” 

“I know that.” Butcher turns stern. “Jesus fucking Christ, you don’t think I know that?”

“Then—?”

“It’s too dangerous.” He shakes his head. “I don’t—I can’t—“

He can’t even speak. He almost lost you today and he honestly can’t handle it. You shake your head again, placing your hands on his face as you force him to look at you. “Billy,” you say gently. His empty eyes look at yours. He’s already lost so much, you know that. “I know. But we’re in this together, yeah?” You shake your head to encourage him.

“We’ve been through a lot these past couple years, and even before we…” He swallows. Hearing him speak so gently isn’t something you’re used to. “I’ve always cared for you, you know that. With everything we’ve been through the past year, these past couple years, this is the first time I’ve ever considered quitting.” Butcher’s eyes switch between yours as your thumb strokes his beard, your eyes heavy with sadness as your heart aches. 

His hands fall from you as he recoils, regressing away so he can collapse in on himself. He looks away again. “I don’t want to lose you.” 

“Hey, hey,” you whisper, grabbing his rough hands and pulling him closer. “You won’t lose me. I’m here, I’m still here.”

He nods, though you’re not really convinced. You decide to take a different approach.

You lay back into your bed, patting beside you. Your bed is just big enough to allow it and all you want to do is use this moment to reassure him. Fuck Homelander, fuck Vought, fuck everything right now. All you have right now is each other. Butcher complies, crawling up and collapsing next to you. You both face forward, your head falling to rest on his shoulder as you take his hand in yours. It’s silent, but that’s okay. 

Everything is falling apart, but amid the chaos, you want to ground yourself in a moment to appreciate what you have. You don’t have a lot, but you do have people who care for you. And honestly, for the moment, that’s okay. It’s worth it to have moments like these. 

“I had a dream, just before I woke up.” Everything’s so heavy, so you decide to turn to something else. 

“Oh yeah?” He leans his head down onto yours. 

“It was you and me in a field. It was beautiful. I was wearing a dress and you were in your stupid beach shirt.” You giggle to yourself as he scoffs. 

“What’s wrong with my shirt?” He’s offended. You snort. 

“Yeah, I’ve heard beach shirts are all the rave in England.” Butcher rolls his eyes. 

“We were in the field, it was nice. Calm.” You smile with a shrug, remembering how it made you feel. “Then we were fucking.” 

Butcher’s eyebrows lift as he turns his head so you can see him, pleasantly surprised. “We were banging? In a field?”

You nod with a smile. “Better than a car, hm?” 

“I’ll say. Maybe after all of this is over we can go there, yeah?” 

You turn back to face the door as you lean back into him, eyes closing gently as you daydream of it all. “As long as it’s far away.”

“Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

You smile with a hum, stroking against the back of his hand, catching some hair beneath your thumb. You don’t want to bring up what he said earlier in fear of him shutting down; you know how he is. You hope you can talk about it later, if later ever comes. 

Despite his need to constantly be strong for others, you want to be strong for him. And that’s why you can’t admit, you won’t admit, that you’re scared too. The two of you constantly tiptoe around death every day. But today was too close of a call. You’re scared, even more than you were before. You’ve always known you could die; That’s not the issue. The issue is that if you do, you’re finally realizing what you’d be leaving behind. 

And upon that realization, you’re scared. Butcher has already lost so much that maybe you take into consideration that your loss may be too much. And you don’t know what to do with that fact. 

You pack it away for later. Because for right now, all you want to do is absorb what is now. Who knows how much of it you even have left? You take a deep breath as you memorize the way his hand feels beneath yours right now or the way his soft breaths feel against your temple. The way his beard scratches your skin slightly. 

“Me neither.”

#billy butcher #the boys #hughie campbell #starlight #ao3 #queen maeve #annie january #hurt/comfort #angst #oneshot

[iluvnewports]

Tear You Apart

Miguel O’Hara one shot where you purposely piss him off so he’ll pay more attention to you. Boy, you should’ve thought that one through.

18+

tumblr always fucks up my italics and underlines. sigh. let’s pretend i’m not too lazy to go back through and redo them

—

You cross your legs over one another as you lean against the taxi’s door, pushing yourself into the corner so hard as if you could disappear like a hermit into a cave. Your heart pangs a bit in your chest, guilt rising to your throat.

No. No, this is well deserved. An outsider’s perspective would call you selfish, insensitive. But you’re not the only one who sacrificed things when you fell in love with NYC’s finest Spider-Man. You almost chuckle to yourself. Loved and feared by millions, it’s such a fine line. Thousands would kill to be in your place, so at least be grateful… right?

That’s what they’d say because they idolize him. You did too once, so you understand to an extent. But you know him as Miguel—your Miguel. It seems he doesn’t see himself that way anymore, though. Lately, it’s as if he’s Spider-Man all the time.

Dinner gone cold, nights spent alone with his side of the bed untouched—you untouched—notes instead of conversation. You tried to let it go, and you brought it up. You two always communicate with one another before it gets out of hand.

You open your phone to take another look at his text just an hour ago. Last night he promised you two would go out tonight, for dinner and drinks. Then time at home, a movie, and maybe a bath. You were excited.

Miguel <3

Gonna be late, meeting with the Commissioner.

(10:03 p.m ✓)

You chuckle to yourself bitterly as you place your phone back down into your lap, the hem of your dress riding up your thighs a little too much. Satin black, the exact dress you were wearing the night you two met. You haven’t worn it again since, he gets a bit handsy when he notices the way other men look at you; pulling you tighter, squeezing your ass. He gets jealous, very jealous, and so easily.

It’s perfect for the occasion. Not only that, but it draws the eye of a lot of people; not that you need the dress to do that.

The taxi pulls up to the curb outside of the bar you directed him to, people lingering around the entrance, smoking and talking and laughing. You should’ve invited your friends but you knew this night out wasn’t going to last too long. Only until Miguel notices you’re gone.

You know it won’t take long either. Not when he notices that your location is off.

After showing your ID to the bouncer and ordering a drink at the bar—something sweet, the way you like it—you sip it leisurely as you stand alone and watch the people around you. It’s packed in here, which you expected. It’s a Saturday night after all. It’s so loud you can hardly hear the jukebox playing despite it being maybe ten feet away. It hums a tired tune you can’t quite decipher but you can feel the melody in your fingertips.

