#like a dog growling at another dogs owner and the owners dog growls back | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

outlaw-apologist · 1 year

Text

Saved By The Gang | RDR2 x Reader

In which your SO saves you from your kidnappers! This was a request from AO3 :) Characters: Arthur, Hosea, Dutch, Sean, Charles GN!Reader Warnings for each story: Arthur: Graphic depictions of violence, cannibalism, and dismemberment Hosea: Graphic depictions of violence and human trafficking Dutch: Graphic depictions of violence, Dutch being himself Sean: Depictions of violence, use of strong language Charles: Graphic depictions of violence. Implied SA Notes: I kinda ended up writing these more from the characters POVs, so I hope that’s okay. I apologize for any errors of if my writing is bad. I’ve been struggling with insomnia so I'm not thinking great rn. I looked at this so much I kinda hate it lmao so I’m just gonna raw dog my mistakes :’) AO3 Link Arthur: Arthur had been gone for awhile doing the craziest things. He didn’t mean to be away from camp for so long, it just kinda happens. He decided to stop in Van Horn to finish up some quick business when he noticed your horse. Was it really-? Arthur’s eyes narrowed as he studied the markings on the horse’s coat. That definitely was your horse but you weren’t the one in the saddle. “Hey there partner.” Arthur made quick work crossing the road with long purposeful strides. “Where’d you get that there horse?”

