#anyway i don’t think Arthur would want to be the leader of the gang and also i think that’s why he would be good at it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

devnmon · 2 months

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Reason on the Common Tongue (of you lovin' me)

Dutch Van Der Linde x F!Reader

Summary: You’ve taken another man in camp out for drinks while Dutch was busy and unwilling to take the night off. Who’s to say he’s forgotten where you’d gone by the time you return?

wc: 5.8k

warnings: oral (f&m receiving, sir kink, rough!dutch, dom/sub roles, unprotected piv, orgasm denial, cumming inside (not recommended for irl experiences), sweet aftercare <3

a/n: anyone else insane about dutch van der linde? just me???? anyways just wanted to say this is filthy and also one of my favorite things i’ve written. i say that everytime i write something new but i truly love this fic. [who would have known this was going to be my first fic for rdr2.] also huge shoutout & credit to my moot jay @bandittlikemee for everything she’s done to help me write this fic. youre truly a genius bestie! also this is set in the clemen's point camp!

Dutch Van Der Linde was a busy man. So much so that he didn’t have time to get up to ludicrous activities such as drinking the night away in the Rhodes saloon. It was another sweltering night in Clemen’s Point; nothing exciting had happened for a few days on account of lying low to skip out on any face time with the Pinkertons. Since you’d been itching to get out of camp, and your ever-so-important leader wouldn’t spend a singular night with his partner drinking and dancing, you offered the trip up to a familiar gunslinger instead.

With a wave towards his tent, the two of you were off to the local saloon on the back of Arthur’s horse. It was long after dark before the two of you returned; you had been more indulgent than your companion, practically making Arthur carry you out to his horse before you got too inebriated on the drink. Being swept off your feet like Arthur had done felt like flying, especially when he sped up his horse on the ride back to camp.

“Whoo! That was one fun night, Mister Morgan. Even if you didn’t let me out on the dance floor.”

“Don’t you dare get sick on this horse b’fore we get back to camp.”

“I ain’t drunk!” you called out.

“Yeah, and I ain’t a gunslinger.” Arthur joked.

You both boasted with laughter and quips during the ride back into camp, fairly shortened by Arthur’s ability to ride a horse, and soon enough you were entering the clearing.

Dutch, spending his night nursing a cigar, perked up once he heard your familiar laughter in his ears. He knew the minute you’d left camp with Arthur, it was a mistake. Were you to blame? Or was he? Surely you could’ve known all he was combatting at the moment; the leader of a powerful gang, the Van Der Linde’s, had more on his plate than you could even fathom. Moves, and countermoves, he’d say. All in good time, Dutch has a plan.

To find out you’d left camp with Arthur of all men, his son, whom he’d raised since just a boy– was he a fool to you? Did you underestimate all he was capable of? Did you think him a fool?

He’d show you, indeed he was not.

Dutch took another deep inhale of his cigar, the tobacco filling his mind with a haze of your figure. Then he’d remembered who you’d been spending the time with. Another laugh escaped your lips, louder than usual, and his dark eyes found you sat on the back of Arthur’s horse, reaching toward the cowboy for assistance in getting down. He can’t help but glue his eyes to your waist, accompanied by Arthur’s hands for what seems to be a moment longer than he’d like.

Sat in silence, he's almost as red as his vest when you approach the tent.

“Hey, baby. Wish you came with us t’night. I almost punched a man for makin’ a crude comment toward me. You would’a loved to see it, the guy basically pissed himself when Arthur threatened ‘im.” You're slurring your words while babbling on incoherently; your balance is shoddy at best, and he doesn't even say anything until you mention his right-hand man.

"Have fun drinking with Arthur, dear? Was he able to... satisfy you?"

"Mhm, Arthur was very kind to me tonight." To even suggest you'd be satisfied being in the company of anyone else but him makes Dutch furious.

"Did he... rustle your feathers, dearest?" With the way he punctuated his words, you're a bit confused by what he means, since the drink's gone to your head.

"What'dya mean?" you ask, batting your eyelashes at him by chance he'd forget Arthur was by your side all night instead of him. Dare you poke the bear.

"Did he–" he let out a breath of smoke, "Was he such good company that you'd forgotten about me? Your leader?" The grumble in his voice fans the flames in your chest; if you weren’t warm from the alcohol, you certainly were now.

Your glazed eyes make out the vision of Dutch, his silhouette darkened by one lamp still lit. When he starts sauntering towards you, step by slow step, you know he's not amused by all this Arthur talk.

"Mm, no, never." Your intoxication doesn't help you sound convincing, though sober you knows Dutch loves the reassurance.

"Sounds like you're lying to me, my love."

He flicks his cigar out of the tent and watches as you stumble to sit down in a chair facing him. Then your mind pulls you back to the events at the saloon– drinking with Arthur and watching him dance drunkenly to the piano– you're giggling at the image. But Dutch.. he's not finding this funny.

"What’s laughable, right now, dear? "He asks, accentuating the h sound while tilting his head at you down with his dark eyes.

"Jus'... Arthur was so fun to be with t'night. An’ I missed you... wish you'd come with us, handsome."

"Well I had to tend to more pressing matters, my darling. You'd only understand if you weren't so piss drunk right now. Maybe I ought to teach you a lesson about what company you should be keeping."

Dutch takes a seat on his cot, his right hand tapping the corresponding thigh. As if instinctual, you lunge yourself over to him and take your rightful seat.

Dutch has always been intimidating, it was one of the reasons you've become enamored with him. But when he narrows his eyes and guides them down your face and figure, close up? you're blushing out of being perceived by such a man of power in this world.

"What're you giggling about now?" he inquires, holding your head with his palm so you'll make eye contact.

"You're jus' so handsome, Mister Van der Linde. My sweetest, the most dashing man I've met."

"You, my dear, are adorable,” he began, and with a click of his tongue, he continued, “But, I still don't believe you. How ‘bout you… make it up to me, hm?"

At that point, you can already feel him hardening under you in his lap, and you clench around nothing. For the first time tonight, your voice shakes.

“What.. would you have me do?” You swallow nervously, wavering your eyes from his for a moment; he ordered your gaze be brought back to his immediately with the clearing of his throat. As if to check you for disobedience.

“On your knees… now.” Dutch’s voice lowered, his words putting a spell on you once spoken. Sliding down to your knees, your hands glided over his thighs for just a moment, letting the friction spike his legs with another level of desire to show you who you belong to.

“Don’t tease me, darling… lest I have to remind you why you’re on your knees for me.” Dutch’s eyes darkened once you were firmly on your knees, tongue darting out to wet your lips. It was as if a Greek god asked you to bow down to him and solely him– Dutch’s physique and natural manliness only contributed to that image of him in your mind.

Your hands reached for the button of his pants, pulling them down his muscular thighs to see his growing hardness underneath the cloth. For a minute, your palm brushed against his girth, earning a grumble from the man above you. It wasn’t lost on him the way you were acting, all innocent like you weren’t aware of the way you were making him burn for your touch.

Once your hands had them down far enough, the dark tuft of hair from his mound came into the light, which opened your eyes wide upon pulling it all the way off. Dutch’s length sprung upwards and caught your eye, especially frustrated and swollen, much like his growing displeasure with your actions. Freed from the confines of his pants and undergarments, his cock stood tall, lying well past his navel against that black vest of his.

As your grip surrounds his base, Dutch clears his throat once more whilst observing every move you made. Your thumb runs along the prominent vein sticking out and moving your hand up his length. He’s certain you aren’t aware just how vexed you had gotten him.

“Get to it.” he spat, enunciating every part of his words with that sharp wit and tongue. Without another second to spare, you licked the pearling precum resting on his tip, before enveloping it with your lips. Luckily for you, he filled your mouth quite nicely, his fingers running through your hair to grip tightly at the back of your head. Tongue running down the underside as you began to ravish him with your lips, he took the advantage to push you down a couple inches more.

With his tip almost nudging the back of your throat, you push down another inch or so and bobbing up and down on him to your heart’s content. The alcohol-buzzed vision of him, burning brighter with each inch you took further past your lips. Dutch rolled his shoulders and neck out in a slow motion, locking those gluttonous eyes of his back onto you with a smirk.

You came up for air with a pop of your lips, his erection shining under the warm light from your saliva.

“So big…” you whispered, stroking him with your hand and going back down for another taste. This time, Dutch was not simply fooling around; his hand forced you down rougher this time, the back of your throat welcoming him once again. It was ravishing to be put under the control of a man such as Dutch; the power he held over you was maddening and traveled to your head every so often. With the tip kissing the back of your throat after each shove down his length, your eyes begin to well up.

“Takin’ me so deep, love, you’ve got tears in your eyes. Now I have truly seen it all.” Releasing his hard grip for a moment, you come off his cock and wipe them away like they aren’t anything special.

“I’d do much more for you, sir.” You choke out, lips swollen from just his cock, and you press a kiss to his tip before sticking out your tongue and swallowing him whole again. The hand that was once gripping your hair was cupping your cheek, the other had undone two of his vest buttons, leaving his broad torso on display in just that white and blue striped shirt.

This time Dutch chuckles in that deep gravel of his, surging your heat with a plethora of warmth. His chest broadens with every exhale of fervent breath, the slow burn of dissatisfaction eating him up inside. Beads of sweat begin to form on his forehead, the knot in his groin tugging at him ever so slightly.

You let his length fill your throat wantonly, pushing yourself down enough to take every inch. Your nose became buried in the dark patch of curls he’d kept tidy, clearing his throat once more while relishing in the warmth of your tongue against him.

“You’re gonna taste me for days, sweetheart. Gonna – fuck – gonna remind you who you belong to. Make it so you don’t forget this time.” Dutch’s right hand combed through your hair, controlling your mouth’s movements down his shaft, saliva messily covering his skin. A particular thrust of your head in his grip pushes your nose into his curls, making you gag around him. It’s not much to remind him why you were his, the raw class he omitted an infectious disease; it just so happened to be you found under his spell.

Repeatedly, your head moved up and down his cock, Dutch gripping your hair and taking what he deserved. After all, you did take another man out to drink. How dare you not bask in the appreciation of his company otherwise? Dutch had no discretion– no temper to waste on explaining himself to you. You should have known he’d get mad.

On spur of the moment, his controlling movements halted and your tongue swirled around his tip. A feral growl erupted from his chest, painting your cheeks pink before releasing him to catch your breath.

“Mmmph, Dutch…” comes out as a whine, shifting the weight you’d been sitting on.

“What now, dearest? I don’t think you deserve to complain after what you’ve done.” His words manifest a wave of arousal scorching your skin and mind– Dutch was torturous in that regard. When he clicked his tongue, you knew there was only a matter of time until he truly took control. This was only the beginning of a very long night.

Dutch had a way of changing the temperature of a room with one fell swoop. To you, it was a life altering experience being under his discipline, especially in this setting.

Another whine escaped you, words eventually choked out, “I’m sorry, Dutch…”

He solely chuckled, sitting up and raising your chin with his index finger.

“That’s funny, my dear. You didn’t seem sorry when you stormed off and took Mister Morgan as company.” He sneered, the permanent smirk on his face, becoming bigger by the second. You clung to his words like water coating a piece of cloth, soaking up every syllable for a smidge of satisfaction.

“Please, I’m so…” you trailed off, your thoughts whisked away when you heard him chuckling.

“You’re sorry?”

Nodding almost instantaneously, he clicked his tongue.

“Fine. As much as I’d love to fill that sweet mouth of yours all night long, I’m itching for a taste of your perfect cunt. Come here.”

Two fingers motioned you towards him, tongue sticking out to wet his lips, while inclining his head at the vision of you still kneeling for him. Dutch didn’t miss the slightly pained sound as you relieved the weight on your knees, knowing they’d most likely be bruised tomorrow. He took incredible amounts of pride seeing himself in the bruises, teeth marks, and spend he left behind on your saccharine skin.

Your swollen lips wet from your tongue, sensitive thanks to the friction against his length moments ago. Still shy of that dark gaze when he too stood, a forefinger and thumb brought you right back to him.

“I need you to know…” he spoke breathlessly, crushing your lips to his in one motion. Dazed by his sudden affection and the thick tension in the room, you drowned in his taste.

Unbound by any other attachments, your soul was his.

Dutch’s lips pressed against yours were fervent and skillful, a new taste of himself on you. By the third peck, Dutch had forced his tongue into your mouth, venom coating your mouth. Intoxicating.

His right hand finds your waist, pulse hammering in your chest as that broad figure of his flooded your visual field up close.

“... that your actions have consequences.” His grip tightened around your jaw, tobacco on his breath as he spoke.

“Just because I don’t wish to accompany you to the town saloon for a drink does not mean you’re permitted to take the next desperate fella in company who’d so easily strike you from my arms.” That slight growl in his voice paired with the liquor in your system triggered the heat at the apex of your thighs to burn hotter.

“Arthur ain’t like that–” you slurred, getting cut off by a hiccup; a clear sign you were still not understanding how gravely Dutch was taking your little excursion out of camp. His voice was nothing but otherworldly, smooth and rich with charisma and magnetism. No surprise you obeyed his every word without question.

“I don’t remember asking for excuses,” he spat, smirking, “Let’s get you out of this dress..”

Those calloused yet talented hands of your leader find the back zipper quite easily, wasting no time by pulling it down your shoulders roughly. The fabric was tight, but with the level of Dutch’s strength, you wouldn’t put it past him to create a few rips. His movements were followed accordingly, still ravaged with the current indignation he held upon you.

Once you met his eye, seeming to shrink a bit more when looking up to him, that foreboding glare into you was similar to putting a flame near a stick of dynamite. There was no telling when he (or you) would explode. That dashing face of his created another spark inside you, one bold enough to pull his lips to yours once again. A hand grasped the back of your neck tenderly, the first soft action Dutch made upon your skin.

Don’t fall into his touch… you tell yourself. But the drink was too strong, and his venom made its way into your bloodstream. There was no turning back.

Aphotic, tantalizing eyes studied you, the only way you could sense his willingness to please after the fury that still embodied him.

“Satiate me...” he beckoned, walking you backwards to his cot where your knees met the side. Adhering to his plea, your back found the fabric and sighed amongst the sight of him above you. His hands never left your body, sliding down your back to the side of your leg, then moving to your inner thigh with the slightest touch before gripping it with his broad palm.

Suddenly the thin chemise was much too hot against your skin.

“Dutch, please…” you begged once again.

“Ah ah… that’s Mister Van Der Linde to you, my sweetness. You’ll receive the right to say my name when you’ve earned it.” His voice was like honey, eager fingers tugging at the white cloth. Dutch didn’t need permission, he gladly took what he believed to be his, no matter the cost. You swallowed thickly at the cool air prickling your skin with the tensity and vigor the man before you withheld.

“Yes, sir, Mister Van Der Linde…” you professed, breathlessly.

Dutch’s cock twitched upon the sir that fell from your lips. He chuckled, tightening his grip on your undergarment and dragging it down your skin. Your chest was exposed to him first, keen skin still layered with sweat and goosebumps while your nipples hardened against the nighttime air. You were just as he expected, breathing heavily and quivering under the first touch of his fingertips. Impatient, the garment was dragged down your legs by the older man and discarded on the floor.

Dutch’s hands parted your quivering thighs, calloused palms from years of using a gun gripping around you firmly. You could practically feel the flame of his gaze make its way up to the tuft of hair making an appearance from between your legs. He slid both palms up your legs, parting them accordingly so that your slick caught the light. Focused on his face, you notice his walnut eyes catch yours, immediately heating your cheeks.

It was meant to be; Dutch was your siren, luring you in with each word he manifested, every spill of his cherry wine words onto a white tablecloth. His mouth neared the thick curls protecting your supple skin from harm, a similar style in which Dutch protected his people.

“Such a divine sight laid out for me like this. I’m going to remind you exactly who you belong to, have you come back to me.” The baritone and rumble in his voice was like nothing you’d ever heard before. He was quite honestly a man starved, no matter how angered he was at what you’d done.

Before you knew it, Dutch’s nose was poking your clit the slightest bit, meanwhile he’d pressed his tongue through your folds and covered himself in your taste. You gasped, your breath coming in ragged bursts as everything you’ve ever felt for Dutch comes flooding back in the blink of an eye. Each stroke of his tongue was another day you’d spent by his side, loyal to no other.

Your leader, your lover, your siren.

Nothing else filled your senses, except for Dutch Van Der Linde.

Those dark brown eyes were lidded against the lack of light, his tongue skillfully drinking in your sweet nectar as if it was his last meal. You danced across his taste buds and he groaned, the vibration sending your hips rolling against his mouth out of impulse. Exhaling sharply and continuing to breathe shakily, the tip of Dutch’s tongue circled around your sensitive clit.

“Fuck– sir… oh god,” He pressed a chaste kiss to your clit, breath hitching in anticipation. The flat of his tongue ran kitten licks up your folds, each movement sending a jolt coursing through you. Before you could protest, he ended another stripe up your cunt with a tantalizing drag against your sensitive bundle of nerves. It was particularly frustrating when he hummed against you once more.

“Hope this is reminding you,” he swallowed, “of where your loyalties lie. To whatever man you can get your hands on? Or me, your leader? The sole individual responsible for keeping this entire group pieced together?”

It was a no-brainer.

“You– fuck… My loyalty lies with you, Mister Van der Linde. I promise… never to take another man in company… again.” You breathed, in disbelief at how composed he was; you were a downright panting mess, but a goddamned sight laid out like this for him.

Upon your hips stuttering against his tongue, Dutch shifted closer to your core, hooking his large biceps around each of your thighs and gripped with his overpowering strength. The cool gold of his rings was a contrast to how hot your skin ran under his touch. That tongue of his circled around your clit repeatedly, until he pulled away to admire the mess he’d made of you in such short time.

“Fuck– oh god…” your nails ran through his jet black hair to grip at the back of his head. Dutch’s mouth worshiped each part of you equally, sticking his tongue inside you every so often; it was driving you mad.

Thinking himself clever, he pulled his right arm from gripping around your thigh. His rings ran across the vast expanse of your skin, trailing the chilled metal close to where you were most sensitive.

His amber eyes glanced upward, past the natural curves of your breasts to your fully blissed out expression; your eyes were scrunched together, mouth hanging open with bated breath. The haze of intoxication still coursing through you sent ripples of pleasure surging up your spine.

“I’ve decided to let you redeem yourself, my love. What would you say to that?” Dutch inquired, using that philosophical tone of voice he’s picked up from reading and quoting Evelyn Miller often.

“I’d do… anything to have you. To please you, to bring you bliss, sir.” Your breath quivers at the point of offering yourself to him in a plea to finally satisfy you.

“I’m not quite sure if you’re deserving of it– just yet, that is.” Maintaining eye contact with you, Dutch stood himself up to undo the buttons down his shirt and let it lay open under his red-backed vest.

“Been… been so good for you, sir. Please,” you implored him an inch further, watching his broad chest heave with deep breaths. His hand adorned with two thick gold rings heads straight for the belt buckle around his waist.

“Have you understood, yet, my darling? How I must be torturous? For it is the only way you’ll learn never to disobey, betray, leave me?” Dutch’s prophetic stance above you was truly enticing, the vibrato of his words coaxing another whimper from you.

“I’ve… understood, sir,” you eyed the belt coming undone within his skilled fingers and exhaled in relief.

“You’re going to have to do better than that to convince me. Speak, girl.” The astounding heat, not only flowing through your veins like hot magma, but also flooding your head and hazing your mind with him. Interested in what you had to say, he waited for your response and discarded his belt.

“Sir, I’m a fool… a fool thinking anyone else could satisfy me in the ways you do.” your voice quivered, breathing heavily and watching his hickory eyes study you. His black pants found themselves in a pile along with everything else he’d discarded from your body and his. “My leader, no one else can replace you, you’re the only man made to save people in the ways you did… even me. We’re– I’m so lucky to have you. And I’m– I apologize deeply for my actions, sir.”

He’d be hard pressed to admit the praise wasn’t intoxicating him at this moment, a growl erupting from his chest among his length stood tall against his exposed torso.

“Well, isn’t that nice. An admittance of your mistakes. Such a lovely difference from the snark I’d been given earlier. Hopefully you’ll learn your lesson.” He gripped the base of his cock and crawled above your supple figure on his cot, noticing your sharp inhale once he was fully perched above you. Dutch’s free hand parts your thighs, making room for his tip to slide through your folds, stopping below the little bundle of nerves that ached for any kind of stimulation.

It was easy for him to pick up on your sharp, quickened breaths upon his close proximity, scrunching your eyes shut to avoid that beckoning gaze of his.