You hold the cool glass as your lips wrap around the thin black straw, eyes darting around the room. You notice couples amongst it all and your heart sinks further. You miss Miguel, it should’ve been both of you standing here, talking and laughing over one another, fading into the background like any other couple. He’d become flushed with whiskey and he’d begin to grab at you knowingly and kiss your head. He just couldn’t help but show you off and parade you two together.

Miguel has never cared for the attention of other women, none but yours. He shows you off specifically so women stay away and men can be envious.

You’re deep in thought, back against the walls as you cross your ankle behind the other and realize your straw is simply stirring the ice with no drink left. You clear your throat, placing it on a high top nearby as you check your phone.

Miguel <3

Where are you?

(11:09 p.m ✓)

Mi Vida?

(11:10 p.m ✓)

?

(11:10 p.m ✓)

Miguel <3 Missed Call (2)

Miguel <3

Did you turn your location off?

(11:11 p.m ✓)

Miguel <3 Missed Call (1)

Miguel <3

??

(11:14 p.m ✓)

You don’t open your phone because your read receipts are on and your stomach hangs in guilt. Maybe you should go home. Maybe you should call him, it’s been about fifteen minutes since his last text and you’re wondering what could be going through his head right now.

You start to think maybe you’ve gone too far with this all. But before you can weigh the consequences of it, you feel hot breath on the side of your face, as well as grazing fingertips on your arm. The breath is hot and reeks of alcohol and stale peanuts and you physically cringe. The touch is unfamiliar, cold, and you instantly know it isn’t Miguel by the height of the mouth and the feel of his fingers.

You lower your phone and there’s a short, blonde man stumbling next to you. You firmly pull your arm away, tsking to yourself in disgust. You’re no damsel in distress and you certainly don’t find the need to be polite to some drunken asshole.

“Can I help you?” You sneer.

The man drunkenly smiles which makes you cringe. You’re taller than him in your heels and you’ve never realized what a short man epidemic there was in New York.

“What’s a pretty girl—“

“Like me doing in a place like this all alone?” You finish his sentence with an eye roll. What a cliche. “I’m waiting for someone.” You murmur to yourself, wishing you had just stayed home.

“That’s not what I see.” He slurs, stumbling slightly as he leans against the wall next to you. “If you were mine I’d never let you go out like that alone.” His eyes crawl up and down your body, glued to your exposed thighs. It makes your skin crawl.

“I guess it’s a good thing she isn’t.” A voice rips from behind the man and your head turns so fast your neck almost snaps at the speed. There Miguel stood, his tall, broad body a clear contrast against the blonde man’s, able to see from his breastplate above. He’s in his casual clothes; casual for home, not too casual for going out, though. A black t-shirt and gray sweatpants that both hug him in the best ways.

The man turns around after hearing Miguel’s intimidating, rich voice, first face to face with his chest before craning back his neck. He mumbles something before quickly scurrying away. You hug yourself as you push back into the wall, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. Miguel chuckles, lifting his chin as he takes you in.

Taking a large step forward and closing the distance between you two, he momentarily closes his eyes and exhales through his nose as you cross your arms over your chest and look up to him through large, guilt-ridden eyes. He gives a tight-lipped smile, pissed but maintaining his composure.

He’s so tall and there are only a few moments where you’ve felt intimidated by it; now was one of those times. His eyes rake over your figure, his large hand coming up so his fingers pad along your skin. He hums to himself, watching the way his fingers dance along your exposed shoulder. “You look nice, Mami.”

He inhales sharply again as he steps closer, little distance between the two of you now. Your head cranes back to look up at him. “I haven’t seen this dress in a while.” He remarks as he smooths a finger over the thin strap running up your shoulder.

“You’re here.” You say flatly. No, no you don’t feel bad, not at all. He broke his promise, he abandoned you again.

“You wanted my attention? Well, you got it.” Miguel whispers, lowering himself to your ear level as he takes a loose strand of hair between his thumb and forefinger to inspect. His calmness even when he’s infuriated is admirable, yet all the more intimidating.

“Do I?” You question with furrowed brows, pushing up onto your feet fully as you lean in to enunciate your point, eyes moving between both of his brown ones. They seem darker tonight. You cross your arms back over your chest. “Because it seems like I have to do a hell of a lot to get it.” Your nose scrunches as you whisper harshly, which he notices. He’s always thought it was cute, his eyes landing on your nose before flickering back to your eyes.

“¿Que se supone que significa eso?” He growls, getting as much in your face as you’re in his. It isn’t violent, no, it isn’t accusatory. It’s hurt. “What is that supposed to mean?” He repeats, now in English.

“You promised—!”

“I know what I promised.” He slices a firm hand through the air, exhaling slowly as his eyes fall shut. “You know I’d rather be with you but I’m working. I work so you don’t have to worry, so you can be safe.”

Miguel wipes a hand down his face as he sighs again, shaking his head again. “We’re going home.”

“You’re going home. I’m having a good time.” You back away, leaning back against the wall to resume looking at the others around you.

“It really seems like it.” Miguel tilts his head to survey your expression before grabbing your arm. “We’re leaving.”

You pull your arm from his grasp. Miguel grits his teeth, shaking his head. “You’re going to stay?”

You nod. He breathes out slowly, calming himself as his face grows neutral. He nods to himself, which causes you to raise a brow. “Fine. Don’t mind me, then.”

You cock a brow. “You’re staying?”

“If you are.” He nods, leaning against the wall next to you.

You huff in annoyance, rolling your eyes as you leave him and strut back to the bar to order another drink. You wait patiently, leaning against the bar top as your eyes scan the drink specials written on a chalkboard. You settle for another sweet drink.

The bartender turns to you, wiping his hands with a towel before throwing it over his shoulder. Your eyes wander his chest and his large muscles and you smile while batting your lashes. He flashes a perfect set of teeth, bright beneath the LED lights. “What can I get for you, darling?”

“Can I have a long island?” You smile, leaning in and pushing your breasts together with your inner arms. He notices this, eyes trailing to your chest before flickering back to your face with a smile. He nods. “Anything for a pretty girl like you.”