The rider looked a bit flustered. “Isn’t’e a beaut? I found it just due south of Roanoke Valley all alone. Rider abandoned it so I thought I outta take ‘em in and give ‘em some good old lovin’.” “Roanoke Valley you say?” He scoffed. What the hell would you be doing up there? “Well, I know the owner of this fine horse and they wouldn’t just go off and leave like that. Where exactly did you find it?” “Listen Mister, I don’t want any trouble.” Agitation arose in the rider causing Arthur to throw his hands up in surrender. “No trouble here. I couldn’t care less about the horse. I just wanna make sure my friend is okay.” After careful consideration the stranger finally shrugged. “I found it drinking at the Kamassa river Northwest of Annesburg.” “Thank ya kindly.” Arthur tipped his head graciously. He hadn’t been up in that area before but the stories he heard weren’t great. This undoubtedly meant trouble. Arthur hardly mounted his horse before a bit of gossip reached his ears. “Another wagon disappeared near the mines. This time three women went missing.” “It’s gotta be that Murfree Brood. I heard they eat anyone they capture. Incestuous cannibals the lot of ‘em. Doubt we’ll ever see those poor women again.” “Shit!” A growl ripped from Arthur’s throat. His heels dug into his horse’s sides and he slapped the reigns. What if that were you? Kidnapped with those women? He needed to find you and fast. “C’mon Y/N. You better not be dead.” His heart pounded in his chest, wind whipping past as he cut off other riders on the trail in haste. He didn’t mean to be gone for so long… Away from YOU for so long… He always thought you understood it. His need to be everywhere and anywhere. And you did… You do… Yet, somehow, regret was eating at him like a deranged wolf. Snapping at the back of his mind, replaying memories upon memories of him returning to your arms after being away for ages. Arthur took for granted that you’d always be there when he gets back. He shouldn’t have left you as much as he does. He should have asked you to come with him. If you had business up in this region he could have been there to protect you. That horse is your world, he knows that. Maybe that’s why his mind was racing with so many regrets and thoughts. That horse is your everything, if you weren’t on that horse you were probably seriously injured… or worse. That realization put a lot into perspective. It was always ‘What if I never return to Y/N?’ and never ‘What if Y/N never returns to me?’ “C’mon Morgan. Keep it together.” He had to shake these stormy thoughts away. Was it possible that he’d find you alright? Maybe a mild injury? Absolutely. But fuck, if it didn’t give him so much anxiety. Upon reaching the approximate area Arthur slowed his horse using gentle praises. “Easy now.” He reached out to pet it appreciatively, allowing his body filled with tension to drop down. Blue green eyes squinted while searching for clues or any sign of his beloved. Luckily Arthur picked up a few things while bounty hunting and it only took him ten or so minutes to find footprints he thinks matches yours. While following them he started noting how far apart your steps were. You were running. ‘Running from what?’ “Christ.” Arthur’s nose wrinkled just as the wind carried over the scent of rotting flesh. Sure enough there was a dead fellow not far from your tracks. The bullet casings surrounding the corps were definitely from your gun. Was this one of the cannibals? Arthur moved the body, flipping it over using his foot. He looked malnourished and white as paper. Even his clothes were rags. Arthur wasn’t really sure exactly what a cannibal looked like but if he had to take a guess, a cannibal would look like this feller right here. “Fuck, Y/N. What’ave you gotten yourself into?” Those sinking thoughts were back, dragging him into a pit of despair. Would he find your half eaten corpse somewhere in the woods? Are you still alive? Were you scared? You’re a shit significant other, Morgan. That’s what he told himself over and over again, shifting trough the bramble. What kind of man doesn’t know what his lover is up to? If he wasn’t so far up the ass of being ‘Arthur Morgan the big bad Outlaw’ he would know. Regret. Regret for not holding you in his arms every night. For not returning to you more often. He should have had more time with you. Should’ve spent every waking moment with you. How could he be so dense? This life was dangerous! He always stressed that to everyone who would listen. So why didn’t he spend all of his free time with you? None of you knew when your last breath would be taken, how could he waste so much precious life away from you? That fear only grew when those scared eyes focused on the disturbing image of human arms sewn together into some kind of hanging tree ornament. A gloved hand covered his mouth to suppress a gag. Gore wasn’t something that usually affected Arthur, but the thought that this could be you made him feel ill. At least he knew he was going in the right direction. It wasn’t long before he stumbled upon a couple of the Brood. He couldn’t hear the exact words being said because his ears immediately attuned to your cries of pain. Creeping closer in the grass, hand on his holster, Arthur grit his teeth at the scene playing out before him. Never in his life had he felt so much white hot rage. One of the sick fucks held you by the hair while another tried to pin you down. “We’re just gonna cut yer leg off!” He laughed. “What’re ya cryin’ for?” “No!” You screamed, desperately trying to fight against them. For three nights you watched in horror as the others captured were slaughtered, tortured, and eaten. Carved like Thanksgiving turkeys. For three whole nights you couldn’t sleep, drink, or eat because you were so terrified of these monsters. They saw how scared you were and they loved it. Milking every second of it. Because of your exhausted state fighting against them was grueling. “You killed our brother, it’s only fair.” A scream ripped through you just as your flesh tore against the blunt blade of a rusty sickle. “Get away!” Everyone froze, heads snapping towards the all too familiar voice. “Arthur?” “Y/N.” Arthur caught your gaze, a look of relief washing over him. You’re alive! “Hey! Who do you think you are coming hea-” The Brood member pulling your hair didn’t have enough time to finish his sentence before his head was blown off with a crackling BANG! Silence rang out after the loud pop from Arthur’s gun, then the mans body dropped. “You shot my brother!” “And I’ll shoot you too if you don’t get the fuck outta here!” With a click of his cattleman revolver, the last man scrambled up to run. “Too slow.” A dirty finger squeezed the trigger and down he fell. You simply stared as everything unfolded before you, your cries not subsiding but becoming much quieter. After all your pain and torment… All those people gutted like human sacrifices… Arthur killed your captors so easily. “Y/N.” His voice was gentle as he knelt beside you. Finally you shattered. Sobbing violently as soon as his arms enveloped you securely. You wanted to say his name. To tell him everything that had happened but couldn’t manage anything past blubbering incoherently. Never had Arthur felt so much heartbreak. Not from any loss or any breakup he had experienced so far. You’re one of the strongest people he knew. Seeing you look so small and afraid was devastating. Especially because this should have never happened to begin with. “I know.” Was all he could say. “Shhh, I know. You’re okay.” While embracing you with one arm he peered over to inspect your thigh. “I know darlin’, I don’t wanna let you go but I need to stop the bleeding.” He quickly hushed the whimper that passed your lips upon feeling his body shift away. Arthur’s fingers trembled, fumbling with his bandanna. Christ, this affected him more than he ever could’ve imagine. It took a minute but finally he managed to tie it above your wound to limit your bloodflow before immediately picking you up. Arthur made sure you could hide your face in his chest so you didn’t have to look at any of the hanging dismemberments on your way out. “God Y/N.” His arms around you were tight. “It’s okay. I’ll protect you. It’s okay now.” He tried to console you. To console himself. Hell, if he were in your shoes this would be more traumatizing for him than the Colm O’Driscolle ordeal. He could only imagine how you feel. Arthur couldn’t even bring himself to sit you on his horse yet. The moment you were in fresh woods he dropped to his knees and held you. Rocking you, kissing your hair and breathing in your scent. Sweet nothings fell from his lips in soft shaky whispers. Pads of calloused thumbs wiping away every tear from your cheeks. All you could do was cry and cling to him. All he could do was hold you as if it were for the last time. And it almost was. The last time. “How’d you find me?” After what seemed like hours of you two embracing each other, Arthur finally helped you onto his horse and you were on your way back to camp. “Saw some feller in Van Horn ridin’ your horse. Complete coincidence.” Arthur could feel how tense that statement made you so he added quickly, “Don’t worry. I’ll get your horse back. I just wanted to make sure you were safe first.” “Thank you, Arthur. For everything.” “I know how much you love that horse, it’s nothin’.” “No, I mean… Thank you for always being there when I need you.” Silence washed over the both of you. Arthur didn’t know how to respond. “I’m sorry darlin’.” You could feel him arm gently tighten around you in a loose hug. “I could’ve lost you tonight. I got to thinkin’ and… I know I haven’t been the best to you. I always prioritize everyone else. It shouldn’t be like that.” “Oh Arthur-” “I’m serious. I’ve lost Mary and Eliza. Most of my friends are long cold in their graves. I don’t know nothin’ about gods or divine intervention. Don’t know if something led me to you or not this time around….. I guess I was always feelin’ sorry for you because you’re datin’ a walkin’ target. Thought some space between us might do us some good in case I die. Never did I once consider life without you.” Arthur let out a hollow laugh which lacked any mirth or warmth. “What a fool I’ve been. I ain’t never learn my lesson. Tonight showed me that, that’s for damn sure. I dunno what you were doin’ out here but for now on if I leave camp I’m not going anywhere without you.” An exhausted smile reached your lips. “Good. My handsome man, it’s always been you and me. You just had to ask.” “You and me, huh? I like the sound of that.” You fell asleep in Arthur’s arms long before you reached camp. Arthur held you when you arrived, petting your hair as Ms. Grimshaw stitched up your leg. Arthur was needy after your attack. He never let you out of his sight and would always insist on holding you. Especially during nightmares that plagued you for months after the accident. Arthur stayed up singing to you and rocking you for many many long nights. And, of course, he got your horse back! How he did it or by what means, you didn’t care to ask. Slowly life returned to normal and the incident was long behind you both. Arthur kept his promise to take you everywhere until the very end. ___ Hosea: Five minutes. He took his eyes off of you for FIVE minutes so he could speak to the owner of a fence in San Denis while you waited for him outside, and you were gone. “Y/N?” He called out in confusion, scanning the sidewalks and streets for any sign of you. At first he’s annoyed. Did you wander off without saying anything? Hosea waved over the nearest group of men lingering nearby. “Good day. You wouldn’t happen to have seen my associate hanging around out here, would you? They seemed to have disappeared.” One of the men nodded. “Oh yeah, some nasty business I tell ya.” Well shit. “Nasty?” Hosea cocked his head, resting his hand over his holstered gun. “How so?” “These crazies came and bonked them over the head, saying they owed money or somthin’. Decided to mind my own business because they’re all brandishing guns.” “Money, huh? What way did they go?” “That way.” He pointed Eastward. “Towards the docks.” Tipping his hat, Hosea made his way down the sidewalk. He looked both ways before crossing the road, grabbing onto the trolley as it passes, riding the step until he reached the docks. The sun was setting but he knew your form like the back of his hand. It wouldn’t be too hard to spot you against the fire of the sky. However, you nor the supposed men were anywhere in sight. “Excuse me.” He flagged down a sailor and asked him if he’s seen you. He had not. Neither had the other five people he asked. Hosea knew this wasn’t good. The trail ran cold, leaving him hopeless. There was nothing he could do but return to Shady Belle with a heavy heart. As your husband he was always supposed to protect you. Never in a million years did he think you’d be snatched away right under his nose. Mounting Silver Dollar, Hosea struggled to hold his tears at bay. The city was starting to suffocate him and he needed to leave in order to breathe and think. The weight of the world was finally settling into his old bones on the ride back. The horror the gang had experienced the last few months was devastating. The Blackwater incident aside – Arthur’s escape from Colm, Sean’s death, little Jack’s kidnapping…. Dutch wasn’t listening to reason anymore. The gang was in shambles and now… He let out a defeated sob, hanging over his horse for privacy. What was he supposed to do without you? You’re all he has left. His entire world. What if he wouldn’t be able to find you? It all happened so quickly. To think only an hour ago you were fixing his shirt collar, hanging on his arm with a smile on your face and now POOF! Gone. This was the last drop in the bucket for Hosea. Suddenly he couldn’t stop his tears no matter how hard he tried. He was tired. So god damn tired. Silver Dollar slowed to a stop just off the road. If anyone who passed-by peered close enough through the darkness they could make out the silhouette of a broken man with his head in his hands. He kicked himself for stalling your rescue. Precious time finding you, wasted. By the time he made it back to camp it was late into the night. Dragging himself up the stairs of Shady Belle he knocked on the door to Dutch’s room. Candlelight could be seen flickering through the crack of the doorway leading to Hosea believe he must still be awake. Silence. He knocked again, this time Hosea could hear the bed squeak. “You better have a good reason to disturb me.” Those words flew sharply through the cold humid air. “Dutch…” Hosea would have cursed himself for sounding so… weak. Calling out his friend’s name with a wavering voice. It was noticeable enough to immediately draw Dutch’s attention. The bed squeaked under Dutch’s weight then heavy footsteps led to the door. Hosea kept his gaze down, watching Dutch’s shadow as he moved until the door creaked open and the faint candlelight illuminated Hosea in contrast against the inky hallway. “Hosea- What happened?” “Y/N… I don’t know, it all happened so fast.” Wrapping an arm around Hosea, Dutch led him inside, guiding him to sit. “What happened to Y/N?” “I was looking for a buyer for the bonds we have left, asked them to wait outside because I was just going to be a moment. I stepped out and Y/N was gone. Apparently a group of men took them towards the docks. I tried not to arouse suspicion, I-… Maybe I should’ve gotten there faster, I don’t know…” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Y/N wasn’t there. I may have been too late.” “Someone just took them? In broad daylight?” “Just like that.” Hosea snapped his fingers. “Somethin’ aint right.” Rubbing his chin quizzically, Dutch began pacing the room. “Y/N isn’t stupid, they would’ve screamed or something. You really didn’t hear anything?” He paused to watch Hosea shake his head. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Staring down at his hands, Hosea slowly uncurled his fingers, watching the light dance over his palms. “It was a setup.” “It was a setup.” His friend repeated. “But by who?” “Could be Milton.” “I don’t think so. He’s a thorn in our side. If it were Milton he would’ve showed up in our camp already. Waving Y/N around like a prize.” “That’s very true…” Hosea only looked up when he heard Dutch abruptly halt. “It can’t be….” “What?” “Perhaps… Bronte had a hand in this? I don’t think we’ve done anything to cross him but he’s the only man in the city who could kidnap anyone in broad daylight and not a soul would tell.” He could feel the relief wash through him, the possibility bringing him a weird sense of comfort. He hoped it was Bronte. That would mean you’re probably safe and sound somewhere just like Jack was. “We’ll get Y/N back, Hosea. Let me pull some strings. We’ll find them.” The strings were pulled quite quickly as Hosea found himself waiting outside yet another fabulous party for Arthur to return. “It wasn’t Bronte.” His heart sank. “It wasn’t? Are you sure?” “Pretty sure.” Arthur leaned against the residential fence while lighting a cigarette. He was gussied up to fit the mood. “Asked around ‘n’ nobody had a clue what I was sayin’. I did, however, get this.” Held out between two fingers was a business card. Interested, Hosea accepted it. “Exotic Imports and… Impurities?” “Human trafficking. They apparently have these masquerade parties where rich folk can bid on people anonymously. I think that’s where Y/N is.” God… Was Saint Denis truly such a shit hole? He knew this place was low, but a human trafficking ring? “Are you sure?” Arthur met Hosea’s gaze with the most sincere look he could muster. “Hosea-” “I know you wouldn’t lie to me dear boy.” “I heard someone mentioning there’ll be an auction there this Friday. They mentioned someone who sounds pretty darn close to Y/N’s description in the lineup. I’ll scope the place out, maybe we can rescue Y/N sooner than that. And if not…” Hosea tucked the card into his pocket. “I guess we’re attending the masquerade.” Arthur knows how much you and Hosea are sweet on each other. How hard it was for Hosea after Bessie’s passing and how you brought life back into him. Arthur would do anything for you. So when he had to scope out where the auction will take place he took the job very seriously. He wanted to get you out as soon as possible if you were really there. The place was heavily armed, much to his dismay. An open window was easy enough to sneak into but getting you out was near impossible. He couldn't even find you. However, in a back room Arthur discovered a pile of discarded clothing. A shoe caught his eye, one he knew you wore often. Before he was able to grab it Arthur had to leave as the area filled with guards. “Y/N is in there alright. Too busy for me to get ‘em.” He reported back upon his return to camp. That’s how Hosea, Dutch, Arthur, Bill, Micah, and Charles found themselves attending one of the most unnerving ‘parties’ in San Denis on a muggy Friday evening. They looked expensive, dressed down to the newest shoes on the market. Each donning their own masquerade mask. The building looked beautiful. Expensive. Guest flooded the entrance. “Guns aren’t allowed at this event.” A doorman held his hands out while the gang handed over their weapons. They weren’t worried. If everything was going according to plan John and Javier should already be inside posing as security. Upon entering the mansion, the gang mingled and sweet-talked everyone they could. Trying to get information, word of your safety, anything. One by one they slipped out of the room to John or Javier who gave their guns back to them before joining the guests in the auction room. The auction room was massive, theatrical even. Women in glorious gowns, men who’s suits cost more than a house, they all gathered with glasses filled with alcohol of their choosing. Chatting and laughing as if they’re about to watch a play. Hosea’s stomach churned. The curtains opened to reveal the first person to be auctioned. It was a young girl trembling and sobbing. He gripped the armrest of his seat, knuckles turning white. One by one these people were being bid on. “7,000 dollars. Do I hear 7,000 dollars? 7,500. 8,000 to the man in white!” All of this stress made him want to down glass after glass of alcohol. If he didn’t need to be clear headed he would’ve. “Next up, folks, is person number 9.” You were shoved onstage. Even though your face was covered he recognized you immediately. Almost a week ago you were idly waiting outside, gazing down at your clothing trying to fix a button when you were struck from behind. Blurry vision greeted you after, god only knows how long you were unconscious. Blinking it away you tried to move but to no avail. Hands and feet bound, you were left alone in a cold room. Little light trickled into your cell. You could hear the cries and pleas of other people who were presumably prisoners too. Every time you tried to snap at or fight against the guards they beat you. They fed you just enough food and water to keep you barely alive. It was hell. Every night you prayed someone would find you. Anyone! Hosea, Arthur- were they looking for you? It had been so long…. “Get up.” You snapped awake with a groan as you were kicked. The guard pulled you up, dragging you to get washed and dressed. Stumbling into a back room after being shoved, you blinked at all the faces staring back at you. These were the people you heard crying at night. “What’s happening?” You whispered. Only one woman was brave enough to speak up. Her low voice shook with emotion. “They’re selling us.” “What!?” “Be quiet or I’ll make you quiet!” A guard snarled at you, causing you to shy away. For hours you listened silently to the auction from backstage. Was this really happening? It felt so surreal. Fear filled you as the line moved forward until you were next. A bag was forced onto your head so you couldn’t see. Fingers dug into your arms, you could feel yourself being dragged onto the stage, causing you to stumble. “Next up, folks, is person number 9.” Your breath hitched painfully. Heart racing loudly. This is it. You were about to be sold as person number 9. Bracing yourself for the bidding a loud boom crackled beside you, so loud it made your ears ring. Your head snapped in the direction it came from. Not being able to see anything, panic arose within you as the screams and sounds of running reached you. The crowd was fleeing for their lives! Gunshots popped off in the surrounding area. You ducked down in case any bullets flew your way. “Y/N!” “H-Hosea?” The bag was lifted off your head, beaming lights above glared into your eyes causing you to squint. Hosea’s face slowly came into view. He wrapped his arms around you, throwing you over his shoulder. “I’d love to have a romantic reunion with you, my dove, but I’m afraid we’re in the midst of a shootout.” “I can see that.” You groaned, hanging onto him. For an older man he sure did carry you with ease while shooting his way out with the gang backing him up on either side. “Hosea, let’s go!” Dutch shot the guard who blocked off the door. Hosea had to pass you to Arthur, who barreled through a cloud of bullets with you safely tucked in his arms. He was able to reach the rendezvous carriage, placing you inside before anyone else could enter. Hosea slid in and gathered you in his arms. “Drive, damn it!” He called out, causing the carriage to lurch violently before moving. “Oh Y/N. Oh my little dove.” He carefully looked you over as tears filled your eyes. You were shaking, veins pumping with adrenaline. Your rescue happened so quickly it made your head dizzy. Hosea’s hands were gentle as he touched you in case anything hurt or scared you in your shaken state. He examined every inch. Face was pensive, while taking in every mark and bruise on your delicate skin. “Are you seriously hurt anywhere?” “No.” You whispered, pressing against your husband for comfort. He gladly held you, kissing your lips over and over again. “I’m sorry it took me so long my love. I shouldn’t have let you out of my sight.” Hosea rest his head atop yours and rubbed circles on your back soothingly. “Let’s get you back to camp and fed.” “Thank you.” You nuzzled him, breathing in his comforting scent. “I knew you’d come for me. I missed you.” “I missed you too.” The rest of the ride was quiet. When the carriage parked outside of Shady Belle, Hosea scooped you up immediately. You gasped as the whole gang rushed over to greet you. “Y/N’s back!” Abigail announced. “Oh Y/N, I’m so glad you’re safe!” Mary-Beth gushed with relief. Even Pearson was there to see you. “Welcome home Y/N. Camp ain’t the same without ya.” “Thank you everyone.” You let out a watery laugh, heart filled with love. You were so appreciated amongst this group and it showed. Hosea brought you inside, cleaning you carefully. He asked if anything hurt or if anyone touched you and you responded with yes or no. He clothed you in his own clothes, hoping his scent would bring comfort. A warm bowl of stew was pushed into your hands. Hosea held you while you ate and snuggled you up until you went to bed. He played with your hair all night, unable to sleep after losing you. ___ Dutch: Dutch doesn’t notice you’re gone until the ransom note arrives. “$3,000 in exchange for your lover?” He scoffed. “Who does he think he is? We’ll light his ass up.” The page was quickly crumpled in his hand. Dutch felt a deadly fury rise in him so great his own blood ran colder than the Upper Montana river. Colm O'Driscoll won’t get away with it this time. Not after what he’s done to Dutch’s past lover and to Arthur. “Dutch, I think we should be cool about this one. He already captured me to draw you in for the Pinkertons. He’s probably not done try’nna cut his deal with ‘em. If we ride in hot-” “Not now, Arthur. A few Pinkertons we can handle. This is Y/N we’re talking about, for Christ’s sake.” He scoffed, face snarling up in anger. “Y/N would have come for you, dear boy, had we known you were taken. Y/N would have come for you.” Arthur heaved out a sigh. He still wasn’t fully well after the green gang shot him up. “I know, Dutch. I love Y/N just as much as anyone. We ain’t ever leave one of us behind. I just think… If they want to draw us in they’ll treat Y/N right. If it’s a trap it’ll make more sense for us to come in quiet and get Y/N outta there safely.” “We don’t have time!” Dutch grabbed his gun, much to Arthur and Hosea’s exasperation. “Dutch, I know you love Y/N, but I think Arthur may be right.” “Who’s side are you on, Hosea? If that were you we would already be on the road.” He waved his gun around before holstering it. The air in camp was tense. Dutch seemed… Unsettled. Unpredictable. His eyes were crazy. Love made him crazy. “Who’s with me? John, Micah, Bill?” John and Arthur exchanged looked while Bill jumped up eagerly. Micah seemed interested but didn’t bother grabbing anything extra like the others. “I’m comin’ with you.” Arthur’s shoulders fell. He followed Dutch through camp up to The Count which Dutch mounted with ease. “No, dear boy. You rest. Watch the camp with Hosea, we should be back before dawn.” “Alright, if you say so. Be careful out there Dutch. Things are getting nasty. Bring Y/N home.” “Oh, I intend to.” With the rescue party ready Dutch rode out with his boys. “If you see an O’Driscoll, shoot. If you see a Pinkerton, shoot. We leave no one alive. Not even the women. If Colm wants to play, we’ll play. By our rules.” John moved up beside Dutch, calling out over the whistling wind. “Are you sure about this Dutch? What if Y/N gets hurt?” “Y/N isn’t getting hurt.” The words were spoken as if John’s idea was ludicrous. “Now you boys know how I feel about Y/N. And I-… Well, call me foolish, but I’ll never let any man, beast, or tycoon lay a finger on the love of my life. The moment we slaughter his sons he’ll know we mean business. Colm is many things, but stupid he is not. He knows hurting Y/N would give us cause to burn his world down piece by piece and I don’t think he could take the heat.” “As is your right, Dutch.” Micah spoke up. “The O'Driscolls should know by now you’re a kind and just man. I’m sure they understand the reckoning hurting their assets would bring.” Feeding into Dutch’s anger pleased the gang leader. “That’s what I thought.” He agreed. The rest of the ride was tense with anticipation. John knew there was nothing he could say. He just hoped you’d survive all of this. Dutch was getting sloppy and with you involved… He would slaughter the whole world if he had to. “We’re here.” Dutch announced. Night had long fallen by the time they reached the O’Driscoll hideout. “Let’s make a little noise. Micah-” Riding closer to the compound, Micah lit a stick of dynamite, throwing it over the fence. Dutch watched with great pleasure as the O’Driscoll boys caught in the blast began to scream. “Let’s show them you don’t fuck with Dutch van der Linde.” The guns came out. Time slowed down, men began to rush at them. The Count reared, spooked by the sudden barrage of bullets. Dutch shot every single O’Driscoll effortlessly, one by one. You were beginning to think Dutch wasn’t coming. Why would he after Arthur outed Colm’s setup a week ago? They had kicked your face in until your mouth filled with blood and your nose cracked in three different places. Breathing was hard with your damaged ribs. The O’Driscoll’s wasted no time in beating you to a bloody pulp before tying you up. The way you were tied was ridiculous. Your hands and feet were tied separately then were tied together to ensure you wouldn’t be able to move an inch. You guessed Arthur’s escape was a sore spot. You struggled and fought until the ropes dug angry marks, rubbing the skin away. In all honestly you usually would have half a mind to spit at or curse any O’Driscoll out, however this seemed different. It was grim, very grim. You remember how scary it was watching Arthur collapse off his horse barely alive and wondered – would you make it? Surely they won’t let an escape happen again... Dutch would probably move camp, you thought. And if you could survive… I don’t know, a week longer, he’ll come and get you. These were the thoughts running through your head while you tried to plan your survival. ‘It’ll be torture, but I can last that long’, you reassured yourself. It didn’t work. Colm killed Dutch’s girl way back, what’s stopping him from doing it again? You knew the man had a nasty streak to him. And Dutch… well... killing you sure would make Dutch slip up enough to get caught. That bastard Colm just wanted to see him hang. Many many thoughts occupied your mind as you dozed off. Aches and pains were screaming at you so being unconscious was probably best. At the brink of sleep you were jolted wide awake by a loud explosion. You froze, halting your breath, straining your ears to listen. Silence. What’s going on? BANG BANG BANG! Dutch- It had to be him! Your face lit up with hope, eyes fixated on the door. Any minute now... The O’Driscoll’s screamed, cursed, and cried out. “Get ‘em!” “Don’t let them inside!” “We gotta hold this for Colm!” Despite anticipating its happening you still flinched back when the door was kicked in. “Y/N.” Dutch sighed out of relief. Kneeling down he cut you loose, brushing the hair from your face. You both were quiet. Just taking each other in. You because you had missed him, and him because he was stunned by how badly you were beaten. “Those animals. We’ll make ‘em pay.” Dutch’s words were said more to himself than to you. “I’m alright, I can walk, I think-” Helping you up, Dutch’s eyes filled with sadness when he noticed you wincing. He could hear your chest heave with pain and it was grading against his eardrums. “I’ll carry you. Just hang on, we haven’t cleared them all yet.” Scooping you into his chest, your arms were granted purchase around his neck. Dutch was stronger than he looked. He held onto you with one arm wrapped tightly to secure you while shooting any man who ran this way with the other. “Bastards! They’re everywhere! John, Micah, let’s go!” “You get Y/N?” John asked after shooting three more men. There were so many O’Driscolls they couldn’t even take their eyes off them to check on you. “Yeah. Let’s get outta here.” Micah covered Dutch’s right while John covered his left and back. They shot the best they could until finally they were free of the building. Dutch placed you on The Count, climbing behind you. The others quickly mounted seeing as there was no way they’d win this gun battle if they stayed. “Shit! Incoming!” Bill cried out, alerting everyone to the drove of Pinkerton galloping straight towards the gang’s direction. “God dammit!” Jerking the reigns, Dutch kicked his horse into action. “This way, c’mon! Let’s lose them through the trees. We gotta hope we can outrun them.” There you were, rocketing towards salvation on a white horse. Pinkertons and O’Driscolls crashing down around you like violent ocean waves. There was so much noise to the point where your ears rang in an effort to tune it all out. Breath didn’t leave your body. Time slowed. You watched in horror. Every bullet shot by John seemed to take ages before knocking down its opponent. Bill was screaming yet not a word of it reached you. You could feel Dutch’s arm wrap tighter and tighter around your waist. Suddenly you’re soaring through the air, hair flying back against the dusty breeze. This was it. The moment of truth. The Count’s feet touched down after leaping over a fence and suddenly time returned to normal and everything sped up in your race for life. Your heart thuds erratically, clammy hands clinging to the saddle for dear life. “Duck!” Dutch ordered and you immediately lowered your head before a low hanging branch creamed you. You stayed low Dutch’s body now covering you protectively. You couldn’t see and had no idea what was going on. Your own breathing was so loud at this point it took you awhile to register – the shooting had stopped. There was no more screaming, no more calling out or angry orders being shouted. Only the sound of four horses huffing and puffing and your own shaky breaths filled the air. “My love… Are you alright?” Dutch lifted himself off of you, his horse slowing to rest. “I…. I think so.” You gazed down at your hands and arms before looking at Dutch with wide traumatized eyes. “Oh, my little bird. I’m so sorry they hurt you. I came as soon as I could. They’ll pay for this.” Something sinister swirled behind his eyes but his fingers were gentle against your skin while caressing your face. “Come now, let’s get you cleaned up and to bed. You need rest.” Dutch kissed your shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re here now. So glad.” ___ Sean: Sean thought you were mad at him. Avoiding him for some awful comment he made because he, yet again, went too far. It hurt his feelings but he decided you’d probably come back when you were ready to see him again. “Sean, have you seen Y/N?” Mary-Beth asked. “I haven’t seen Y/N since yesterday morning.” Sean’s heart fell to the pit of his stomach. You weren’t the type to leave camp often or without someone accompanying you. “Christ, I haven’t. Where’d you last see them?” “Over by Kieran. I already asked him and he said Y/N helped with the horses then wandered off.” “An’ no one saw them come back?” He began power walking through camp, searching the area for you. “Has anyone seen Y/N?” Tilly and Uncle shook their heads, John just gave a shrug. “That isn’t weird to any of yous?” His voice was raised enough to get the attention of Arthur who had just rode in. “What’s goin’ on now?” “Y/N is fucking missing and no one said a damn word about it.” “Alright, alright calm down. I’m sure we can find them, where were they last?” “Oh I don’t know English, lemme just take this crystal ball out of my ass-” Sean rolled his eyes while grabbing his gun. “We’re gonna have to track them down. Think you can do that?” “Well…” Arthur wipes the sweat from his brow. “Charles taught me a few things.” He paused, gently catching Sean’s shoulder. “I know you’re upset but I need you to keep your head. I’m sure wherever Y/N is they’re okay. We’ll get them back safe.” “Speak for yourself, I always keep my wits.” “That right there is what I’m worried about.” Arthur huffed while mounting his horse. Sean was silently grateful for Arthur’s words though he’d never admit it. There was a storm churning inside of him. An ocean of guilt rocking his consciousness. If only he respected your boundaries and didn’t make that joke maybe you wouldn’t have gone missing. “We’ll bring Y/N back safe.” He repeated to himself, climbing onto his saddle. Arthur gave him an affirmative nod. They rode around the outskirts of Clemens Point looking for any sign of you. Sean felt like throwing up the whole entire time. Suspense was killing him. “Over here!” Air left his lungs in relief as soon as Arthur’s voice broke through the thick air. Walking his horse over, that relief was short lived. “Fuck.” Sean hissed. Arthur held a ripped piece of fabric clearly bloodied. The fabric was from something you wore often making it was unmistakable. “Looks like three riders were here. ‘Dunno who they could be, but…” Morgan hesitated, knowing Sean probably shouldn’t hear the next part. “There was quite the struggle.” The Irishman cursed, kicking at a nearby stone, sending it throttling into the trees. “I’ll kill every last one of ‘em! I swear it.” The Van der Linde boys followed the hoof prints best they could, using other clues to figure out what way your kidnappers may have turned when the trail disappeared. With each passing minute Sean’s knuckles turned more and more white around his reigns. “I shouldn’t have said anything. This is my fault.” His feelings were so big inside of him they spilled out of his lips like a broken dam. “I’m a right bastard.” “You two have a fight?” “Sort of… We was fuckin’ around and Y/N got sick of me and asked me to stop teasing them but they look so cute when they’re angry I just- I don’t know.” He hung his head. Arthur studied him silently as they rode. “Well… Sounds about right for you two. I’m sure Y/N wouldn’t blame you.” “Maybe not, English, but I blame myself. I just hope they’re okay.” They didn’t talk any more after that unless to comment on the path changing. A few hours away from camp they came across smoke indicating a fire, right in the general direction of your kidnappers. “Must be them.” Sean was ready to charge in, but Arthur’s hand shot out across Sean’s chest, stopping him in his tracks. “We should get to higher ground first, see what we’re dealing with.” “Are you crazy? Y/N could be there!” “That’s exactly why we can’t rush in like fools! What happened to keepin’ your wits? Do you want Y/N getting shot?” Sean’s mouth opened and closed, words getting choked up in his throat. The thought of you getting shot was about to bring tears to his eyes. Shoulders slumping forward, he sucked in a shuddering breath. “Let’s go look up that hill.” “That’s better.” Arthur snapped his kicked his feet, leading his horse higher with Sean close behind. Sean wasn’t playing around now. Knowing you might be close and that you were probably hurt- It took everything in him to quench ranging fire burning within. He whipped out his binoculars, setting eyes on the men surrounding the campfire. “Stupid Lemoyne fucks.” “Do you see Y/N?” Arthur asked. Sean moved his binoculars with his turning head. “I’ve got eyes on them. They’re tied to a wagon just outside of where they’re sitting.” He bit his lip while taking in your sorry form. You were filthy, bloodied, and your face was swollen. They clearly didn’t treat you kindly. “Let’s kill those fucks, Morgan. My baby needs me.” Without another word Sean tucked the binoculars away, charging full force down the hill, cattleman revolver in hand. He managed to shoot one guy in the throat, ducking on his horse to avoid the flying bullets. His horse galloped straight for you, stopping just shy with the intention of creating a barrier between you and the shootout. Arthur did most of the shooting while Sean nearly flung himself off his horse to cut you free. “Oh my baby! What did those bastards do to you?” He gently cleaned your face with his handkerchief, ignoring all the gory sounds echoing from behind. Sean didn’t even notice when everything became silent. You had his full undivided attention. “Sean!” You wept, wrapping your arms around his neck to bury your face into his chest. “I’m sorry baby. I should’ve never let you out of my sight. I’ve got you, my rose. I’m here now.” He kissed your hair, rubbing your back. “Did they hurt you real bad?” Tears now stung his eyes when you nodded. It was difficult seeing you this way. He loves you more than anything else in the world, seeing his partner so beaten and broken- “Shhhh. We’ll make it better.” Sean attempted to calm his tears, crying silently while burying his face in your hair. His chest was warm and welcoming after what you’ve endured. Even though every bone in your body ached all you wanted to do was hug him and you were grateful he didn’t pull away immediately and put you on a horse. “I love you. So much. I was so scared.” You whimpered. “I know, I know I’m so sorry Y/N. About everything. I should’ve never pushed your buttons. I thought you ran away.” “What?” You pulled away in confusion, studying his face. “Sean… You think I’m upset about that?” It was cute seeing Sean feel guilty over a minor playful argument, something you both have often, and you couldn’t help but to giggle. “Don’t be silly.” You reached up, wiping away his tears. Confused, Sean gently caught your hand, pressing kisses to your palm while examining the bruising on your skin. “I guess that’s who I am when I’m with you, Y/N. A silly man. C’mon now.” Carefully you were scooped up into a loving embrace. Sean placed a peck on your lips. He was afraid of hurting you further so he treated you as though you were made of glass. Once you were in his saddle he pulled himself up behind you. “Let’s get you to camp, baby. I’ll make you feel better there.” “Thank you.” You pressed your back against him in relief. Exhaustion flooded your still trembling body. You never had any doubt Sean would come for you but the experience of the Lemoyne Raiders kicking your face in was rather traumatic. “Glad to see you’re okay L/N.” Arthur shot you a little smile. “Sean here was real riled up about your disappearance. Nearly bit my head off.” A faint smile crossed your lips. You winced as your skin pulled on a bruise. “Thank you for coming too, Arthur. If you weren’t here I don’t think he would have been able to rescue me.” “Oh not this again!” Sean groaned. His arm was wrapped loosely around you and he still pressed an odd kiss to your hair here or there. “I would've done just fine!” “You shot one bullet!” Arthur pointed out with a laugh. “Then you flung yourself over your lover like some actor in one of those dramas. If I weren’t here you and Y/N would be riddled with holes by now.” “I love you Arthur Morgan, but shut up. I killed that fellow with one shot! ONE!” “What was stopping you from killing the rest of ‘em?” “Y/N needed me!” “See if I didn’t come-” “Shut up Morgan!” Listening to their familiar arguments was the best welcome home you could’ve ever wished for. Your eyes fell shut as you listened and soon the pain shooting through you and the exhaustion of being awake and afraid all night started catching up. Slowly your body fell limp against Sean’s chest. You were only faintly aware of his arm tightening around you, keeping you safely on the horse. It was pitch black when you came to. Fear shot you awake, your eyes scanning the darkness. “Sean?” You could hear an exhausted exhale to your right, a hand reached out from the black to gently pet your hair. “I’m here baby.” There was some fumbling then a match lit, illuminating your lover who had fallen asleep sitting next to you. Sean lit a lantern and that’s when you noticed you were laying in Arthur’s cot. “We thought it best to give you some privacy until you’re in tip top shape. Said I wasn’t allowed to sleep with you in it though.” Sean leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’m just glad to have you back. Get some rest, no one will hurt you now. I’m here.” Relaxing again your fingers laced with Sean’s as you settled back in to sleep. ____ Charles: Charles usually minded his own business whenever you fucked off outta camp for a few days. You had been running with the gang far longer than he has and everyone knew you to be quite capable. God only knows what you’re up to half the time. Similar to Arthur, you’d go off and do your own thing then return with money or a fresh kill and a story of your adventures. Charles likes that about you. He admires your independence and how you have so much strength. When you didn’t show up to camp for a week he didn’t think anything of it. You were probably off climbing waterfalls or helping strangers. The gang carried on as normal unless Dutch wanted to offload a job onto you, then he’d ask around. “Charles.” Dutch called him over with a waggle of his finger. He already heard him calling your name and asking the ladies if they’ve seen you so Charles had an inkling as to what this was about. “Can you go find Y/N? I don’t care what it takes, just get their ass over here. We have money to make.” Charles didn’t mind being asked. Any reason to get some peace and quiet and reunite with you was a good reason in his eyes. The problem was, you were flightly, and your tracks were old. It has rained twice since you left camp. Charles followed your prints the best he could. Up into Strawberry, then to Mt.Shann where he took a break to enjoy the view and watch the birds. Charles smiled a little when he saw you had set camp there at one point. It was a beautiful place to stay, he would have done the same. He then doubled back to Owanjila lake where you had your second camp. He wondered what you were doing in the area, having absolutely no clue. He did, however, chuckle to himself when he found one of your gloves that you must have dropped. “Oh, Y/N.” The words slipping from his lips were fond and warm. He scooped the glove up deciding to store it in Taima’s saddle bag then he carried on his way. Charles began to get confused when your trail led straight back to Valentine. So… you were close to camp and didn’t stop by to rest your horse or grab supplies? That’s very unlike you. These tracks were fresher, not more than a few days old if even. Your lover became frustrated when entering town as the hoof prints belonging to your horse became lost in the bustle of main street and Charles couldn’t pick them up again. “Excuse me. Have you seen-” He began stopping residence of Valentine, asking of your whereabouts. You had been seen at the arms store and according to the man at the front desk of the Saints Hotel you stopped by for a wash only a day before. Well… If you were here yesterday you’ll probably be back at camp soon. After thanking the clerk, Charles returned to Horseshoe Overlook to inform Dutch you’d be back soon. The next day Charles awoke early. “Mr. Smith, can you please go into town and get us some supplies? Normally L/N does it but they ain’t back yet. Ms. Grimshaw ain’t too pleased.” He was attempting to enjoy his early morning coffee when Karen approached him. “Sure.” He set his cup down, accepting the list. “Did Pearson add what he needed?” “He only asked for corn.” He raised a brow in amusement, sharing a knowing look with Karen. “I understand.” Tucking it away safely Charles finished his coffee, throwing the rest out, then made his way to Taima. Your whereabouts weighed heavily on his mind during his ride into Valentine. ‘I miss Y/N’, he thought to himself ‘I hope they return soon’. Camp just wasn’t the same without you. He liked the gang alright but he liked you more. Valentine was a breath of fresh air after Blackwater. Quite literally. Charles took deep breaths, breathing in the crisp mountain air before entering town. Taima was soon hitched outside the general store where Charles leisurely strolled in. He walked around, footsteps echoing in the empty room as he gazed at the shelves. The clerk wasn’t there. “Hello?” He called out. Soon, sound of a door being swung open and rushed footsteps up the stairs filled the silence from what he assumed must have been the store room. “I’ll be right with you.” You were bound painfully tight. Ropes dug into your skin until your wrists bled. Tied to a chair and gagged. It had all happened so fast. Days ago you were going about business as usual. You stocked your ammo; took a nice long bath; and followed a dog around you wanted to pet before returning to camp, and of course, to the arms of Charles. What can you say? You love dogs and this one was particularly funny. You had grinned to yourself, studying the animal as you followed it out back. You didn’t expect to look up and be met with the stares of men who were clearly in the middle of an illegal operation. “Shit!” Your hand flew to your holster then froze as you heard a click and felt the barrel of a gun pressed to the back of your head. Your hands slowly rose as you tried to eye whoever was behind you. “Well well well, look what we have here, fellers.” “Real unfortunate, ain’t it?” You narrowed your eyes but kept silent. O’Driscolls by the looks of ‘em. “Hey…” A tall one began circling you, looking you over as if you were bait. “I remember you. You run with the Van der Linde boys, don’tcha?” This wasn’t good. “I think you’ve mistaken, mister.” “No… No I recognize you alright.” He stopped in front of you, leaning so close you had to recoil when the stench of his foul breath hit your face. “This isn’t your lucky day-” Before you could react he drew his elbow back and punched you so hard you nearly flew to the ground. Quiet laughs rang out among the group. Pain overcame you when one grabbed you by the hair, literally dragging you into the basement of their operation where you were hastily tied up and beaten several times among other unsavory happenings. For days you starved. Your face swollen beyond recognition. Only did the grocer show you any compassion. Feeding you water while muttering little ‘I’m so sorry, I wish we could let you go’s. He was a nervous man… A sweaty man. Hell you’d be nervous too if a gaggle of insane Irishmen took over the basement of your shop. You appreciated his little kindness but the weight of the situation was never lost on you. You needed to get out and soon, or else they’ll kill you. You thought of Charles and your beloved friends Arthur, Mary-Beth, and Lenny. Were they looking for you? Did they ever realize you disappeared? Today repeated the last two. The second the O’Driscolls noticed you were conscious their abuse started again up until mid morning when they left to take care of some business. The clerk made his way into the basement, removing your gag so he could give you water. “I’m sorry but you have to understand. If I let you go they’ll kill me.” You were too tired to argue with your heavily bruised jaw, sipping at the cool liquid. Suddenly a sound met your ears. Old floorboards overhead creaked with heavy footsteps. “Oh goddammit.” Cloth was shoved into your mouth once more, immediately drying your tongue. “H-Hold on. Stray here..” You glared at the clerk. Where the hell were you gonna go all tied up like this? The sweaty man dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief, opening the door that divided you from the outside world. “Hello?” A voice called out, rushing the clerk who felt so overwhelmed and frenzied with stress that he accidentally left the door open. “I’ll be right with you.” Staying coherent is a struggle for you at this point. Listening to light footsteps run up the stairs you let your head hang limp against your shoulder. “What can I help you with?” “Just here to resupply. Do you happen to have… uh… a bushel of corn?” “Corn? Yeah, we got it.” Wait… was that? CHARLES! Energy rocketed through your veins with the hope of rescue. Charles was here! Gazing around frantically you searched for something, ANYTHING. The only thing close by was a broom. Hopping your chair over to it depleted you immediately, every bruise and broken rib screaming out. But you had to do this. You had to get Charles’ attention. It was so much work just to get close enough to tip the broom over. CLINK! Your head snapped towards the stairs with anticipation. Charles read the list over again. “Actually a bushel of apples too.” CLINK! He glanced down at the stairs then at the clerk who laughed nervously. “Haha don’t mind that. Just some junk.” Charles hummed, grabbing a few cans off the shelf. “I’ll take these as well.” “Is that all for you?” Your heart squeezed in your chest. It didn’t work. ‘Charles! Charles I’m right here!’ You so badly wanted to scream. No words left your muffled mouth beyond your hearing. There had to be a way to get his attention. Nothing else was close enough to you and you didn’t have the strength to move yourself and the chair any further. The only thing you could do was throw yourself to the ground as hard as you could and hope for the best. BANG! This time Charles froze. His eyes napped towards the basement then back at the grocer. A terrified look flashed over the man’s face. That’s suspicious... Oh- “Just some junk, huh?” “Yes sir.” In once swift movement Charles pulled out his gun, cocking the hammer. “Then you wouldn’t mind showing me what’s down there, right?” “H-Hey listen! I don’t want any trouble.” “No trouble here. If there’s nothing down there then I’ll pay and leave.” “It’s just junk mister! Honest!” “Then it should be okay if I take a look at this ‘junk’.” The clerk folded under pressure. “They said they were gonna kill me if anyone found out!” “Then get out of here and hope they don’t find you.” Charles didn’t know who ‘they’ were but he had a pretty good idea about what was going on. He watched as the grocer fled before cautiously making his way down the stairs, cattleman revolver still drawn. Charles was stunned. All breath left his body in disbelief the second you two made eye-contact. “Y/N!” He hurdled himself towards you, picking the chair up to sit you upright before removing the gag. “What did they do to you?” Swift work was made of your binds and soon you were pulled into the comfort of his chest. Giving a whimper of pain you couldn’t help but to cry tears of relief. “Charles!” Your voice cracked. You almost thought it wouldn’t work and he would leave without you. Charles rubbed your back, pulling away to assess your injuries. “Y/N…… I-.” He didn’t know what to say. So many emotions hit him in waves, washing over him strongly which inevitably flashed across his face. Anger at the people who hurt his beloved. Guilt for not tracking you any further. Resentment towards himself for not considering you might be missing or in trouble. Sadness. So much sadness. He had never seen you this badly beaten and it disturbed him. Quickly he tried to hide his thoughts. You were so small and frail in his arms, crying uncontrollably now. Charles could imagine by your current state that it must have been a horrible ordeal. “I’ve got you. Can you walk?” All you could do was cling to Charles while shaking your head. You felt the weight of his coat drape around your shoulder before feeling yourself being scooped up. “You found me.” Charles winced at how weak your voice sounded. Placing a gentle kiss on your forehead he shushes you. “Save your energy my love. You’ve been through a lot. Let me take care of you.” It’s the least he can do after failing you so badly. As he carried you up the stairs Charles make eye-contact with Sheriff Malloy who bowed his head slightly out of respect – serving as a silent apology. “We’ll hang whoever did this.” He promised. Deputies flooded the store actively as he spoke. "When we find ‘em, you’ll be the first to know.” “Thank you.” Those words meant nothing to Charles. The Valentine law was useless and it showed. All he could do now was shield you from curious onlookers while mounting Taima with you securely in his arms. “Are you in any pain?” He whispered, making his horse walk so the ride wouldn’t jostle you too much. “Yeah.” Charles had to lean down to catch your quiet words. “Try to rest against me. I’ll get some morphine from the Reverend. Just hang in there. I’m sorry, I know it hurts.” He was trying desperately to find the right words to say. Anything that might help you or ease your suffering. Anything that might relieve his guilt. Grasping at words floating around his mind yet none could be combined into something coherent. They rode on in silence. “Mister Strauss, Reverend. We need medicine.” Most of the gang couldn’t see what was going on, Charles had you tucked protectively against him for privacy. He knew you probably didn’t want everyone ogling at you. The air of the situation was enough for everyone to gain understanding and many sprang into action. “How bad is it?” Strauss asked. “I think their ribs are broken, maybe sprained jaw. Definitely a sprained ankle.” “Bring Y/N over here.” Arthur called, leading Charles to his cot. “Probably better than the ground. Shouldn’t be movin’ much with cracked ribs.” Your eyes fluttered open the second you were placed in the comfort of Arthur’s bed. Charles immediately helped you take medicine to ease your suffering. “Do you need anything my love?” His voice was gentle as if speaking to a spooked animal. Large calloused fingers brushed the hair from your face. “Food… Water…” Arthur gently squeezed Charles’ shoulder, earning a grateful look from his friend. “Let me.” Your love settled into a chair beside you, still playing with locks of your hair. “You’re so brave Y/N. And so incredibly smart. I’m so happy you’re safe now. I-… I’ll never let this happen to you again.” He watched you struggle to stay conscious. Maybe the food will have to wait. Slumping forward, he places a feather light kiss upon your lips. “I’m coming with you everywhere for now on.” He knew you couldn’t hear him but it eased his soul just saying those words out loud.