“If this is going to work, my love, you must look. Observe how I split you open, how you take my cock, how I fuck you.” He snarled, pecking the side of your face with open-mouthed kisses. Your eyes fluttered open as if second nature, meeting his gaze while pushing himself completely inside of you.

His length filled you to the hilt, every ridge and groove of him welcomed by your warmth. Dutch breathed a moment with you, smashing his lips against yours to swallow the whimpers you omitted. Your hands ran up his chest, dragging your fingers through the thick chest hair to Dutch’s broad shoulders. He shrugged off the shirt and vest upon your hands sneaking under the cloth, leaving him fully bare to you.

The first drag of his cock against your insides manifested another filthy moan to secrete from your lips while he pushed back in.

“Sir–” you gasped, his natural musk clouding your senses. Dutch thrusted into you deeper, kissing that special spot inside of you to send you seeing stars. Quick as light, his thrusts picked up pace, setting a steady rhythm with his hips.

“Say my name.” Dutch’s voice in your ear echoed through your head like a mantra, the only thing bombarding your senses being him.

“Oh god, Dutch–” you choked out, his name on your tongue only spurring him on more to push deeper.

“Yes, that’s it, again.” he spoke between thrusts, clenching around him while pulling groans of his pleasure into the air. His cock has molded to your walls, relentlessly beating such a punishing pace.

“Dutch… ah-!” His name in your throat like a jewel only spurred him on more, humming approvingly and latching onto your neck with the sweet sucking of his lips. There was absolutely no chance of Dutch letting you get off easy without any showable marks. He had an inkling all the men in camp would think twice before making any advancing remarks toward you– lest they forget who you belong to.

A glance downward had you turning lightheaded– did he really always look that dashing? You’d become tantalized watching his girth disappear and reappear at least a dozen times before his fingers brought your gaze back to him. Each thrust of his hips was dizzying, picking up the familiar groans in your ear once again.

In this moment, you were completely and utterly his, transcending into a place of physical surrender and letting the world fall away. A particularly rough thrust had you calling out for him again, his hand coming up to wrap around your throat.

“Got myself such a good little whore, ain’t that right? One who knows her place is with me– your only leader.” You could scarcely manage a nod upon reveling in the touches he gave you.

Dutch was maddening, luring a groan from him once he saw how far gone you were. It was immensely overstimulating the minute Dutch’s right ringed hand dragged up your torso to the pebbled nipples standing upright from stimulation. Goosebumps expelled across your skin as the knot in your stomach began to tighten, walls fluttering around his length aimlessly. He leaned down again to the side of your face, breathing heavily above you. Slowing to deliver deep and agonizing thrusts, Dutch only drew out your orgasm further, as if he read your state of overstimulation like an open book. His fingers twisting your nipples, those smacks of his hips against yours– your sheer bliss in the center of it all.

Your hand fisted his dark waves at the nape of his neck, another grumble aligned with his thrusts. His pace wasn’t as merciful as you hoped it would be, the sting of his precise and rough thrusts pricking tears in your eyes the same as before. You were at such a heightened state that you weren’t able to control what left your mouth anymore.

“Daddy… I-I’m gettin’ close..” you whimper, running your other hand up his bicep to grip desperately. He felt the pride well in his chest upon his skill to pleasure you like this while also making you cry. To see you in such desperate of situations fueled his ego like a bonfire.

“Oh, are you, my love?” he began, snaking his hand down to your navel and pressing his hand against it. The tip of his cock poked just the slightest bit against his palm. “Feel how deep I am inside you, darling, and know that nobody could fill you the way I do.”

Dutch’s deft fingers moved downward to rub at your clit, throbbing incessantly upon his first touch. The whimper you let out was like music to his ears, filthy and drenched in content of being pleasured by him.

By the expression on his face– he’s impressed at how well you held back from letting yourself go. It’s Dutch’s realization then that you’d always known you were his to touch and please like this, more than any other before. Dutch Van Der Linde is the object of all your desires; continuing to orchestrate bliss under any means possible.

Every ridge and vein of him massages you in such a euphoric way, and it’s not too hard for you to be sent over the edge. It’s as if every inch of you explodes in that moment, allowing each morsel of stimulation; his fingers twisting your nipples and on your clit, the sensation of him throbbing inside you, and the sound of his voice in your ears; come together to send you gasping and moaning over his cock once again.

You can’t hear much else other than the wet slide of him inside you, walls slick as his once steady rhythm grows erratic, forcing his thrusts to become harder and harder. An ache like this would always have a way of satisfying you in more ways than most. Dutch’s groans became visceral as he thrust one more time into you until he too was sent keening over the edge. His hips stuttered, white ropes of seed coating your walls while riding out your high to the sounds of Dutch’s melody of sweet groans and praises.

Both of you breathed heavily as the moment passed, your grip on one another grounding you back to Earth.

“Now, say ‘thank you, daddy’.” he snarled in your ear, keeping himself sheathed inside you while moving his hips the slightest bit.

“Thank you, daddy..” You swallowed, breathless upon his capability to have just come down from his high and keep that cocky attitude.

“Well, what are you thanking me for, doll? Be specific.” Dutch cupped your cheek, his thumb running along your skin lightly.

“For… reminding me who I belong to. You.” Your lips crashed against his once again, the passion and heat of the moment still rung in the air.

“That’s right, my darling.” He pulled out of you, lying beside you with a smug grin on his face. The two of you laid in the warmth your body heat offered, catching your breath. Cool air continued to seep into the tent, a drastic difference than the heat you two shared. Dutch was the first one to break the silence, your alcohol dazed mind still fluttering from such intense contact.

“Oh, my darling, are you alright? You were ravishing tonight.” You glanced over, his forehead glowing with sweat in the warm lantern light.

“Yeah, I’m good, baby. After all that, ’m glowin’. You sure know how to make a woman stay loyal.” you smirked at him, struck by his handsome face in the light.

“I’m sure,” he chuckled, “Hope I wasn’t too hard on your precious body, my love. The last thing I would want is to injure you or push a boundary I should not have. Tell me.. dearest.” Dutch sat up, grabbing your hand with one of his, caressing your wrist with his thumb. His hair was disheveled in the most perfect way, afterglow still apparent on his cheeks.

Warmly, you beamed at him, “Of course you weren’t, not if I made you mad in the first place. Not at all…”

Your words brought a smile out in him, and you caught it just before he pulled you in closer to an embrace. That skin on skin contact fueled every desire for him you had since meeting him. When he noticed and made you his– that was the real luck of the draw. So many women chased after Dutch Van Der Linde as a dream, something to grasp onto as an escape from their lives. But for you, it was all so very real.

“You are mine, my love. Don’t ever forget it again.” Dutch’s voice tickled your ears once more, placing a soft kiss on your forehead before grabbing a nearby blanket to cover your body from the chill of night.

“How could I, my leader? No one could possibly compare to the man before me. I love you.” You sweetly spoke to him, one of your palms lying against his chest lovingly.

“I love you too, my sweetness. I’m so overjoyed to hear you’re loyal to the right man.” He chuckled, pressing another kiss to your cheek and letting his forearm wrap around your waist.

“That I am.” you replied, laying your head on his chest with content, sleep overcoming you from the exhaustion and haze your body had been through with the night’s events. Warm and safe in his arms, your heart was Dutch Van Der Linde’s.

#signed rye #ryesff #devnmonwrites #devnmon writes #dutch van der linde x reader #dutch van der linde smut #dutch van der linde #dutch rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 fanfic #dividers by benkeibear #dividers by peachesboard #dividers by rookthornesartistry

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fruityymff · 3 months

Text

New post!!

Sorry for not posting for some time :[ I don’t draw RDR fanart very often, and I realized that posting my own OC’s doesn’t get as much attention as my RDR fanart. It made me very sad because I draw my own characters a LOOT and love to share about them! Maybe one day I’ll be able to get them to get as much attention in here haha.

Anyway, these are some doodles I drew on magma from a little while ago :D

And Alsoo…

I wanted to add that I DO have RDR OC’s!!!!

These two are siblings; their names are Ajei (26) and Xochitl (19) Narváez. A bit of a backstory & character explanation;

Before they moved to the United States, Ajei and Xochitl lived in a pueblo back in Mexico. Their father, who left his reservation with reason to explore the world, met their mother, who was a nun at the church of the local pueblo he was staying in at the time.

The government wasn’t the best at providing for the people, especially the indigenous pueblos. In fact, wanted them gone. We all know the story and how it goes. Unfortunately, this family were also heavily affected by the wrongdoings of a corrupt governor, which caused the sickness and slow death of their dear pueblo. Not enough clean water, food, and resources. If the people in towns didn’t have it good, they sure had it worse.

Ajei started growing into the mindset of a rebel; taking away from the greedy government and give back to the people. At the age of 22, he decided to join the gang of the rebelling forces, which made him participate in the stealing and killing of the Mexican troops and their governors. Not long enough, he had gotten a bounty to his head, which also affected his alive family member; Xochitl. Ajei decided to take himself and Xochitl to the United States where they could hide low and get a proper life, since he could not be any safe in his own country. (They both were 23 & 16 at the time.)

Ajei and Xochitl didn’t really fall into a gang in the United States, but they had the knowledge of Dutch Van Der Linde, and deeply admired him. More specifically, Ajei did. Xochitl just viewed the man the same as she did to Ajei’s old leader; a man leading prideful people to their deaths just for his benefit. Whenever she mentioned it to Ajei, he’d just get upset and not listen to her for looking up to him.

They didn’t have it easy growing up, and to Xochitl, she thought Ajei didn’t learn to not trust so easily, even when a person has the same ideologies as him. In his defense, he felt sense of comfort when someone actually recognized how important his people are to him, and him wanting to search for safety in that is valid, but the boy thought more with his heart than with his brain.

The way they met Dutch…. or more accurately, one of his men, Arthur, was at Valentine. The siblings were just going to town for some of the necessities they needed at their shared home, and as they got separated, Xochitl had gotten snatched away and out of sight. As Ajei looks for her, he asks around the people if they have seen anything, including Arthur. (Arthur would have seen what happened before Ajei approached him.)

I just wanted to add this as a preference, a fictional side mission. Arthur would have the ability to either help Ajei search for his sister, or do nothing and let Ajei go on the search alone. (This would affect how Ajei thought of him in the future.) Either way, Ajei would have found Xochitl safe, but wound himself in the process.

I don’t think I want to bombard more with information about them, especially since anything after this information would contain spoilers of RDR2. I really do like these two though, I just have not drawn them enough, or like at all. I think I’ll make more content of them for Tumblr because my RDR content gets more views. IF YOU READ THIS, THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME!!

Small doodles of Ajei and Xochitl :3

#rdr2 #charles smith #javier escuella #tilly jackson #mary beth gaskill #ocs #original character #viralpost #art #procreate #artist #mexican artist #video games #fanart

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red-dead-do-over246 · 2 years

Note

Ok I'm gonna try something new and request a Dutch story 👀 Can I request prompt #289 with Dutch with f!reader? Thanks!

Oooo sure thing! ❤️ I'll give him a try!

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My Lady

You know Dutch treats women a certain way, but your feelings are starting to get to you. Why? Why does he treat you this way?

#289 “Be honest with me. Are you just humoring me? Do you treat me this way because you feel obligated to?”

You weren’t the only one he treated this way. It was no secret that Dutch loved the ladies, you included. He tailed after Molly and Mary-Beth. You heard he once had Miss Grimshaw and not to mention Annabelle. Also, all the other countless women who have met his charm while just out and about.

You once heard Micah call the “gaggle of girls” in the camp Dutch’s harem, and you hated that. You wanted to slap the smirk off his rat face.

It’s been hard with Dutch’s charm and flirts because you were a woman who fell in love easily. You know you’ve heard Abigail say it a hundred times. Dutch doesn’t love you, not in the way you want to be loved.

Then why? Why does he keep doing this to you? Can’t he see how much you are suffering inside.

You want that charm all to yourself but watching him do the same thing he does to you with the other women in camp was driving you nuts. It was simple enough to see that you had no formal relationship with him, so in truth, you had no right to feel bitter. But Dutch shouldn’t play with your feelings like that or any woman’s for that matter.

If he truly cared for the gang like he says, then he would stop this.

One day, you might just have to confront him, but you didn’t expect it to be so soon.

“Miss L/N, how are you doing on this fine evening?” Dutch’s deep voice caught your attention as you were busy fixing up one of Arthur’s shirts. However, you were in no mood for his petty charm. You just caught him doing the same thing to Maty-Beth not too long ago.

“I’m fine.” You simply responded, trying to focus your attention on the work you were doing. Well, you were trying to give him a hint to leave, but Dutch didn’t take it.

“You don’t sound too sure about that.” He said before moving to sit next to you, causing you to freeze in your work. You were unprepared for this.

“Because I’m not.” You confessed to him, setting the shirt aside so you didn’t angrily stab yourself (or him) with a needle. However, Dutch seemed to think that you were moving your attention onto him, which he was right about.

But it wasn’t for the reason he wanted.

“Be honest with me. Are you just humoring me? Do you treat me this way because you feel obligated to?” You demanded, feeling your heartbeat against your ribcage as you addressed the gang leader in such a fashion. Dutch looked taken aback by your words. In fact, he even looked hurt by them.

“My dear lady...do you truly think I’m playing with your feelings?” He asked you, and you took in a deep breath.

“That’s what it looks like Dutch. I’m a woman...and you’re you. It’s only natural for you to act this way.” You told him, moving to hug yourself a little as your own feelings for him flared up in both anger and sadness. He says he respects women, but he can’t even notice how distraught you are.

But Dutch did take your words to heart.

“You’re right...I’m sorry.” He said with his head lowered, which surprised you. In fact, you thought you misheard him.

“What?” You said in disbelief.

“You are an incredible woman, Miss L/N. You don’t deserve to feel mistreated in anyway. I truly do care about you...and I’m sorry if you felt like that was something you had to fight for.” Dutch told you sincerely, and you found your heart beating rapidly as you stared at him.

Was this some sort of confession? Your head was spinning in absolute confusion right now. You were about to say something, but Dutch spoke first.

“I am aware of how you feel towards me...but I need to think some things through first. But please...just wait a bit longer. I promise that when the time is right you will get the love that you deserve.” Dutch said before grabbing your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

Then, he left.

You were sitting there and clutching that hand he touched to your heart. Was this more of Dutch’s charm? Or was he being truthful in his word, and he really did love you? There was really no way in telling. He was still probably distraught from his past love, or at least that’s what Hosea told you once. But still, you really wanted to know where this was going to leave.

But he left you with no hints, so all you could do was wait.

Until then, you picked that shirt back up and continued mending. I mean, you were still a lady of the Van der Linde Gang with a job to do.

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 x reader #rdr2 #dutch van der linde #dutch x reader #rdr2 dutch #dutch imagine

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ofbloodandbullets · 1 year

Text

um so anyways i suddenly have mega muse for my ‘andy has fallen to the dark side’ verse so like / reply here if you want something from her in it. of note, it starts out with her just separating off from humanity - probably things like, her relationship with achilles not happening, steering clear of joe and nicky and the rest of the gang a lot more, just being on her own and the bad things that happen when she’s left alone for extended amounts of time. a lot of resentment and jaded attitude, a lot more merc / assassin for hire / bounty hunter type activities along the way. just a lot less investment in human kind and a lot more self preservation and fuck ‘em they don’t give a shit so why should i.

if a multi please specify or at least narrow it down to a few for me to choose from so i know who of yours would work well for this plot and or who you are feeling most at the moment.

mini verse blurb; dark verse andy who has contacts and resources built up over literal centuries of warmongering and political intrigues and just the amount of data and intel network that she’d have like yikes. also imagine the stashes of weapons and armored vehicles and who knows what else she’d have tucked away all around the world.

and it being this best kept secret with mercs and assassins and pulling the whole no one knows who really heads the organization and her having puppet leaders of it all over and she’s just sitting quietly off screen doing her thing and also snagging whatever jobs come through that she wants for herself.

headcanons and various rambling or wishlist posts & ic posts and such in this verse will be found in THIS tag if you wanna peruse or blacklist it. VERSE. ( through the mirror darkly. )

Idk if I ever actually made the starter call / plotting call for “lived alone enough long enough to become the villain” verse for Andy but basically, after losing Quynh/Noriko she detaches entirely from her group and just goes off on her own / slowly spirals into just doing what she wants / stops trying to save humanity - oh I think I did do some plotting with this, basically her having a spy ring and data gathering / mercenary / assassin organization that she runs anonymously that goes back a few hundred years with all kinds of weapons and info and safe houses and the whole works I just poofed not long after doing a couple things in it — but anyways if you wanna plot with Andy in that verse or want to throw me some memes or starters for merc/dark Andy feel free to send memes or starters just specify what verse - could be other crossovers too like star wars or whatever you’re feeling. If you wanna plot come poke me in ims. If you want starters or memes from dark Andy reply here with meme or starter and who for if a multi.

TO DO.

@grcccvy

@moonknighttm

@blxsscd-x-fxrsakcn

@deficd; arthur morgan

@galacticshame; tbd

@sxbaist

@aworldofyoud wan & dolores

@intcthatgoodnight ; tony / will / etc

@maidencfdeath

@jigscw

#STARTER CALL.

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

Text

Merlin goes missing, and they find him in chains, looking blank:

Stories of the great power of Emrys have been spreading. But Merlin is still young, and though powerful, control alludes him, from time to time. What happens when those who crave power for themselves take that control from him? By force?

Part 2(final part)

TW: Graphic ish descriptions of violence/blood.

(This was requested a while ago, mind control being broken by the power of friendship)

Merlin was meant to be on a three day trip to gather some rare herbs for Gaius.

The former manservant thought that it was quite ironic, how “herb picking” had been one of his most often used excuses (after “the tavern”) for where he disappeared to when he was still hiding his magic, but now he was Court Sorcerer, Gaius actually made him do it.

This just meant that no one immediately panicked when he wasn’t back by sundown on the third day.

All knew how capable Merlin was. None of the Druid advisors had been sent a message through the link, and an irate dragon hadn’t shown up asking for help.

Meaning he probably just got lost or distracted; lost track of time. He’d be home by noon the next day, prattling on about something he’d seen, or someone he’d spoken to.

Gaius would give him a raised eyebrow and Arthur would punch him in the arm and he’d be all indignant, insisting that “I can look after myself, and honestly Arthur, I was only gone an extra half day, no need to be so panicked.” with a smirk.

When he still wasn’t back before sundown on the fifth day, The Gang started to really worry. They gather in the council room, just the nine of them (the five knights, Arthur, Gaius, Gwen, Morgana) to try to come up with some sort of explanation, or if needed, a plan.

Morgana speaks first, and the uncertainty on her face heightens the anxiety in everyone:

“I’ve tried looking for him, sensing him, but I can’t feel him at all. Like he’s completely disappeared from the world-”

At that, Arthur interrupts her, panic showing on his face, and his voice shaking:

“You don’t mean?-”

Morgana widens her eyes at the meaning the others had taken from her words:

“NO! No, not that, if he were... dead, I would feel that. I would be able to find his… I would be able to find him, and feel a sort of echo, feel the recent effects he’s had on the world around him. But I don’t, I just feel…. nothing. Like he never existed in the first place.”

Everyone looks extremely troubled at that. Morgana wasn’t nearly as powerful as Merlin, but he had been teaching her, and she was getting stronger. If this feeling of absence worried her, then it worried all of them.

Gaius speaks up after a few moments of silence:

“We could ask the Druids? They have a strong, permanent bond to him. It may help in finding him. If not…”

Arthur nods firmly as he replies to the room:

“If not, we track him down the old fashioned way. We managed before, we might just have to manage again now.”

The others nod at that, determined to not let Merlin down.

(Not let Merlin down again. None of them (other than Gaius, Lancelot, and Morgana of course) had reacted all that well to Merlin’s magic when they first learned the truth. And whilst that was years ago, and Merlin claimed to have forgiven them all immediately, they still felt guilty for the way they’d treated him in those first few hours/days.)

As it turns out, the three Druid advisors were equally worried, and had been in the process of hurrying to the council room to inform The King of the severed tie between themselves and Emrys, just as Arthur had decided to call for their presence.

The whole gang had to quell their panic, and remind themselves of Arthur’s words. They’d managed before, they would manage now.

At first light the next day, Arthur and the knights rode out. Morgana was left with the crown, with Gwen and Gaius as advisors to stay and support her.

The King tried to insist on leaving one or two of the knights behind as well, just in case, but they weren’t having it, and Morgana’s reminder of:

“Merlin is incredibly powerful, Arthur. If someone has been strong enough to subdue or hurt him, then you’ll need all the help you can get.”

-he reluctantly allowed all five of them to come.