You hum a smile, acting coy. That’s one thing that stood out with Miguel when you first met him; he didn’t bombard you with sweet talk that you’re sure he used with any pretty girl who showed him the smallest shred of attention. No, he was just charming in himself, the way you spoke with such respect and confidence. So sad that something so basic can become so unheard of and wanted.

You miss your lover and you wish you didn’t have to be in this situation, but you’re both too stubborn to back down, even when each other is at risk. But you both know that you couldn’t shake him even if you tried.

You look over your shoulder as you wait for your drink, Miguel standing a few tables away, simply watching you as his arms cross over his chest and his thumb taps his forearm. He’s jealous but he’s giving you your space. He stands so tall above the crowd, he’s like a beacon for you to always come back to. God, he’s so tall. It would almost be intimidating if you didn’t know any better.

After giving your last name for your tab, the bartender slides your drink across the counter top and you grab it with light hands, sipping it flirtatiously with thanks. He’s too busy to keep his eye on you, to entertain you though; he has a job to do, after all.

You lean against the bar, poking your ass out with an arched back as you sip your drink slowly, humming to yourself. Your hair gathers to one side over your shoulder as you look up at the LED lights with a squint. A sigh escapes your lips as you wonder how long Miguel will let this charade run until he’s dragging you out by force.

You make a choice: you flag down the bartender and close out your tab, taking one last drag from your drink before pushing yourself from the bar and slipping through the crowd and out the bar door. Despite your apartment being about twenty blocks away, you turn on the sidewalk and begin walking. You don’t bother to look behind you to know Miguel is close behind.

You turn a corner into an abandoned alley, hearing Miguel’s footsteps follow you. As soon as you’re in deep enough, you turn around and forcefully push his abdomen in the direction of the wall, though he doesn’t budge. You scowl aloud, throwing your hands up in frustration.

“Fuck you!” You yell. He grabs your elbows so you can’t move or push him further.

He’s silent. You push at him again, trying to free yourself, but it doesn’t work. Your anger is boiling over at this point.

You push against him again and he lets go, the both of you staring at one another as your lips part in a pant. He looks just as angry as you are and for good reason.

“I didn’t know where you were.” He mumbles, shaking his head. “Do you know what that’s like? I thought someone might’ve…” He can’t even bring himself to finish his sentence. He swallows.

“And thank god Lyla could ping your location after dumping your phone.” He mutters under his breath with a head shake, letting out a bitter chuckle.

“You dumped my phone?” Your brows furrow in anger as your tone fluctuates as you scoff.

“What did you want me to do? You were gone, your location was off. What am I supposed to do?” Miguel grits his teeth.

You almost laugh in his face at the way he feels so entitled. “Has it ever occurred to you that I could just be out? I have a life outside you, you know.”

You both stare at one another again. The way the yellow street light hits the side of his face makes his features look softer than usual, and you know it’s pure illusion, considering how pissed he is. “I think you should leave.” You mumble, crossing your arms as you stare at your feet. Your lashes are feeling extra heavy right now. “…For a few days.”

Miguel shakes his head, his anger boiling over. “¿Cómo me puedos preguntar eso? Hm?” He grabs you by your shoulders so you’re forced to look at him. He mutters in Spanish under his breath, shaking his head again. You’re still learning, but you know the extent of what he’s saying; how could you say such a thing? Ask him to leave you.

“I’m not leaving you.” He says firmly. Tears well in your eyes, you push at him, but his hands go to grab your arms again so you can’t push him. You pull away but still, he doesn’t budge.

A push and a smack, a kick, it’s all effective. He’s bent down so you’re face to face, breathing so heavily, tears streaming down your face. Your heart is heavy and you miss him already, despite him standing in front of you. And in the heat of the moment, you throw yourself at him instead, attaching your lips to his as you, at first, kiss him deeply.

Miguel grabs the small of your back, pulling him against you harshly as he straightens up and picks you up to follow, your lips never parting as your kisses become more and more hungry and needy. You bite down on his bottom lip harshly and he winces a groan, fingertips digging into your back and a hand cupping your ass in what could be support, but you know better; he could lift you with one arm if need be.

Your feet meet ground again and he pushes you into the building behind you as he hunches down to meet your mouth. Your hands stroke his face gently as he finds the back of your thigh to lift your leg against his side. You pull away, breathing heavily as he kisses your cheek, trailing kisses down to your chin and neck as you dive your hands to dig into his thick hair.

You tug at his roots as he leaves sloppy kisses down your skin, licking and nipping as you pant into open air over his shoulder. You can see his back, one hand sauntering down to scratch back up it as he groans into your ear. With one hand lifting your leg, the other tangles into your hair, his thumb resting on your cheek as his fingers tug at your scalp.

Your eyes pinch shut as you buck your hips, your cunt exposed to the air as he pushes into you, growing wetter and wetter with every kiss that’s planted on your skin.

Miguel feverishly kisses you again, but only for a moment before pulling away and looking at you with parted lips. Your cheeks are still wet, wiping at your tears. You swallow thickly, taking a moment to breathe and realize the predicament you’ve both found yourself in.

“What do you want mi vida?” He breathes a whisper.

Your hands find your way back to his cheeks, holding his face and analyzing his features to appreciate the man in front of you. Your thumbs stroke his cheeks. “You.” You whisper.

Miguel nods, straightening up as he lets your leg down gently before gripping your waist, pulling you into him, kneeling down so you can lock your arms around his neck. With one last look around, he shoots a web out and you two are pulled from the ground in seconds, speeding up the building's side as he keeps one arm locked around your waist. Before you can reach the top, he shoots another, swinging from building to building as you hike your legs up to secure yourself. You brush over his bulging erection and he sighs a quick groan, now swinging faster.

Now amongst higher buildings, Miguel shoots his webbing mid-swing against a very tall apartment building, creating a thick webbed-like bed that he swings into and lays you down on. You gasp, afraid to let go. He knows you hate heights.

“I’ve got you.” He purrs, coming down on top of you, two hands on either side of your head. “I’ve got you baby.”

You look around you, the wind blowing in your face as you see the city twinkle below you. You’re tucked into a small nook near the roof, your arms never leaving his back as you hold on. You look back at him, seeing his eyes are dark with lust. “Couldn’t wait to get home?”