#rdr2 #rdr2 x reader #Arthur Morgan x Reader #Dutch van der linde x reader #Hosea Matthews x reader #sean macguire x reader #Charles Smith x reader #RDR2 Reader Insert #Arthur Morgan #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #sean macguire #Charles Smith #my writing #request

1K notes · View notes

sordidmusings · 7 months

Text

Switching Up Roles - Part 1/2 (Buggy x Reader)

A/N: So the request got insaaaaanely out of hand cuz I can't shut the fuck up about this stupid clown 🙃 In the future I gotta have requests ask for headcanons, full fic, or headcanons with drabbles in the future so I can put a cap on my brain lol I had also been wanting to write Switch!Buggy learning to embrace the sub part of himself. I wanted to get part of it out and the set up cuts off pretty cleanly here. There is a taste of smut in it, but it stays with the style of the exposition for the most part instead of really delving into it.

Word count: ~1760 (The draft is at 8100 rn 🧍🏻‍♀️)

Warnings: afab!reader (no pronouns), switch!reader, switch!Buggy, NSFW, p in v, creampie, they're like probably too into each other, Buggy leans towards opla Buggy, I have a propensity to just keep sentences going man

I hope you enjoy a taste and thank you for your patience 🙏🏻

Part 2

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

You’d always had a hunch about Buggy. It started with little things like how his grunts and moans would sometimes slip in and out of something more whiny and breathy. How the look in his eyes would turn from something rabid and devouring into something desperate and uncertain. Maybe he was just more comfortable using the whole range of his voice than most men. Maybe that look just came from the insecurity in him that you were constantly trying to wring out with every lingering hug and reassuring whisper.

Speaking of those, he drank them up like an addict. Now, it’s not like you think it’s abnormal to enjoy soft touches and sweet words; everyone wants those from their partner in one form or another. The thing is, Buggy seemed to hang on those words with extra ardor. He’d focus on you like nothing else existed. He’d twist and turn both himself and his comfort zone in order to receive them. Whenever he accomplished something, whether it was as big as defeating a new enemy or as small as making a new joke, he would turn his face to seek you out like a plant’s leaves reaching to feel the sun. He’d go to you whenever he was uncertain. Difficult announcements were made with you within arm’s reach, vital decisions were made with you sitting thigh to thigh, and battles were fought with the two of you back to back.

Despite his status as captain, Buggy was always following you. Of course, he was the one in charge, the one who gave orders, but you were the one for whom he would change those orders or redirect his path. When you entered a room, he was the one to go to you. It was only on rare occasions that he’d order you to him like an owner would a dog. His calls for you were greetings, that is if he wasn’t getting up to lead you in himself. Buggy did know how to demand but he preferred to handle you with invitations.

Even so, you were well versed in Buggy leading you to touch or lay where and how he wanted. The extending months of your relationship have been filled with the two of you pushing and pulling at each other, empty of any thoughts and aims other than the need you had for each other. He has growled out commands and desires, expecting you to do just as he asked and he fit the role of manhandling you into a compliant sub very well. There were times when it seemed to be just that though - a role. Not every time; the more starved for your body he seemed, the more he’d take you just how he wanted. Now that you were months in and the pent up “what if”s were easing into the new joy of deep connection, his need for your body settled to hunger while his appetite for connecting to You became insatiable. Being able to allocate more time to exploring each other let latent behaviors break through the frantic way that you two tried to consume one another. Buggy had always aimed for your pleasure, hitting steady bullseyes, but now he was consciously seeking it and looking for new avenues to sate you and file them away for the future. He gained the clarity to observe while he was flooding himself with you.

You also noticed that with this change of pace came his need to chase your movements. You don’t think Buggy was even aware of the way he would lean his body towards you no matter the time or place, the way he would follow your lips whenever you pulled away, or the way his body would seek out your hands and happily mold to their movements like you were an artist working with clay. There was the way he seemed almost relieved when you would guide him. It appeared that he savored the time to unload the responsibility of decisions onto someone else but he had never known anyone he could trust to give him that peace before.