Gaius had provided them with the directions, so they could start their search where Merlin was supposed to be, and go from there.

After a full day’s journey, they arrive at the first of two clearings, just before nightfall. After a thorough look around, they found that Merlin had in fact been there, but he left peacefully, and they found no sign that anyone else had travelled through recently.

So he hadn’t been taken from the first clearing. Arthur and Gwaine had wanted to push on through the night, the second of the two clearings was only a few hours away, but Leon gave them a stern look, and with support from the others, insisted that they rest for the night.

They could wake early and continue in the morning, but the horses (and the knights) were starving, and tired, and needed rest. They would be no use to Merlin at all if they turned up dead on their feet.

Elyan tried to volunteer for the first watch, but Arthur insisted he take it. No one really argued with him, they knew he wouldn’t sleep well anyway, not with Merlin missing, and potentially hurt.

Elyan did however wake up a few hours later (a pure coincidence, it definitely wasn’t because he asked Percival to cast a low-level enchantment that would wake him (I like to imagine that once things had settled, Merlin tries to teach the lads a little sorcery. Arthur is hopeless, as are Lancelot and Elyan, but Leon and Gwaine aren’t toooo bad, and Percival is fairly alright)) and insisted that The King get some sleep.

He didn’t like to do it often (Arthur’s head was already big enough) but Elyan did use a little flattery to his advantage:

“Come now, My Lord. You’re the strongest of all of us, and it’s your orders we follow, how can we expect to win if our leader can’t walk or think straight?”

Arthur mumbles something about how “Flattery won’t get you anywhere in court, Sir Elyan.” But dutifully allows himself to slip into a fitful rest.

As promised, they rise and pack up just before first light, choosing to eat whilst they ride out just as the sun rises over the horizon.

The second clearing they reach, tells a much different story to the first. The knights slow their horses down, and stare on in barely concealed horror at the scene laid out before them.

Merlin’s horse lay dead to the side of the clearing. They had clearly killed her deliberately so that Merlin couldn’t escape if he freed himself. That could be the only explanation. She wasn’t wearing her saddle, and was still tied to the tree: Merlin wasn’t riding her when the arrow was fired.

The ground was scorched almost entirely, and a few trees had been uprooted, with the remaining standing ones bearing scorch marks and sword scars higher than naturally possible.

Merlin had obviously fought back, but the small puddle of blood next to his dropped herb bag tells them that he had been injured before the fight even began. Whoever took him? Knew who he was.

After a moment of shocked silence, Arthur starts barking orders:

“Percival, check the horse and the herbs, try and figure out how long ago this happened. Gwaine, Elyan, Lancelot, have a good look around, try to find anything discarded by his attackers; we need to figure out who took him. See if you can learn how many there were, and how they attacked, we need to know if they themselves are magic, or if they just know how to fight magic. Me and Leon will check the surrounding areas to find out where they went. Leave your horses at the edge, we don’t want to muddy up any tracks.”

Everyone wordlessly nods, and they go about their tasks quickly but thoroughly. No wants to make any mistakes here, Merlin is incredibly important to them, and they couldn’t risk going in to this blind.

They work in silence, and once Arthur and Leon return from their scouting ahead thirty minutes or so later, they gather the horses once more and huddle at the edge of the clearing.

Arthur looks to Percival expectantly, and he reports his findings quickly:

“Going by the carcass and the herbs Merlin had already cut, this happened maybe four or five days ago? Considering he was obviously still picking, and not just dawdling-”

(he gestures to the bag that he had picked up and attached to his saddlebags)

“-I’d say he was taken in the afternoon of the second day.”

Arthur clenches his jaw at that, that was five days ago. Hopefully they hadn’t travelled too far, and weren’t still travelling, otherwise it would take far too long to track them down.

He looks to Lancelot next:

“We found two bodies, average, plain armour, and it didn’t look like anything had been taken from them after they died. One of them did have this in his pocket-”

He looks grim as he says this, and hands over a very crumpled piece of parchment. On it, there was a rough sketch of Merlin’s face, and the Pendragon crest. It was rough, old, clearly drawn from memory, but there could be no mistaking who it was.

Arthur looks angry at that, but tucks it into his saddlebag before gesturing for Lancelot to continue:

“I don’t think they used magic, at least not combative magic-”

He gestures around the clearing, at the scorch marks:

“All of the blows seem to be extending out from the middle, from where Merlin was stood: he fought back with magic, but they used normal weapons.”

Lancelot looks to Gwaine, and he wastes no time in telling the group what he found:

“There was a broken off arrow shaft next to Merlin’s bag, someone shot him. I couldn’t find the head, so it’s still in him most likely, we need to be prepared to clean an infection when we find him-”

Percival interrupts him:

“I had a look through his bag, there’s a lot of useful stuff in here, so that shouldn’t be too much of a problem.”

Gwaine nods and lets out a sigh of relief before continuing:

“The arrow shaft stunk, and his blood was funky. I’m guessing they soaked it in mandrake or something to knock him out. Otherwise he would’ve decimated this lot. They would’ve only had to avoid his attacks for two or three minutes at most before he passed out. And even then, he wouldn’t have been all that coordinated.”

Everyone worries at this. Every new bit of information just tells them that whoever took Merlin knew exactly who he was, and what he was capable of.

Elyan speaks up next:

“Going from the tracks, I’d say there was six or seven others, not including our two corpses. They were spread evenly around the clearing so he could only attack at one at a time, all they had to do was aim one good shot, and wait it out. They may not have used magic to attack, but they must have hidden themselves somehow: there’s no way that Merlin wouldn’t have felt them coming, we’re in the middle of a forest, this is his domain.”

Arthur hums thoughtfully and nods, before speaking to the group:

“I agree with your assessment of seven other attackers. Me and Leon found a large group of tracks, from multiple people, coming from the North, but they split up and spread around the clearing about a quarter of a mile out. No has any idea who they were?”

Everyone shakes their heads, and Lancelot speaks once again:

“No. The armour was non-descript, the weapons left behind were nothing special. They had no tattoos, nothing of value on them, no defining marks, sigils, or crests. Nothing. Either they were randomly hired mercenaries, or they were clever enough to not carry anything that could identify them, or their masters.”

Arthur growls in annoyance and nods once again. The Knights all gather their horses and follow Arthur and Leon’s quick pace out of the clearing, towards the tracks they had found.

At Arthur’s instruction, they split into two groups, one following along about 10 feet to the left of the tracks, the other, the same to the right.

They needed to be careful, the group who had taken Merlin were obviously well informed professionals, and would know that it wouldn’t be long before someone came looking. They didn’t want to run into any traps or ambushes by following the exact same path the kidnappers had.

The Knights follow the trail for another couple of days, taking few breaks, and spending the majority of it in silence; not even Gwaine is being talkative.

A few hours into their tracking, there was another battle arena (though much smaller than the last).

They didn’t stick around for long, it was likely that the mandrake had worn off quicker than expected, and Merlin had tried to escape. Once they saw Lancelot turn pale as he picked up a bloody rock, they hurried their horses along the trail even faster than before.

It was around noon on the third day since they left the second clearing, that they notice the tracks getting significantly fresher: the kidnappers (who had been on foot, meaning the knights were making good time anyway) had slowed down; they must almost be there.

That evening, they finally came across what appeared to be a rundown farm. The roof of the house was caved in, and there wasn’t even one fully intact fence in the whole property. A large barn further to the back of the area however, was in good condition.

The tracks went all over the overgrown farm, but focused mainly around the barn (going no further than the edge of the property) and the Knights could see the flickering light of a fire glow through the gaps between planks of woods.

They tied their horses up a few metres in to the treeline. Normally having horses during the attack would be useful, but they were at least a four days journey from the capital (on horses, closer to two weeks on foot), and depending on the state Merlin is in, he may not be able to walk it. They needed to leave the horses undamaged and with energy enough to flee if they had to.

Arthur sends everyone off to scout the area, learn what they could, and they gather once more about five minutes later, hidden behind the rundown house to avoid being spotted.

Leon speaks first:

“I got as close as I could without being seen, there are about twenty-five men in there. I didn’t recognise any of them, and none of them had any identifying marks, but there was one man who was clearly in charge. Larger than the rest, had nicer clothes, a large key on a chain around his neck.”

Arthur perks up at that:

“Might unlock whatever is holding Merlin. Did you see him?”

Leon sighed and shook his head grimly:

“No, but the fire lit only the middle of the room, I couldn’t see in the corners or along the edges.”

Percival speaks next, quickly adding what he had learnt:

“There’s no one else in any of the other buildings, and no fresh tracks leading away from the area. Merlin must be in there with them.”

Leon hums in agreement before continuing:

“They weren’t... drunk. But they are drinking. It might be worth it to wait for a few more hours so we have more of an advantage. There’s only six of us remember, we-.”

Gwaine shakes his head roughly, interrupting:

“We can’t wait. Who knows what they’ve done to Merlin, but if they’re celebrating, and he isn’t fighting back, then it’s bad. We need to get him out of there as quickly as possible.”

Arthur hums thoughtfully as he thought through their options. Both of them had valid points, but the attackers wouldn’t go through all of this trouble just to kill Merlin, so he shouldn’t be in any imminent danger, and as much as he wanted to rescue him as soon as possible, they had to be careful.

He looks up at the group and replies confidently:

“We wait until the sun has disappeared completely. It should be no more than half an hour. That gives us the cover of darkness, and gives them time to lose a little more of their wits.”

Gwaine seems like he wants to argue, but a pointed look from Lancelot calms him, and the group go through the motions of checking their armour and weapons, preparing themselves fully for a difficult fight.

After spending the time preparing, and discussing their options, the group decided that the best plan was for them to split in to two.

Arthur, Elyan, and Gwaine were to rush through the large door at the front, and Leon, Percival, and Lancelot would sneak in through the small door at the back.

There was no way they would be able to hold on to the element of surprise for long, and it would be a difficult fight, but hopefully the first group would be distraction enough to allow the second group to kill at least a few people before they realised what was happening.

That, unfortunately, is not how things go.

After one last firm nod from Arthur, the group splits and heads as quietly as they can to their designated entrance. The King takes a deep breath before gesturing at Elyan, who pushes the door open with force, allowing Gwaine and Arthur to rush in without hesitation.

Elyan joins them, and they make a point to look at the enemy, so as not to draw attention to the other three sneaking in behind them.

It takes only a few seconds before Arthur realises something is wrong. None of the men seem angry, or even worried in the slightest, and as he spies Leon step silently forward to slit the throat of the man closest to him, he understands why.

Leon takes three steps fine, but on his fourth, he hits an invisible barrier, and is thrown back violently. He hits the wall with a crash, and falls to the floor, unconscious from the blow to his head.

The leader of the group glances briefly behind him before looking back to Arthur, amusement on his face. Arthur covers his confusion with anger, but before he can demand an explanation, the leader begins to speak:

“Looky here, boys! Kidnap one sorcerer, get six of Camelot’s finest knights free! That’s a pretty good deal if I do say so myself!”

The rooms breaks out into laughter, and Elyan takes a step forward, speaking in a dangerous tone:

“Well unfortunately, our sorcerer was not for sale. So if you would, we’d like him back.”

The leader chuckles once again, and the knights have to stop themselves going for an attack. Leon was just about starting to stir, and Lancelot stands protectively in front of him, waiting for the knight to right himself again.

“I’m not so sure he wants to be returned, good sir. I think you’ll find that he’s quite enjoying being under my service-”

He raises one hand and grips the ancient looking key that’s hanging around his neck, and looks to a darkened corner of the room before speaking again, louder this time:

“Isn’t that right, oh sorcerer of mine? Come here.”

The knights have to hold in a shudder at what they see.

Merlin, or what looks to be Merlin, judderingly walks out of the dark corner towards the key-holder. His left shoulder hangs oddly, and they can see the blood staining his clothes and dripping from his hand, leaving a trail on the floor. His feet drag across the ground, and his head nods and sways, like he is desperately trying not to collapse into unconsciousness. A wound on his temple still slowly seeps blood, and his hands shake.

He had a thick, metal collar around his neck, and two matching circlets around his wrists. Thick chains, the length of his arms, attach the cuffs to the collar (so that he still had full mobility, but all three circles of iron were connected), and as his body sways, the knights can see the skin beneath the metal has been rubbed raw, to the point of bleeding in some places.

But what was most striking, was the permanent golden glow of Merlin’s eyes, and the blank look on his face.

The golden colour didn’t quite match up to it’s normal hue, and seemed duller, sickly, somehow.

The knights stare on in horror as their friend, clearly not in control of his own actions, finishes his disjointed journey to his new master.

Arthur glares viciously at the man as he growls out:

“What have you done to-”

But before he can finish, a resounding thwack echoes around the room as a gauntleted hand connects with the side of Merlin’s face.

The other bandits laugh as Merlin’s head rocks violently sideways. His head is angled towards the floor for just a moment before he looks back up at the leader, the blank look not having left his face, despite the blood now dribbling from his mouth and the dark bruise already forming on his cheek and jaw.

Gwaine lets out a growl, but before he can take a step forward, the leader speaks once again, a horrid grin on his face:

“Be a dear and subdue our new guests, sorcerer.”

Without hesitation, Merlin sidesteps the leader, giving him a direct line of sight to Lancelot, Leon, and Percival. He waves his hand at them, muttering something under his breath, and the three of them gasp as they lift off the floor, and go flying across the room towards the other knights.

Arthur only manages to widen his eyes in surprise before he’s bowled over by Percival, and before the group can react, they find themselves unarmed, and kneeling side by side; lined up in front of the leader, with Merlin’s hand extended towards them.

The bandits begin laughing once again, the leader the most uproarious of them all, as the knights struggle to break free from Merlin’s grasp.

Arthur is the only one who holds still, not resisting, as he tries to get Merlin to look at him, but the sorcerer isn’t paying any attention. It almost seemed like Merlin just... wasn’t present. His body was stood in the barn, but his mind, his soul, were elsewhere, not even looking upon this earth, let alone stood in it.

Merlin’s blank face looks to the leader, and he doesn’t react at all as Arthur yells at him:

“Merlin! This isn’t you, he’s controlling you! You have to take back con-”

The leader interrupts him, his hand still gripping the slightly glowing key, as he directs himself to Merlin:

“Oh do shut them up, sorcerer.”

Merlin looks to the group once more, twisting his outstretched hand slightly. The knight’s voices are ripped form them suddenly, and silence permeates the barn for only a second before the bandits continue their laughter.

After a few minutes of the knights being unable to move or make any noise, the leader speaks up again:

“You know, sir knights,-”

He smacks Merlin again, in the same place as before, and the knights tense even more at their friend’s non-reaction:

“-I had thought, that the most fun part of having a pet sorcerer, would be the magic, and don’t get me wrong, it’s great, but-”

This time he aims a punch to Merlin’s abdomen. The Warlock bends over slightly, and takes a step back, before righting himself again, and returning to his original position:

“-I have discovered, in fact, that the most fun part is actually having a living punching bag, who can’t die as easy as the normal peasants and commoners I lay my hands on.”

He grins wickedly once more as he takes out a small dagger. The knight’s eyes all widen and they begin struggling even more against their magical bounds, as the leader drags the blade along Merlin’s outstretched arm.

The cut isn’t too deep, but it’s long, and bleeds enough for infection to be a definite worry.

Merlin’s head wavers slightly and his lip twitches, but he otherwise doesn’t move.

The leader looks to an almost tearful Arthur, and slowly, ever so slowly, pushes the blade into Merlin’s uninjured shoulder, as he grins:

“I wonder, sir knights, how much he can take.”

Arthur looks back to Merlin and sees him flinch, his face seeming more strained. Arthur hates himself for thinking it, but the more pain this jackass inflicts... the more aware Merlin seems to be becoming.

The glow in his eyes flickers, but only momentarily, and Arthur feels the ability to speak come back to him. He holds his breath for a moment, hoping that it’s just him (or that the others had the same idea as him). He lets it out a moment later when none of the knights make any noise.

He needs to pick his moment, wait until Merlin is most aware of his surroundings, before he tries to reach out to him.

It’s a difficult situation, a mix of not wanting Merlin to have to suffer, but also knowing that there is no way the knights could take him on. Not even with no other attackers to worry about. Not even with Merlin at partial strength. The only way for them to win this, is to get Merlin to come back to them.

The Knights watch on with horror, glares painted on their faces, as the leader removes the knife and steps away. He wipes the blood off the blade on Merlin’s clothes harshly, the pressure on his wound making the glow of his eyes flicker once again.

The arsehole looks to the rest of the grinning bandits, and yells:

“So, boys! Shall we see what our new pet can do? We have some lovely new test subjects after all!” A cheer goes up around the room, and the knights take in nervous breaths. They know what Merlin is capable of, and though he doesn’t show off his magic regularly, they’ve seen him angry, seen him when he has the least control of his magic; and right now, he has zero control. The only thing they could do is hope that this mercenary didn’t have a very vivid imagination.

At the bandit’s cheer, the leader turns around to sweep an assessing gaze over the knights. He hums thoughtfully, before waving his arm in Percival’s direction:

“He looks like a big guy, looks like he can take a lot. Break his arm for me, sorcerer.”

The others look to Percival in fear, but his only reaction is to take a deep breath, and clench his jaw.

Merlin tilts his head slightly, and moves his outstretched arm to be pointed at Percival. Arthur sees him swallow, and his hand shake slightly. He’s fighting it. The sorcerer stands still for just a moment, staring at a resolute Percival, but at the leader’s yell:

“DO IT!!”

-he closes his fist, quick as lightening, and a snap sounds out. Percival makes a pained face, but makes no noise as his arm hangs at his side.

Arthur casts a quick look at him, and is grateful for the lack of blood and odd angles. Merlin had managed to break his arm in the least damaging way possible.

Percival’s breath evens out, and he shakes the daze from his head before looking right at Merlin and saying:

“It’s alright, Merlin.” Arthur tenses slightly at that, but the bandit’s seem to be too drunk to notice the broken silence.

The leader bellows out again:

“Aw, well that was a little anti-climactic. Hmm... what about him-”

He gestures at Leon, who is now only slightly dazed, before continuing:

“-knock him out. Properly, this time.”

Merlin’s outstretched hand moves once again, pointing at Leon. Merlin hesitates for even longer this time. His hand shakes violently, and the glow in his eyes dulls (only slightly, but permanently this time) as Leon gives him a small smile, and nods at him.

The leader snarls before aiming a violent punch to Merlin’s side, before screaming:

“YOU ARE MINE!! STOP HESITATING YOU BEAST!″

This time, Merlin pulls his hand towards himself quickly, and Leon’s body tips forward. His head smacks off the floor with a sickening thud, and he doesn’t move from his place crumpled on the floor.

The others panic slightly at this, not being able to see Leon properly, but Arthur holds in a grin. He’s seen enough knights be knocked out to know that Leon was still conscious. Merlin had deliberately held back, cushioned his blow. There was no question that if he had really tried, Leon most certainly would have passed out, which means that Merlin is somewhat in control of his strength, if not his actions.

Arthur is grateful that Leon has the sense to lie still and keep his eyes closed. In order to remain convincing, The King plasters a sufficiently horrified look on his face as he looks from Leon to the Leader.

The man gives a satisfied hum, and turns to Lancelot, a loathsome smirk on his face:

“You, my friend, are far too calm for my liking. Let’s change that, shall we?”

The bandits let out yet another cheer (And Arthur is pleased to see that the majority of them are incredibly drunk at this point. He just needs Merlin to focus long enough for Arthur to grab the key) before he continues:

“Choke. Him. Out. I want to watch the life drain from his pathetically noble eyes. I want to see him panic as his breath is stolen from him. DO IT!”

Fear flash across Lancelot’s face, before he schools his features again. Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan do not manage to hide their panic at all, and Leon takes in an unnoticed deep breath from his place on the floor.

Arthur looks a tad worried, but this has got to be it. He knows how close Merlin and Lancelot are, there will be no better chance to try and break him from this pig’s control, he only needs a moment, and he can see Leon subtly preparing to pounce as well.

Merlin moves his arm to be pointed at Lancelot, and the knights can see their Warlock flinch slightly as Lancelot speaks a shaky smile on his face:

“It’s ok, Merlin, it’s not your fault.”

Merlin’s hesitation earns him a smack on the back of the head, and a second later, he turns his open hand to the ceiling. With that motion, Lancelot raises from the floor.

His hands go to his throat and his eyes widen a fraction as his feet kick, looking for purchase, but finding nothing.

Arthur gulps as he looks between Lancelot and Merlin, waiting for the last possible moment before he jumps into action.

The knights, thrash slightly trying to reach Lancelot as he begins to audibly choke. His legs kick more violently, and his face turns red, his eyes shut tight.