He shakes his head, his fangs poking just below his bottom lip as he looks at you with parted lips. Oh. He dives back into your neck, kissing you as his hands pin your hips to the web, grinding harshly against your cunt. You moan out, and he nips you a little too hard with his fangs, causing you to wince and cry out a bit into his ear.

He shushes you, picking you up off the web so he can grind into your harsher as you let out a whimper. He hovers above you, looking down at the friction between you two. Miguel licks his lips at your desperation, his claws digging into your ass as he lifts you up, not enough pressure to break the skin but enough to make you stir in his arms.

You buck your hips against his hardness, wanting it to hit your clit just right. He lets out a low chuckle.

“So impatient.” Miguel tsks.

You moan. “Please.”

“Why should I?” He pauses his movements which causes you to let out a whimper at the loss of pressure. You shake your head.

“Trying to make me jealous?” He kisses your chest slowly but doesn’t resume grinding which makes you pout. He hums between the kisses, vibrating your skin. “Make me watch you as you parade yourself to other men.” He sighs into your skin.

“You’re mine.” One hand comes up beneath you to grip your hair harshly, pulling it so your head tilts upwards. He bites your breast, puncturing it slightly with his fangs, crimson blood pooling at the small wound. You moan mixed with a wince. “Say it.”

You hesitate. Not because you’re unsure but because all that’s on your mind is pure sex and you can’t concentrate. He pulls your hair again which causes you to whimper. “Say it.” He demands. “You’re mine. You will always be mine.”

You pant out. His tone is demanding and aggressive, staking his claim over you. “I’m yours.” You nod, swallowing gently. “I’ll always be yours.”

“Good girl.” He whispers into your ear, releasing his grip on your hair and running his hands down your sides to lift your ass up and stroke into you.

“You want this?” He asks and you nod, pleading with him as you whine.

Without another word, he untucks himself from his pants, aggressively pulling your dress up. No time for foreplay, not when you’re this wet.

Palming his cock, he wipes his finger over his tip before aligning it with your cunt, swiping it up and down your slit as you shudder and moan, clenching at the feeling already. You let out a high moan as he continues to swipe up and down, slapping it onto the top of your pussy before inserting the tip into your entrance slowly.

You gasp. Even after all this time, you’re still shocked by how big he is. It fills you every time, stretching you out to remember it. He gives a little push and quickly pulls out, teasing your entrance and you fall into a string of moans and curses as he cups the top of your pussy and rubs your clit.

“Fuck,” your eyes fall close as your brows pull together. Miguel shushes you again.

“It’s not even in yet baby, not all the way. Yet you’re a mess for me.” He whispers, igniting chills over your skin.

He completely thrusts into you with no warning, walking your cunt up and pushing it to make room for him. Miguel has always been slow, sensual, considerate, but not right now. No, you pissed him off, and now he’s taking it out on you. You wince, the feeling of it all being too much.

Falling into you, one hand presses down on your lower stomach as he leans onto his other arm, fisting your hair. “You can take it.” He says as he begins to pound you with little mercy, causing you to lose your own voice and go mute for a moment.

“That’s it, you can take it.” He purrs and you find your voice again, deeply inhaling as you let out soft cries. Your walls adjust around him, allowing him access as his tip hits something deep inside you, hammering it over and over in a mix of pain and pleasure.

His face buries into your neck as he moans uncontrollably, though he hates to give you the satisfaction of knowing you love when he’s vocal. He’s teaching you a lesson, he cannot let himself fall blind within his pleasure deep within your pussy.

It feels as if something is missing, that you’re incomplete as your clit is unattended to since he usually takes care of it himself. Your hand falls down to your clit and he snatches it back before you can touch yourself, holding it up against your head as you scratch his back in retaliation, shaking his head. “Good girls deserve good things. But you weren’t very nice, were you…?”

You whine, clenching around him which causes him to grit his teeth as he yanks at your scalp. He pumps into your harsher, if that were even possible, faster, as if in a blind rage. Your entrance begins to burn at the friction, but it feels so good, you can’t bring yourself to protest.

Your stomach begins to bulge and feel full, bloated. His hand goes back down and rests on it, feeling the way he fills you and loving it. He lets out a long moan followed by a curse, his head falling back as he slows his strokes, grinding into you at a much more controlled pace.

Your hand travels to his abdomen, feeling the hardness of it and the way he flexes as he strokes into you. Now towering above you, his other hand coming up to rest over yours. You can feel the web sag beneath your combined weight, though you can’t bring yourself to be cautious or care enough about it snapping.

You’re dating Spider-man, after all. Though unpleasant and embarrassing, he’d save you.

You love the way he feels beneath your fingertips. You feel yourself tighten up, clenching around him as you’re riding to the top of your upcoming orgasm. He can tell, moving his hand from atop yours to cup your face. “You want to cum, baby?”

You nod, lips parted as you breathe out in pants. He rubs your face, his other hand moving to squeeze the inside of your thigh as he cradles your face. Miguel sighs with a nod. He’s feeling generous tonight.

“You want to cum all over my cock, mi belle?” He encourages the question and you moan in reply. He nods to himself, holding himself back as well.

His thumb goes down to rub your clit and you choke on your whine, slightly raising yourself up only for him to push you back down into the web. “Cum for me mami.”

The sensation of his cock hitting your spot and his thumb sensually rubbing your clit pushes you over and edge and you gasp out in silence, Miguel rocking into you at a consistent rate so you’re filled up to the brim, unsure whether or not you can contain yourself. Everything swims in your head: your fight, the way he kissed you, the way he held your elbows until you calmed down.

“Fuck!” You scream out as you reach your climax, pulling Miguel down into you as you wrap your arms and legs around him in need of him closer as he fucks you. You bury your face into his neck, breathing hard as you go rigid against him and he holds you in his arms, whispering sweet words into your ear as he kisses your cheek gently.

“Fuck,” you breathe out another cry as your legs shake.

As you ride out your high, your cunt tingling as your body falls into itself, Miguel picks up his pace in fucking you as he groans and moans into your skin and you clench against his cock.

“Oh fuck, I love you.” He moans as he leaves sloppy, wet kisses along your collarbone, spreading your ass apart as he fills you with cum. You feel his cock twitch inside you, that’s how big he is so that you’re left with little leeway, and you feel a warmth within your stomach as he pounds into your cervix. You rub his back as you pant, returning his comforting praise as he did you.