You understood that need. The rush you got when you only had to think of pleasing him and then hearing him tell you how good you were at doing just that? It was euphoria all on its own. It had you feeling like you knew in your core that you were doing something right and that you were making your love feel good - feel proud and happy. While you enjoyed partaking in it yourself, you had no problem taking control to give that to Buggy. Honestly it was a dynamic that was sounding tastier by the day. Seeing him act out of need for your direction and approval made you crave it more each time. You were eager to see him when he loses himself in the role of being what you want. You’re positive he’d take to it well; all you want is him after all, but now that he’s given pieces of himself to you, you want all of him. You want him to expose his needs to you, right down to the core of his desires, so that you could feel the thrill of holding that trust and vulnerability. You want to prove to him that he is always safe with you and that you can fulfill all that he wants and more.

One night a few weeks back, you got the final evidence you needed to feel confident labeling him as a switch like yourself. It was one of the few times Buggy was letting you ride him when he was close (he seemed to be embarrassed of the way it would pull out higher pitched moans from him, no matter how you complimented them), and he had let himself fall further into acting without thought than he usually would beneath you. His typical grapple with composure was replaced by him melting into bliss, leaving you a Buggy who was slack-jawed, glassy eyed, and trembling. You could still feel some hesitancy in the way he kept making his eyes focus on you even when they wanted to roll back or the way he would reign in his volume after a particularly (and deliciously) loud moan. His hands still went through the motions of guiding your hips, but this time your hips were pushing into that heavy grip instead of his hold directing the bounce and grind of your body on his.

Even though the feeling of his cock splitting you open and rubbing deliciously from your clenching entrance to the deepest stretch of your cunt left you struggling for thought, you were determined to keep an eye out for his tells that he would try to flip you back over. Whenever Buggy blinked some focus back into his eyes, you leaned down and captured his panting mouth in sloppy kisses. His eagerness to feel your swollen lips and teasing tongue made it easy to kiss his mind back into a blur. When he planted a hand down and sat himself up, you tightened your core to clench down on him and changed to the heavy grinds that made him weak with the way he could feel every hot, plush inch of you gripping him. He fell down to his elbow, but when you followed him to nibble at his ear and fill it with moans, he lost all his strength and collapsed back on the bed.

You kept at it because you needed to cum on top of him. The promise of a body shaking orgasm always came to you in the squeeze of your thighs around his waist, the grind of his pelvis on your clit, the way you could change your angle to have the head of his cock massaging whichever spot felt the most electric in the moment. It took hold of your mind with the way you got to look down on him spread out beneath you while he looked up at you with that desperate face. You could see how steeped he was in pleasure and need from his furrowed brow and shining eyes. Buggy always fell into the most beautiful, incoherent mess when you were the one leading him. His long blue hair spread out wildly, the few strands sticking to his face bringing out his pink flush. His gorgeous eyes, highlighted by stripes of blue makeup and long fluttering lashes, glistened up at you. His painted red mouth looked all the more tempting with how his kiss-wet lips parted for him to gasp in air and breathe out moans.

With little warning, Buggy sobbed out an overwhelmed, “Fuuu-hah-huuuuck,” and the next thing you knew strong hands yanked you down and he trapped you close in an iron grip. His forehead dug into your neck and his humid breath tingled down your chest. All you could feel, hear, smell was Buggy - so much burning skin, jumbled curses, lingering sea salt. His hands scrambled on your back, pulling you closer like he needed it to live, and amidst all the sensation you felt his cock pressed tight into you, twitching heavily with each wave of hot cum it pumped into you. It shoved you immediately far over the edge and you curled into him, squeezing and shaking and grabbing and gasping. You got what you were promised and your body shook, letting you get extra jolts of friction against his still pulsing cock.

The come down was slow and lethargic with the two of you molded to each other and unwilling to leave the moment behind. Your breaths eventually slowed while you both enjoy giving and receiving little trailing touches. Your brain was high from the intense orgasm and the building joy that you can finally open the door on this aspect of your relationship where Buggy lets himself submit.

That is, until he ruins it.

Both of you were too tired to say much of anything through the swift cleanup and release to slumber. You didn’t think anything of it, because it wasn’t the first time it happened. You did start to catch on to Buggy’s avoidance when he would find convenient ways to dance around the topic or disappear when you were leading up to it. It became unquestionable when he started to run out of clever escape routes. The final straw was when you approached him with an “I wanna talk about the other night” and he did a 180 with a panicked “forgot some captain stuff for the thing” yelled back to you. So you let it drop. For a time.

You spotted your opportunity just over three weeks after you’d dropped the subject. Buggy continued to slip around you for almost two of those weeks, approaching you with the same caution a child would when entering a haunted house on a dare. He held the same nervous excitement and insatiable curiosity too. The whole time, you pretended that you hadn’t noticed. You were well practiced in the art of playing blind; Buggy wore his emotions on his sleeve whether he wanted to or not, and he loved that you would let him pretend some of it didn’t happen. Even though he knew you sometimes played it to your advantage and still let most of your comments and cackles out during his outbursts and foibles. He just paid you back for those with his own tricks and teasing and all’s fair in love and war.

You knew not to strike right away. You needed to reaaaaally let him settle back into normalcy between you two so that The Incident wasn’t on his mind. Not that you’d been able to get it out of yours; you were endlessly replaying the memory of him being seized by instinct and impulse so violently that he clung to you like he could never be close enough while you made him cum so hard that his dick felt like someone was jolting a toy inside you. Whether the imagery came to you on purpose or involuntarily, it always had you squirming and looking for some way to get off.

Today had been especially filled with that memory, but luck was on your side, finally ready to reward you for your patience. Buggy had been getting a bit exhausted recently, prepping the crew, the ship, and everything on it for a risky raid happening next week. It would be the culmination of a few months planning, and he had been running himself ragged making sure that everything would go smoothly. And, when it didn’t, there was a backup plan and at least two more backup plans for that one.

He had been seeking rest from you more than interaction the past few days - falling asleep almost immediately after getting back to his room late, giving you long hugs where he’d close his eyes if only for a minute and let you hold up some of his weight, scarfing down his food so he could power nap with his head on your thigh while you finished your own meal. If he was doing something that only needed one hand, he’d send the other to you so he could have the comfort of your touch and the pick me up from feeling your occasional squeeze on it. He had to find and stop you the time you decided to massage his overworked hand, because the relaxing feeling had him zoning out through full conversations.

All that to say, the man clearly needed someone to force a break on him and take care of him. Just as clearly, Buggy was needing that care from you so much that he was allowing himself to seek you out in ways that he (wrongfully) feared would annoy or drain you. His exhaustion outweighing that sea-sized insecurity of his was the cue you’d been looking out for. If he really didn’t want to be submissive to you then that’s fine, but you’d be damned if it was just his own negative self-talk keeping the two of you from feeling that way again or from bonding even closer with another dynamic to exchange trust and affection. After all, that act of trust being met with affection is one of the best ways to chip away at his self-doubt and self-loathing.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

More to come - hope you enjoyed 🤍

#buggy the clown #buggy x reader #opla buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy x y/n #one piece #my writing #thirst hours #gn reader #afab reader #x reader

305 notes · View notes

0ctobre · 2 months

Text

Good boy

Brutus does his best. Is good boy.

“Fucker!”

Brutus cowers at the back of his cage. Stranger is not talking to Brutus, but stranger is angry, and fucker means bad. Bad means Brutus hurts.

Dog on the right is barking. Brutus can’t see him but can smell him. Angry. Scared. New.

Big female talks to stranger, but Brutus doesn’t recognize any of the words.

“Well, with the amount of drugs they found at his house, he’s not coming out anytime soon.”

Big female always gives treats when she comes in. Brutus likes treats. Master never gives Brutus treats, but Master is Master, so it’s okay. Brutus hasn’t seen Master since Brutus stopped a bad man who came in the basement. Brutus didn’t like being in the basement all day, but Brutus still wants to go home.

Stranger sits in front of Brutus’ cage, not looking at him, and Brutus growls a warning and shows teeth. Big female says words Brutus doesn’t understand, but voice is soft and calming.

Brutus keeps growling.

Stranger is smaller than big female, but bigger than some of the humans who come in groups and leave with dogs. Those dogs don’t come back, but Brutus has seen stranger leave with other dogs and they always come back.

Stranger throws a treat at Brutus, and Brutus inspects it. Same treat as big female, so Brutus knows it is a good treat and eats it. Stranger puts hand in front of cage, and Brutus growls. Hand goes in pocket. Stranger throws another treat, and Brutus catches it. So good! Another treat lands halfway between stranger and Brutus. Stranger is not looking at Brutus, so Brutus gets closer and nabs the treat, then returns to the back of the cage. Stranger throws several other treats, and Brutus dares to get closer every time. So many treats!

Another treat lands at the front of the cage.

Stranger offers hand again, and Brutus sniffs it. Stranger smells like dogs and food and sweat and dirt. Brutus licks hand through the gate. Tastes like treats.

“Good boy.”

Brutus doesn’t understand the words, but stranger gives another treat, so he knows they are good words.

Big female opens the gate and closes it behind, then straps a metal cage around Brutus’ snout. Brutus doesn’t like it but knows what it means, and tail starts wagging.

Walkies!

Walkies is a new word that Master never used, but Brutus learned fast because walkies is best word.

Big female clips leash to Brutus’ collar and leads him out of cage. Stranger gives treat, and Brutus licks hand. Stranger scratches Brutus’ head, just behind the ears.

“Don’t get too attached,” big female says. “He’s due on Thursday.”

The scratches stop.

“Why?” Stranger sounds angry. Brutus tenses. Almost growls, but the scratches start again. Slower. Deeper. So good!

“I don’t make the rules. We’re overcrowded, and almost ripping off someone’s arm ain’t exactly a selling point.”

“The owner’s the one who should be put down,” stranger says.

Big female doesn’t answer.

Walkies is long!

Stranger even took out the metal cage around Brutus’ snout!

They are taking a route Brutus has never walked before, and Brutus needs to find out all about the dogs around here. Brutus picks up a trail he wants to follow and pulls on the leash. Stranger stops walking and makes angry clucking noise, but Brutus doesn’t understand. Pulls again. Angry noise.

Brutus stops pulling, waiting to see what Stranger wants.

“Good boy.”

Brutus wags tail. Treat? No treat. Crushing deception.

Stranger scratches Brutus behind the ears. It is almost as good as treats.

Walkies is really long! Walkies usually end too fast, but it is dark, and they still haven’t returned to the shelter.

Brutus doesn’t want to miss his meal and pulls to turn around, but Stranger pulls back and makes angry noise.

Stranger scratches the back of Brutus’ ears, despite angry noises.

“Don’t worry, you’re not going back there.”

They stop for the night at a park, hidden between a hedge and some bushes. Stranger takes off her backpack and pulls out a bowl and kibbles for Brutus, and meat sticks for herself.

Brutus starts to suspect that walkies will never end.

“Sit.”

Brutus sits. Is good boy.

“Stay.”

Stay means don’t move, even when a treat is in front of is face. Brutus doesn’t move. Is good boy.

“Down.”

Brutus lays down on his belly. Is good boy.

“Belly.”

They’ve done this routine several times already. Brutus rolls around, and his tail wags knowing what is coming.

“Good boy,” New Master says, bending down to scratch his belly. So good! Then it stops.

“Sit.”

Brutus sits even though he wants more belly scratches. Is good boy.

“Stay.”

New Master backs away. Brutus stays. Is good boy.

“Stay,” New Master repeats, even though Brutus hasn’t moved. Is Brutus good boy?

Then something happens. Brutus feels like when he stretches after a nap, but he hasn’t moved. Joints pop on their own and Brutus doesn’t understand. Whines.

“Stay,” New Master draws out the word.

Brutus’ body keeps popping and cracking and he is getting bigger. What is happening?

“Stay.”

Brutus stays. Is good boy.

Brutus watches.

Watch means sit and stay and bark if someone comes.

Master comes back before anyone comes, a bag of kibbles in one arm and human food in the other.

Someone is running after Master but stops when they see Master jump on Brutus’ back.

“Go!”

Carrying Master on back is new, but Brutus likes it. Almost like walkies but better.

Brutus runs, and Master makes happy sounds.

That evening, they feast.

The night is cold, but Master is warm.

Brutus is not happy.

Master brought new dog, and new dog is bad dog.

Molly tries to bite Brutus, which is bad. Molly tries to bite Master, which is unforgiveable crime.

Molly is smaller than Brutus, even when Master isn’t making him big, so it should be easy to show her Brutus is top dog.

Molly doesn’t understand. Molly yaps and bites and runs and doesn’t follow Master’s orders.

Molly is bad dog. Brutus is good dog.

Molly is still bad dog, but less bad than before.

Molly sometimes listens to Master’s orders, but not always like Brutus.

Molly didn’t listen when Master said “stay” and was almost ran over by car.

Brutus always listens when Master says “stay.” Is good boy.

“Fucker!”

Brutus growls, protecting Master while she runs to Molly’s side.

“Take your fucking monsters away from me!”

Bad man shot at Molly and Brutus, but only Molly was hurt. Bad man points his gun at Brutus.

“Brutus, hurt him!”

Brutus attacks. Hurts bad man. Is good boy.

“Sit,” Master says.

Brutus sits, but Master isn’t happy. Is Brutus good boy?

“Drop.”

Brutus opens his mouth and drops the shovel Master took from a house on the way here. Master lays Molly next to Brutus and picks up the shovel.

The ground is cold even now that most of the snow is gone. Hard to dig. Brutus knows because Brutus likes to dig and can’t dig frozen ground unless he’s big.

Master can’t dig either.

She tries and tries and tries and screams. Kicks the ground. Throws the shovel. Fetch? No fetch. Master falls to the ground, still screaming. Howling.

Brutus is good boy, but Master said sit, not stay. Brutus is getting smaller, but still big enough to help.

Master’s howl breaks into smaller noises and hiccups as Brutus digs a hole and sends grass and dirt flying everywhere. Arms wrap around Brutus and hold so tight it would hurt if Brutus wasn’t big.

Master is cold. Master’s coat is wrapped around Molly, but Molly doesn’t need coat.

Brutus is warm, and Master holds Brutus tight enough to be warm too.

Brutus is hungry. Master is hungry too.

Brutus was never hungry with old Master, but is happier with New Master.

Master’s bag is empty. Master usually gets new food from store while Brutus listens for cars that make howling sound, but there are no stores here. No stores, no houses, no humans. Not even garbage cans. Only trees.

Only trees since Molly went in the ground.

Brutus likes trees. So many smells! Not dog smells, but other smells. Other animals.

Brutus picks up a trail, tail wagging, and brings it to Master’s attention.

“Kill!”

Kill means attack until the thing isn’t moving anymore. Squirrel stops moving fast, and Brutus brings it to Master.

“Good boy,” Master says, and Brutus wags tail so hard. Brutus is good boy!

Master puts squirrel on a stick over fire, with other squirrels Brutus has caught.

Brutus eats whole squirrel. Master doesn’t eat fur and bones. So weird.

“Don’t worry, we won’t be hungry much longer,” Master says once they are finished. Brutus doesn’t understand the words but doesn’t need to. Master scratches Brutus’ head behind the ears and laughs when Brutus licks her face.

New city, new dog.

Judas is good dog. Better than Molly was, but Master is still sad. Brutus knows because Master is angry and tense most of the time. It doesn’t help that they are around people once again. Some people look at them, others don’t. Some talk to Master, and Master tells them angry words.

It’s all fine until people in costume show up while Master is training Brutus and Judas.

Brutus growls a warning, and one man says angry words at Master before shooting lasers at them.

“Hurt them!” Master screams, face against Brutus’ neck to avoid the lasers. “Hurt!”

Brutus hurts the bad laser man. Is good boy.

They move again soon after, and keep moving as more costumed people come after them.

Until one day a man shows up and talks to Master, using words like “money” and “roof” and “as many dogs as you want.” Master calls him a fucker, but doesn’t tell Brutus and Judas to hurt him.

Master found a people pack, and Brutus found a home.

New home is big! Much bigger than basement Brutus had to stay in with old master. But new home is shared with Master’s people pack, and it takes some getting used to on both sides. There is growling and huffing and talks about whether dogs belong on couches (they do), but for the first time since Brutus left the shelter with Master, they have a roof over their head every night.

At first, Master has trouble sleeping in new bed, and scratches Brutus or Judas at odd hours during the night, but they eventually settle into a comfortable routine.

Angelica reminds Brutus of Molly, because Angelica is bad dog.

Angelica bites and pulls and makes Brutus bleed. Angelica doesn’t listen to Master.

But Brutus endures, because Brutus is good boy and Angelica will learn from the pack.

Still, sometimes, Brutus misses the times where it was just him and Master.

Brutus is big. Bigger than ever.

Fire girl smells like fear, and Brutus growls, ready to jump on her at Master’s word.

Scentless man shouts angry words at Master, but Master doesn’t back down, and Fire girl runs away.

Now all of Master’s people pack is yelling at her, and Master rides away on Brutus’ back.

“Hurt him!”

Brutus tackles dragon man on the roof, then claws at his face. Dragon man hits Brutus on the snout, which hurt, but not as much as if Brutus wasn’t big. Behind Brutus, on other rooftops, are Judas and Angelica, carrying Master’s people pack. Brutus has to protect them.

Brutus charges dragon man, and they both crash on the street below.

Fire burns, but Brutus is quick and doesn’t give dragon man a change to hit him.

Later, once Brutus and Judas and Angelica are small again, they cuddle with Master on Master’s bed, and life is everything it should be.

Master opens door, and already, Brutus knows.

Intruder!

Brutus barks.

Master gives an order, and Brutus runs upstairs.

HURT!

Brutus and Judas and Angelica back intruder against the wall, snarling and snapping at anything they can reach.

“Call off your dogs!” Shouts the scentless man.

Brutus catches intruder’s arm and wrenches it like a toy. Intruder goes down, and Judas and Angelica attack.

“Call off the fucking dogs!” The scentless man shouts again.

Intruder lets out a cry, and Master whistles.

Brutus let go of intruder and walked away, tail wagging with the knowledge that he is a good boy.

Intruder is now member of people-pack. Even came with Master to Master’s secret shelter for bad dogs who haven’t learned to be good dogs yet. None of the other members of Master’s people-pack has come there so far, but Brutus accepts it because Master says so.

Intruder says words that make Master angry, but not angry at intruder. Master grabs Sirius, the newest dog, and they exchange more words.

Then, Master chains Sirius and makes him big, and Brutus doesn’t understand. Only good dogs get big, and Sirius hasn’t learned to be a good dog yet. Sirius yelps and pulls and fights back against the change.

Brutus makes sure no other dog disturbs Master. Is good boy.

Sirens are the worst sound in the world. So loud they hurt Brutus’ ears. Louder than anything Brutus has heard before. Brutus whines, as does Judas.

All humans had stopped moving when the alarm rang, but now they are talking fast and moving a lot.