He manages to opens his eyes just a fraction, looking to Merlin and letting out a choked, barely audible:

“I... trust you... Merlin.”

Lancelot’s eyes close once again as his thrashing slows and he loses the last of the air in his lungs.

Arthur stares at Merlin intensely, and the moment a tear falls from his eye, he yells:

“Merlin, look at ME!”

The leader lets out an outraged yelp as Merlin drops his hand to his side, whipping his head around to stare at Arthur. Lancelot drops to the floor with a thud, and begins taking in sudden, deep breaths. The glow disappears briefly from Merlin’s eyes, and in that moment, he lifts a hand to his head, whispering “30 seconds”. The moment his fingers touch his temple, he crumples gracelessly to the floor.

Leon finally moves, jumping to catch Merlin before his heads makes contact with the floor and at the same time, Arthur leaps at the outraged Leader, tackling him to the floor roughly.

Percival moves to Lancelot, and quickly drags him, using his good arm, to the side of the room so that he can catch his breath. Gwaine and Elyan tackle the men who had been standing closest to them, and take their weapons, before moving quickly to stand above Arthur and The Arsehole (still wrestling on the floor).

Both of them hold their blades to his throat, and at his momentary hesitation, Arthur finally lands a good punch to his jaw, properly dazing him.

Arthur rips the chain from his neck and staggers back, leaving Gwaine and Elyan in front of him, not moving their weapons from the man’s neck.

All of this had happened in around five seconds, the knights following Arthur’s signal smoothly and in tandem (exactly like he had trusted they would), and the rest of the bandits too drunk to react quick enough.

The bandits had finally gathered themselves, and have their swords out and pointed at the gang, but before they could move forward, Elyan speaks:

“Take another step, and we’ll cut his throat.”

Arthur knew that that wouldn’t hold them for long. No honour among thieves, they didn’t care if he died because it just gave way for a power struggle, allowing one of them to come out on top as the new leader.

He glanced down at Merlin and Leon again before looking behind him to check on Lancelot and Percival. He counted in his head. Twelve seconds to go.

Elyan and Gwaine pulled the stuttering leader up by his clothes and drag him back. Gwaine stands behind him, his sword held across his throat, as Elyan takes his weapons from him and then moves to stand by Gwaine’s side.

Six seconds to go. Arthur isn’t really sure what he’s counting down to, but he trusts Merlin.

The bandits begin taking slow, drunken steps towards the gang once again. They may be pissed, but they also still vastly outnumber the knights, especially with Lancelot coughing his lungs out, Leon with at least a minor concussion, and Percival with a broken arm.

Three seconds... Two... One.

As the Arthur’s mental countdown reaches zero, he turns his head to check on Merlin, at the same time as the sorcerer opens his eyes once again.

His eyes shine bright golden once again (though still not quite normally), so brightly that Leon and Arthur have to shield their eyes for a moment. That moment is all it takes for the bandits to take action, and they surge towards the gang.

Gwaine pushes their leader into them, and his large form knocks two of them over. Gwaine and Elyan are the only ones who have weapons, so they hold off the first of the attackers as best they can. Percival picks up a still struggling Lancelot, and Leon and Arthur grab an arm each of Merlin. The five of them rush outside, and once Arthur yells back at them, Gwaine and Elyan turn and follow them. They shut the door quickly behind them, and Lancelot is dropped the floor, Merlin left standing blankly, as the rest of them throw their collective weight against the door. Percival speaks first, holding his broken arm to his chest, and bracing his shoulder against the middle of the door:

“Why isn’t... ugh... why isn’t he doing anything??”

Lancelot looks up from his place on the floor, and staggers to his feet, leaning on (a still blank) Merlin for support. He taps his face slightly and squeezes his hand, but still the sorcerer doesn’t react. His hand brushes against the cold metal of one of the cuffs, and he looks back to Arthur, still coughing lightly:

“He’s still bound! Please tell me you managed to hold on to that key?!”

Arthur nods, and Lancelot stumbles over, pressing his weight against the door with the others as another shove is felt from the other side. They wouldn’t be able to do this for long, the bandits were becoming more and more coordinated.

Elyan speaks up:

“We don’t have... no time to uncuff him, you’re in control Arthur just tell him to kill them or knock... or knock them out!”

Arthur looks angry at that, and shakes his head violently:

“No, I won’t take that control from him. I won’t.”

Leon yells next, his words slightly slurred, but understandable:

“You have no choice, Arthur. Just something simple!”

Arthur growls, and huffs as another, much harder shove hits the door. The gang almost stumbles back, but they brace themselves against the door once more, and Arthur shouts:

“Fine! Merlin, protect us!”

Without even a second’s hesitation, Merlin raises his hand towards them, and then pulls towards him. The knights all find themselves flying away from the barn, but land on their feet a few feet behind Merlin.

The barn door opens with a crash, the first three men falling forward, but quickly being trampled on by their... co-workers... as they escape the building. Before they can make it far however, Merlin throws up his other hand, muttering something under his breath, and all of them are stopped, frozen in place.

Merlin keeps his hand stretched out towards them, and the knights hear one of them go “oh shit” under their breath, as the realisation crosses their faces.

The Warlock’s face remains blank, and after a few moments of the knights catching their breath, Arthur steps forward hesitatingly:

“Merlin?-”

Merlin tilts his head slightly, but doesn’t turn to look at him and Arthur gulps, and moves around to stand in front of him. He holds the key in one hand, and grips Merlin’s arm with the other, he speaks over Merlin’s shoulder to the others:

“I don’t see a keyhole or anything. How do I get this thing off him?!”

The knights shrug and move forward, examining the iron from a distance. Gwaine speaks first:

“Well, Merlin would know, right? Ask him.”

Arthur frowns slightly, he is really not liking this, but none of them have seen anything even slightly similar to this before:

“Merlin, do you know how to release yourself from this?” as he speaks, he shakes one of the chains, and hears the bandits behind him begin squeaking in fear.

Merlin still doesn’t look directly at him, staring straight ahead, eyes still glowing, one hand still outstretched, but he does give a slow nod.

Arthur gulps once more, and takes Merlin’s lowered hand. He presses the key into his palm, holding his hand over it and quietly says:

“Do it. Take it off.”

Merlin mutters something else, forcing the barrier he had placed around the bandits to stay in place. He closes his hand around the key, and without looking, touches the end of the key to the cuff on his other wrist. A hole opens up in the metal, and he pushes the key in, twisting only slightly before the cuff falls off his wrist entirely, still dangling by the chain attached to the collar.

The glow in his eyes instantly dims a bit, and he takes a staggered step back. He shakes his head slightly, and the key swaps hands. He does the same to the other cuff.

He falls to his knees, shaking, and the knights step forward to support him. He slowly lifts the key to the collar, and the same thing happens a third time. As the collar falls to the floor, the glow in his eyes flashes it’s normal, healthy colour, before disappearing entirely.

His blue eyes find Arthur’s momentarily, just long enough for Arthur to smile at him and nod. That’s all the convincing that “everything is ok” Merlin needs, and he promptly passes out, slumping forward.

Arthur just about catches him, and looks over his own shoulder panicked, thinking that with Merlin unconscious, the barrier would disappear.

It would appear that Merlin had thought of that, even in his state, and the barrier stayed in place, leaving Arthur and the knights to let out breaths of relief.

Now everyone has had time to catch their breath, and Merlin was free, they had a moment to realise how furious they were.

Gwaine looks ready to slaughter every man there, and every person they’ve ever spoken to, and even Lancelot looks pissed.

Arthur gathers Merlin up in his arms, carrying him bridal style and looks to the others:

“Grab our weapons from inside, quickly, we need to get out of here, I don’t know how long that's going to hold, or how long Merlin will be out. We need to get him to Gaius, and bring that... thing.”

He gestures to the set of cuffs still sat in the grass, and Leon steps forward to pick them up. Elyan and Gwaine stand guard in front of Arthur and Merlin, (still being the only ones who are actually armed) and Lancelot and Percival rush around the group of bandits, still frozen in place, and through the door into the barn.

They come out not even a minute later with everyone’s swords, and hand them out. Merlin begins to stir, and Arthur spares him a quick glance before gesturing back towards where they left the horses.

The group huddles together, Arthur with Merlin protected at the back, pointing their weapons at the bandits as they shuffle back, moving as quickly as they could, not daring to move their gazes from the kidnappers.

Merlin stirs once more, but settles quickly, probably still a while from waking up, and the group reaches the treeline before they begin to pick up the pace.

They finally reach their horses, and Gwaine quickly helps Arthur load Merlin up in front of The King, head lolling back to rest against his shoulder.

Leon wraps the cuffs in a spare tunic before shoving them into a saddlebag, and the group takes one last look behind them, before galloping back in the direction of Camelot.

If they went by the crow flies, instead of detouring to those clearings, they could be back in three days, instead of the four and a half it had taken them to get here.

They ride through the night, trying to get as far away as possible, not taking any breaks, and only stopping to make camp a few hours after midnight.

Elyan splints and wraps Percival’s arm, Leon drinks plenty of water and tries not to pass out, and Lancelot coughs the whole journey, but other than that, there seems to be no lasting damage or serious injuries.

They have little food left, but (despite no one being willing to admit it) they were all a little shaken, and none were prepared to leave camp to hunt or forage for anything more substantial.

Merlin had stirred a few more times, and opened his eyes briefly when Arthur laid him on his bedroll, but it didn’t last long, and he was passed out again shortly after.

The King massages some water down his throat, has Elyan help him with digging out the arrowhead, and follows Percival’s instructions on which of the herbs Merlin had gathered would help best with pain, infections, and larger wounds. The arrow and stab wounds were stitched and thoroughly cleaned, before Arthur moved on to the less serious wounds: checking his jaw to see if it was broken (it wasn’t, thank the Gods), and dressing the burns and bruises on his neck and wrists. The head wound wasn’t serious thankfully, only requiring a thorough cleaning, and two stiches.

Leon takes the first watch with Arthur, on account of not being allowed to fall asleep just yet, but there isn’t much conversation as they watch their friends toss and turn, obviously not sleeping too well.

Gwaine takes over from Leon around two hours before sunrise, before informing Arthur that:

“If you don’t go to sleep, I’ll put you to sleep. And then we’d have to double-ride two horses. And that would slow us down even more. So. What’s it gonna be, princess?”

Arthur grumbles minimally, but he knows Gwaine is right. He doesn’t move from his spot however, choosing to lay down right next to Merlin.

Gwaine simply raises an eyebrow, (and wakes him before everyone else in the morning) at The King’s position.

Arthur has one hand gripping Merlin’s wrist, and the other splayed out against Merlin’s chest, his Warlock’s pulse, and breath, just under his fingertips whilst he slept.

They get back to Camelot when expected, around three days later, just before noon.

Leon’s concussion had cleared up completely by the time they had got there, and Lancelot’s throat wasn’t quite so irritated. Percival’s arm was still broken of course, but with the help of some medication they had brought with them, the pain hadn’t been too bad.

Merlin had woken up a few more times across the journey, but was far too exhausted to stay awake for more than an hour at a time, and despite his grumbling, he admitted that it would be best for him to continue sharing a horse.

He managed to get some food in him as well, which the knights were relieved at, and the herbs must’ve been very special, because the infection in the arrow wound was almost gone by the time they got him to Gaius, and they had managed to avoid infection in the stab wound entirely.

Speaking of Gaius, he fussed to the extreme when Merlin hobbled in to the infirmary, supported by The King. After double checking all of his wounds, and forcing a mixture of gross tasting potions down his throat, he had him asleep on one of the patient pallets whilst he checked over the others.

He set Percival’s arm with magic, gave Leon a potion for the headaches he would be having for the next week or so, and gave Lancelot a special tea mix to help with his throat.

The moment Gaius relaxed, Arthur did too, trusting the physicians assessment of his friends. Elyan had scurried off to find Gwen and the Lady Morgana, before joining Gwaine, Percival, Leon, and Lancelot, for much needed naps in their own quarters.

Once everything slowed down a bit, Arthur presented Gaius with the chains and key, and explained to him what had happened.

It was late in the evening at this point, so they spoke quietly, not wanting to disturb Gwen or Morgana, who had both fallen asleep in their chairs at Merlin’s bedside.

“His eyes were bright gold, but they looked... wrong? Like slightly the wrong colour. He was almost completely blank, barely reacted to pain, and just.... stared. Into the distance. Like he had no awareness of his physical surroundings.”

Gaius looked concerned, but not so much so that it worried Arthur:

“Ah. That would explain the severed connections with Morgana and the Druids, his consciousness was locked away, pushed far too deep for anyone to find him. What else?”

Arthur looked uncomfortable and shuffled his feet as he continued, recalling memories from the previous days that he was sure would haunt him as he slept:

“Well... he hesitated a few times, when he was told to... hurt us. Like he was fighting it. But when he was hit or yelled at, it looked like he sort of... re-set? And he would do whatever he was told.”

Gaius nodded:

“Yes. Merlin is incredibly powerful, but so are the enchantments on these chains. He would have fought against it viciously, but the sudden noise, or pain, would’ve have shocked his system into obeying without hesitation. I’m guessing that’s how you broke him free?”

Arthur glanced briefly towards Merlin, before nodding, and replying even quieter than before:

“Hmm. I waited until he looked most... unsure, most hesitant, then yelled at him to look at me. His eyes cleared for just a moment, he whispered “30 seconds” , then knocked himself out somehow. We got the key thing, held off the bandits for 30 seconds, then he woke up and I...-”

He clenches his jaw and looks away at this, letting out a harsh breath at the memory. Gaius pats his hand a few times consolably as he speaks:

“You did what you had to my boy, you didn’t take advantage, or force him to do anything he wouldn’t have willingly done anyway. If anything, from the sounds of it, you were far more merciful and forgiving than Merlin would’ve been.”

Arthur huffs a weak laugh at that, and Gaius smiles, before saying:

“I’m hesitant to analyse these chains until I know more. I’ll talk to the Druids tomorrow, and wait until Merlin’s strength returns before doing anything. You best get some sleep, My Lord.”

Arthur looks up sheepishly, and bites his lip not quite meeting Gaius’ eyes. The old physician raises an eyebrow, prompting him to speak:

“Would you mind if I... stayed here for the night? I can just pull out a pallet but I...-”

Gaius picks up where Arthur hesitates:

“Don’t want to leave him?-”

Gaius smiles once again at Arthur’s infinitesimal nod:

“That’s fine by me, though you’ll have to leave this room to talk to the council eventually.”

Without waiting for a response, Gaius gets up and walks away. He checks Merlin’s bandages briefly before shuffling off to what had been The Court Sorcerer’s previous room, before he had been given his own chambers.

Arthur sighs, and walks over to Merlin, standing above him. The colour has returned to his cheeks, and he looks much healthier now he was no longer covered in his own blood and was wearing clean clothes.

He sweeps the hair away from his forehead, and leans down to place a gentle kiss where his hand had been. He looks up to see Gwen looking at him sleepily, a fond smile on her face as she stares at Arthur’s blushing face.

She stands and stretches, before whispering:

“Why don’t you take my chair, Arthur? I should probably get back to Lancelot anyway, and I doubt you want to leave his side?”

Arthur nods slightly, and whispers his gratitude as Gwen gives him a quick hug, before sneaking out the door.

Arthur settles in the chair, finding a comfortable (or as comfortable as possible in a wooden chair with wonky legs) position, as he once again wraps one hand around Merlin’s wrist, and places the other over his chest.

He falls asleep after only minutes, and rests easier than he had in a week, satisfied with the knowledge that Merlin was safe and on the mend, and returned to the position Arthur thought he belonged in most: next to him.

THE END!

I dunno, I might write a part two, about the psychological effects on Merlin? Of having his magic controlled, AND of having to watch from behind his own eyes as he hurts his friends? Let me know if y’all wanna see something like that :)

EDIT: Part 2 is up! Link at the top

Same as always lads, you wanna write it out properly with paragraphs and descriptions and shit, go for it, but credit and tag me ✌

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multifandomwriter56 · 4 years

Text

Getting Her Way

A/N: Don’t have much to say except I hope ya’ll enjoy this. Oh, and also I’ve decided I suck at titles. So there’s that.

Summary: Y/n finds her own way to become a Peaky Blinder and Tommy believes it’s his duty to teach his sister right from wrong; even if he doesn’t learn himself.

Characters: Tommy Shelby, Arthur Shelby, Shelby!Reader (8 years old)

Warnings: language

Word Count: 1,562

"By order of the Peaky fucking Blinders!" Y/n yells as she grabs a fistful of the back of her cap and swings it at the kid. She smacks him with it a few times, ignoring the person calling her name.

“Y/n Shelby!” Tommy shouts as his hands grip around his sister’s waist and forces her to turn towards him. “What the fuck are you doing?”

The eight year old doesn’t even flinch at his stern tone. “We’re playing Peaky Blinders, Tommy.”

Tommy slowly looks behind his sister, afraid to find a bloody-faced boy who will now be blind for the rest of his life; but to his surprised, there’s not even a start of a bruise forming on the boy’s face. He looks back at the young girl. “Where did you the cap, eh?”

This time, the girl shuffles her feet and bites her lip at his stern tone. “I stole it.”

“From who?”

She looks at her shuffling feet before answering her brother. “Arthur.” She lifts her head, looking at her brother straight in the eye. “But he hasn’t worn it in weeks. I made sure it wasn’t one of his favorites.”

Tommy suppresses a groan when she folds her arms over her chest; a clear sign she’s about to throw a tantrum. So with the hope to avoid that; he focuses his attention on the other eight year old. “You alright, son?”

“I’m fine, Mr Shelby.”

“You go on home, eh? Y/n will see you at school tomorrow.”

“But Tommy! We were playing!” Y/n whines; ignoring her brother’s warning look and stomps her foot.

“Go on, son.” Tommy smiles at the young boy who’s glancing between the two siblings before running off towards his home.

He focuses back on his sister, but before he can say anything, she beats him to it.

“Why can’t I have my own cap? Finn gets one.”

“You never asked me for one.” Tommy points out.

Y/n falters at her brother’s words. She didn’t think about that. “Why were you late picking me up from school?”

Tommy doesn’t even try to hold in his chuckle. “Nice try, my little devil; but we are not done discussing this.” He holds out a hand for her to take. “You’re going to apologize to Arthur for stealing his cap.”

“But he didn’t even noticed it was gone.” She whines, taking a hold of his hand.

“No whining.” He chides softly.

The two siblings walk; a comfortable silence settling over them as they make their way through the streets of Small Heath.

Tommy stops at the entrance to the Garrison. “You’re going to tell Arthur what you did and then I’ll take you home, eh?”

“Yes, Tommy.” Y/n was not looking forward to telling her eldest brother what she did. Arthur believes the youngest Shelby can do no wrong and she would like to keep it that way.

Tommy barely contains his amusement at his sister’s mood. He knows exactly what she’s thinking. He also knows Arthur’s going defend the little brat and make him be the bad guy.

“Arthur, you have a visitor!” He calls as the two enter the pub.

The eldest Shelby sticks his head outside the small office in the back and smiles at the sight before him. “Y/n!” He raises his arms in the air as he makes his over to them. “My favorite eight year old, what are you doing visiting your big brother?”

Y/n giggles as Arthur pulls her into a bear hug and squeezes her tightly. “Arthur, you squeezing too hard.” She tells him in between giggles.

He lets her go. “My apologizes. Now-” He pulls out a chair and sits in it, patting his knee as an invitation.

Y/n immediately crawls into his lap; shifting until she’s comfortable. She leans her head against his chest with a smile on her face. But when she looks at the brother that still standing; the smile falls. “I have something to tell you, Arthur.”

“Oi, and what would that be.”

She looks at Tommy with one last pleading look before looking back at Arthur. “I made a new game. It’s called Peaky Blinders. Me and Danny were playing it when someone wass late picking their sister up from-”

“Y/n.” Tommy growls in warning.

Arthur looks up at his brother and then back at his sister who exhales a huff of annoyance; wondering what’s going on between his two siblings. “That sounds like a fun game, Y/N/N. How do you play?”

“Bloody hell.” Tommy mutters as Y/n explains how the game works.

“And I grab my cap and started smacking him like you, Tommy, and John do when someone doesn’t listen.”

“Like you are now.” The standing brother interrupts. He pulls the cap out of his coat pocket places it in her lap. “Tell Arthur where you-”

“Hey, that’s my cap.” Arthur announces as he picks up the mentioned item.

“I took it from your stash. I never saw you wear it, so I didn’t think you liked it and I wanted one.”

“Just because you like something, doesn’t mean you can just take it.” Tommy chides.