He empties his seed into you. “Never leave me.” He pleads amongst his high, and you agree, feeling the way his strokes become sloppy, messy. “I’ll never leave you.” You whisper as he groans, pulling out of you with a sigh, looking down between the two of you as he pants.

Sweat gleams his forehead and you push back his hair from his face, admiring the way he glows atop you with swollen lips parted in heavy breath. He pulls your dress down before tucking himself back into his pants, your legs falling from his sides as he kisses you deeply.

“I…” He begins, trailing off, dropping his head with a sigh. “Los siento, mi amor.”

You hush him, bringing a finger to his lips to stop him. He kisses it and you smile. “I shouldn’t have made you jealous.” You admit, caressing his face as you push his hair back. “I just… wanted you to pay attention to me.”

“I always do mi vida.” He kisses you again. “But I haven’t done a good job of expressing it lately, have I?”

You shake your head and he chuckles. “I’ll do better.” He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear and you nod in agreement.

“Okay.” You hum, smiling as you peck a quick kiss on his lips. “Let’s go home then, yeah? It’s freezing.” You shiver slightly.

He chuckles with a nod, pulling you close to him as he shoots out a web. “Let’s go home.”

#miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #miguel spiderverse #spiderman into the spiderverse #spiderverse oc #angst

[iluvnewports]

Canary

An AU one-shot of Butcher from The Boys where years after Becca dies, he finds himself fighting his feelings for you and finally gives in. + fluff & angst

minors dni

—

“You were always like my canary, I suppose.” Butcher breathes out painfully as he looks over to you across the console. “I knew when I couldn’t hear you anymore I had gone too deep.”

You have half a mind to slap him upside his head, gripping his stupid beach shirt by its collar to hoist him up from leaning against the door. “Stop talking like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re fucking dying.” You place both your hands back on the wheel, making a sharp turn that makes Butcher groan. “You’re going to be fine.” You look over to his blood-soaked pants and his bloodied hands atop it.

“Keep your fucking hands on it, Butcher, Christ.” You look between his hands and the road. You knew it was only a matter of time until his luck ran out and something didn’t go his way. You’re the most wanted criminals in the country for fucks sake, it was only a matter of time. Everyone wants your head.

“Oi, stop fucking shouting, they didn’t shoot my ears out.” Butcher barks at you as you make another hasty turn which causes yet another groan. Serves him right, snapping at you like that, all when you only care about his well-being.

“Just shut up.” You slam on the brakes a little harsher than you should’ve so he lunges forward a little with a pained groan. Pulled up next to the curb, you hastily unbuckle your seatbelt, turning to look at Butcher who’s already staring daggers at you.

“Can’t even let a tender moment stop you from being a cunt, can ya?”

You smile, one corner tugging up further than the other. “There he is.”

You move around to the other side of the car and help the injured man out, escorting him down the steps as he wobbles on his hurt leg. You kick open the door swiftly, though it’s not anything impressive as it is more of a small nudge, heads turning as you two sleuth into the dingy basement.

“Jesus Christ, Butcher!” M.M jumps up from his seat as Hughie looks around panicked, unsure what to do he stands up and grabs the back of his head, mouth hanging open as he stutters.

Kimiko’s brows raise as Frenchie mutters a curse, everyone rushing to their feet to help guide Butcher to the table. He’s practically pulled from your arms and you feel a bit defensive at this, furrowing your brows as you almost pull him straight back into your grip. It’s as if he isn’t as safe unless he’s in your hands.

“What happened?”

“Vought happened.” You murmur, helping Butcher sit down in the chair, his pained groans not particularly worrisome to you until now. You grab his shoulder in comfort, watching as M.M assesses his leg.

“Butcher the bullet is still in there, there’s no exit wound.” He props his leg on another chair, cutting the fabric of his pants around the wound. Blood pools around the wound, his leg hair around it turning slick and red as flesh pokes out around the bullet wound, crimson red flesh peeling like a lotus flower around the gaping hole.

“So, what, you’re going to dig into his leg?” Hughie looks as if he’s breaking out in a cold sweat as he swallows dryly, his voice becoming high-pitched with worry.

“What the hell you want me to do, huh?” M.M raises his arms in question before pointing back to Butcher’s leg. “Just leave it in there?”

“I don’t know—! Shouldn’t we get him to a hospital?”

“No!” You, M.M, Frenchie, and Butcher all say in unison.

“Hughie, go find your nuts, they’re probably hidden beneath your twat, and fuck off,” Butcher says roughly, head thrown back as he winces. M.M is quick to sterilize a pair of forceps, pulling around his spinning chair. He pours alcohol on his leg without warning, causing Butcher to grit his teeth and wail out a “Fuck!”

You grab his hand, your palms clasping together with a squeeze as you cling to his arm as if you’re the one getting a bullet dug out of you. You rub his shoulder gently as your other hand clasps his, watching as M.M digs the forceps into his leg, causing Butcher to jerk and startle. Frenchie grabs his other side, trying to keep him still.

“Be still, Mon Ami.” Frenchie says as delicately as always.

“You wanna swap fucking seats then?” Butcher snaps. He’s always so curt, so rude, and you all just withstand it. Because, hey: that’s just Butcher.

You give his hand a squeeze, signaling him to ease up a little. He only grunts, shooting you a look. He doesn’t say anything, though. M.M continues digging around, tongs deep in his leg as the handle sits at an awkward angle.

“I found it.” He murmurs, squinting his eyes as he pushes the two handles together with a tugging motion.

“Fucking hell!” Butcher curses as his head falls backward, hair falling into his face as sweat beads his chest, which you can see since his top two buttons were popped off. Eyebrows pulled together and eyelids crinkled close, you allow your eyes to wander down his glimmering chest. His pecs are large, which you’ve always loved in a man, even the harsh lamp light making his skin look appealing. He’s just so… rough. In a good way. His body carries stories, tales of the past, tales of how hard his life has been and what he’s carried, what he’s endured.

M.M gives another harsh tug to no avail, causing Butcher to curse again. “Just fucking pull it out!” You yell, feeling nauseated. Not because of the scene, but because it’s him.

“I’m fucking trying, Jesus!” M.M snaps at you, whipping his head up to meet your eyes. “Do you want to try? Since you’re such an expert all of a sudden.”