“I don’t give a shit about that,” Master yells at the scentless man. “I need to check on my dogs.”

The scentless man replies something that makes Master angrier.

“If I may,” says the tall man with the slithering voice, “I can arrange to have them brought here. They’ll be as safe as can be while you attend the fight.”

Master says more angry words, but eventually accepts.

“Are you coming?” Asks the scentless man.

“Not before I know my dogs are safe.”

So many bad dogs! Brutus growls at them, but not all listen. Too many dogs. Too many new scents and new sounds and new people. Hard to keep them in check.

Master whistles loudly, and most dogs stand to attention. The few who don’t do it right away still do eventually because of the rest of the pack.

Just as Master is getting the most unruly dogs under control, someone barges in and draws barking and growling.

“What’s going on?” Asks Master.

“The Travelers think Leviathan is headed this way.”

The words make Master angry, and she says angry words at the man.

“Fucker said they would be safe here.”

“Things are going badly. Most of the forces, including your teammates, have been taken out of the fight. We have the order to evacuate.”

Master throws more angry words at the man, and he leaves. Master walks around and around, then kicks the ground and screams.

Bad dogs yap, then whine when Brutus growls at them.

Master turns to face the pack, appraising them.

“Brutus,” Master says, and Brutus straightens up, ready to obey. “Come.”

Brutus joins Master. Is good dog, but tail doesn’t wag. Something has shifted. He can feel it in Master’s voice.

“Judas.”

Judas comes, as does Angelica. Master pets her but doesn’t call her name. Instead, she says softly:

“Not you, baby. You’re still sick.”

With one last pet, Master, flanked by Brutus and Judas, moves to another group of dogs.

“Kuro.”

“Bullet.”

“Milk.”

“Stumpy.”

“Axel.”

“Ginger.”

Master lists out, and they stand to attention, awaiting orders.

“Come.”

Master opens door and walks out, holding the door open.

Some of the other dogs want to follow, but Brutus growls and they back down. Brutus is top dog.

Master closes the door behind the group, then walks to exit the base as the pack follows.

All the dogs Master has called out become bigger. So many dogs! Never this many big dogs before, but Brutus is still top dog.

Master gives order, and Brutus leads the way.

Monster is big. Bigger than Brutus. Bigger than dragon man.

Water is everywhere, but no time for splashies. Bad water anyways. Smells like blood and death.

As they get closer, Master jumps off Brutus’ back and points at monster. “Kill!”

Brutus attacks, and the whole pack follows.

Kill means attack until the thing isn’t moving anymore. Brutus bites and claws and rips and shakes, but monster is tough. Monster doesn’t stop moving.

Judas falls and stops moving. Bullet too.

“Kill him!” Master screams behind them. “Kill!”

Brutus does his best.

Is good boy.

#parahumans #worm #wormblr #worm fanfiction #rachel lindt #brutus #judas #angelica

197 notes · View notes

bewitchedme-body-and-soul · 11 months

Text

Puppylove

Synopsis: While on his morning jog Konig finds a scared Pitbull, he spends the next few days feeding and attempting to win over his affections. What he didn't count on though was someone else trying to do the same thing.

Word count: 2,594

TW: depictions of anxiety, hints of dog abuse and dog fighting. love at first sight type beat cause Im a romantic. maybe ooc konig? hes soft and timid, disgustingly sweet and cliche

A/n:I believe König has freckles and I will be pushing this agenda. Also shout-out to @humanalien01 for helping me

When off duty Konig liked to start his day with a jog, he’d wake up before the sun rose and be back as the sun was just beginning its climb. He lived not far from a short nature trail, the perfect place for a morning jog. This morning started off as it normally did, wake up, get ready for the aforementioned jog and leave. But once he reached the end of the trail, a quaint little pier over a lake, he realized something was different, usually he was alone as it was so early in the morning. He was quickly alerted to another presence, he observed his surroundings before he noticed a low growling. Turning towards the noise he noticed a pitbull cowering underneath one of the benches. Even though the dog was growling he could tell it was out of fear more than aggression, the ears flat to the dogs head, and tail tucked. Konig quickly understood why, the dog's face and body littered with scars, one of its undocked ears having a part missing. Ever the softy Konigs heartbroke, he loved animals even if they didn’t always like him.

The dog, though not quite skin and bones was obviously underweight and probably hungry, slowly taking his hiking backpack that he always brought along with him that carried a packed full first aide kit and various other items he may need. He hoped he had something the dog could eat, he knew he had water that he could dump into the dog bowl someone had left here for owners who brought their dogs hiking with them. Though probably not the best for dogs Konig found some beef jerky he kept as a snack in the chance he was too hungry to wait till he was home again. Quickly pulling some out and breaking it into some smaller pieces than the long strips he was sure the dog would try to swallow in one bite. He leaned forward slowly before placing the pile of dehydrated beef closer to the dog yet far away enough to not risk causing the dog to feel the need to bite him in defense, he then grabbed the dog dish and poured the contents of the water bottle into it and pushed it forward before backing up and sitting on the opposite side and pretending to pay the dog no mind but keeping an eye on it in his peripherals. He waited a good twenty minutes before the dog cautiously crawled toward the pile of food and ate it, Konig was right, the dog -which he could now tell was a boy- was indeed hungry judging by the way he scarfed it down. He then moved to the water and drank half before going back to his spot underneath the bench and back to watching Konig with a weary eye. Konig waited for another fifteen minutes before he stood and left. He'd stop at a pet shop later and pick up some cans of wet food for the dog.

Konig awoke the next day and went through the motions of his usual routine, this time included an extra step though as he grabbed a can of wet food and put them in his backpack along with extra water bottles and a second dog bowl he’d picked up. He also grabbed a used plastic shopping bag he could put the garbage in once he left. Konig had made the decision last night that he'd at least make sure the dog was fed, it was up to him if he would trust Konig and if he’d let Konig help him and take him home.

Once he reached the pier again he didn't spot the dog at first but he still filled up the bowl of water and opened the can of wet food and dumped it into the second bowel before placed it next to the water, and then reclaimed his spot on the opposite side once more and waited while watching the sunrise. Sometime later he heard a twig snap and his body went rigid slowly turning his head, he relaxed upon seeing the orange and white dog making its way towards the bowl of food. He watched the dog eat and lick the bowl clean before retreating to its spot under the bench and watching Konig once again. He waited a few more minutes before gathering the garbage and leaving.

This routine carried on for a few more days, the dog would come eat and then go back to laying under the bench opposite of Konig. Eventually though the dog grew braver and came and sniffed Konigs leg he had stretched out after eating and before going back to hide. Today was different though as when Konig arrived at the spot there was an old plastic tote laying on its side with a blanket inside and the dog curled up in it, he also noticed some left over dog kibble in the bowl. Someone else must run this trail and also took pity on the poor dog, ‘good’ he thought the dog deserved this and he hoped whoever it was would take good care of the pup if it chose them over Konig. A part of him hoped that wouldn't happen though as Konig was just starting to realize how lonely he was living alone. Shaking himself of those thoughts he emptied the can of wet food and topped off the water bow, before claiming his spot once more.

By the end of the week the dog had grown more comfortable with Konigs presence. Now coming and sniffing his hands, but not comfortable enough to let Konig pet him for more than a minute or two. Konig also took notice of the chew toys now in the dogs makeshift house, whoever else that had been coming had taking care of the dog when Konig couldn't, definitely loved the dog as well.

During Konigs second week of coming, visiting and taking care of the dog, the dog brought up a ball to Konig before dropping it at his feet and laying down and nudging the ball with his nose in an obvious effort to entice Konig into playing with him. Ever the sucker for a pair of puppy dog eyes Konig couldn't help but to indulge the dog and tossed the ball a few feet away, not wanting to throw with his full force in fear of throwing it too far for the dog to find. This introduced a new part of Konigs routine, after the dog ate they'd play fetch until the dog decided he'd had enough or Konig had to begrudgingly leave, Konig always felt bad on those days wanting nothing more than to spend the day there.

Another few days had passed and the dog was now licking Konigs hand and letting him pet and scratch behind his ears without problem. He’s even begun wagging his tail lightly upon seeing Konig, and it made a smile appear on Konigs face. Today was different though, for some reason Konig didn't get a great night's sleep and was not quite as energetic when playing with the dog. Something the dog absolutely picked up on, so instead of begging for his friend to continue to throw the ball he jumped up next to Konig and rested the top half of his body on Konigs lap and drifted off to sleep, Konig accidentally following soon after.

Konigs head snapped up as he awoke hearing somebody walking up the path to where he was. It was then he realized he'd fallen asleep, a quick glance at his watch showed it was almost noon. Konig wasn't the only one to notice the new person walking up, the dogs head lifted inquisitively before he jumped down and stood in front of Konig, in a defensive stance, hackles raised and growling.

“Are you okay Bear? You never growl at me any more.” Konig heard their voice before he saw them, the dog must have recognized the voice cause his defensive posture dropped and was replaced by a rapidly wagging tail. One of those tail wags that the entire body starts wiggling and he began doing what Konig could only describe as a happy dance, a grin on the dog's face and tongue hanging out the side of the dog's mouth. Konig couldn't help but feel a little jealous at the fact that the dog never got so excited to see him like the dog did with this new mystery person. It was then that Konig realized another person meant they would see him, and he wasn't prepared for that. As he was getting up the person appeared from behind the brush and Konig felt like his throat was closing from the anxiety coursing through his veins right now. The dog jumped in excitement at the new person wanting attention and head scratches. It wasn't till the dog ‘Bear’ as the new person named him got back down did they realize Konig was there. Konig braced himself for them to cower in ear just like the dog did when Konig first found him. But it never came, instead he was given a large smile, the kind where you eyes crinkle at the sides.

“Oh, hello! You must be the other person taking care of Bear, I was wondering when we’d finally meet. I’m y/n” they stuck their hand out for Konig to shake. Konig understands now why Bear got so excited upon hearing them approach, they were beautiful and Konig could tell by their demeanor and the light in their eyes that they must be kind. Konig’s sure if he had a tail it would also be wagging upon receiving attention from them, he was sure his cheeks had a dusting of pink on them.

“Konig.” he replied softly before gently shaking their hand, it was so much smaller than his. Unbeknownst to Konig though they were also enamored by him, they thought he was extremely handsome, from the way his copper colored hair shined in the sunlight, so his cheeks dusted with freckles and a soft blush. Even though his large size and the few scars that littered his face made him look frightening his eyes told a different story, they were soft and a little, they weren't quite sure what the emotion was but maybe apprehension? He reminded them of how Bear was when they found him, fearful and so used to roughness but wanting nothing more than softness. They were sure he was the most attractive man they’d laid eyes on, it didn’t help they were a sucker for an accent.

“I hope it's okay that I named him Bear, I just thought he was so sweet and cuddling once he came around, just like a teddy bear.” they grinned up at Konig, and Konig swore their smile could light up a room. They bet down to pet Bear again and the dog did its best to get in their lap and licked them as much as they could. Eventually they gave up and sat down completely, criss-crossing their legs. “You weren't fearful of him?” Konig asked before sitting down near them, but not too close still fearful that he'd scare them.

There was that bright, beaming smile was again, Konig was now convinced he could stare at that smile for hours. “I could tell he was just scared and hungry. I don't like judging a book by its cover, in my experience usually the scariest and most formidable looking people can be the sweetest, and only want someone to love give love too and be loved in return.” Konig wasn’t positive but he was pretty sure they weren't talking about the dog anymore and their words had a double meaning. He looked down as a blush formed on his cheeks, he heard them giggle, it was like music to his ears.

“Were you also hoping to take him home?” Konigs head snapped up at that, he wasn’t quite sure what to say, should he say no and just let them take the dog and never see him again, or should he be honest and risk upsetting them. He decided honesty would be the best course of action.

“I was originally but I travel for my work often, sometimes for long periods. Maybe it would be better if he went with you." He really didn't want to say goodbye to the sweet little guy but he knew leaving it for sometimes months at a time wasn't good. He could hire someone to come and take care of Bear or board him in one of those kennels, but if Bear had the chance to go live with someone who was more of a constant. Konig would feel awful, Bear was such a sweet dog he deserved the best. “Military?” Konig tilted his head in confusion before they spoke again, sensing his confusion “Your dog tags” they spoke pointing to wear the two pieces of metal hung around his neck, Konig didn't even realize they were visible, he nodded his head affirming their suspicion.

“Well what if we like, co-parent? You take Bear when you're on leave, and when you have to go I could take care of him?” it was their turn to be bashful now, a light blush coating their cheeks this time. They phrased their solution in a way that it would just be where they could both take care of Bear, which it was but they also just wanted an excuse to see Konig again. “I think I like that idea” y/n let out a breath they didn't know they were holding and grinned at the man across from them, excited at the prospect of not only getting to continue to see Bear, and now getting to see Konig as well.

“That’s wonderful!” they couldn't help the excitement bubbling out and Konig thought it was the cutest thing he'd ever seen. He was in the same boat as them though, not only getting to continue to see and take care of Bear, but now also getting to spend time with Y/N as well. They both stood up, Konig once again towering over them. “Oh, here's my phone, that way you can save your number in there and then when you’re about to leave I can come get Bear” Konig took their phone and doing as they asked. “I also have a collar and leash if you’d like it, i kept it in my bag for when Bear decided it was time to go live in a house” they'd taken one of their backpack straps off before moving it so they could get into it and begun searching through it trying to find the collar and leash.

It was then while neither of the two humans noticed that bear got up and walked behind Y/N, before bumping them with his butt so they fell into Konigs chest. Konig was quick to wrap his arms around her so she did not fall, y/n grasping at his shirt before steadying themselves and looking up at Konig. He was even more beautiful from this angle, the sun shining behind him making him look almost godly. Konig was in the same boat, the sun shining in their eyes making them sparkle, they looked ethereal.

“Konig?” he hummed in response, “kiss me? Please?” Konig didn't waste another second before cupping their face and pressing his lips to theirs. Bear yawned behind the pair as he laid down, his work here was done.

#they have bewitched me #konig x reader #konig mw2 #konig #konig cod #mw2 x reader #modern warfare x reader #call of duty x reader #konig x you #konig x y/n

314 notes · View notes

teecupangel · 2 months

Note

There's plenty of Desmond dog asks, but has a chihuahua one been made? Just imagine Altaïr carrying a small handbag looking thing with this miniature dog in it that just gives you the stink eye. If anyone other than Altaïr, Malik or Kadar tries to pet him, he screams for Altaïr. Abbas tried to pick up the "purse rat" once and never again. No one knows where Desmond made of with the finger. Not even Altaïr.

Let’s add this with @saberamane’s idea from this post:

@teecupangel for the 'desmond as a...' subgenre, where dog Desmond is trying to argue with his ancestor over their stupid idea and it's not working because the ancestor can't understand him, and/or is mocking him with their own 'barks'.

“Desmond, we both know that you’re more intelligent that people believe you are.”

“Arf?”

“Acting cute will not get you anywhere.”

“Arrfff <3”

“Desmond, stop. We’re having this conversation whether you want to or not.”

“Rch.”

“Did you… did you just click your tongue?”

“Arf?”

“Desmond, this is serious. I need you to tell me where you put Abbas’ middle finger.”

“Arrrffff…”

“Pretending to yawn will not end this conversation.”

“Arf-”

“I swear if you try to sleep, I will shake you hard enough that everyone will believe I’m trying to murder you.”

“……..”

“……….”

“Arf arf arrrff!”

“Desmond-”

“Arf! Arf! Arf!”

“Desmond, stop-”

“Arfarfarf”

“Acting childish will not-”

“ARF ARF ARF”

“Desmond!” Altaïr’s tone was more an animalistic growl and that finally stopped Desmond’s insistent yapping.

They stared at each other for a moment before Desmond began to growl as well.

“Desmond.” Altaïr growled back, “Behave.”

Desmond continued to growl.

And Altaïr answered it with a growl of his own.

Malik quietly closed the door to Altaïr’s private chambers and walked away. At the end of the hallway, Kadar was waiting, fidgeting in place. He stared at his brother with a worried expression as he asked, “How’s… how’s Desmond and Altaïr? Are they both okay? Does Altaïr know if Desmond…”

Kadar’s expression turned green as he continued, “… ate Abbas’ finger?”

Malik remembered the way the two had been growling at each other and felt a headache already hammering in his head.

Malik sighed and rubbed his face as he said, “I will speak to Al Mualim in Altaïr’s behalf. Desmond is shaking.”

-probably because he was trying to act all strong against Altaïr’s own growling.

“Oh, poor boy. Abbas must have scared him so much. There’s no way he would have bitten him, right?” Kadar made his own conclusions and Malik hoped Al Mualim do as well.

Considering how much of two-faced Desmond truly was, appearing sweet and adorable to the three of them but acting like a hellhound stuck in that small body of his to Abbas…

No.

Malik believed that Desmond did not bite off Abbas’ finger.

He actually believed that Desmond got another animal to do it for him.

He was that deviously clever like his owner, after all.

#desmond as a chihuahua #kadar thinks he's adorable #malik believes he's hiding his beastly side #altaïr thinks he's both smart but still an idiot #desmond would like to make it clear that's like pot calling the kettle black #i feel like ezio would definitely bark back #but altaïr would growl at him #and it'll turn into a growling contest between the two #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed #assassin's creed #desmond miles #altaïr ibn la'ahad #malik al sayf #desmond is turned into an animal subgenre #desmond is turned into a creature subgenre

82 notes · View notes

celtic-crossbow · 2 months

Text

Series Masterlist

Chapter 19

Warnings: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SA/R*PE; Dead dove don’t eat; typical TWD violence and gore; physical violence (both man on woman & woman on man); flashbacks containing body/genital mutilation

A/N: This is a heavy, heavy chapter. Please consider the warnings before reading. It’s imperative to the story so if you need a different version with the details removed, please message me.

The floor was cold. Though the weather had been mild the day you left the prison, the concrete beneath you was achingly cold. You were still barefoot and in your pajamas, the chill easily creeping past the fabric to settle in your very bones.

The tray Millie had left was untouched, save for the emptied bottle of water. It wasn’t that you weren’t hungry, you were famished. The blonde had said the food was from Philip. Had it been from Jazz, such a meal would certainly have been poisoned. This Governor, you knew nothing of him, only that he wanted information on the prison. You had taken a risk with the water.

When the door opened, you sat up quickly and pressed your back against the wall, eyes narrowing at Todd in the doorway. The man scowled.

“Get up. The Governor wants to see you.” You didn’t move. In just two long strides, he towered over you with his fists trembling. “Give me a reason. Just one.”