Y/n glares at Tommy before looking up at Arthur,hoping he will come to her defense.

“Tommy’s right, you can’t just take other people’s belongings.” Arthur doesn’t really care that Y/n took his cap; but he understands where his brother is coming from. Y/n’s too young to understand the difference between stealing as a thief and stealing because of who they are as the Peaky Blinders. It’s best just to teach her stealing is bad until she is older and more involved in the business.

But even though he’s siding with his brother; he’s not going to deny his baby sister’s wants. So he plops the cap on her head, smiling when she does. “It’s yours; looks better on you than me anyways.”

Y/n smiles smugly at Tommy who is glaring at Arthur.

When he notices the smug smile, he points a warning finger at her. “You’re still in trouble.” He nods his head in slight triumph when that wipes the smile right off her face.

“Aw, come on Tom. She didn’t do anything that bad. It’s just a cap; and besides, she took the one she knew I wouldn’t miss. I never even knew it was fucking missing until now.”

“And it’s mine now anyways, so technically I didn’t steal it.”

Oh, now the little devil’s pushing it.

“Exactly. So no need for the glaring daggers.” Arthur says, gesturing towards Tommy’s narrowed eyes.

Tommy debated on whether or not to fight them over a stolen cap. He decides against it; turning on his heel and heading for the doors.

Y/n and Arthur share a triumphant smirk and high five.

“Y/n, let’s go.”

The eight year old hugs her brother and kisses his cheek; whispering a quick, “thank you” before following after Tommy.

As the two begin their walk home, Y/n can feel the tension radiating off the gang leader. Biting her lip, she speeds up just enough so she can stop in front of Tommy, forcing him to stop.

“I’m sorry I stole, Tommy.”

The man scoffs. Now’s she rubbing it in his face.

“Really, Tom. I am. i won’t do it again. I’ll try and ask you first when I want something.”

Tommy’s head cocks to the side as his eyes scan his sister’s face. “You’re being sincere.” When Y/n nods her head, he bends forward, resting his hands on his knees. “How do you go from being the world’s biggest brat to being the sweetest angel in all of Small Heath, eh?”

Y/n clasps her hands behind her, swaying from side to side; a smile smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “It’s a gift.”

Tommy chuckles, pulling her into his arms as he straightens to his full height. He continues the walk towards home.

“Where did this Peaky Blinders game come from anyways?” He asks her after a few minutes of silence.

“Since I’m not allowed to be involved with the real thing; I decided to make my own game so I can be like you.”

“You want to be like me? What about Arthur?”

“Him too. That’s why I always yell ‘by order of the Peaky fucking Blinders’ when I’m about to beat someone up; just like Arthur.” She tells him proudly.

Tommy shakes his head fondly. “Polly’s going to kill us all if she ever hears about this game.”

Y/n giggles but sobers when she thinks about their aunt’s reaction. “We can’t tell her, Tommy.”

“That’s the plan, little sister.” Tommy agrees as he sets her on her feet and opens the door to number six Watery Lane.

“Oi! Thomas, is that you? What’s this game Y/n’s been playing at school where she fucking pretends to cut people?”

The two siblings freeze at the doorway.

Y/n looks up at him. “It’s been a while since I’v visited Curly and Uncle Charlie.”

Tommy nods his head, trying his hardest to not actually show his fear from their aunt’s tone. “I need to check on my horse before the upcoming race.”

They quickly make their exit as the click of Polly’s heels become louder by the second.

Forevers: @beautycinders @desiredposion @ravenoussss @simonsbluee

Peaky Blinders: @cai-neki

#tommy shelby x sister!reader #arthur shelby x sister!reader #shelby!reader #peaky blinders one shot #tommy shelby #arthur shelby #peaky blinders

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writingwithacupoftea · 4 years

Text

Of black cats and lessons to be learned

Summary: Someone is meddling with Y/N Shelby’s work at Shelby Company Limited and Tommy jumps to conclusions that he’ll later regret.

Word Count: 2242

A/N: I honestly still don’t know if I like this ending, but let me know what you think. Hope you enjoy it!!

The rain poured down outside the window of her office at Shelby Company Limited, and occasionally a large drop would bounce loudly off the glass. Normally Y/N would find the sound comforting, but today it was just downright fucking annoying. But as the door to said office bangs open, Y/N knows that the rain is going to be the least of her worries.

No one ever enters her office without knocking but Tommy.

And Tommy never lets the door bang unless he's pissed off.

Despite refusing to look up at her elder brother and boss, Y/N felt his glare on her as he stormed over. When Tommy slammed last week's accounts onto her desk, she slammed her pen down and glared right back at him.

"What the fuck is this?" Tommy demanded.

"Last week's accounts," Y/N deadpanned, not breaking eye contact.

"This isn't the time for jokes, Y/N, this is serious. They're riddled with mistakes for the third week running. Mistakes that could be lethal to this company and people's view of us"

"Well everything was correct when I handed it over to your secretary, I checked and double checked everything," as usual, Y/N added silently. "I keep telling you, my work is being meddled with!" Whilst Y/N appeared calm, her blood was boiling.

Tommy slowly took out a cigarette and lit it, in what she assumed was supposed to be an intimidating manner. It would be, to anyone but her.

"I've been having dreams about a black cat. Someone is trying to steal my crown." He sighed. "For someone so intelligent, I'd have expected better from you, Y/N" The woman in question was stunned into silence.

"Seriously, Tommy, me? I'd have expected better from you than to go around making accusations like that, both as your employee and as your sister. I've supported you through everything. When everyone turned against you, I was there. And you have the nerve to stand here and say that I'm trying to overthrow you." Y/N's anger was starting to seep through into her words, and a tidal wave was sure to follow. "You know that I loved Grace when you married, but GOD you were completely blinded by a good fuck all those years ago, and do you know what?" Y/N leaned forwards, menacingly, "I think the same has happened again."

With those few words, Tommy reached the end of his tether, slamming his hand onto the solid wood desk. "ENOUGH! If that's what you think of me, let's get the truth out in the open, eh? I think you've wanted this since the start. I think you've wormed your way around the company and the rest of this family and, blinded by your ambition -"

"My ambition?!" "you've forgotten the one main obstacle in your way. Me. And I'll tell you something else: I’m not moving for anyone."

A tense silence fell in the room. Y/N, holding back her tears and refusing to show any signs of weakness, simply nodded. "That was quite the speech, Thomas. Rather hypocritical too, might I add, lecturing me on being blinded by ambition. But I'm not even going to try and defend myself against those ridiculous claims because, when it's too late, you'll realise just how wrong you were." Y/N's voice was icy cold, and she picked up her coat and bag. "I only have two things left to say to you. As your employee, I resign, you can sort this fucking mess out on your own this time. And as your sister, well, you're not my family anymore." With that, Y/N stormed past him, out of the building and let the rain disguise her tears.

***

The only family member that Y/N had spoken to since the incident was Esme. She informed her sister-in-law that she was going to spend some time on the road with the Boswell's, a gypsy family who Y/N had become very well acquainted with, but they hadn't spoken since. It wasn't running away, it was an attempt to break free. That's what Y/N kept telling herself anyway.

Her time on the road had been exactly what she needed. The freedom, the open air, all the things that Y/N never realised that she had missed so much. Yet it was still tainted with memories of Tommy. Memories of happier times, when he would chase her around and play games and smile. Y/N had accepted that the war had changed her older brother, but the day she stormed out he was completely unrecognisable.

They used to always have each other's backs. She always wanted to make her beloved brother proud, but never wanted to be 'just like Tommy', despite Arthur and John's endless teasing. They were each other's rocks, the one reliable thing, and now that feeling of security had faded away like the smoke from his cigarettes.

Y/N was destroyed by the incident in her office, even though she hid it well. Now, two months into her time on the road, she was ready to be busy again and so set out to find a new job.

***

It had been four months since any of the family had seen or heard from Y/N.

Tommy had discovered that, as usual, his sister's instincts had been right and there had been someone trying to bring the business down from the inside. And it was the secretary. And she was part of another criminal gang who were rapidly expanding. A black fucking cat if ever Tommy saw one.

The traitor had had the nerve to tell him that the way to tear the company apart was to, quite simply, shatter the relationship between the two people who had the greatest minds and the strongest relationship: Y/N and Tommy.

It was the truth and Tommy knew it, having already felt the impact of her absence dearly, both on the efficiency of the company and on himself. But the it was too much for him to handle, and had let Arthur and John see to it that the secretary couldn't reveal any more truths to him.

He had never realised how important his sister was to him, how loyal and how much he needed her. With every day that passed without hearing of Y/N, Tommy became more and more anxious. If anything happened to her, he would never forgive himself and the rest of the family wouldn't forgive him either.

But the day that Tommy did get news of his beloved little sister, he almost wished he hadn't.

'A sister for a sister, seems fair enough, don't you think, Mr Shelby? We'll be in touch.'

Along with the note came a bullet. A bullet with Y/N's name etched into it, wrapped in her bloodied handkerchief.

***

Sheffield had been the nearest city. That was why Y/N chose to stop there. What she didn't realise is that it was a city rife with gangs.

She had fallen in with another gang, the last thing that she wanted to do.

And now she was locked in a cold, damp basement and, though she hated to admit it, Y/N wanted Tommy more than ever.

Beaten and bruised, she felt like a little girl again with her desperate need to be enveloped in her older brother's arms once again. But despite her wants and her needs, she had refused to break, even when she had been battered to the point of unconsciousness in her kidnapper's attempt to get information out of her.

She would protect her family and their company until her last breath. She would protect Tommy as he had protected her so many times in the past.

But it wouldn't come to that, because Y/N Shelby was far too stubborn to die whilst being guarded by a man that couldn't even count to ten. And so, with this new found strength and resolve, she planned her escape. As much as she wanted her brother, she damn well refused to let him come riding in like her knight in shining armour...

***

Days had passed since Tommy had received the note. The Shelby clan had all reacted in their own ways, but no one was as torn up as Thomas Shelby. He was drinking more, lashing out more, and no one knew when he was going to completely snap.

The family had poured all of their time and energy into searching for their sister, and yet they still didn't have a single lead. All they knew was that the traitorous secretary hailed from Sheffield, however there was definitely more than one gang based there.

But one day, a gloomy day where the rain poured down outside the Garrison, the people of Small Heath were able to stop living in fear of the leader of the Peaky Blinders' next outburst.

Thin, trembling, black and blue, Y/N Shelby stumbled through the door to the pub, where her family were gathered. Crystal blue eyes locked with hers, widening in shock and relief. But that was the last thing she saw before letting the exhaustion take over her, and her body collapsed to the floor.

***

The hours that followed were a blur for Tommy. Not caring that everyone was watching, he had scooped Y/N into his arms and refused to let her go as John had driven them to Tommy's house; even though it was only a few streets away, he didn't want her getting any colder than she already was. She was as pale as death, and Tommy was scared.

Polly had come round, he remembered, to tend to Y/N's wounds and settle her down into his bed. She had shooed him out of the way as he tried to stay in the room, not wanting to leave his sister's side now that he finally had her back.

After she had gone, well, Tommy didn't know how long he sat by his sister's bedside. It could've been minutes, or hours. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen Y/N look so vulnerable. Since he had come back from France, she always seemed so strong. Maybe, Tommy mused, she really was too much like him sometimes. In his dedication to the company, he'd started to forget that she was his little sister first and foremost, and not just his best employee.

The next morning, Tommy was still so consumed with his guilt and worry that he didn't even notice when Y/N first woke up. Yet at the small voice saying "Tom?", his attention moved completely to his little angel.

"Hello, trouble," he said, a glimmer of a smile passing over his lips as his sister glanced quickly around the room and then straight back to him.

"I made it," she sighed softly, tears finally beginning to pour down her cheeks. "I'm home."

"Shhh now. You're here, you're safe, and I'm not gonna let those bastards touch you again." Tommy brought her hand, which he had been clasping tightly since the moment that Polly had finished, up to his lips, placing a soft kiss on the back of it. "And I am so, so sorry, sweetheart. You were right, you're always fucking right. If I'd just listened to you, you wouldn't be in this state now. I love you so much and I'm so sorry..." Tommy continued rambling quietly to himself, and Y/N was alarmed to feel his tears hitting her hand. She was also amazed to hear the Thomas Shelby say the word 'sorry' - he usually said it through his actions, and never actually said it out loud. But here he was, unable to stop whispering it to her.

"Tom..."

"Don't you dare fucking tell me that this isn't my fault." Y/N was brought to silence by the severity of his voice. "I failed you, Y/N/N."

"You've taught me so much Tommy, and I love you more than anything, but speak to me like you did all those months ago and I will leave again. Maybe it's time the roles were reversed and you let your little sister teach you some things, yeah?" The siblings chuckled at that. Tommy knew that he couldn't cope with her leaving again. He just couldn't. His entire world had crumbled in the time that she had been away, but at the same time he knew that Y/N was right. Painfully, he added, he knew that she'd be right to get away from him if he ever became like that again.

Y/N saw the tear tracks left on her brother's face and the look in his eyes that told her that he was scared that she was going to vanish right before his eyes. She knew that, as much as this conversation wasn't over, it could wait for another day, and she patted the space next to her on the bed. "Come on, you big old softie."

"Oi, watch it." Tommy replied, sternly. However Y/N saw the teasing glint in her brother's eyes as he gently wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close to his chest, and placed a kiss on the top of her head.

As they lay there, the sun gently began to break through the clouds.

***

Both of them had a lot to learn, they knew that. But they'd do it together in their typical Y/N and Tommy way.

And the first lesson that Y/N learnt was that when Tommy Shelby said that he wasn't going to let you out of his sight for a while, he really fucking meant it.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders sister #tommy shelby x sister!reader #tommy shelby x sister reader #tommy shelby #shelby sister #shelby!sister #shelby!reader #peaky blinders imagine #shelby sis #thomas shelby

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unluckyxse7enart · 3 years

Text

MysMarch2021: Heal

Notes: most likely au, intended to be set post-events of “The Future”, where the gang survives, Shiromori’s still gone and presumably they beat off ???. Everyone just sorta falls back into the pattern of being a quartet somehow but also are all dealing with a lot from the incident still. This is primarily a fluffy moment w Mystery and Vivi with some minor thoughts about angstier stuff. Unofficial title:

"Kitsune in a Cone of Shame"

-------

"Mystery, what do you think you're doing?"

He winced, ears flattening to his head so much they almost disappeared entirely into the crest of fur down his neck. Vivi's voice sounded stern. He was definitely in trouble.

"Mystery. Down."

Oh no, there was the Doghouse voice.

An unintentional whine sounded from his throat, and Mystery slowly, deliberately, removed his front paws from the sofa, trying to ease back into where he had them before - he couldn't see where he was putting them, but surely it couldn't be that har-

His left paw slid against nothing, pain flared up in his side, and with a startled yip he was on his way down to the carpeted floor below. He heard Vivi gasp, all traces of anger gone and replaced with an equal measure of distress, but she couldn't move fast enough for the short distance from the coffee table to the floor. Mystery's quick descent ended not with a muffled thud, but a humiliating clunk.

Vivi made a strangled noise, and once more Mystery's ears flattened, this time in annoyance than guilt. He knew that noise anywhere. That was her 'trying not to laugh' noise.

"Mys- Mystery? Are you... *hee!* are you ok?" She asked between poorly restrained snickers, and he let out a belligerent snort, nose mercifully suspended mere centimeters from the floor. At least, it would be merciful, were it not for the fact that he hadn't landed on his face due only to the damning plastic cone around his neck. Mystery sighed in annoyance.

"My side hurts, I have a flimsy plastic cone digging into my shoulderblades, and I do believe any dignity I once had, as a creature filled with more power and wisdom than the three of you combined, has been irrevocably shattered. But otherwise, yes, Vivi, I'm 'fine'," Mystery grumbled, paddling his front legs in a feeble attempt to either find the ground or scratch the menace ruining his honor off of his neck once and for all. Neither happened, and instead all that was achieved was a renewed fit of giggles from his owner as she watched her hapless former pet flail about like a flipped turtle.

"Ok, I- al-alright, just... Just hold still, I'll help you," she managed, still giggling as she got closer. Mystery cocked an eyebrow at her, although he couldn't see her through the opaque material surrounding his head.

"I'm surprised you're not calling Lewis and Arthur in to laugh at my misery, while you're at it," he groused.

"Oh I don't need to, rest assured I've immortalized this moment for all of us - and probably the Internet - to enjoy," she replied, the smirk on her face crystal clear in the tone of her voice. Mystery let out an indignant growl, even as he felt Vivi's cool hands gently positioning themselves around his waist where it was safe to touch. Curse modern cellphone technology. He barely even heard the shutter go off in all the fuss, but he probably shouldn't have been surprised.

"Besides, Lewis's a sap who cries whenever he sees an animal in distress, and I don't think Arthur will appreciate me interrupting his work for this, even if it is objectively the funniest thing on the planet,” Vivi continued, starting to reorient him off of the table. Mystery internally flinched at the mention of Arthur. That wasn't really the reason he wouldn't appreciate it, and they both knew it.

The gang had been doing their best to pull themselves together since what has come to be dubbed, the 'Murder Mystery' incident (Vivi applauded herself for the clever name at the time she suggested it; the boys gave her looks of what she elected to interpret as tired approval). A week and a half had passed by this point and, really, the entire group was still in their own various shambles - Mystery with his severe injuries, the loss of Shiromori, coming off of a malicious possession, and drained magic; Arthur with his destroyed prosthetic and reopened traumas and recalled memories, on top of brand new ones; Lewis as... well, Lewis, except. Not as the rest of them remembered him.

Vivi arguably came out with the most gain from the situation- being able to tap into her ancestral powers, regaining her memories of Lewis, or at least enough to not have her episodes anymore at the mention of him, and while she had been injured as well, it seemed to be healing up nicely, faster than Mystery's own - but he knew she was still putting on a cheerful face to be the glue that kept the gang together. She had to.

Arthur couldn't look at Mystery anymore, and barely left his room, while Lewis alternated between seemingly clingy and aloof with Vivi - most likely a mix of guilt and yearning, although the dog couldn't tell you what went on in the ghost's mind at this point. And Mystery... well, Mystery wasn't even allowed to jump up on the couch for fear of exacerbating his injuries.

Really, everyone stuck together because... that's just how they handled such crises in the past, more than anything. They didn't know what else to do.

In the face of that, Vivi - their headstrong, kind leader Vivi - had stepped up and done her best to make sure to keep things running as smoothly as possible. Even now, as Vivi gently guided Mystery carefully into a more comfortable position on the floor, being vigilant of his injuries while lifting and adjusting him - Mystery knew she was being especially considerate of him, even with her teasing and laughing at him. She almost never handled him so gently, and normally would have called the boys in without a thought regardless.

"Mystery? You doing ok there buddy?"

Mystery was shaken from his reflections as he noticed the worried tone returning to her voice, and he turned his head all the way to look at her, ears pricked.

"Oh, yes- yes, sorry Vivi. I got lost in thought. I'm alright, I don't think anything got too hurt," he said, hoping he anticipated her worries correctly. She snorted, clearly relieved, and gave him a scritch behind the ears.

"I'd hope not. That'd be really embarrassing even by our standards. What were you even trying to do with all that furniture climbing anyways?"

Mystery frowned, eyes darting away in embarrassment.

"Ah, well... I thought, if the problem with jumping up onto the sofa by myself was because a big jump could reopen my stitches, I thought smaller jumps would be safe to do." He was cut off by a squeak of laughter, and frowned more.

"Admittedly not my best moment. But I thought the coffee table would be an adequate stepstool, and I really miss being able to lay on my spot on the sofa on my own," he confessed.

"Aww, Mystery," Vivi sighed, rubbing his back, heeding his side as she did so.

"I know this sorta ruins that need for independence, but would it help if I gave you a lift up this time for your troubles?"

Mystery debated, before giving a tired smile.

"I would like that a lot."

Vivi nodded, getting up with a grunt before cautiously guiding his front paws onto the sofa. Then, once he was in position, she tucked her hands under his back feet, giving him enough lift to scrabble somewhat clumsily up without pulling too much. His short tail began wagging as he felt the comfortable cushioning beneath his paws, and he turned to face Vivi, beaming.

"Thank you, Vivi."

Vivi grinned back, about to speak, but Mystery continued.

"Not just for this, but for everything you've been doing for us all this time. I appreciate it a lot, I know we all do." Vivi's grin melted into a more mushy expression, eyes watery.

"Awww, Mystery that's so sw-"

She was cut off once more as, in an attempt to lick her cheek in thanks, Mystery instead bonked her in the face with the cone. Vivi grunted in surprise as she pulled back, rubbing her nose where the edge collided into her.