“I’m just saying—!”

“For fucks sake don’t yell at her.” Butcher defends, which causes M.M to quiet down. Your eyes snap to him, unsure how you feel about it all. He’s always been a bit… defensive over you? It makes you feel almost embarrassed like you can’t handle yourself.

M.M is quiet for a moment as Butcher groans more, shrugging Frenchie off of him with a small “fuck off,” as he stares down the barrel of his leg as M.M grips the handles and slowly pulls out of the wound, presenting a bullet dripping in gore, clanging against the metallic dish he throws it into. The blood flows off the bullet, saline becoming pink as crimson floats upwards in a somewhat beautiful pattern.

M.M is quick to grab his needle and suture as he begins stitching the wound up, murmuring something under his breath as Butcher tilts his head back to look up into your eyes, hazel as beautiful as any moss-covered tree. You feel a chill at your side as your heart warms under his gaze. It’s not completely foreign to you but this time, it’s more intense.

You both pull your hands apart slowly, your touch lingering longer than necessary. You lift your head, noticing M.M looks at your hands and back up to you. He says nothing, shooting a look you can’t exactly decipher, shooting Butcher a look.

Butcher, never one to be the silent type, also says nothing.

“You’re gonna be sore, but you’ll live.” M.M breathes out a murmur, wrapping up his tools into a cloth before discarding the bloodied gauze.

“Fan-fucking-tastic.”

—

“I don’t need a fucking babysitter.” Butcher slices his hand through the air firmly, tilting his head and raising his brows as he nods in confirmation. “Right.”

“Butcher, Jesus, it’s just a few days, stop being such a baby.” You collapse onto the dirty couch and tuck your legs beneath you as you curl into the corner. You pat the cushion next to you. “C’mon. That old Translucent movie is up next…” You trail off with a smile. Butcher wobbles closer, groaning as he rolls his eyes.

“I’m glad the old cunt died before he could make a sequel.” Butcher stands nearby, watching the TV. “I feel fine, it don’t even hurt.”

“You’re wobbling, you can hardly walk.” You pat the cushion again, though harsher this time. “C’mon, sit. Even super badass wanted criminals need a day off.”

Butcher groans but eventually walks over and sits beside you, maybe just a few inches away, your legs almost touching. He puts his arm up to rest on the back of the couch almost wrapping around you. The silence is comfortable, endearing.

You turn your head to look at Butcher some minutes into the movie and you can tell he’s deep within his thoughts. A dark place, one you know too well. So you shift your whole body, turning to him as you rest your chin on your arms which rest on the tops of your legs. “Do you remember when we first met?” You ask with a smile.

Butcher leans his head back onto the couch, turning to you with a half-tilted grin. “Like it was yesterday, sweetheart.”

“I really didn’t like you, you know.” You smile softly, looking behind him as you think. “Which is so weird because you’re just so likable.”

Butcher chuckles. “Like you’re some dainty flower yourself?” He scoffs in humor. “Right bloody nerve you must’ve had, throwing a drink in my face. That’s how I knew you had balls.”

“A compliment? Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” You bring the back of your hand to his forehead as if feeling for a fever.

“Oh piss off.” He waves you away, humor laced in his tone even if he doesn’t smile. You laugh and your hand falls to his shoulder, remaining there as you look at one another.

In an instant, all in one fluid motion, grabs you by the back of your head, pulling you into him as he angrily devours you, kissing you harshly as he grips your hair, fingers tangling into your hair as he pushes them along your scalp. His other hand moves to the small of your back as he pulls you into him, still sitting side by side as you kiss.

He bites your lower lip harshly, almost harsh enough to make you bleed, soothing it with the lapping of his tongue before moving to your top lip, moving between the two repeatedly. He’s dominating you already, pulling at you as if he needs you. You couldn’t pull away even if you wanted to. You can feel your lower stomach aching, pulsating for more as warmth bubbles in your abdomen.

He pulls away, breathing heavily as his focus moves across your face. You are beautiful, beyond beautiful, in every state he’s ever seen you. Dirty and tired, bright and happy, pissed off. “I ever tell you how knock-dead you are?”

You get what he’s saying, blushing, but you shrug it off. “You know nobody ever understands what you’re saying.”

He pulls you in closer so you’re flush against his side, holding the back of your neck as he buries his face into the side of it, kissing and nipping at you until he licks up to your ear. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

Your face burns as you chew on your inner cheek. You don’t know what to do with yourself, especially when someone compliments you. And Butcher of all people feels so unfamiliar. You let your head fall to the other side, eyes fluttering close as he licks up your neck and nibbles your ear.

Butcher pulls back and shifts himself so he’s between your legs though not putting his weight on you as he drags his hands from your neck all the way down to the waist of your pants, pausing as he looks up to you. “May I?”

You nod, though a bit hesitant. He immediately removes his hands, backing up a bit. “Are you uncomfortable?” His tone is gentle, something you don’t see often.

“No!” You’re quick to exclaim, shaking your head. “No, no. I want to.”

Butcher smiles cockily, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your jeans. “Say it.”

You look at him with furrowed brows in confusion, which he immediately picks up on as he pushes himself back between your legs and leans forward into your lips. “I want you to tell me what you want.” He whispers.

You hesitate, breathing out slowly in embarrassment. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Of course, I will, sweetheart.” He breathes against you as he’s quick to pop the button of your jeans and strip them down your legs so you’re left in your thin cotton underwear. He backs away, looking down at your slightly parted legs, and dives his large, warm hands down between your thighs to spread them wider, craning his neck to the side as he examines you. You sink in on yourself, blushing, the cushion beneath your bare ass is scratchy and you sort of feel bad knowing this is where your friends sit.

You’re wet, leaving a damp spot right center of your underwear. He runs a thumb down over it, making you jerk slightly as he chuckles to himself. “Don’t be shy.” He looks to you as he hooks a finger into your underwear from the side, pulling it away to reveal your glistening slit.

He looks in awe as he stares at you, his lips parting slightly as he absorbs such beauty. He feels hypnotized, wanting nothing more than to fall to his knees and please you for hours until you’re screaming and raw just so he can worship you and his tongue can memorize you, every crevice and curve.

His tongue runs over his bottom lip as he dips his head down and you can’t help it, “What’re you doing?”