“You never needed a reason before.” You retorted calmly, keeping your back flat against the cold stone as you stood. With a growl, he snatched your arm with a grip that would surely bruise, dragging you toward and out the door.

The hallway beyond was littered with windows that bathed the cold concrete in warm light. You couldn’t resist closing your eyes and relishing the welcomed heat. It didn’t last long, Todd jerking you forward even as you walked in step with him.

The place was a maze of halls and doors that you couldn’t possibly hope to memorize. I’ll damn sure try. Turning another corner, a door was open, the wall lined with three barrels and a generator in the middle. You stowed that information away, it could be useful.

Another long hallway, doors on each side and one at the end, larger than the others. You were led (dragged) to that particular entryway, Todd holding you in place while he knocked, loud and impatiently.

“Come.” A cool voice sounded from the other side. The door was opened and you were shoved inside, Todd not following. He sneered at you when you glanced back as the door closed. The room was the apocalyptic equivalent of elegant, unlike the areas you had seen on the trek to it. Rugs, dirty but their patterns clear enough. Various artwork littered the walls. A simple desk sat in the middle. A smaller room connected with an en suite that you suspected might even work and a two seater table.

At the desk sat Philip, his fingers steeled just in front of his chin.

“I thought you could use a break from the cell.” You held his gaze, every instinct telling you to run. Where would you go? They weren’t stupid. Todd was right outside. “What’s your name?”

“Why am I here?” You snapped, curling your lip at his impassiveness. “Why did you stop Jazz?”

He shrugged, the calm air surrounding him more intimidating than any of the men you had encountered under the club owner’s thumb. “Simple. You’re of more use to me alive.”

“I won’t tell you anything.” You challenged, squaring your shoulders. The man chuckled.

“Is that so?” He stood and rounded the desk, leaning back on it with his hands gently gripping the edge. “Rick and I have unfinished business. I’ve been informed that his guard dog has taken a liking to you.”

His name is Daryl. You couldn’t tell him that. The less he knew, the better. “They helped me, taught me how to survive. I was going to leave. That was the understanding but Jazz came before I could go.” Lie. You had no intention of ever leaving. The group had welcomed you with open arms. They had suffered with you through your struggles, never judging. You would have stayed as long as they allowed. As long as Daryl wanted you there.

“You’re a spunky little thing. I like that.” He pushed himself away from the desk and crossed into the smaller room, gesturing to one of the seats at the table. You hadn’t noticed the two plates and glasses of what appeared to be orange juice.

“What the hell’s this supposed to be?” You refused to move, pinning the man with an acidic glare. Your fists clenched at your sides when he smiled coolly.

“It’s breakfast.” His tone was so flippant, bordering on mocking.

“You think you can get me to roll over on my family with some eggs and bacon?” Each syllable was dripping with venom, verbalizing every ounce of bitter resentment you were being forced to contain. “Fuck you.”

“You’ve got me all wrong. I just want to treat you to a decent meal. Then maybe a more comfortable room.” He took his own seat and picked up the juice. “Have a seat.”

“You can’t—”

“Have. A. Seat.” He was no longer smiling, something sinister darkening his remaining eye. You flinched, unable to stop yourself. The gentle, polite man he had been parading around was gone, his true colors casting a shadow over the room. There was no other choice but to indulge him. Moving cautiously, you never looked away from him, even as you pulled out the chair and slowly sank down. “There. That’s better, isn’t it?” He gave you no time to answer. “Eat.”

You kept your eyes on him, equal parts terrified and infuriated. After a decent forkful from his own plate, he met your gaze, clearly daring you to force him to tell you again. Your hands trembled from fear and hunger, making it nearly impossible to keep anything on your utensil. The two of you ate in silence, three-fourths of your food remaining as he swallowed his last bite.

“Let’s try this again.” Philip sat back in his chair, watching you move around the items on your plate. If you ate anything more, you’d surely vomit. “What’s your name?”

Your gaze remained downcast, fear gripping you tightly in a way you hadn’t felt since before Daryl walked into that club. “Y/N.”

“Good girl.”

Your stomach rolled uncomfortably.

“I’ll be damned. Good girl.”

You knew he wouldn’t hurt you. You just knew it now, but those words from his lips still managed to make you feel nauseous. “Sorry.” You looked at your feet, feeling like you were back in that cage, back with those dirty men and their insatiable needs and—

His hand came into view, two fingers tapping softly against your chin. You didn’t want to look at him, see the disappointment certainly awaiting you, but you weren’t in the club anymore. You were safe. You looked up.

He looked nothing short of stricken, blue eyes filled with remorse and concern. “Shouldn’a said it like that.” His hand fell away from you. “Meant it as…well, uh, m’ proud’a ya.”

“Thank you, Daryl.”

Your chin wobbled with the effort of holding yourself together. Philip was watching you intently, something just shy of satisfaction in his smile.

“Here’s how this is going to go, Y/N.” You were shaking harder now, tracking every move he made once he had stood and began to walk into the other room, stopping by the window to gaze outside with his hands clasped behind his back. “I’m going to ask you questions. And each time you refuse to answer, I will allow my men to attempt to loosen those pretty lips.”

Daryl awoke with a groan, still sprawled out in the back of the van he’d staggered into the night before. He still felt groggy, disconnected. It was as if he was watching his body move as an outsider, just a spectator to the clumsy motions. Fetching the canteen from his bag proved to be arduous, unscrewing the cap even more so. His shoulder felt hot, the infinitesimal abrading of his shirt and vest near torturous.

He drank deeply, unskillfully replacing the cap before gingerly removing his vest. The leather was stuffed into his bag as if it were personally offensive. Sitting back against the cool metal of the van’s interior, he began to calculate his next move. He had to be at least ten miles from the prison. It was doubtful the new ‘club’ would be within such direct proximity but it was possible that his family could find him here. He had forced their hand. Even he had to admit that it would be easier with their help at that point. He had no tracks to follow, no indication of a direction.

He was beginning to lose hope.

His head was hanging when he heard it. Voices. Close. It wasn’t any of his. He knew his people, from their tone to their gait. Muscles coiled, ready to fight, he waited and listened. Two. He could handle two, even with the injury. He moved with them as they walked the length of the van, one stopping by the driver’s side door while the other appeared to round the front.

Knife out, Daryl laid flat behind the bench seat, listening as the doors opened and the vehicle moved with the new weight.

“Don’t know why Jazz has us scouting for new girls every goddamn day. There’s already six there. We should be searching for people willing to pay; finding the old customers.”

“Man, he ain’t thinking straight. Ever since he found his favorite toy at that prison, he’s been a loose cannon. Can’t even really consider him the boss anymore.”

The hunter’s teeth worried his bottom lip, pressing indents into the flesh until slick copper filled his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah. Can’t believe he tracked that bitch down. Did you ever get a piece of that before Jazz sold her off?”

“Oh, yeah. Still had fresh cuts from Todd too. Bled like a stuck pig but she was dry as a bone. Made things easier.”

“I fucked her too. Twice. Jazz let me have her a second time when I brought those two bitches and a shit ton of ammo back from Peachtree City. Had to smack her around to get any noise out of her though.”

Daryl felt bile creeping up his throat, burning his insides and leaving a taste he’d need at least three cigarettes to chase away. These men were useful and, rather than face any other grim details of your abuse, he sprang and sank his knife into the temple of the man in the passenger seat. The driver’s hand went for his gun holster but the archer was faster, pressing the cold steel against the man’s throat hard enough for a thin line of blood to color the blade.

“Don’t be stupid.” He hissed, sorely tempted to drag the weapon anyway and open a fatal wound just for the satisfaction of watching the bastard bleed out. “Toss the gun on the floor over there.” Compliance came quickly with the understanding that Daryl could kill him before he could fire a single shot. “Hands on the wheel.”

“Whaddaya want, man?” The man’s knuckles turned white from his grip, a fine tremor vibrating his body that shook Daryl’s hand.

“Tell me where the new spot is.”

“They’ll kill me if I do.” The lackey reasoned, his voice wobbling.

“I’ll kill ya if ya don’t.” The hunter’s tone was low and deep, his threat one that he was barely able to resist carrying out even without the information he desperately needed. “Better yet,” the knife disappeared from the bloody skin, a gun roughly pressed against the man’s head. “You’re gonna show me.”

You had tried to prepare yourself as best you could. Answering questions about the prison, about Rick and Daryl specifically, was never an option. Even when the Governor’s large hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing tighter with each refusal, you didn’t break.

Sitting in the room they had thrown you into, you counted your breaths and listened to the movements outside the door. Two girls had been sent in to dress you and you had intimidated them, sending them scrambling from the room.

They would have been more gentle than Todd but you could not afford to show any form of fragility. You would not be broken or otherwise persuaded. The prison community had stood up for you, and it was your turn to stand up for them.

Todd had taken the opportunity to strike you, twice in the face and once in the ribs. It was a futile endeavor from the start. In the end, you wore the clothes they had demanded: a three piece combination of white lace and sheer, garter belt straps tugging upwards on the thigh-highs. The bustier was tight, at least one size too small. It was probably intentional, both to exaggerate your cleavage and just to make you uncomfortable. Todd had made a valiant attempt to add a pair of heels to the ensemble but quickly dismissed the idea when you used one as a weapon against his groin.

The area around the wound from the prison felt hot, deep blue and purple already coloring your cheek from Todd’s fist. The bustier squeezed your tender ribs. You prodded the area gently. Not broken.

Muffled voices sounded from the other side of the door. Two—No, more than two. You knew what was about to happen, forced yourself not to tremble, to hold back the vomit creeping up your throat. The door flew open, two men stepping inside and leering at you. Their eyes raked over your body, dark and hungry. There was no kindness to be seen.

“You’re a pretty one.” The man had to be in his sixties, what hair remained was gray, his face sunken and eyes bulging. The urge to pull away when he roughly grabbed your chin was instinctively trampled. They weren’t as rough if you did as you were told. His fingers were cold and textured, calloused tips scraping over your skin. “You want her mouth or her pussy.” He addressed the other man while still admiring you, pulling a gun from his belt and a condom from his pocket, the former taking up residence on the small bedside table.

At the very least, Jazz had rules that the Governor appeared to have still enforced. Condoms were required. Pleasuring the woman was never an issue or intention but dental dams were available in large number. They couldn’t risk spreading disease in the fine establishment.

“Well, since I’m already back here.” The hands that grabbed your hips weren’t gentle, not that you expected that from these types of men. Forced onto all fours, your satiny panties were moved aside. “Jesus Christ, what the fuck is this shit?!” It wasn’t what was about to happen to you that brought the tears to your eyes, that made the sting so unbearable that you were forced to let them fall. It was the reaction, always the reaction to your mutilated body. There had been no mention of the scars on your torso and back, even the ones on your buttocks and thighs were overlooked. They were seen as par for the course, you supposed. But the moment your most delicate areas were exposed to any man, the reaction was always the same.

His boot was crushing your sternum. It was nearly impossible to breathe. Too concerned with failed attempts to pull oxygen into your starving lungs, you couldn’t focus on the way Todd bent over you, the way he pressed his other boot atop your left inner thigh. His large hand held you open, more bruising to be seen on the right thigh.

“Don’t wanna do as you're told? Think this cunt’s too good for our clients?” You shook your head frantically, not sure what you were answering. Maybe you were trying to say you didn’t want to die beneath his boot heel. “Jazz wants to make sure you know your place.” The metallic hiss of a switchblade preceded the first agonizing drag up the length of your labia.

You couldn’t scream. Couldn’t make a sound as he carved into you, over and over. Your blood was warm as it seeped into your folds, down into the cleft of your ass. He made sure to allow the cold steel to taste that part of you too, careful not to tear either opening or hit any arteries.

“Maybe I should take your clit.” You could barely hear him, his voice garbled as if you were submerged. The weight disappeared and you desperately gasped, working toward enough oxygen to scream. The pain was unbearable, unlike anything any client had put you through before. “It still wouldn’t be enough for what you took from me. You’re fucking lucky Jazz wants everything to still function or I’d fuck this right into you until you bled to death.”

“Please— stop, please—hurts.”

“Good.” He hissed, dragging the knife over just above your slit. “Good.”

You could hear the man behind you opening a condom, see the one in front of you doing the same. God, you hated the taste, the texture. You’d vomited before and received a dislocated shoulder afterwards. Over time, you’d learned to deal, suck it up.

“Say ah, pretty girl.” The old man tapped his cock against your chin. He was small, a fact for which you were thankful. The condom’s excess was bunched and rolled at the bottom of his shaft. You would have laughed if not so certain it would cost you. When you tried for a deep breath to prepare yourself, the man behind you thrust into you, sheathing himself in one go. Your mouth fell open in discomfort only to be breached.

“She’s so fucking tight, goddamn.”

You closed your eyes, let your mind drift while they used you. They weren’t being too rough—yet—so it wasn’t difficult to allow yourself to take shelter in your memories. Before the prison, you had to find the darkest places, the wide cracks to hide you from the pain. It was different this time. You had experienced happiness and safety. You had shared smiles and laughter. You had a place to run even if only in your mind.

You were a spectator to the memory, watching everything unfold down to the last detail.

“We deserve this.” You looked like a child on a snow day, happily staying in bed with your favorite snack and your favorite person nearby.

You looked back on the scene fondly and wondered how there always seemed to be a bowl of berries for you.

Daryl snorted, still stretched out with his head on the pillow. You gave him a look and leaned down to nudge his shoulder with your elbow. “Don’t feel right, layin’ on my ass while ev’ryone else works.”

“Just enjoy it, okay?” You offered him a berry. He kept his arms folded behind his head and simply opened his mouth, smirking when you dropped the fruit from several inches above.

It could have been one of the best days of your life, the way the two of you teased one another and laughed. Daryl was so carefree that morning despite the events of the previous night. He was playful. He had chased you, lifted and spun you around. You could still feel his arms around your waist, the warmth of his hands as you tried to free yourself.

You replayed it all over and over, never allowing yourself to venture further to where it all went to shit.

“S’in there?” Daryl asked, motioning with the gun but never taking it far from the lackey’s head—Dom, he had learned. The man trembled but didn’t answer. Tired, dizzy, and aching, Daryl had little patience to spare. The barrel of the gun was pressed in again with enough force to bend his prisoner’s neck sideways.

“It’s the generator and—and the fuel. If you go in that door, take a—a—a left.”

“Women.” Daryl coerced with a rough shove. “Where they keep the women?” His eyes darted to the left where a row of vehicles sat, along with three red gasoline jugs.

“Man, he’s gonna kill me. I can’t—”

“Didja forget who’s holdin’ the fuckin’ gun to your head right now?” He spat.

“You have to—to go around front.” Dom’s hand was shaking violently, but he managed to point toward the left. “There’s two doors there. Use the green one, the long—uh, long hallway to the right and then the second left. They’re all kept in those rooms.”

“All of ‘em?”

“The new ones—those go in the holding rooms. There’s three. Take that first left when you go in. The first three doors.”

You would be there.

The archer’s vision swam. He knew he was running out of time. Without a word, he pulled his knife and plunged it into the top of the man’s head, shoving the body over upon the withdrawal. “Thanks, Dom.” He huffed, shoving the gun back into the holster. As far as he was concerned, any man in the building was an enemy. If he came across the women, he’d let them go unless they interfered. His priority was you.

Staying low, he crept through the overgrown grass, allowing it to conceal him on his path to the door. He could hear the generator once he was a few feet away, rumbling and clicking. Huh. Tellin’ the truth after all.

The door screeched as he pulled, louder than made him comfortable. “Fuck.” He was already moving at a snail’s pace, slowing even further to control the sound. With enough space to slip through, he peered inside, exhaling softly to find the hallway empty.

He needed a plan.

Halfway to the containers of gasoline, he took pause and lowered to one knee, the world tilting and spinning. His stomach ached with a nauseating hunger, the sensations in complete contradiction. The bullet wound was pulsing, irritated. There was a brief thought of infection but he didn’t dwell, there was no time.

Soon enough, he willed himself to continue.

Beginning at the edge of the building, he poured a line of fuel toward the generator door, cautious and vigilant. So far, he’d seen no one else. What if they were inside—with you? Hurting you? His expression grim, he pulled open the door just as carefully as the first time and, upon finding the hall clear, continued the trail up to the barrels.

He could only dare to hope that you would be in one of those holding cells, a safe distance from what was sure to both crumble that side of the building and lure the dead to infiltrate. He dropped the jug with care and exited, walking a surprisingly straight path toward the corner, stabbing a lone walker along the way.

He struck his zippo against his thigh and ignited the flame, burning the end of his cigarette. There was no time for a proper break so he savored two quick draws and began to walk away as he flicked the smoke into the gasoline, the doused grass catching easily.

He was already halfway to the green door when the first explosion rattled the old factory.

The ground trembled and you fell flat onto your front, both men scrambling to tuck themselves away and get to the door. You were aching, but more confused, watching the men move in a panicked frenzy. You were on your knees when the door opened, a man much smaller than Todd filling the doorway.

“We’re under attack!”

All you could do was blink when you found yourself alone and staring out into an unguarded hallway. With no time to waste, you grabbed the gun that had been left behind and tucked it into the side of your stockings.

The door was closed behind you, giving the impression you were still trapped.

You knew you wouldn’t remember the twisting maze. You could even be sure you weren’t heading toward the blast instead of approaching your opportunity at freedom. Men and women were moving around you, too frantic to even realize who you were. Maybe they did and simply didn’t care.

The females all seemed to move a certain direction, including Millie. There was recognition in her wide eyes when they fell on you, but she said nothing, lingered for a mere heartbeat before she pushed her way through the others. You fell in behind them, certain they were moving toward safety, whether that meant escape for them or not.

A door was pushed open, barely closing to snuff out the light from outside before another woman would exit. A way out. I can go home. Hope ignited deep in your chest, your pulse hammering. Once you made it through that door, you wouldn’t stop until the prison gates. Until you could see Daryl, safe and whole, running to intercept you. You could almost hear that gravelly voice reprimanding you for leaving without a fight, even as he drew you against him.

You were nearly there.

“I don’t think so!” A hand twisted in your hair, yanking against your scalp with such intense force that you felt skin tearing and warm with blood. Todd wasted no time, pinning you against the wall by your throat, your feet kicking fruitlessly. He struck you; one, two, three times, your mouth and nose smeared and torn and dripping. “I finally have a way to be rid of you. For my brother.” Bones ground in your neck under his ever tightening grip. He was going to kill you. You were going to die.