“Man, I'm starting to see why you hate your cone so much!” Vivi laughed, ruffling Mystery’s fur on his head as much as she could. Mystery huffed in indignation, leaning into the touch nonetheless.

“I fail to see why I even have it in the first place.”

“Sorry, bud - vet's orders! Wouldn't want you chewing on your injuries while they heal,” she smirked, lightly tugging on his ears to stroke and massage them. Mystery made a disgruntled noise in his throat as he eased himself into laying down.

“I know, I know… But it's not forever. You'll get better, and the cone will come off, and things will go back to normal, you'll see,” she intoned, leaning back against the sofa while she continued to absentmindedly pet him. He could hear the edge in her voice, and knew she was saying it for herself just as much as for him.

Unable to sooth her as he normally would, as previously proven, Mystery settled for wagging his tail in agreement, letting it lightly beat against the back of her head as he rested his chin on his paws. A laugh bubbled out of her, and he smiled.

It would heal.

They all would.

#mysterymarch2021 #mystery skulls animated #msa #msa mystery #mystery #vivi yukino #msa vivi #fanfic #fanfiction #long post #se7enfics #se7enfic

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coldmorte · 3 years

Note

So i have some unpopular opinions; i feel like Dutch doesnt sleep around as much as people would like to think. He probably likes the fact that people think that of him, even if its not his style. Also...i dont think Dutch and Molly have any chemistry.

Howdy! (ASK 1 OF 2)

I apologize it took me some time to actually reply to this, especially because it is such a great ask! I definitely agree with both points made here, but I was debating how I wanted to write a response (and how far to take it).

Anyway, I'm open to hearing unpopular opinions! I know I have plenty of my own, so I'm not really one to judge others (as long as there is mutual respect) ☺️

My response is fairly long, and it deals with some sensitive topics. I decided to add a cut to this first ask, just to be safe! 💜💜💜

(Warning: SPOILERS below)

In regard to Dutch sleeping around, there are a few reasons why I don’t think he does it as much as it is often implied/assumed (I’m primarily limiting this to the timeframe of RDR2, Ch. 1-6).

First of all, Molly explicitly says Dutch doesn’t show her a lot of physical attention, even though he is her SO. If he’s not sleeping with her much, I doubt that he is going around with any other women at this time. He seldom leaves camp, outside of doing missions, so it is unlikely that he would meet up with anybody not in the gang. It just doesn’t seem plausible to me, as it would put him in a vulnerable position.

Dutch complains multiple times - including to Molly - that he is under stress and concerned about the Pinkertons closing in on them. Why would he go around outside the camp sleeping with random women? It would put him at the risk of being seen or reported on, and I believe he is smarter than to take on the unnecessary danger. Generally, he doesn’t spend much time in civilized areas, unless he needs to.

Not to mention, stress can be a real inhibitor of sex drive. For the entirety of the game, Dutch exhibits various degrees of anxiety and depression. I believe the gang and his personal safety were of much more concern to him, thus diminishing his interest in sex.

Speaking of the gang, I don’t personally see Dutch as sleeping around with the women in it that much. He did have a relationship with Susan in the past. Whether anything was still going on between them or not is uncertain, but if there was something, it probably was not serious or very frequent. In RDR1, he also suggests that he slept with Abigail, but if this happened, I doubt it would have occurred during the events of RDR2. They hardly ever interacted, and when Abigail did talk about Dutch, it was almost always in a negative manner. Dutch also showed some interest in Mary-Beth. However, I don’t think it went beyond flirting. She didn’t show much interest in him, and I think word would have gotten around if he tried to force anything, especially to Arthur (I am not going to discuss the events of RDR1 in any more detail here because that is a whole different conversation). But other than them, who else in the gang? There were not enough interactions with other women to suggest there was anything between them and Dutch.

Also, sex was considerably more risky in 1899 than it is today, and the means of contraception were not as dependable. For instance, The Pill didn’t go onto the market for another 60 years, and it was more difficult to get ahold of other birth control methods. This was partly because there were not as many technological advancements in this field and because there were a few laws that prevented reliable access to contraceptives (ex: The Comstock Laws). Condoms were arguably one of the easier birth control methods to find, but they still were not as widely available then as they are today (the quality was arguably not as good either). As I understand it, some searching was generally required to get ahold of condoms (usually in more civilized areas, which Dutch tried to avoid).

Dutch is a very contradictory character. My point in bringing up birth control is because although on some level I think Dutch probably would have liked to have actual children, I do not think he was serious enough about it to take any risks that might have led to an unwanted pregnancy during the timeframe of RDR2. As I mentioned, he was under a lot of stress with the gang. A biological child on top of that most likely would have overwhelmed him, and it would have required a long-term commitment to not only the child, but to the mother as well. I believe Dutch was smart enough to recognize this danger, and since birth control methods were not as widely available or reliable, he would not have wanted to sleep around too much (unwanted pregnancies were relatively common during this era).

I’ve written in the past that I believe Dutch had a certain degree of self-consciousness underneath his pride, so I do agree that he probably would have liked people finding him attractive or seductive. These traits emanate a sense of power and confidence, which would have provided a more favorable presentation of himself to others. These perceptions certainly would have helped to conceal his own self-doubts and insecurities, so he would have welcomed them, rather than try to refute them.

Now, in regard to the chemistry between Dutch and Molly, I agree. I think it was a pretty bad relationship all around. I don’t see its flaws as being entirely one-sided.

I will get into this a little more on the next ask, but I will discuss a few things here first.

Starting with Dutch, I will admit that he could have treated Molly a lot better. Even if he wasn’t happy with her or the status of their relationship, he should have seriously talked to her more. She deserved that, at the very minimum. There were a few instances where she tried to get his attention, and he just brushed her off. Again, like I said, even if he wasn’t very keen on the relationship anymore, he should have at least been honest about that. Then, as I already discussed, he had some mildly flirtatious conversations with Mary-Beth. I certainly do not think this helped matters. It was rude the way he insulted Molly for bringing up his interactions with Mary-Beth and how he pretended he had no idea what Molly was talking about.

Onto Molly, I don’t think she was perfect either. I know Dutch didn’t talk with her nearly as much as he should have, but she didn’t seem to show a whole lot of support for him in return. Dutch expressed that he was feeling stressed and not up to much physical activity, to which she got quite upset. She seemed to turn some arguments towards herself and her needs, with little regard for Dutch’s wellbeing. I do think she was selfish for demanding him to give her something he did not want to give/could not provide. Also, she refused to help the gang find leads or assist with chores, even when told to do so by others (ex: Dutch and Arthur). She tended to act above everybody else, claiming she wasn’t a servant to the needs of the gang as a whole. Though I can respect her sense of independence in that regard, it did show a sense of entitlement. Even Dutch donated to the gang funds, and as the leader, he was the one responsible for overseeing the vast majority of missions they engaged in. Molly was the only person who really did not contribute much. (Side note: Even UNCLE - the laziest bastard in the West - helped with leads and contributions!!)

I will get into this more in the following ask, but although I know she loved Dutch to an extent, I think part of her fascination with him was rooted in infatuation. Little is known about her background, but it is canon that she came from a wealthy and influential family in Ireland. I think part of the reason why she liked Dutch so much was because of the powerful position he held. She frequently lashed out at people who she perceived as challenging the reality of her “love” for him, such as Abigail and Karen. In one instance, Molly even went so far as to slap Karen across the face because she thought Karen was talking negatively about her. There was no evidence to prove or disprove Molly’s beliefs, but it did show that she was pretty sensitive about criticism (whether it was perceived or real) in regard to her relationship with Dutch.

Now, Dutch was wrong to use Molly’s fascination with him and his role in the gang to seduce her. But like I said, both of them had their issues. It was just a bad situation from both sides, and I do not think it should have happened in the first place. I don’t necessarily blame one more than the other. To be honest, I think they each deserved someone who fit them better.

And if I am being even MORE honest, I think Dutch should have stayed with Susan. She loved him, and he made a big mistake in ever giving her up. I believe the events of RDR2 would have turned out very differently, had he kept her closer.

(Ending note: Outside of serious posts - like this one - I know I make quite a few jokes about Dutch on my blog in regard to sexuality, but I do not mean for much of what I say in that regard to be taken *too* seriously. I don’t particularly want to discuss my personal life in the text of this post, but I will say that even if Dutch was a person I knew in real life, I’m not sure I would seriously want anything to happen between us. However, that is another matter entirely that has nothing whatsoever to do with him. I absolutely LOVE his character to death, and my blog will remain dedicated to his role in the RDR story for as long as I am around! That is all that should matter!!!)

Also, it is perfectly fine and normal to separate fiction from reality! It is okay to alter interpretations of Dutch (and/or Molly) for the sake of artistic expression, as long as the reasons can be justified. Furthermore, it is fine to disagree with me!!

I just hope this response gave you a thing or two to consider. Thank you again for sending your message in!! 💜💜💜

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funkwhistle · 3 years

Text

Sunrise

Pairing: Sort of Dutch x GN!reader, sort of Micah x GN!reader

Warnings: None, not even fluff

Words: 2k

Notes: Micah and you go for a ride to Saint Denis, it’s just a bit of comfort tbh

Nothing had made you feel quite as alone as he did, even though behind the protection of canvas walls he could be the most doting partner. His constant doting on her, the fact he'd spent more time drinking with Hosea than speaking to you over the past month, it all just hurt. And you couldn't say anything, of course, he was the gang leader and whatever you had to say would be dismissed by whichever fanciful excuse he would concoct in retaliation. 'He always paid attention to you', 'People like him were always busy', all excuses he'd given you before, you didn't need to hear them again. Even if you could speak out, you'd be kicked from the camp, and with nowhere to go you'd end up selling yourself in the corner of the bar again, as you were when he rescued the first time.

You watched them from across camp as Dutch spoke to Mary-Beth again, cracking jokes and covertly giving her a brooch he'd stolen. You couldn't bring yourself to hate her, she was too innocent to fall a victim to him, and you'd repeatedly tried to warn her. In her view, this was the fairytale she'd dreamed of, that she would be rescued by a handsome outlaw, who would woo her and they'd flee away together. And for a while, you'd hoped that would be the case with Dutch as well, but the whirlwind romance was over before it started.

Part of you wanted nothing more than to stay with the gang, bringing in money like Arthur did, but the other half of you wanted to run back to the comfort and certainty of a small-town job. Not one part of you wanted to continue like this, your only job was to sit and look pretty. Brushing your clothes down, you stood up, deciding to leave camp for a change of scenery; you'd love to visit Saint Denis, some others spoke of it as though it was magical, rumoured to be ten times the size of Emerald Ranch, where you'd grown up. But even a walk around some swamp of Shady Belle would be better than nothing, the peacefulness of being alone was something you envied.

As you were leaving camp, you crossed paths with Micah, who was riding into camp with a satchel full of what looked like money. Micah wasn't bad, you spoke to him a lot while the pair of you would wait for Dutch. And even though he was not eloquent with his words in the way Dutch was, he still would manage to make you laugh, his sarcasm as self depreciating jokes reminding you of what you'd been like before you joined the gang. As he passed you, he made sure to flash the contents of the bag at you, winking and saying;

“See? I pay my rent,” he jabbed, knowing how you felt about your lack of job in camp. You didn't grace him with a reply, opting instead to flip him the bird. As he rode off, you heard him laugh at your reaction, going to give his take to Dutch. You continued out of camp, until you were far enough not to hear the constant noise from it, finding a tree to lean against as you watched the swamp move in the sun. The warmth from the summer had made everyone's temper's short and while it was better than the snow of Colter, you were sick of the bugs and lack of sleep.

The sun passed through the sky as you sat there, watching an alligator lazily flick its tail on one of the islands in the centre of the swamp. If you strained your eyes, you could see the train when it had passed, but you could definitely hear it, and you yearned for nothing more than to jump on and ride into the city. Nobody had come to check on you, they were either too busy, and Dutch wouldn't care until he wanted you. So, here you sat, peacefully observing the evening as it drew in, breathing in the deliciously cool air.

“Thought I'd find ya here,” a familiar gruff voice said from behind you, shaking you from whatever you'd been thinking about. Craning your neck, you saw Micah, leaning against the same tree you were sat at the base of, smoking again.

“What do you want? Is he looking for me?” you said, disgusted at the hope in your voice. Micah laughed at your question, dropping the cigarette on the floor and squashing it with his boot.

“Dutch, looking for ya? That's a good one doll,” he looked down at you for a moment, before staring off in the same direction you were. Inside, you'd known the answer before he'd spoken, but for some reason unknown to you, you were still hopeful that he'd change.

“You ever been to Saint Denis, Micah?”“Why doll? You plannin' on running away?”“I've never been, and people say it's a big place, that was all,” Regretting asking, you looked over the swamp again. Distantly, there were plumes of smoke which you could only assume was the city, although you didn't realize you were camped that close.

“Wait here,” he said, moving away from the tree and back towards camp. You assumed he was leaving, to do something more interesting than sit with you; not like you had anything interesting to tell him anyway. Relaxing back into the tree, you wrapped your arms around yourself in a hope to keep you a little warmer.

Micah didn't return for a while, but the sound of hooves approaching made you turn, suddenly alert, hoping it was just someone leaving camp and not some person coming for you. The hooves stopped a few feet away, the bushes too dense for you to see the mysterious rider. Anxiously, you moved to shelter behind the tree a little, wishing you had something to protect yourself a little. “You still there darlin'?” It was Micah, thank heavens, and you poked your head out to see him, looking for you in one of the other bushes.

“Micah,” you approached him, confused as to why he'd left earlier, but as soon as he saw you, his face lit up.

“Thought you'd left,” he said, the smile fading as his usual gruff facade returned. You shook your head, shivering a little at the cool evening wind. “I got this for ya,”

He passed you a coat, not yours, but one you presumed was his, it smelt like him anyway.

“Couldn't find your one without meeting Dutch. It's got a hole in the left arm though,” he said, watching you pull it on. Immediately, the chill of the wind was lessened, and you smiled gratefully at him, this coat, even with the hole, was better than any coat you'd ever owned. It was well-worn, and the tough leather was soft on your skin, and in one of the inside pockets you could feel a pack of something, most probably oil or smokes.

As you were pulling on the coat, Micah started back through the trees to where his horse was, beckoning you to follow him. Pushing through the bushes, you came to Micah's horse, Baylock, and Micah pulling on his riding gloves.

“Get on then,” he said, jerking his head to the horse, as he pulled one of his stirrups and swung himself on. You looked up at him, confused, you'd only ever ridden a horse once, when Dutch took you from Emerald Ranch, and you didn't know why he was asking you to get on now. At your look of confusion, he offered a hand down to you, explaining;

“You wanted to go to Saint Denis?” In your mind, the last puzzle piece clicked into place, and you, albeit with a lot of scrambling, got up onto the horse behind Micah. For the first time in a while you were excited, not caring about what Dutch would have to say when you returned. You wrapped your arms around Micah, holding yourself on, as he kicked the horse into a fairly leisurely canter.

The journey was longer than it looked, but you were comfortable on the back of Baylock, the steady rhythm of hooves on the ground providing comfort to you, and making you less nervous about riding. Micah's hands would brush against yours every few strides, as he directed the horse a different way or relaxed a little. Somehow he was a lot warmer than you were, and you found yourself resting your head on his shoulder as you went along, nearly falling asleep.

By the time you'd reached the city, the moon, and the street lights were the only source of light. Glad to have Micah's jacket, the pair of you rode through the town, your eyes boggling at the size of it. Occasionally, Micah would point out something interesting, like the tram, or an interesting looking alleyway. When you reached the stable, Micah hitched his horse outside, walking towards the docks.

Micah stopped as he reached a tall looking building on one of the jetties, waiting for you to catch up; you were too busy taking in the bustle of the city, and the fact that even now, at night, it was busier than Emerald Ranch in daytime. Once you had reached him, he began to scale the side of the building deftly, hooking his feet into little gaps in the wood and metal cladding.

“C'mon, don't tell me you ain't climbed a building before?” he asked once he was sat on the roof, looking down at you seriously. Sure, you used to scale the buildings in Emerald Ranch when you were younger, but that was a long time ago, and this seemed difficult now. Not wanting to disappoint him after he'd brought you this far, however, you began to climb, slower than Micah, but steadily getting higher.

“That's it, just don't look down now,” he said as you reached the top, grabbing your arm as soon as he could to help pull you up. From here you could see much further, over Flat Iron Lake and the large ships which were docked in the harbour. Micah explained what some boats were for, and ones he didn't know he made up stupid jobs for.

The roof was corrugated, but it provided you wit some grip as you sat there, lisening to his stories. Neither of you had ever realy spoken about yourself before, and you enjoyed listening to Micah's wild tales that you weren't sure were completely truthful. But it didn't matter if they were all lies, listening to something other than Dutch's worries was welcome. And Micah seemed to be enjoying it, the fainest hint of a smile would cross his face when he remembered the events.

“That one is perfect for raiding, they never lock the cabin. And that one looks like it goes fishing, but I nicked it before, and it had nothing on,” he smiled a little at the last statement, glancing over at you. While you were listening to him, you were looking down on the people working in the city, happy with the fact you'd seen the city everyone spoke about, even if it was dirtier than you'd imagined it to be.

“Thanks Micah,” you said as he took a break from his stories of the place. He's just finished telling you about the time he evaded the law by running on people's roofs, and that an old woman had told him off for it.

“For what?” he asked, surprised.

“You didn't have to take me out, not like you was plannin to go out again,”

“What else was I gonna do then doll? Sit and get hammered at the campfire again? I like this more,” he answered, pulling a can of beans from his satchel. “You hungry?”

You nodded eagerly, remembering you hadn't eaten since before you'd left camp yesterday. He passed you the open can, and the pair of you sat on the rooftop, you eating beans, watching the sun come up over the city. And sure, when you returned to camp, you'd have to face the repercussions of felling to the city overnight, but for now, you could push that to the back of your mind and enjoy the sunrise.

A/N: I’m not sure if I love or hate this, but here we go, it’s been in my head for quite a while. Also catch Micah being sweet for the first time, we love to see it.

#micah bell x reader #micah bell/reader #micah bell x you #dutch van der linde #micah bell #saint denis #sunrise #red dead redemption imagine #red dead #red dead redemption 2 #reader insert #rdr2 #rdr2 tilly #rdr

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smcc212 · 4 years

Text

Not So Secret After All

Pairings- Tommy Shelby x son! Reader, Isiah Jesus x male reader

Word count- 1,504

Warnings- fluff, smut, anal, swearing, slight internalised homophobia(but not really)

A/N- I sent a request to @sleepypeaky awhile ago with the prompt I’m using, Tommy finding out his son’s gay and is dating Isiah, so check out her post “Isiah Jesus x male!reader”. I really hope you guys enjoy this!!

Also, I’ve not written smut I soooo long, and I’ve never written m/m smut so sorry if it’s shit.

The phone next to my bed rang, I answered it. I hoped it was my boyfriend, Isiah, but I answered with a neutral tone of voice.

“Hello.” My voice was void of any emotion, a skill I learned from my father, quickly, as I grew up.

“Hey, babe,” I heard Isiah’s voice fill my ears. Excitement bolted through my veins immediately.

“Isiah, how are you?” I squealed. I hadn’t talked to Isiah in two weeks and it was horrible.

“I’m alright, better now I’m talking to you, though. Is your dad home?” He asked.

“You’re adorable, but yeah, he’s home. Is your dad home?” I asked, silently praying he wasn’t, but maybe people are right and God does hate me, because, as I prayed, Isiah answered.

“Yeah, he is. Fuck. I miss you, I especially miss fucking you.” I giggled like a schoolgirl at his crude remark.

“I miss you and your cock as well, Isiah.” We both laughed. We started to talk about what we’d been up to while we were away from each other. Neither of us had done much that was different from normal, but we both made sure to include every detail just so we could talk to one another longer. Just as I was telling Isiah about riding one of the horses, my dad’s voice bellowed through the house.

“(Y/N)! I’m going to help Arthur with something, okay?”

“One minute, iz-“ I moved the mouth piece away. “-Okay! How long will you be?!” I shouted back.

“An hour and half, two hours!” I heard him shout back. Excitement coursed through my veins. I would finally be able to spend time with Isiah!

“Okay! Bye!” As the door shut. I quickly brought the mouth piece back to my lips and informed Isiah.

“I’ll be right there!” He beamed. “I love you.”

“I love you too, bye.”

“Bye, see ya soon, sweetheart.” And with that, he hung up and made his way over as I made sure I looked okay. I changed my clothes even though I knew Isiah would just take them off again.