“How do you mean?” He looks up at you confused.

“I thought we were just gonna…” You trail off.

Butcher shakes his head slowly, looking at you as if you were crazy. “I’ve been fantasizing this a long time, love.” Truth be told, it gets him off just thinking about making you cum with nothing in return. “And all I really want is your thighs wrapped around my head until you’re hoarse.”

You almost gasp at his forwardness, though you’re not sure what you expected; it’s Butcher, after all. Even his soft side isn’t very soft. You feel a pit in your stomach, you’re sort of scared. What if it’s bad? And then you’ll have to face him, forced to live with him in this shitty basement, knowing that he doesn't particularly know his way around a pussy, despite most of his vocabulary consisting of ‘cunt’ and ‘twat’.

His finger curiously runs up your slit and you shudder, tucking your lips together as you try and quiet yourself. Butcher yanks at your legs so you’re now flat on your back, head resting on the couch as he displays his wet finger with some sort of pride, glistening in the light before pushing them past your lips and pressing down on your tongue. You suck on his finger slowly, a groan falling from his parted lips as he watches you intently.

“Fucking hell,” he murmurs, pulling the finger from your mouth and grabbing your chin so you’re forced to look up at him. He leans down to kiss you, grinding against you and you can feel the hardness of his bulge against your cotton underwear.

His finger slips down and rubs circles around your clit as he kisses your open, moaning mouth. Your eyes pinch close in agony at the slowness of it all, feeling the way he wants to draw out each and every second of pleasing you. “Look at me darling, come on.” You open your eyes to see him watching you intently. “That’s it, good girl.”

Butcher slips his fingers down your slit and teases your entrance, causing you to gasp slightly, which he reacts to by letting out a deep breath before kissing you deeply again. His touch leaves you needing more and every sense hones in on it as your back arches off of the couch as he slowly draws moans out of you.

As he pushes in and out slowly, he pushes down on your hips with his other hand, ensuring your stillness for him as he works you over and over. Your underwear begins to chafe slightly as you let out a light moan, looking down between the two of you. Lowering his head down between your propped legs, he kisses between your thighs, and his beard scratches against your skin lightly, almost drawing a small smile from you.

He hums into your thigh before dragging his other hand to scoop beneath your thigh, giving you a warm squeeze, fingers spread across your skin. As he kisses down, he begins leaving sloppy kisses that leave your skin wet, nipping you on the way, breathing heavily against you, ready to burst. His head dips down further, though slowly, teasing you as you buck your hips further.

Eventually making contact, his fingers stall as his tongue swipes up your cunt in a long stride before pulling away and savoring the way you taste on his tongue. He chuckles to himself as your hips jolt, going back down to lick up you again, his large, flat tongue trailing slowly as he runs circles on your clit. You gasp out, sitting up halfway and leaning back on your elbows as you look down at him working wonders on your pussy. His hand shoots up to rest on your stomach, pushing you back down onto your back.

His fingers pick back up again, curling up into you as he sucks on your clit, lapping circles against you as you breathe out a string of moans. Butcher grabs the bottoms of your thighs as he pushes your knee back into your face, exposing you further to him, digging nails into your flesh. As you moan again, he moans against you, causing your sensitive skin to vibrate as you dampen his beard. He devours you as you secrete onto his tongue and he finds you oh so sweet.

Your fingers push into his thick dark hair as you pull at him, wanting him closer and closer to you as he curls into your g-spot. Your back arches, one hand moving down to feel his jaw and the way it stretches to mold around you perfectly, moving up and down to lick you raw. Your moans turn into pants as your chest heaves up and down, every movement of his fingers and tongue pushing you closer and closer to the brink.

He notices this, keeping his fingerwork consistent as he pulls his mouth away, wanting nothing more than to watch you fall apart in front of him as he watches.

“That’s it,” he praises, leaning above you as your face contorts in delight, eyelids falling gently as you breathe deeply. “Just like that, gorgeous.”

His praise pushes you over the edge as the bubble in your lower stomach bursts and you’re riding the high of your orgasm, jerking your hips so you’re essentially riding out the high atop his fingers. It’s a good thing he’s as strong as he is, otherwise, you might feel self-conscious.

Butcher plants soft kisses along your collarbone as you heave out another string of moans, coming to the conclusion of your climax as your head spins in a blur. This doesn’t stop the pumping of his fingers, though, the overstimulation of it all causing you to jerk, your eyes flying open as you smack at his shoulder with a cry. “Billy!”

His fingers stall, not yet pulling out, and you almost gasp thinking you went too far, wanting to kick yourself for ruining the moment. You can’t read his face and you’re half-expecting him to curse you as he pulls out of you, leaving you alone and half-naked on the couch.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he pushes forward as he kisses you deeply, passionately, hand cradling your face as he breathes against you, noses touching as he looks down into your eyes. He pulls his fingers between you too, your sweet slick coating his fingers thickly as he inserts them into his mouth to lick them clean.

You can smell yourself on his breath and you push him back, two hands on his chest as you sit up, pushing him down into the couch. You claw at his shirt, ripping it open with such ferocity and desperation that it rips completely, buttons flying off and clanging to the ground. His chest, god how you could stare at it all day, your hands coming up to scoop and grab at his pecs as you dive down to kiss his neck. You can’t get enough of him, quickly diving your head down to kiss his chest as you lick down his torso, leaving wet kisses behind, biting at him. You bring your head back up and kiss along his pecs, close to his nipple, before you’re stopped by a hand laced in your hair, pulling you backward.

Face to face with Butcher, his hand wraps around your cheeks as he squishes your face slightly, chuckling lowly with a head shake. “That’s not how things are gonna play out sweetheart.”

In one fluid movement, he throws you onto your back, towering over you menacingly as he grabs at your throat. “I ain’t half the bitch you must be used to.”

Your pussy clenches at his alpha-male-esque as he shrugs off his ripped button-down, diving down to kiss you as you hungrily kiss back. Attempting to pull your own shirt off your head, he settles to rip your shirt as well, ripping the collar apart as you gasp a startled laugh into his mouth. “This is my favorite shirt, you know.”

“Oh I know love, and you look lovely in it.” Rip. “But you look a lot better out of it.” Riiiiiip. He pulls the loose, torn fabric from beneath you, discarding it on the floor. You sigh slightly, though humorously.