“Show me.” Daryl narrowed his eyes and waited you out, the wheels turning quickly in your head, flipping through the catalog of maneuvers he had demonstrated. His hold on your throat was gentle but firm. “Arm up.” You extended your left arm straight up against the wall. “Good. Angle your shoulder, grab my hands with that’un but bring down that arm on mine.” You did as instructed, almost moving before the words left his mouth. “Ya loosened the hold, now what?”

Gritting your teeth, you straightened your left arm and pushed your shoulder forward before slamming down on Todd’s forearms. The very second you felt the give around your neck, you drove your elbow into his face as many times as you could before he staggered back. Your feet found purchase during his stunned moment, the image of Daryl sprawled on the ground with a smirk on his face playing like an old movie just behind your eyes while you grabbed the man’s hair and pushed him down to meet your knee.

“Atta girl.”

Todd fell heavily, shaking his head to send crimson splatters across the wall. You were already moving, barreling toward the door, now closed after the women had all made their way out. Just as it flung open again, a bruising grip surrounded your ankle and brought you crashing down with your palms barely taking the brunt of the fall.

“You’re done for, bitch!” Todd roared. He was dragging you back to him while getting to his feet. You rolled onto your back and kicked at him wildly yet futilely. His smile was bloody. His hand was pulling the switchblade from the pocket of his jacket.

This was it.

I tried. I’m sorry.

The loud crack of a gunshot echoed against the stone walls, prompting a surprised shout from you. You covered your ears, wide eyes meeting Todd’s. The hole in the center of his forehead barely bled at first, a simple trickle down the bridge of his nose as he collapsed heavily to his knees and then to his front, never to rise again.

Todd was dead.

Your chest heaved, the sight of one of your violators growing cold at your feet was both a relief and a shock. The trembling was beyond your control. You were in a fog, suddenly lost and blank. The pain, the torture. He’d never touch you again and you just couldn’t process that it could be real. Until…

“Y/N.”

Eyes going impossibly wider, you rolled onto your stomach and sought out the door.

“Daryl.” It was only a whisper, that was all you could manage. The light from outside made him a shadow, a silhouette lowering his right arm with the gun still in his grasp. Your legs moved at the same time his did, but as yours kicked to push you upright, you couldn’t seem to gain traction. Growling at your ineptitude, you clambered to your knees. “Run.” You commanded your body out loud, a painful need that was driving you forward, to feel him and assure yourself he was real.

Somehow you met him in the middle, your arms wrapping around his neck. He staggered slightly, off balance when you locked your legs around his waist. He wrapped his left arm around your back with a grunt.

“You came for me. You came for me. You came for me.” You chanted against the right side of his neck, no longer caring about radiating strength and ability. A guttural sob shook you from the inside out, a noise so heart wrenching that it took a moment to realize it came from you.

“I gotcha. M’here.” You noticed that the archer was trembling just as fiercely, tightening his hold. He leaned his head against yours, nuzzling his cheek into your hair. “M’gonna take ya home.”

125 notes · View notes

finalresidentevilfantasy · 9 months

Text

Home.

Summary: Leon finally arrives home and he craves his love. Mostly smutty to be honest.

Warnings: Swearing, sex, oral sex (male r), dom reader, sub Leon, masturbation, thigh riding, light choking, female reader, no use of Y/N, reader shorter than Leon. Minors do not engage.

Word count: 2.8K.

Author's note: Hi again! First writing of smut for Leon, I don't usually write a dominant reader but gave it a go and will give it a go again in the future! I hope you all enjoy this piece!

Leon slammed the boot of his car shut as he grabbed his duffle bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He took in a long breath as he let his tense shoulders relax, home. It'd been a gruelling mission; Las Plagas, saving the presidents daughter, Ada, Krauser. No matter the amount of training his body always felt sore after a mission, his body starting to come up with the deep bruising that would serve as a reminder of the horrors of Spain for longer than Leon would like.

He dug into his jeans pocket as he made his way up the stairs to his front door, pulling his set of keys from them. He glimpsed at his watch, 4am. He wasn't even that tired, when him and Ashley had been picked up by the helicopter he'd managed to sleep a solid 14 hours after over a day spent awake looking for the presidents daughter. He found his front door key with ease as he placed it into the lock, carefully unlocking it as he quietly made his way through his front door.

He was careful and quiet as he shut and locked the door behind him, he heard a deep growl from the darkness of the kitchen and he smiled, it'd taken him years to train him not to bark instantly when someone entered the house.

"Hey bud." Leon whispered, turning to greet his companion, as soon as Charlie saw his owner, he took off in a sprint towards him. Leon was quick to greet him back, scratching behind his ears as Charlie licked his face. "You been looking after the place for me?" Leon asked as Charlie calmed slowly. "Go back to bed bud, we can play tomorrow." Leon said as he placed a kiss to his dogs nose.

Leon stood to his full height, discarding of his bag quietly in the corner, placing his keys in the cute bowl by the door, Charlie making his way back to his bed as he trudged back off into the darkness. Making his way to the staircase, he was about to carefully place his foot on the bottom step, hoping to avoid the creak that'd developed over the last six months.

"Leon?" He smiled as he heard her voice, god how he'd missed her. He looked up, a goddess staring back down at him and he smiled as he watched her rub the sleep from her eyes, stretching slightly as she came to, her sleep had clearly been interrupted despite how quiet Leon had tried to be.

"You're supposed to be asleep." Leon smiled as he made his way up the stairs, back to his safe haven, his real home. She smiled back at him as she greeted him at the top of the stairs, wrapping her arms around his neck as he pulled her closer, burying his nose into her neck as he inhaled her scent. The scent of her shower gel lingering on her skin and Leon couldn't help but squeeze her that little bit tighter.

"I don't sleep well when you're not here." She said, as she to, tried to hold him tighter, not a space between their bodies as they embraced one another. She was almost the opposite of him, while he was working to eliminate bio terrorism and the horrors that came with it, the violence of it all, she worked in a pet shelter. Her job gentle, calm as she took in homeless animals and made them feel loved, wanted. Leon would never let a soul hurt her, he wouldn't let anyone close enough to harm a hair on her head.

"I missed you." Leon murmured into her skin as he placed a soft kiss to the spot between her neck and shoulder.

"I missed you. Shower?" She asked as she pulled back from him and Leon found himself instantly disappointed that she had. "You stink." She laughed and Leon raised a brow.

"I took a shower before I left work."

"You know their shower gel sucks." She laughed as she gripped his hand, lacing their fingers together as she guided him down the landing. She was right, the DSO may have had shower facilities but they were poor, the shower gel was cheap and the water pressure was horrendous, doing nothing to fix the amount of grime that had built up deep within. It only served the purpose of taking off the surface level scum.

When they reached the bathroom, she let go of his hand, turning the shower on as she adjusted the heat settings, getting it perfect. She turned to him with a smile as she approached him, her hands gripping the hem of his shirt as she lifted, Leon having to bend slightly so she could get it over his head. He heard her sharp intake of breath as she examined his chest.

"Leon," she sighed as her gentle hand traced every bruise that had started to form on his chest, her hand paying close attention to the spot where his plaga had been removed, the machine having left a deep bruise. "What happened?" She looked up at him, nothing but concern in her eyes and he doesn't think he could love her more if he tried. She was always so concerned for him, willing to kiss every scar and bruise, accept him for who is and what he does.

"The usual, the undead, crazy men who want to destroy the planet, you know the drill." Leon tried to gloss over her actual question, how did he tell her that he'd become infected, that he almost unwillingly became part of a cult with an aim to take over the world, that he almost didn't make it home to her?

"No, Leon, this..." she furrowed her brows as she traced over the mark again. "It's darker than the rest, it looks painful."

It was painful, Leon wasn't going to lie, he sighed as he grasped her hand in his, bringing it up to his lips as he placed a soft kiss to the back of it.

"It's over now, it doesn't matter." He reassured her and she nodded slightly, if he wanted to tell her he would, maybe he wasn't ready, she wouldn't push. It'd taken him almost two years to tell her of the horrors of Raccoon City, Leon always said he wanted to protect her from his job, the life he had away from her and she respected that. "Go back to bed, I won't be long."

*****

It was a lie, he found the water so comforting, watching as the last of the dirt and grime made it's way down the plug that he spent almost 45 minutes in the shower. He wrapped his towel around his waist as he brushed his teeth, the steam of the shower fogging up the mirrors and windows in the bathroom.

He dried off, placing his towel in the laundry basket as he made his way into their shared bedroom. He pulled on a pair of boxers before climbing into bed behind her, she was sound asleep, soft breaths leaving her lips and he sighed in content as he wrapped his arms around her, waiting for sleep to consume him, but content with the silence of the room, as he held his woman in his arms. Home.

*****

Leon was unsure what time he finally fell asleep or what time it currently was as he slowly woke from his deep sleep, a proper sleep that he only ever got when he was next to her. She was already awake when he opened his eyes, she'd turned in his embrace to face him.

"It's rude to stare." He laughed and he rolled onto his back, letting out a loud yawn as he stretched his limbs and ruffled his bed hair. She followed, placing her chin on his chest as she looked up at him, lip between her teeth, a look in her eyes he knew all too well, pupils slightly dilated.

"But you're so pretty to look at." She said, a slight batter to her eyelashes. God, this woman would be the death of him. His hand grasped her thigh as she climbed on top of him, resting herself on top of his cock and Leon groaned as he felt how wet she was, the only barrier between them was his boxers. He played with the silk hem of her nightgown.

She leaned down as she peppered kisses on his chest, he groaned as she ground down on him slightly, his grip tightening on her thighs. She took his nipple into her mouth, sucking as she took pleasure in his small whimpers, she may have been a sweetheart outside of the bedroom, but in it? Another woman altogether.

His hands moved to cup her ass as she bit down on his nipple, his low groan filling the bedroom, he ground up, trying to create more friction when she stopped her own grinding. Her hands moving to his chest as she sat up, looking down at him.

"What do you want Leon?"

"You." His voice strained as he tried to control himself, he needed some sort of friction, he needed something.

"What do you want me to do?" She teased as she leant down and captured his lips in hers, pulling his bottom lip between her teeth as she lightly sucked.

"Anything, something." He desperately got out and she laughed.

"So desperate, so needy. My needy little special agent, can't enough of me can you?" Seduction laced her tone as she manoeuvred down him, she pulled her nightgown up and over her head, Leon stopping for a second to admire her beauty. She made short work of his boxers, his cock springing free; stiff, erect and ready for her. She placed her fist around it, moving slowly as she teased him, swiping the pre-cum with her thumb, she looked up, watching as he threw his head back in pleasure, eyes screwed tightly shut as he bit his bottom lip, trying to stay quiet, composed. "C'mon baby, let me hear you."

She took his cock into her mouth, taking him as deep as she could, slowly sliding down him until she felt the back of her throat constrict, trying to accommodate his size. She sighed in pleasure as she heard his whimper, she started then, her head bobbing as she sucked him off. His moans getting louder with each movement which only served to turn her on further.

Her cunt was dripping, she could feel it slowly making its way down her inner thigh. She peered up at him and almost came at the sight, his head was thrashing around as he gripped the bedsheets beside him, knuckles white. She couldn't help herself as she let her hand wander down, sighing as her fingers found her clit.

She continued to rub her clit and take Leon in her mouth, her own moans joining the noise of the bedroom. Leon was close, she could feel it, his thighs beginning to tremble beneath her. She moved herself to straddle one of them and moaned loudly as she began to ride his thigh.

"Holy fuck." Leon moaned as his hand moved from the bedsheet and wound into her hair, she took him as deep as she could, her cheeks hollowing as she readied for his load. "Shit, I'm gonna, I'm gon..." he couldn't finish his sentence as his hot cum shot down her throat, his hands falling limp at his sides as she continued to ride his thigh and swallow every last drop of cum he gave her.

She let go of him with a pop and moved herself so she was straddling his hips again. He looked so beautiful like this, not that he wasn't always beautiful, but when he was a pleasured mess beneath her, chest heaving as he tried to regain himself, she couldn't get enough. His hands came back to grip her thighs, he was completely blissed out by the time he looked back up at her.

"Fuck." He breathed out and she laughed softly as she felt him harden again.

"Someone's eager." She teased and Leon nodded, eyes blown wide with lust. He was always so desperate for her when he got home, once they started he struggled to stop, wanting her everywhere and in anyway she wanted to give herself to him.

"Please." He begged and they both knew what he wanted, what they both wanted. She leant over and grabbed a condom from the nightstand, opening it as she slid it on his dick, he sighed in pleasure again.

She moaned loudly as she slid herself onto him, his hands gripping her thighs harshly, bruises would surely form there. Her cunt stretching to accommodate him, they both sighed in pleasure as she took him whole. She began to move, slowly at first as she wanted this to last as long as possible, she'd missed the feeling of him inside her.

"God." Leon moaned as he threw his head back into the pillow. "So perfect." He praised as he looked up at her again, her mouth parted as she rode him and moans slipped from her. He couldn't help it as he moved a hand up her body, lingering on her cheek for a moment before he stuck two fingers into her mouth.

She groaned in pleasure as she looked down at him, making eye contact as she wrapped her lips around his fingers and sucked, her saliva running down his hand at the action. Leon closed his eyes in utter bliss, everything she did felt amazing, every movement, every touch, the way she looked at him, took control, it drove him over the edge every time. He lost himself in these moments, completely succumbing to her and the pleasure, all thoughts of his job leaving his troubled mind for a short time.

They stayed like that for a while, she moved slowly over him, rolling her hips at a steady pace, his fingers in her mouth. But they both became desperate, a need to get off taking over them both as they became almost feral, he removed his fingers from her mouth and roughly took a breast into his hand, rolling her nipple between his fingers.

She moaned above him which in turn caused him to moan, just watching her was enough for him. Her hips started to roll faster, harder as she ground her clit into his pubic bone and he became a writhing mess beneath her as he desperately clung to her hips now, trying to stay grounded and not finish too soon. She made eye contact with him again and it was a pleasure all in its own for him.

She moved her hand to cup his throat, something they both loved. Despite his job he loved this, he loved to be choked. His breathing restricted as she carefully squeezed in all the right places at all the right times, riding him faster than before if that was possible. He loved that she had this control over him, that for once, he didn't need to be in control, he could let go and allow someone else to lead.

She ground down harder as she chased her own high as she choked the man beneath her. He was gone, lost in his own pleasure as she took him, made him a wreck and all for her. She loved this, Leon was a man who was, physically at the very least, far stronger than she was, but he was putty in her hands and she loved it. It gave her a sense of power, this man had survived horrors, he had grown into a government agent, strong, powerful. Yet, he allowed her all the power and control in the bedroom, he was hers to play with.

"Cum for me Leon." She whispered softly into his ear and he was gone, that was all it took. He shot his load into the condom as he desperately gripped at her hips and ground her down onto him, her own high almost there. She reached hers as soon as Leon harshly rubbed his thumb on her clit, moving in figure eights as he helped her chase her high. Both a moaning and sweaty mess against one another.

The clean up didn't take too long, it never did as the ultimate goal for both of them was a cuddle, he laid on his back as she placed her head on his chest, his fingers tracing lightly down her back as they lay in silence and content. It didn't matter where on this Earth the DSO sent him, this was always his goal. She's his home and he'll always find his way back to her arms. His perfect angel.

"I love you." It was said at the same time by both parties as they laid together in pure bliss and silence, a calm Leon would always need and crave in his whirlwind of a life.

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon x reader #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy x female!reader #leon kennedy smut #re4 leon

314 notes · View notes

treedaddymcpuffpuff · 2 months

Text

Beneath Miles of Stone - Part Nineteen - John Wick x Plus Size Fem Reader

Summary: John has been in prison for nine months. He’s content to stay if it means appeasing the high table and keeping peace between the owners of each continental. However, he meets someone who erases that willingness. Peace be dammed.

TW: death, HEAVY NSFW, spanking

John gets around three good hours of rest. Guilt sits heavy on his chest for killing the woman in Marcus’s guest room.

He sweeps a sweat damp slice of hair from delicate, puttering eyelids, and kisses a sweaty forehead.

She’s beautiful. She still has tiny red lines in her cheeks from the plaster, and just looking at them pisses him off.

He longs to protect her. Preserve her. Traditions instilled in him from a young, spongey brained age where women were meant for less brutal fates than men guide him and probably always will.

It’s why he feels guilty for killing the young assassin, and he’s certain that was the ultimate goal of her employer. Insidious bullshit.

Someone means to expose his soft underbelly, and they’re doing a fucking fantastic job, because here she is, silky and open and raw, snoozing on his chest.

He smooths his palm up and down her spine, hoping to be soft enough to keep her in the land of dreams, but she stirs.

“Shh,” he says, running fingers lightly over the bottom of her hand to the point of her elbow.

“I think you’re bad at keeping someone asleep.” Her smile is against his chest, and he grins back.

“I can get worse.”

She nuzzles, tired giggles prickling his skin. “Did you take your medicine yet, Johnathan ?”

“No nurse. I was waiting for you to wake up and feed it to me.”

She goes to get up and do just that, but he tugs her back down. “Where you going?”

She looks confused. Adorable. He tips her chin up to admire how pretty she is. “To get… your pills.” Wearing a goofy grin.

He kisses it away. “You think I’m actually going to take them?”

He’s kidding, but her immediate reaction - shock, anger, determination - makes the joke worthwhile.

She opens her mouth to either scold him or appeal to his rationality, but he starts laughing.

“Okay, you suck,” she grumbles, poking his ribs.

He kisses her - again. She tries to say something else, but he shuts her up with his mouth. Then more. Grabs her, drags her up so he doesn’t have to lean down to get to her lips.

She cradles his head while he holds her hips and pulls her closer, on top.

“Oh, Johnny,” she coos, hands massaging his scalp.

The big tiger vibrates, closes his eyes and thrums in pleasure.

She kisses his mouth, then his cheeks, his jaw, his neck, his collar, hiccups a squealing noise into the dip of his throat when his hand gives her butt a tap.

“Couldn’t resist,” he admits, smoothing over the sore, cherry love mark, pulling fabric up over the naked bottom of her ass.

“No, I like it.” Her voice is muffled, mouth busy with the skin where his neck meets his shoulder.

“Do you?” He teases, giving her another playful slap.

She repays this with a sharp bite over his deltoid.

He tucks her in and rolls over, causing a little cloud of air to puff from her chest in an ‘oof.’

He pats her cheek. “You okay, baby?”

He might be a big dog who gets too excited and knocks her over, but she adores him. Pretty melted caramel eyes steeped in sunlight promise safety - shelter from anyone and anything - and she believesthem.

She kisses his bottom lip, pushes his hair back. “I’m fine. You’re not so scary.”

He bites the space between them, feigning a purposeful, hungry growl, inducing adorable, nervous giggles from his prey.