Half an hour later, Isiah had me pinned against my bedroom door with his body, his mouth on my neck and his hands wandering over my body.

“‘Siah, there’s a perfectly good bed behind you,” I moaned, wrapping my legs around his waist. He wasted no time carrying me over to the bed and throwing me onto it. He rushed to get my clothes off.

“Fuck, why are you wearing so many fucking layers?” He complained, making me laugh as I worked on his clothes as well.

“Oh for fuck sake.” My hands were shaking with excitement. “Fuck this!” I ripped his shirt off, buttons flying all over the floor.

“(Y/N)!”

“Calm down, you can take one of mine. There are upsides to being sinners,” I joked. Though maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say to the son of Jeremiah Jesus.

“Yeah, guess so,” He mumbled. I started to feel guilty about my joke until I felt Isiah’s hand wrap around my cock.

“Fuck,” I moaned, Isiah pushed me onto the bed. After shedding his clothes, he climbed on top of me.

“Oil. Where is it?” He rushed out.

“In the drawer,” I replied with just as much urgency. He grabbed the oil, heating it up between his hands before massaging my hole and gently pushing one finger inside.

“That feel got, eh?” He cockily drawled. Pumping his finger in and out until he felt I could take another. And another finger I took.

“Of course it fucking does, and you know it,” I snapped back. “Now hurry the fuck up.”

After a while of working me open, Isiah, finally, entered me. We both moaned in unison. He thrust in and out as he stroked my cock. We were so caught up in the moment, neither of us realised my dad, uncles, aunt Ada and great-aunt Polly came home. They must’ve been calling on me for awhile, because my dad burst into my room and-

“What the fuck...?” My dad mumbled, quietly. Isiah grabbed the blanket from beside us and covered us with it.

“D-dad?!” I panicked, looking in the blue eyes we shared. Those blue eyes that are usually so calm and collected, now widened with shock and confusion. “Dad, I-“

“Get dressed and come to my office, both of you,” He said and walked out. Isiah got up and started to get dressed, grabbing a shirt from my wardrobe. I just lay there, I couldn’t move. He wasn’t supposed to find out like this! No one was supposed to know, not till I was ready. What was going happen? Would my dad disown me? Would my family disown me?! My father is fucking gang leader for fuck sake, he wouldn’t want a gay son! Would he?

“(Y/N)! Come on, get dressed.” Isiah handed me my clothes. I got dressed quickly, my thoughts still racing. Would my family think I’m weak now? Would they kick me out of the business? I worked so hard for my position, I can’t lose it because of this! I can’t lose my fucking family because of this! “Hey, baby, it’s gonna be okay.”

“You don’t know that, Isiah! I could lose everything because of this!” I shouted, raking my hands through my hair.

“No matter what happens, you’ll still have me, I promise,” Isiah said, placing his hands on either side of my face, making me look at him. “You hear me? I’ll always be here for you.” He kissed me passionately to make sure I got the message. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

Isiah and I walked hand in hand into my fathers office, the rest of my family were there. I took a deep breath before walking in, Isiah squeezed my hand reassuringly.

“(Y/N), my boy, why don’t you and Isiah have a seat, eh?” My dad said. He sounded... happy? I looked around the room. Polly and Ada were smiling, Arthur, John and Finn all looked perplexed and Michael mouthed ‘good luck’ to Isiah.

“Erm... I-I think I’d rather stand,” I answered awkwardly.

“Well alright.” I’d thought of my family finding out I like men many times, but never did I think my dad would be happy.

“Y-you’re not...mad?” I stammered out, looking between Isiah and my dad.

“Why would I be mad?” He asked, genuinely curious.

“W-well... because I like men,” I mumbled.

“(Y/N), everyone in this family with a brain in their head already knew.” This was followed by all three of my uncles shouting a ‘hey!’ In protest. “I mean, I wish I hadn’t walked in on you two, but I’m glad you don’t need to hide who you are from us anymore.” My dad smiled, he smiled. Weird day...

“Yeah, we’re happy for you both,” Polly smiled at us. A huge smile grew on both mine and Isiah’s face.

“I’m glad you two are happy,” Ada began. “I’m also happy that I’ve got gay nephew!” She squealed, excitedly. “I know it doesn’t change who you are, but now we can complain about our men to each other!”

“I’m here, you know. No need to be rude,” Isiah said from beside me. Now Michael spoke up.

“Isiah, does this mean you’ll annoy someone else by constantly talking about (Y/N)?” Michael smirked as Isiah bashfully looked at me. “I mean he’s all you talk about.”

“Alright, we get it, Mikey.” I laughed at how shy Isiah was acting.

“Wait a minute,” John spoke up, that usually means a joke is coming. “What about that whore we bought you?” No joke. Very weird day...

“I didn’t sleep with her. Told her it wasn’t really for me, paying for sex, but asked her to pretend we slept together so you lot didn’t know. So she did, lovely las, she was.” I thought back to when Arthur told me they ‘bought’ me a girl. Isiah was there. When he heard Arthur say it, he clenched his fists to keep from saying something and left the room. We had an argument after she left because he thought I went through with it. As much as I love the man, he’s a fucking dumbass.

“Hmm smart.” Was all John said before my dad joined the conversation again.

“Right, Isiah, come with me. We need to have a chat if you’re gonna be dating my boy.” He stood up and walked towards the door, turning around when Isiah didn’t follow him. “Come on, Isiah, otherwise I’ll have to drag you along.”

“Dad, for fuck sake, you won’t do this if I was with a girl,” I mumbled.

“That’s because men are arseholes, now come on, Isiah, i don’t have all day.” I smiled at Isiah before he followed my father. I don’t think I’ll ever get over this. Both my father walking in on me and Isiah, and also how okay my family was with it. I really lucked out. Now the only person left to tell is Jeremiah. That should be fun...

Tags:

@the-makingsofgreatness

@captivatedbycillianmurphy (wasn’t sure if you wanted to be tagged in this, but it IS Tommy x reader so... I did it anyway)

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xlovelybeanx · 4 years

Text

✭ I’m sorry, this gif is too precious for me NOT to put on here. I’m back at it again with Banana Fish, but this time it’s a request from the lovely @wertzunge !! Thank you so much for requesting and I hope you like it!! <3 P.S. I had a lot of fun writing this!! You can always send me more if you want !! <333

Btw, I tried to keep the original prompt true so if anything seems off, I’m sorry. (Not really an experienced writer yet, but one day! ..One day!)

——————————————————————————

Title: “Ferocious Lynx.”

Pairing: EijiAsh ft. Skipper.

Summary: When Eiji hears a commotion coming from Ash’s room, the only thing to think is that something bad is happening - but when the poor boy walks on something else instead, he finds himself in a position where he can’t escape.

Warnings: Some swearing, I guess.. Other than that... It’s a wholesome tickle fic~!

Note: I’m gonna change the plot a little bit - instead of Skipper and Eiji getting kidnapped by Arthur and his men, let’s just pretend that Ash defeated them all with his mad skillz and got everyone safely back home. :)

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It happened roughly a week ago. The deal that changed the black-haired boy’s life forever, the deal that made him considering running back to Japan as fast as he could. Due to the recent events, the attack at the bar by Arthur’s men, the concerned photographer asked to make a “deal” with the gang leader - basically letting him own Eiji for a week or two in return for protection.

The sly lynx, of course he’d accept because he was just too lazy to do anything himself! What Eiji hated the most of this, however, was the fact that it was so boring and lonely. The only people who came by were gang members, and of course Eiji couldn’t really speak to them - what would they talk about? ..it just seemed a little too awkward for him to start, and when asking questions and things to Ash, the younger one would just tease him about it! It made life miserable, but as long as Ibe didn’t worry about him, he guessed it was alright for now.

“..ahh,” Eiji sighed, sitting down on the older, slightly uncomfortable couch as he finished with his “job”. He ended up cleaning the entire living room, by himself might he add, because he didn’t know really what else to do. He wasn’t allowed to go outside, he would be easily recognized by everyone - he wasn’t allowed to mess around with Ash’s things (like he had anything there anyways) and most of all, he basically was treated like a maid. “Eiji, go get this, go get that” sort of thing from Ash. And while he didn’t complain at all, it started to grind his gears. Of course, he couldn’t get too mad because he WAS protecting him - it was the least he could do, anyways. “Safe, huh? ...well, if it makes Ibe happy..” he murmured, closing his eyes as he leaned against the headrest of the couch.

Suddenly, a loud scream was erupted from Ash’s room which made the exhausted boy jump in fear. ...what was that, he wondered as he stood up, a concerned look on his face. “That didn’t sound like Ash... but... something could be going down.” He concluded, face pale from the shock of hearing such a loud noise in the quietest of rooms. Standing outside of his room, he almost wanted to leave it up to him - maybe Ash could take care of it on his own. But if there was any chance that he was in danger, Eiji had to see him. He took in a breath, grasped the doorknob tightly, and opened wide. I’m gonna...

“AHAHAHA- W-WAIHAHAT! ST-STOP! PLEHEHEHEASE!”

...save you? Eiji’s eyes widened at the scene he was witnessing - Skipper, the one who saved him at the bar incident was pinned down underneath the ferocious lynx of a gang leader, basically begging for mercy as Ash launched a tickle attack on the poor boy. Eiji didn’t know whether to stand there or walk away - the initial shock of hearing the scream made him stand completely still, as if he was frozen. He could feel his face heat up incredibly fast, but he couldn’t move fast enough to hide it.

“...oh,” Ash calmly said, as he noticed the photographer’s assistant walk into the room, slowing his attack down so that Skipper could catch his breath. The young boy’s face was red with tears pricked at the corner of his eyes, grasping his sides ever so tightly. Eiji raised an eyebrow, fists clenched as he looked down in sheer embarrassment. So he didn’t need saving?! Why was he even concerned..? But then again, it felt kinda nice seeing that scene take place - Ash never really let his guard down, but in the split second that he saw of him tickle torturing a kid, he was totally relaxed. ..felt kind of odd, as well.

“S-Sorry, I... heard a scream..and thought something.. bad was happening,” Eiji mumbled as he fiddled with his hands, earning a slight chuckle from the blonde. He sat up, along with Skipper who was still out of breath, and raised an eyebrow. What was that look for, he thought as he mustered up enough courage to look up for a moment. The jade green eyes scanned him up and down before looking at his “little brother” Skip. “..Hey, do me a favor, yeah? Go to Chinatown and get Shorter, we have to do something later.” He nudged the other in the side, getting a squeal out of the latter - “FINE! Fine.. I’ll be back... in a bit..” Skipper said, standing up and walking out of the room. Which now only left a flustered Eiji and a devious Ash in the same room together. Alone. ..this could only end well.

“What? Jealous?” Ash teased, standing up slowly - the words sent another level of embarrassment through him and he shook his head, his nervousness getting the better of him. No words could escape his mouth, much less process through his head. Fact is, he wasn’t really “hands-on” with his parents much as a kid, so naturally stuff like this didn’t happen. Akira, his little sister maybe did it once or twice but that was so long ago that he’s already forgotten about it. “...ahh, so you are jealous. Huh. Well, if that’s the case, it’ll be a while before Skipper comes back so do you want me to tickle you?” Eiji’s face seemed to turn a deep shade of red, eyes darting back and forth. “..I mean... I g-guess,” he mumbled quietly. There was no getting out of it anyways, so he might as well just take it.

“..alright,” Ash grabbed him, as gently as possible and threw him on to the bed, pinning his hands above his head - a sinister grin was on his face, and the other really didn’t like where this was headed. Sitting on his waist, he leaned forward to his ear and blew softly on the outer part, watching the boy shiver and hunch up softly. “...huh. Would you like to tell me where you’re ticklish, then~?” His whole face turned red, shaking his head - even if he wanted to tell him, what would he say? ...it’s not like he remembered where exactly he was most ticklish. If he was ticklish, even.

“Gonna play the silent type, eh?” Ash asked as he gently slid his fingers around his ear, watching the boy’s eyes widen immediately. “...what’s the matter? You seem... a little squeamish today, huh?” Eiji couldn’t function anymore. Any words that had even the 1% chance of wanting to come out have immediately been stuck back in his brain. He was going to die - of embarrassment? Quite possibly so. “...mmm..” he shook his head, squirming in his grasp. There was so much he wanted to say, and yet, while looking deep into those jade green eyes - there was nothing he couldn’t read at that point. His face said it all.

“...you don’t know? Or do you not want to tell me~? That’s okay, I’ll figure out eventually,” those were the last words uttered before the blonde moved down and trailed at his pant line, making him squeak out involuntarily. “..w-wait,” Eiji choked out, the only word he could muster up before giggles slipped out of him. “Wait? Wait for what? For me to find your worst spot.. and then abuse it? ...mmm.. trust me, I can’t wait for that. Also... consider it.. payback for making me take care of you..” Ash grinned as his fingers wiggled teasingly underneath his shirt, making him clench his hands into fists. “Waihihit, s-stahahahap ihihit..! Ash!” Before he knew it, laughter was pouring out of his mouth - he can’t ever recall being this ticklish but the situation he found himself in seemed to answer his question earlier.

“What is it, Eiji?” Ash asked, his nails scraping gently across his pale stomach, making him want to jump out of his own skin. “H-Hehehehey! Nahahaha- c-cut ihihihit ohohohout!! Hahahahahahaha!!” Eiji’s giggles rose in pitch, making his voice sound very squeaky - something that seemed to edge the blonde ler on more. The sparkle in his eyes seemed to brighten the more he got a reaction out of the Japanese boy. “...p-plehehehehehease! Hahahahahaha!”

“...please what? Tickle you more? Oh don’t worry, you’ve got a lot of that coming your way~.” Ash slowly traveled his fingers way up, resting right underneath his arms. His fingers had not even starting moving, but the poor boy had already been sent into hysterics. Even just the light touch was enough to drive him up the wall. His whole body now was shaking, his legs kicking against the sheets of the bed.

“Does it tickle that much? I couldn’t imagine being that ticklish. Aha.” And that’s when the actual tickling began - the nasty ler scratched his delicate fingers into the center of his armpits, grinning as his work just only started. Eiji jumped out of his skin, squirming desperately as he could do nothing but laugh hysterically. “Woah, maybe that’s why you didn’t want me to know where you’re ticklish...” Ash couldn’t help but laugh with the hypersensitive boy. “HAHAHA- ASH! STOHOHOHOP IHIHIHIT! PLEHEHEHEASE-!”

“...now why would I do that? I’m only getting started..” the more he picked up the speed, the more increasingly squeakier his voice sounded - and Ash wasn’t going to lie: it was ... pretty cute. At first he was just surprised at the fact he was there, considering that originally he was checking up on them to make sure everything was as okay, but now? He was just surprised at how someone could sound so cute and not be known to him. “...aww, is it too much for you?” The blonde let go of his wrists to use both hands, using one hand to softly pinch his sides while the other digged mercilessly under his arm. “AHAHAHAHAHASH! F-FUHUHCK! STOHOHOHOP IHIHIHIT, PLEHEHEHEASE...!” Ash flinched back - ... that was the first time he ever heard the boy cuss. He knew it was getting bad then, if he had no other choice but to swear. His fingers stopped where they were, although they never really moved from their spot.

Out of breath and panting with still a couple of giggles flowing out, the other laid his head back and sighed in relief. It was finally over - at least, for now - and he could take a moment to take in all of a precious resource called ‘air’. “..t-thahanks..” he said, covering both of his eyes with his hands. Jeez, Ash did a number on the poor boy. “..are you that ticklish everywhere?” Ash asked with a somewhat serious tone, playful wiggling his fingers at him. “No,” Eiji said softly. “Not that I remember anyways. I haven’t been tickled since my sister did many years ago. I just..haven’t really thought about it.. until I saw you tickling Skipper..” There was a brief moment of silence before Ash burst out laughing, unexpectedly.

“H-Huh..? What’s so funny?”

“That’s cute,” he said, pushing his hair back from his eyes. Cute? Huh? The red hue on his face came back as he puffed his cheeks out, crossing his arms. “Cute, huh? What do you mean by that?”

“Just sayin’, it’s cute.” Ash repeated, turning around so that he was facing Eiji’s legs and Ash’s back was visible to him. Eiji was visibly confused - weren’t they ... done? A terrified shiver went through him. If... he’s doing what he’s thinking of, Ash might literally kill him. Physically and mentally. “Hey, Eiji?”

“Y-Yeah?” He asked, his voice seemingly small in comparison. There was a moment of silence before he turned around, holding eye contact with the pitiful male. “Are your feet ticklish?” His stomach dropped - nonononono... this was what he wasn’t looking forward to. He darted his eyes away, looking for an excuse to get away. “...er, actually, I j-just remembered ... I forgot to clean the kitchen! I’ll just, uh, being going now...”

“Can it. You cleaned the kitchen yesterday, remember? Oh, well, I guess you don’t remember me being there. I am a master of stealth, after all.” That little... his cheeks puffed up as he realized there was no getting out of this. Covering his face as he wiggled his socked feet, he remained silent - and that was all he needed as an answer. Tracing a single finger up the sole of his foot, the reaction? ...interesting, to say the least. The smaller one squeaked loudly, covering his mouth - eyes widened in surprise that he was the one who made that noise. “Jackpot,” Ash murmured, mostly to himself as he scribbled at 10 fingers on both of his socked feet.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-! WAHAHAHAHAIT! YAHAHAHAHAHAMERU!” Eiji couldn’t help but cry out in his native language, seeing as this was probably the worst torture in his life - Ash merely chuckled. “‘Yameru?’ Does that mean stop in Japanese? Cause if so, you already know my answer.” Tears pricked at the edges of his eyes, threatening to spill out - man, could Eiji have walked in on ANYTHING else? It feels like he’s being murdered! “PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE!! I CAHAHAHAHANT TAHAHAHAKE IHIHIHIHIT!!”

“Oh, poor ticklish Eiji,” Ash fake whined, dragging his nails slowly up the poor boy’s feet. All the while he’s doing that with one hand, Eiji doesn’t even notice the fact that Ash is taking off one of his socks and throwing it to the side of the room. But when he feels all 5 of his fingers against his bare skin - you’d start to wonder if he’s the most ticklish person on the planet. Eiji screamed, pushing against the blonde’s back weakly - from how much he’s been laughing, it feels like his chest and face are on fire, and his laughs have begun to turn a little wheezy. Picking up on this sign, the younger stops, getting a little worried.

“...ah, whoops. Did I kill ya?” Ash asked as he turned around to find a tear-soaked, messy haired Japanese boy laying down on his back. The other couldn’t speak at the moment - he was still processing the fact that he stopped, since there was still tingly sensations all over his body. It made him jolt a couple of seconds but it didn’t seem to affect him that much. “...n-no,” he wheezed out, “...y-you almost did...” there came a sarcastic and light chuckle out of him but when that was done, he was lucky to have air.

“You guys finished with your one-sided fight?” There was a voice that everyone in the room recognized - Shorter, the purple haired Chinese boss was standing right inside the doorway, his arm resting against it. But somehow, even Ash didn’t even see him coming. Eiji was too embarrassed to speak and Ash immediately went back to being a boss for the day. “Yeah, we’re done,” he said as he jumped off the other male, letting him be alone for a minute. “Let’s go get him, yeah?” Shorter and Ash fist bumped before heading out the door, leaving Eiji alone in the room where he just got tickled to death.

What a day this had been...

#banana fish #anime #anime tickling #tickling community #sfw tickles #ler!ash #lee!eiji #fanfic #wowitorturedeiji #ticklish #eiji okumura #ash lynx #asheiji #skip

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fallout-drabbles-n-stuff · 4 years

Note

Hi again! I’ve been thinking about this one a lot, recently. How would romanced companions react to raiders kidnapping sole? I absolutely love your work! I keep checking your page to see if you’ve posted anything lol

(Enjoy! 💖)

Cait:

The very second she realized what happened, all she saw was red. Her anger was all she would allow herself to focus on as she took it upon herself to track your whereabouts down. She was aware it was a dumb decision to go alone...so she brought good ol’, disgruntled, smelly Paladin douche along with her to retrieve you.

He was a decent human shield and a big enough target.

Whenever she was finally reunited with your battered self, the red head crumbled. All that fury that had fueled her up dissipated in the form of a gut wrenching sob as she held you close.

Curie:

She just knew something was horribly wrong. When she came across a note promising your return for a hefty ransom..her heart dropped. How could she get you back?! There wasn’t anyway to get that amount of caps anytime soon...