“You rip mine I rip yours.” He shrugs, dipping back and kissing you as he claws at your back with dull nails, unhooking your bra and pulling it off your arms as he goes down to kiss your chest, all the while he unbuckles his belt to give himself a bit of relief from the hardness within his jeans.

Licking down between the valley of your breasts, Butcher pinches your nipple and rolls it between his rough fingers as he nips at you. You arch your back in delight, gasping at the sensation as he takes your other breast in his warm mouth, flicking his tongue over your nipple before sucking on your breast, now rubbing his hand up and down your bare torso.

Your fingers knit in his hair as you throw your head back in a moan. “Fuck, Butcher.” You’re sure not to push your luck by calling him Billy again, which he’s always hated from us for some reason.

Your body breaks out in chills as his fingers lightly graze your skin, clearly more focused on pleasing you than himself. After giving your nipple a nip, which causes you to jump, you push at him and he hovers over you, lips parted as he adjusts himself in his pants. “Tell me you want it.” He groans.

“I want it. You.” His head tilts to the side. Not good enough.

“I want you to fuck me.” You groan in need to which he nods, unbuttoning his pants as he dives his hand down into the front of his jeans.

Pulling himself out, fuck he’s huge, you feel intimidated as he aligns himself with your entrance, running his large tip along your slit which causes you to shiver. Fuck. Your legs are already shaking.

Butcher places a hand on your lower stomach, rubbing slowly. “Relax.” He purrs, tugging at his cock so precut beads over the top. “You’re okay.”

You nod as you take a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he pushes his tip within your entrance, the sudden fullness causing you to gasp as he stretches you out to fit himself snuggly within you. You whine aloud at the sting, shaking your head. “I don’t think it’s gonna—“

“We’ll make it fit.” He whispers a coo, pushing himself in slowly with a slow sway of the hips, moving back and forth in rhythm with what length he’s already accomplished.

You nod, eyes crinkling shut as you push past the burning sensation. It’s odd—it hurts, yet feels so good. Your pussy throbs, a deep ache you never knew had become prevalent, a hunger deep within you igniting as you wish you could swallow him whole. He continues to thrust deeper, laying forward as his chest meets yours, kissing you passionately as he rocks into you, inch by inch stretching your cunt so you’re personally molded for him. He groans into your ear which breaks your skin out into chills, cursing under his breath as he buries his face into your neck, two hands gripping your ass to spread you apart for him and his liking.

His cock hits the sweet spot as he rocks fully into you in a primal need, picking up his pace as he pushes himself above and hikes up your leg against his side, arm scooping beneath to hold it there as he slows himself to a painful pace, cocking his head to look down at your glistening face, sweat beading down between the valley of your breasts as you moan out into the air.

“You were made for me.” He huffs out, throwing his head back with a groan as you tighten around him from his praise. You can feel yourself climbing that same high from earlier, chasing it more ferociously now, his cock ramming into you until the walls of your pussy are raw from the friction. Your other leg shoots up so they’re not hooked around his waist, pulling him into you so you can kiss him because god is he sweet.

You kiss into his open, moaning mouth as you slink your fingers up his rough backside and rip your nails into the flesh, ripping down his back as he slams into you harshly, cursing under his breath. You can feel yourself tightening around his cock, building more and more pressure for the two of you as his hand wands to press down on your lower stomach and the other grips beneath your head, fingers pushing through your hair before bunching it in his fist to tug at as some sort of anchor for himself.

“You’re a fucking succubus, you know that?” He whispers harshly, trying to contain himself as he presses down into your lower stomach, causing your pleasure to tenfold as you moan out, trying to ground yourself as you stab your nails into his back to try and not lose yourself completely.

“Cum for me sweetheart.” He urges, wanting nothing more than to serve you before himself. “I know you’re close.”

You nod, mouth falling slack as you moan out his name, tightening your grip within your legs around his side, feeling his motion and rhythm as if it was your own. You suck in a sharp breath, finally pushed over the edge as he fucks you through your high, filling you with a sort of comfort, playing a game of ping pong with your orgasm; you push onto him, and he only pushes you back. It’s wild and wide, your legs shaking around him as he holds you and fucks you into ecstasy. All you can do is gasp, unable to even speak, feeling as if you are within the heavens themselves. Who knew you could feel so good, especially at the hands of someone so bad?

You feel Butcher’s cock twitching within you as he breeds you, groaning loudly, louder than before, though you can hardly hear him over the ringing in your own ears. He curses a “fuck” and “shit” as he spills himself into you, heaving like a wild animal as he pushes into your with broken thrusts, his cum serving as some sort of slick cushioning from the burn of friction. You can feel his cum spill out of you slightly as he pulls all the way out and pushes back in, both of you breathing heavily as you orgasm together. An unstopping force meets an unmoving object as you two mold into one beautifully, always meant to pass but never meant to stick.

Butcher pulls completely out of you, collapsing onto you as you both breathe as if you had just run a marathon.

You might’ve well have.

“Fucking hell,” Butcher says between breaths to which you nod, heart pounding within your chest as you stare up towards the ceiling, sweat clinging to your naked body feeling tacky and cool as you two gather yourself. Once ready, Butcher lifts himself off of you and pulls his pants up, laying back onto his back as he pulls you into him, resting your cheek on his chest as he rubs your shoulder, body resting between his spread ones.

He kisses your temple, nuzzling his cheek into the top of your head as he runs his hand up and down your arm gently, comforting silence overtaking you two for a moment as you two reflect on what just happened. You crane your neck up so you can look at him.

“You really remember the first time you met me, all those years ago?”

Butcher nods, looking at you and then off into the distance. “Of course I do.”

You adjust your head back so your cheek is to his chest, nodding. “You’re not as heartless as I thought.”

Butcher is silent for a moment, reflecting on your statement. His instinct is to run away from the statement, to retreat and prove you wrong. But this one time, he allows himself to be vulnerable. And while he doesn’t know what to exactly say (he’s never been the best with words), the action of holding you tighter and leaving a long kiss on your temple tells you enough.

“Me neither.”

part two here

#the boys #billy butcher #hughie campbell #butcher x reader #some fluff #oneshot #mothers milk #hurt/comfort #minors dni #Spotify