Any starving wolf would be far too weak to resist sinking their teeth into her throat. He’s no exception.

Kisses like fire wherever he goes, her skin on fire, everything on fire. Chest, brain, guts, lower, more intimate, the swirl of his tongue and suck of his mouth.

He’s on the pad of her fingers, lapping happily and biting the insides of her wrists, hands walking down her sides into places that make her writhe.

Reluctance to have his mouth on her is long gone, because she needs him. Needs that sloppy wet lick on her clit instead of her elbow crease.

He props himself on one arm, kisses her skyward nipples, then replaces his lips with his thumb and proves he can have more effect on her without even touching her. Because he sucks the digit into his mouth, obscene and plopping, wetting it up for no reason other than to make her whole being clench and falter, and presses it against her already wet enough cunt.

Oh no , she cannot watch that little grin spread while he sinks into slick velvet folds and finds her nerve rich pearl.

She pulses around him, whine high and tight in her throat as his index finger traverses the soft gap between her clit and her entrance. He’s attentive, touching and flicking and pinching the way she likes, rubbing languid circles over her tight opening until it’s attempting to swallow him up.

“John.” Her voice threads with a little madness, frustration so apparent on both sets of puffy, swollen lips.

“I know, baby, I’m gonna make you cum,” he assures, resisting the suck of her little cunt. “Ask me nice.”

It’s not hard to beg him when she’s so pent up she could die. “John, will you make me come, please?”

So polite, just like her hole when it invites his finger in. Her gspot is easy to find, all swollen and popping and begging - helpless little sponge that’s going to be her unraveling. He works over it gently, letting her tremble on the wandering callous, then hooks his finger on the back and curls. Soft, kneading, working at it like a sore muscle, building a bright white warmth that floods every inch of her.

“Oh, fuck,” she says. He kisses the tears off the fat of her breasts.

“You’ve been neglecting this,” he admonishes, rubbing, smiling.

She nods, uhhuh, sticky cries drowning out the squelch of a happy pussy.

“Need you to tell me how that feels, honey.”

She tries to say, “good.”

“You want my cock and can’t even take my fingers?” He tsks. “Silly girl.”

Too soon she’s ready to convulse on his hand, and she tells him this, almost too late, struggling to get anything out of her mouth besides lewd sobs.

“Cum for me, my love,” he whispers, right on her throat, not thinking about the weight of those words - not consciously, anyway.

Luckily, she’s too busy to care right now.

Oh. They should have put a towel down.

She’s coming, moaning loud enough for the neighbors to use as an alarm clock, she’s… crying? Whimpering - fat beads of salt and bitten off mewls.

“Why?” He asks, kissing and tasting her tears. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” she chokes.

“Tell me,” he insists, persistent and soft, rubbing down her hair and back, holding a little too tight. He untucks his fingers from her carefully.

“Because I am scared.”

“I’m telling you, be afraid if you want to be afraid of me. Feel what you feel. It’s okay.”

“But you don’t really want me to be afraid of you..”

“Maybe at first, but not now. Every emotion you feel, I want it. Every thought you have, whether it be that I’m a monster or a hero - I don’t give a damn - I want it. Because, no matter what you think of me, I’ll still want you just as bad.”

“John-“

“Be afraid, it won’t change the way I feel about you.” He cups her cheeks, kisses her head. “It won’t change.” His eyes are leaden anchors to her tiny tugboat heart.

She grasps his wrists, leans in to kiss his palms, the pad of his thumb.

He presses her back against the sheets, rests his head against her own, and lets her mouth make its way over each tip of his fingers.

“I hate myself,” she tells him.

“Tell me why,” he asks, palm smoothing her chest.

“Because I’m not afraid for other people’s lives, anymore. This entire time, I’ve been selfish and awful. I’m afraid for me.”

He nods. “That’s okay, honey, told you that was okay.”

“But I’m not afraid of you, John.”

His brows furrow.

“I’m afraid you’re going to leave me. It’s all I can think about.” Embarrassment turns her eyes away.

He almost grins. “That is a ridiculous fear.”

She stops, her voice muffled by his ring finger. “And why is that?”

“You should be more afraid of the opposite,” he tells her, casting shudders through her skin with that dropped tone at her hairline.

“Of you not leaving me?” She asks, trying to breathe while he circles his fingers around her nipples.

“Of you ever leaving me.” He nips at her ear, rolls his tongue down the side of her neck. “And then me finding you. Because I will, sweet girl, I will find you.” Her hands latch onto his hair while he kisses over the tops of her breasts, flays her open, sucks more bruises into her as if she hasn’t had enough already.

“And when I find you,” he whispers against her shoulder, “I will lock you up and keep you all to myself, and there will be nowhere to run, and no one to save you from me.”

“Oh,” she says, although it comes out more like a strangled little ah, and then another, soft and desperate,

“ Ah, ah ”,

When he finds her now shy clit and forces it to re-socialize with his fingers.

“Let me taste this,” he demands, trekking over engorged, slippery places. “I’m gonna fucking die if I don’t taste your pussy.”

“Just go slow,” she asks.

He’s more than happy to oblige.

By the time he’s done kissing and licking every inch of her upper body, tormenting already sore skin, she’s a fucking mess again, pleading for something, anything. Always begging for him, needing more, desperate and whiny and he loves it.

His mouth, her thighs, back of her knees, making her twitch and moan, down each calf again, and fuck this man, fuck his sly grin, fuck his greedy lips kissing her heels, the tops of her feet, then her curling toes.

And has she ever been too turned on to be ticklish?

She has now.

“C‘Mon, John,” she says, and gets a big bite on the fat of her inner thigh as reward.

He’s beginning to realize that he really does like her bruised rather than not.

He huffs a laugh onto the fuzzy mound of her cunt, makes her hips come off the bed before he quiets them back down. Kisses each crease where plump, more delicate flesh meets strong, tensing thigh.

In here, the warm hallmark movie between her thighs where everything is sweet and right and good, he settles and kisses.

“John please-“

“Don’t even know what you’re begging for,” he muses, teasing the twitching, silk folds protecting her clit.

She grabs his hair and pushes his face into her cunt. He obliges, delighted by this, nose nuzzling her clit.

The vague thought of smothering him makes her loosen up a little, that and the fact he’s licking at her entrance, swallowing her cum, and it’s way too much all at once.

Dying drowned in her pussy would be a preferable and honorable end.

He grabs her hands, kisses her palms, runs his tongue over the lined tissues and makes her glare and snarl - frustrated Pomeranian. He clicks at her, easy little beast, placing both hands at her sides. “Gonna tell me what feels good?” He asks, knuckles spreading her open.

“Yeah,” she whines, eyes teary and beautiful.

His cock makes a vehement, demanding request, threatening carefully crafted patience and virtue. But, maybe he wants to keep her like this forever and edge them both so much that that’s all they can think about - fucking and tasting and touching eachother.

She wouldn’t run away, then.

“Brace yourself,” he tells her, cuddling his face into her cunt.

This clit has been pampered and sheltered and spoiled its entire life. It gets whatever it wants. Never pestered too much, never daring to ask for more orgasms than one. Snuggly in its home, getting ready to retire, peeping out to look as if his mouth is some terrifying, alluring beast. Never pushed beyond its limits, safe and comfortable. It has a rude awakening.

Too much pressure on the head makes her clamp around him hard enough that he’s worried she might actually bust a blood vessel.

He quiets her, patting and rubbing her stomach, sloppy wet kisses to the top of her slit.

“You’re so sensitive,” he says, like he’s trying to think of a solution rather than tease her about it.

She fists the sheets hard enough to make her wrists pop. “Sorry.”

John laughs. He can’t help it. He kisses her clit, warms it with his breath, fingers coaxing at her spasming opening to get her distracted enough that he can carefully lick off to the side she prefers.

He tries a different finger inside, fucking into her with a gentle rhythm. Then, squeezes another against it. She feels so full with two stocky digits that she’s wondering how exactly she is going to take the beast between his legs.

Nice and slow , balls of warmth popping one by one inside of her, up her spine, through her bowed shoulders, inside her mushy brain. Her shy little clit comes around, asking for more attention, greedy and blushing and cuddling up to his tongue.

He cages her in his lips, sucks, just a little, and gently pushes her hips back down when they cant off the bed.

“Easy,” he murmurs, lapping up her slick, spitting globs of it back. Bed’s already ruined, might as well be sloppy.

He’s so, so gentle. Slurping and spitting and groaning and swallowing until he matches the sweet decibel of her cries.

He trades mouth and hand, burying his face deeper into her cunt to tongue fuck the gooey, clenching hole - use the tip to greet her gspot while his fingers work her clit.

He comes up for air, wiping at his face and licking the cum off his lips. She whines, clit pulsing, whoring itself out on behalf of her empty hole. Once a spoiled homebody, now a desperate slut.

“You like that, huh?” He kisses her tummy.

She nods, clumsy hands trying to subtly pull him back in.

“Okay, okay,” he chuckles, “I get it.”

That’s how she comes, with his hand palming her clit and tongue flicking her gspot. He greedily laps pussy juice, reluctant to waste even a dribble.

“You want another one?” He cleans her inner thighs with his mouth, lets her hold and guide his heavy head so he doesn’t tongue too rough

“I don’t think I can,” she admits, knees drooping inward.

“You can.” A kiss to her clit and she’s snapping her thighs shut. He flicks them open again.

“Sensitive,” she says. “Remember?”

If he wanted to, he could hold her down and have his fill. It’s tempting.

“John.” She clears her throat.

“Mmm?”

“You’re doing that thing with your face that makes me think you’re gonna do something bad.”

He sighs - yeah, far too readable in the company of this woman.

“I am thinking of doing something bad.” The corner of his mouth perks.

“Can we just take a break?”

It’s a battle of wills - her versus her delectable taste - and the latter is going to win if he doesn’t get his senses away from her pretty cunt soon.

But it’s not enough - it will never be enough. Not even if he spends the rest of his life buried between her plump, beautiful thighs.

She tries something else, burning hot from embarrassment. “I wanted to save some.” She feels really stupid and naive for saying so.

“You want to save some.. orgasms?” He cocks his head, lays his cheek on her soft belly, careful with the rough scruff on his face.

“I guess, yeah, that’s what I mean.”

He blinks at her. She’s far too intelligent not to know a woman can climax continuously. He kisses her skin. “I don’t understand.”

“Well,” she says, fingers on his scalp. She’s really starting to develop an unhealthy fascination with his thick, dark, Angel hair. “I was hoping we could have actual sex - not that this isn’t actual sex, and not that it’s not wonderful. Not that I’m ungrateful -“

He stops her there. “Ungrateful?” The word rolls odd in his mouth. “You think I’m doing you a favor? That I’m eating you out as a courtesy?” He’s frowning.

“Um,” she tries, struggling to make him less frustrated. But also so confused by the frustration itself.

“You know there are men - people - that like licking pussy, right?” Some little nagging fly at the back of his brain is telling him that she hasn’t had great experiences with this conversation in other relationships. That she thinks she’s unworthy of this treatment. That someone - multiple someone’s - made her feel inferior and undeserving and he’s a hungry, raging wildfire again. Jaw ticking, eyes narrowing, struggling to control his rage.

“I did know, but I just thought that no one -“

“Why?”

“I don’t know, John, life. People.” She looks away from him, hiding her face from his wrath. “I let it get to me. I’m not as strong as you. Not everyone likesbigger women.”

Is that what this world has reduced her to? Is that the way she sees herself? Unworthy because of something as ridiculous as the size and shape of her body? Is this what it comes down to? The rest of him might be seething, but his chest aches. He reaches up to cradle her face. “Honey..” But what can he say? What undoes years of abuse? Something that would be more effective than talking, surely: burning the world down around her and proving that she’s the only beautiful thing left. That she is the center, the focal point of this universe, and should be heralded by every god of every religion. She is the goodness in this wretched place, the light that warms the dying earth. And she thinks that she’s unworthy because she has fat?

Someone will pay for this. Someone will bleed for this.

Her eyes close against the soothing rumble of his voice, and she takes a shaky breath to avoid weeping. Her cheeks are already so, so sore.

John moves so that he’s holding her again, arms wrapped around her waist, chin on top of her head, thighs supporting her lower half. He doesn’t know what the fuck to say to make this better. He wants to call Winston and make him say something to make this better. He wants to be Winston - which is such a ridiculous thought - so that he can have the right words to settle her soul.

“When I was younger,” he tells her, trying anyway, rubbing little circles on her tummy, “I was reckless. I thought that things like sex, drugs, and money could satisfy me. I wanted to find comfort where other people in my cohort seemed to find it. I was so empty and numb that immersing myself in any distraction was preferable.”

“Did it help?”

“It never does. Not for me, and not for anyone I know.”

“You did drugs?” She tries to imagine that and fails.

“Yeah. Lots of them. You get off a job, you go to a brothel, you eat cocaine for breakfast, wash it down with a bottle.”

“That kinda rhymed.”

“Dr. Seuss, watch your back.”

She giggles.

“I’ve slept with all kinds of different people.”

“Men?”

“Almost.”

He can tell she wants to hear that story, but he’ll save it for another time. “And I learned quickly if I wasn’t emotionally attracted to that person, I was inept.”

“Unable to perform?” She starts playing with his fingers.

“Uh-huh. So, instead of going through the trouble, I learned how to give head. Back alleys, broom closets, ratty blankets under desert skies, you get the gist.” He repositions her so he can kiss her ear and neck.

Under desert skies sounds appealing. He’s silent for a minute, so she has to say something because it’s too good to pass up. “You know you’re one of those perfect, dream guys, right John?” She rolls her eyes, not being sarcastic even the slightest bit.

He laughs and digs his fingers into her sides to stop her talking, pulling her back as she tries to claw away.

“Stop it,” he tells her, kissing her temple. “I loved doing it. I still love doing it. Mary Poppins? Familiar?”

She nods. “A few of my favorite things?”

“Yeah, if I had to sing mine, I’d be kicked out of the production and charged with sexual harassment.”

He makes her laugh that beautiful, melodic laugh, and feels way too proud about it.

“The moral of my story is that you’re getting eaten up as often as I can manage, baby. So, you better get used to my tongue.”

She tries to shyly bury her head into the pillow, but he brings her back with a persistent hand on her chin. “Wait, so does that mean you don’t like me - emotionally? That you can’t have sex with me?”

He’s about to gulp her earlobe into his mouth, but stops. And here he was thinking he was getting better at this talking thing. He huffs. “Did you have my cock in your pretty mouth?”

“Uh, yeah.” She squirms, suddenly not hating the idea of him between her legs again.

“Was I soft?”

“No.” Definitely not .

He hums and flicks her ear with his tongue.

“So, can we have sex?” She tries, voice faltering.

“I want that to be under different circumstances.”

“Like what?”

“Something special. A surprise.”

His penchant for romance gets her flushing harder than his mouth. “When?” She asks quietly, impatiently. “Why?”

“I’m a ceremonial person,” he says simply.

“I’m not. I don’t need ceremony or anything like that, John, I’m fine with doing this right now.” She tries to press into him, but he puts his hand on her lower back and stalls her.

“Is this all because of what I said about emotional attraction?”

She groans in frustration, wiggles around, fights his heavy limbs, manages to turn and face him. “No, John.” She looks up into his pretty eyes. “It’s because I’ve wanted you inside me since the first night we met.”

He barely has time to register what he himself is doing, so it must be a big surprise for her when he slams their hips together and she feels his cock pressing up against her naked cunt. It hurts a little bit, but that’s okay because the only thing separating his beautiful girth from where she wants it is the flaps of a robe. She grinds into him, but he stills her with a little snarl.

“You know,” he smiles, nuzzling her nose while his cock mimics the motion into the crease of her pussy. “You seem so innocent, but you’re a little siren, hm?”

He’s going to give in, he already knows it. That weekend getaway he was to start planning is going to have to happen without the sentiment of first love making. How can he resist her, though? With her half lidded eyes peeking at him beneath fluttering lashes, that little opening of her mouth, the way she feels so soft and soaked - he’s been wrong about something; it doesn’t matter if there are other gods, because she is the only one he wants to worship.

“Only for you, John,” she breathes, arching her back and plopping her tits out and tugging his robe open. “Only for you.”

She makes it so he’s under her, climbs into his lap and watches his jaw clank, hands fist the bed sheets, nose flare. She fits herself over his cock, grinding the bulky soft head on her clit, smiling at him like he’s the center of her world.

That leaking ego she’s growing shows a little.

“I don’t know if you know this,” she says, “but you’re huge.”

His hands come off the bed to grab at her, flip her over and shove himself inside, but he stops himself. Somehow.

She flinches a little, bites her lip and watches his hands drop to the bed again. “Am I frustrating you, Johnny?”

Oh, now she’s just pushing her fucking luck.

He levels a mean grin at her. “Yes. You are.”

There’s a threat in there somewhere. It sends a prickly thrill across her shoulders. “Payback.”

He moves his hands again, quick, making her flinch away and screech, grabbing her wrists softly and laying them on his chest.

“Why are you evil?” She asks, voice choked up with the new found pressure on all her sensitive bits.

“Thought I was your hero,” he retorts, voice only a little more controlled than her own.

“Semantics.”

He chuckles.

“Okay, I’m gonna -“ she puts her hand between them, grips him, positions so that he’s right at her entrance. “I’m gonna do this.”

“You’ve got this,” he assures, trying not to move his hips, using every cell in his body to focus on not hurting her.

“I’m just gonna-“ she pushes, little opening swallowing the very round top.

“Yeah, I’m here for you,” he nods, grits his teeth, “proud. That’s it, fucking beautiful.”

He makes her laugh, push a little further onto him, suck him up inside just tiny bits at a time. “Oh, that’s a lot.” Leans down, stalls, adjusts. “That’s a lot.”

He brings his hand up to cradle her face. “You’re doing such a good job, baby.”

She sinks deeper and they both stop breathing, hanging on to the other for dear life.

Someone knocks on the door.

“Fucking Christ. What?!”

She’s never seen him lose his temper quite like this, and all while he’s halfway into splitting her apart.

“John.” It’s Marcus. “Maria put the hit out.”

He looks like he doesn’t believe any word of that.

“Who’s Maria?” She asks.

He answers Marcus first, “check again.” He’s softer for her. “Owner of the El Paso Continental.”

“It was her, John.”

“I’ll just talk to her myself.”

“You can’t.” A hollow wooden sound like he’s lightly hitting the door.

“I can.”

“No, you can’t, because she’s dead.”

// art cred: Sakura

#john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction #john wick x plus size reader #john wick #x chubby reader #chubby reader

90 notes · View notes