So, knowing she definitely wasn’t much of a fighter, she employed the help of some very eager minutemen..unable to rest until they carried you all the way back home. As soon as she got you through the door she was examining you for even the mildest of injuries, hugging you

Danse:

It was such a bad idea. He knew it was too, but that didn’t stop him from loading up on ammo and bounding up to the raider’s hideout. Whatever comfort it was, you knew it was him just from the horrendous “clang” of his stomping. Regardless of how outnumbered he was nor how unlikely his chances or survival were, he found a way to tear through anything and anyone that stood in the way of his path to you.

Hell, he wasn’t proud of it but when he ran out of ammo, he simply crushed one raider’s skull without second thought.

The second he got you back home, he crumbled to his knees, laid his head in your lap, and begged for your forgiveness. Lord knows he wouldn’t forgive himself for letting that happen to you.

Deacon:

A piece of him was willing to bet you were giving the raiders complete hell....but despite his better judgement he couldn’t stop himself from racing to your rescue......by himself.

Somehow he was able to do it though, managing to sneak his way in by assuming the typical raider digs. He even had you fooled, allowing you to believe he was another one of those horrible people, escorting you away to “rough you up”. That is until he slipped you out the back door and cut your binds, tearing off his raider helmet before pressing a quick kiss to your lips...which resulted in you punching him due to you not realizing it was him.

Once he made his identity known, you were more than apologetic.

Gage:

Whosoever though this was a good idea had one hell of a storm coming their way. You don’t mess with his Overboss, you just don’t. Even if he wasn’t romantically involved, you bet your ass he’d fight tooth and nail to retrieve you.

That’s thing though. He loves you.

As soon as he figures out who was responsible and their respective leader, he’d rally the other two gangs and attack guns blazing- fiercely destroying anything that was stupid enough to try to stop him. All he felt was rage and he’d make sure to use all of it to absolutely decimate the people that betrayed you both.

Hancock:

You remember how he stabbed a person he knew quite well just for disrespected him and you? Yeah, picture that but 20x worse. You are his happiness. You are his sunshine. If you think that he’d just let that happen, you’re dead wrong.

Just to mess with the raiders, he’d show up with all the caps they demanded...before shooting the first one to approach in the face. After that, things were a blur, some people and close friends assisted him with the whole cleaning out job as he went to you.

Once it was all over and he had you in his arms, he swore to you that this would never happen again.

Macready;

In awful mix of emotions set deep within Mac’s being once he made the discovery. With an almost listless like way about him, Mac would ask Preston or Curie to watch your children, refusing to give an explanation before leaving in the middle of the night- waiting until his kids were asleep and kissing them goodbye. He hoped it wasn’t the last time, but he had to get you back.

Having packed countless rounds of ammunition, he made quick, silent work of your captors from his perch- only revealing himself once he was sure they were all bleeding out on the ground. Once he finally got to you though..oh nothing would stop the tears from spilling despite the joy he felt from knowing he was actually able to save you.

Maxson:

Whatever group of raiders did it were stupid, even for raider standards. Kidnapping a soldier of the brotherhood? Not a good idea. But..kidnapping the sentinel? Extremely bad idea. To top it off, the Elder’s lover? It was suicide.

It didn’t matter if they demanded ransom and promised no harm would befall you, all Arthur could think of was total annihilation. It took less than a day for a whole heavily armed troop to come to your rescue, mowing through the raider’s like they were nothing.

Just as you started to assume he stayed behind, a soldier equipped in unique power armour came bounding your way- whisking you up effortlessly before taking off it’s helmet to reveal the elder himself and his terrified blue eyes.

Nick:

While he wanted so badly to get you back fast, he knew better than to go in hotheaded like. As so, he’d be the only one to give what the raiders demanded- handing over the caps in exchange for his sweet love.

On the walk back he’d do the closest thing he could to crying, draping his coat around your shoulders and holding your hand.

Old Longfellow:

You initial absence didn’t seem to concern him, knowing you- you were just foraging for aster flowers. However when you didn’t come home by sundown he became worried, deciding to investigate until he made the horrifying discovery that you had been abducted.

Swallowing his pride, he’d rally some willing hands to help get you back. Fighting his way through with his fellow islanders with tears in his eyes at the possibility of losing you too.

After he finally got to you, he hid his tears behind a big smile- concealing any sign of distress by holding your head to his chest. It’ll take some time until he’s able to allow you to go foraging without him again.

Piper:

She’d flip her shit. Like for real, Lose. Her. Shit.

She’d just hope that your companions, and ultimately, her friends would assist her. Of course they would. So, as a big assembled brigade- she’d say her farewells to Nat before going off to retrieve you.

As soon as she found you she wrapped her scarf around your neck, putting a hand to your cheek as she looked into your eyes. She’d mutter something about being so scared that she lost you, to which you’d promptly kiss her to prevent her mind from wandering anymore than you knew it already had.

Once it was all over with, she’d suggest all of you to go celebrate a successful “retrieval” by going out for drinks...just to slip away to show you just how much she missed you.

Preston:

Welp, hope the raiders like having angry minutemen busting down their doors. It’s not just Preston they ticked off after all, it the whole minuteman army. So, it’s fair to say he wasn’t too worried- especially after seeing how quick the newly formed army cleaned them out.

However that isn’t to say he wasn’t also terrified, not only would he had lost his General- he would’ve also lost his love. As such, he found you as soon as possible and cried- unashamed of his tears even as you smiled and kissed them away.

Sturges:

The very moment he realized what happened, he ran straight to Preston. This time, he too would be on the forefront of shooting up some raiders. They’ve taken so much from him already, now this? They’re as good as dead.

Once Preston yelled for him, having retrieved you, Sturges ran as fast as his legs could manage to you- not even missing a beat as he took you into a breathtaking embrace, all while promising to never let you leave his sight again.

This was too much.

After this incident he’d practically beg you to retire the whole adventuring thing and settle down with him.

X6-88:

Heh. Fine. Guess those people enjoy death.

He had full confidence in your capabilities buuut, he took this as a personal slight. Within moments of noticing your disappearance, he hunted you down- locating the people dumb enough to steal you from him before doing what he does best.

He slaughtered them with the efficiency and precision of a grim reaper.

Upon finding you, all that scary courser exterior crumbled. He was just happy to be able to find you...unable to stop himself from pulling you into a tight, rare hug.

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peakascum · 4 years

Text

Reunion

First of all, thank you so much for the feedback on my first fic! Second of all, I am still trying to make the masterlist but Ia m new to this so it will take time. In the meantime, I will put a “peakascum” tag on every imagine so you will be able to find every writing under that tag on my profile. Anyway, hope you enjoy this one!

Polly had smoked half a pack of cigarettes since the beginning of the family meeting. She had come in and sat at the most far out corner and stared aimlessly at the floor. Skin pale as ever, but her eyes held a whirlpool of emotions. She had a look of confusion, perhaps terror. A look the boys had only seen twice in their lives. The first time being when she bid them farewell at the train station before the war, the second time being when she learned the fate of her children.

Tommy concluded the meeting, dismissing everyone to go about with their work and stared at her intently. “So are you going to tell me,” he paused to light his cigarette, “or am I gonna have to wait until you reach your breaking point?” Polly looked up at him and stood up, nervously fiddling with her hands. “It’s nothing Tom. Just stress.” She said, barely meeting his eyes. “Polly,” he started, clearing his throat, “we both know how you get when you bottle everything up. Now, I’m already stressed enough dividing everybody's jobs and calculating our next move. If this is about our rivals, you have nothing to worry about, but if-“ she gave him a pointed glance and said, “Oh come off it, Tom. It’s not about that. It’s- it’s silly.” The room stilled for a second. Polly kept staring at the window, building up courage, adjusting the words in her mind as to not sound completely delusional.

“I was at the market buying the essentials. Had to go all the way across town for that new tea that Ada likes- and I swear to God Thomas I am not on pills anymore- but I could've sworn I saw Martha.” She looked up at him, the first time since the beginning of the meeting. They both chuckled at how bizarre the idea sounded. “Martha? Our John’s dead wife Martha?” He had to say it out loud. The tone in his voice acknowledging how ridiculous it sounded. “I told you it was silly.”

But it wasn’t. To them, it did sound as if Polly was back on the self medication journey she went on since almost hanging. That was years ago. Since then, John had died, Michael had come back from America, they had moved up to high society, and had struck up new rivals on various spots in England. Life had changed. Clouds no longer lingered on the streets of Birmingham, everything started to matter a little bit more. They all missed John. Polly would pray for his soul every morning and every night. She would pray for his kids, the ones Esme took, pray they were safer and that somehow she would be able to see them again.

The next family meeting had taken place in the small room at The Garrison. It was a quick one, more so to catch up on the day’s events. Arthur had come in around, whisky glass in hand, stumbling over his words, “So Poll you seeing ghosts now, eh?” He screamed, making the whole room chuckle and look at her expectantly. “That’s enough Arthur. Just an honest mistake.” She said, a grin painting her face, yet it did not reach her eyes. She knew it was silly, but it wouldn't be the first time she had seen the departed.

Finn stood near the door, facing Arthur’s back, laughing and mocking Polly with the rest of them. “I don’t really remember Martha well, but I don’t think you're delusional aunt Poll.” He said in a confident voice. The room kept ignoring his words, busy with roaring laughter and the sound of their aunt’s voice scolding them all. Finn kept his posture and continued, “Besides, thought I heard John’s laugh the other day,” he mumbled. The room quieted for a moment. Finn looked up realizing they heard him and continued, “but it wasn’t, eh? Obviously. I-I’m not Polly, don’t have any of that gypsy crap with me.”

Polly, furiously but steadily, stood up, “First of all,” she said making her way over to Finn, “it is not gypsy crap or gypsy bullshit, do not disrespect your roots.” She said as she smacked him in the head. “Now look at me and tell me what you on about boy.” She grabbed his young face in her hands. “It’s nothing aunt Poll. Just like Martha. It’s nothing. Besides, it was a woman laughing Poll,” he stammered and ripped his face from her grip. Polly stared at him, then at the whole table full of very confused Shelbys.

“I knew it. I can feel it,” she started, earning a deep glare from Tommy.

“Do not mock me. I can feel when the air shifts. I know what I saw.”

“Okay, that’s enough Poll,” said Arthur, no longer laughing.

The Shelbys had not made another sound, looking at each other, wondering who would be the first to speak up. Their aunt’s statement had steadied them into a haunting lullaby, reminding them of the many gypsy traditions that they secretly carried with them. The good omens, the way the wind suddenly stilled into an ominous glare that same morning; and in a drastic turn of events, the way the hairs on the back of young Finn Shelby’s neck stood up at the sound of what he mistook for John’s laugh.

____________________

A week had passed after the eerie conversation at The Garrison. They carried on with their business, with bets and the rival gang that had pestered Tommy for months now. They were closing in around corners of Small Heath, leaving threatening notes on their doorsteps and even going as far as killing a Blinder and leaving him on the betting shop’s entrance. This caused the family to carry trinkets of good luck and repeating gypsy mantras to calm their superstitious beliefs that came with their Romanian blood.

It had all led up to the current position they all found themselves in. Thomas had a gash on his brow, causing blood to adorn his features. His gun pointing at the enemy’s face. The Weston’s were known for their brutality, even worse than a Blinders wrath. Arthur held an already dead man in his arms screaming like a maniac, threatening others who would dare come for them. Finn, Isiah, and Michael incessantly beating and battling the other men, all in a row of punches and blood and gore. A scene so obscene that would have made any person queasy. But these were no ordinary people. They were Shelbys. Polly peaked her head through the small room’s door, enough to see the violence unfold. They had been attacked by surprise at their own pub, and she feared for her nephews lives, more so now than any other time. Never taking her eyes away from the scene, she ferociously prayed for a miracle, a gift, a second chance.

The men grabbed Thomas by his arms, dangling him whilst another pointed a gun to his face. “Mr. Shelby, always have the upper hand,” said one of them with a tantalizing smirk, “but it seems your reign is over and your crown is mine.” The men chuckled and cheered, seeing their enemy half dead in their hands. Tommy looked up and smirked, which turned into a manic laugh, making the Blinders pause their movements. “Brother?” Arthur asked, gulping at Tom’s actions. Tommy looked at them still laughing, “You think you’ll defeat me? Whenever you think you have the upper hand, I will always be one step in front of you,” he paused to spit, and continued.

“It’s my legacy, it’s my family’s legacy. And you have the nerve to barge into my territory and declare war on me?” His smile never leaving his face, blood covering his teeth. All of them looking upon him in confusion.

The doors to The Garrison opened letting in dust and a cold wind meddle its way in. Footsteps echoed through the current silent pub. Arthur dropped the man that he held between his arms. Finn’s eyes flashed a look of confusion, recognizing the presence that made its way into the pub. Polly’s hands shook against her sides, too numb to move them. The footsteps grew louder, yet the pace never changed. Tommy looked at the men as they noticed also and chuckled, “Do you you really think I would have left my pub unsupervised for you lot to take?”

There in the middle of the room stood a group of men led by a girl, a girl that was perhaps younger than Finn. Her dark hair gathered loosely by a ribbon, freckles adorning her face and piercing eyes that matched her posture, determined and hard. Their saving grace. Their hail Mary pass.

“Y/N?” Whispered Arthur.

In a split second the Blinders ducked behind chairs and the other side of the bar. Their guns cocked and immediately erupted in a song of metal and flesh and screams. The girl’s face never changed, her body unbothered. Each and every men dropped to their knees with multiple bullets to their bodies.

The noise suddenly stopped. The Weston’s Leader remained standing, too embarrassed and in shock to move. Y/N made her way over and pointed her gun to his face, “Don’t fuck with the Peaky Blinders.” immediately putting a bullet between his eyes.

“Holy Jesus,” Polly said as she stumbled out of the room, “Y-You look just like her.”

Y/N turned around and smiled at the woman that stood there, pale as snow, as if she’d seen a ghost. “Hello aunt Poll.”

Tommy stood up with the help of a perplexed Arthur. “Who is she?”, Michael asked breaking the tension in the room.

“I don’t think any of you remember me clearly, I was just a girl when I left.” She said, a small smile appearing on her face. “This is Y/N, John’s daughter,” piped Tommy, looking at her tenderly.

“You weren’t delusional Polly, I just couldn't give her cover away.”

Polly made her way over to Y/N and cradled her face her hands. “I knew it,” she breathed out, “I knew it, didn't I? I knew that it wasn't a ghost. You look just like your mother.” Polly breathed out in a shaky voice causing the girl to smile widely.

“I reached out to Tommy. Wanted to be a part of the business, reunite with my family.” She said looking around the room excitedly.

Polly took the girl in her arms, allowing herself to sob freely. The room warmed up with the Shelby’s smiles. It wasn't Martha, It wasn't John, but it was their niece. A living, breathing piece of John’s heart for them to hold and treasure.

#john shelby imagine #john shelby fanfic #thomas shelby imagine #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #finn shelby imagine #Michael Shelby imagine #polly gray imagine #arthur shelby imagine #peakascum #platonic reader #the garrison

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rxmanticdevil · 3 years

Text

One-shot #2 Magicians for Sport, the Aftermath

Characters: Josiah Trelawny, Dutch Van der Linde, briefly: Susan Grimshaw, Charles Smith Rating: PG/PG-13 Spoilers: Through Ch. 3 Words: ~2336 Trigger warnings: Mentions of torture and injuries Shipping: Yes - minor Vanderlawny Summary: Trelawny has just been rescued from the bounty hunters who kidnapped him. Dutch takes it upon himself to clean up the mess that is Trelawny. Explanation for this abomination: I wanted hurt/comfort. I wrote myself hurt/comfort. It’s here if you want to read it :D

~*~*~

He knew he should have been paying closer attention to their path if he ever wanted to recreate it later. The ride had been more an easy trot, a slow lope, than anything quick. But his body ached, his mind empty of all save for one, ever present, thought: I’ve been saved.

There was a point in that whole ordeal that he was completely convinced he was going to die on the cold ground, at the mercy of some halfwit bounty hunters. And there would be people in his life who would be none the wiser: one day he was there, the next – he was not.

But for whatever reason, Arthur and Charles had been there. Whether they had been sent by Dutch to find him, or they had happened on the scene, or they had learned of his disappearance. It didn’t really matter why it happened. What did matter was that he was alive. In pain, entirely disheveled – looking like nothing more than a complete disaster – but he was alive.

“We’re here,” the voice brought him out of his head, and he looked out at the camp. People were walking from one point to another. Talking amongst each other. Enjoying their days. Josiah could only inhale sharp in an attempt to hold back his own emotions at a sight he had believed, if just for a moment, that he would never see again.

Oh, but he was being rather dramatic – wasn’t he? Didn’t half the folk here experience such a situation on the daily themselves? Who was he, who lived an all-things-considered blessed life, to bring attention to his situation?

“Mr. Trelawny?” The sharp, admonishing gasp caught his attention, “Whatever happened to you?”

“Just, ah, a spot of bother my dear Miss Grimshaw,” one by one, he noticed those at camp glancing over. At first a casual look, and then a second quick stare. He thought he noticed young Miss Mary-Beth with her hands over her mouth. He’d have to reassure her he was fine. His voice was low and gravelly, everything spent, “Not a worry, not a worry.”

“Some bounty hunters got a hold of him,” Charles had already dismounted his steed and come around to help Trelawny off his horse. It might be a bit embarrassing, accepting help off one’s horse. But it would be more embarrassing to fall on the ground, and with how weak he felt he was convinced a fall from the horse would certainly kill him. “Wanted him to talk. About Dutch. About us.”

“Did you?” and Trelawny found himself meeting the eyes of Mr. Dutch Van der Linde. The reason he had bit his tongue when his life was on the line.

“No,” he was able to answer with honesty, for once.

“They’re dead now anyway,” Charles was by Trelawny’s side, gingerly handing him and his care over to Susan. The woman giving him her own shoulder to lean on.

“You’re a good friend, Josiah,” Dutch looked over his face, and Trelawny could feel Dutch taking in each injury. The cuts on his nose and under his eye. The bruises on his cheeks. Dark eyes focused on the blood on his shirt and the markings on his neck where he was nearly strangled more than once. “Miss Grimshaw, can you escort Mr. Trelawny to my tent? I don’t want him sleeping on the ground like this. I’ll be by once I talk to Charles about a few things.”

“Of course, this way,” she steered him through the camp and for the first time since he had been in the Van der Linde gang, he avoided the eyes of the other people. Whether it be due to the shame for his appearance, feeling vulnerable being seen in such a state, or uncomfortable about the attention unintentionally bought upon himself, he found moving through camp to be a task in itself.

It was also a bit of a task physically, his legs still wobbly from the abuse and from being bound together for so long. It didn’t take long though until he was in the tent, being laid gently on a bed.

“I’ll be right back, Josiah. I just need to fetch some supplies,” she adjusted him so he was fully on the bed and removed his shoes for his comfort.

“Thank you, my dear,” he felt his body finally relaxing into the sheets on the small bed. His guard dropped – he was safe. However embarrassed he was for how he appeared; Dutch’s camp was a safe place. No one here was going to harm him. Hurt him. Demand answers. His eyelids felt so heavy, and in the next moment, they closed.

“Still with us, Josiah?”

He wasn’t sure how long he had been out when a voice and the sound of a chair being pulled up beside him brought him out of his slumber. He cracked his eyes open, realizing that the tent itself had been closed off from the outside. There was only one person inside with him, “Despite their best efforts, it seems I am, Dutch.”

A cool, wet cloth was pressed against the cut on his cheek, tenderly cleaning the wound. “It seems like they did quite a number on you. Charles said you’re planning on staying with us?” Another cloth was brought to his face as Dutch wiped away the dirt, the grime, the blood that had stained his skin. “I think that’s a good idea. I sent Charles back to your caravan to get your things. Until then….”

The wet cloth went onto to the small end table at the head of the bed, next to a small bowl that contained a couple of more clean rags and water. Dutch reached over to yet another small table and held up a pristine white nightgown, “Hosea volunteered one of his nightshirts. A man like yourself can’t be comfortable in, well, that.”

It was a blunt reminder of his disheveled and dirty clothes. His opulent vest once vibrant and unparalleled in beauty now dulled with dirt, stained with his blood, “No… I can’t say I am.”

“Can you sit up?” Dutch’s motions were similar to Arthur’s – large, careful hands decorated with rings made of valuable metals and jewels guided him up from where he laid. Josiah’s body screamed in pain as he helped to lift himself into a sitting position, and though he tried to hide it, Dutch’s eyes on him told him the man read him like one of Evelyn Miller’s books. “Those sons of bitches are lucky they’re dead.”

The comment caught him off-guard. There was a low anger rolling in Dutch’s voice. It was almost as though he was taking the harm that had befallen Josiah personally. “It appears they may be.”

Josiah could feel the rage in Dutch’s silence as the outlaw leader reached for Josiah’s forearm, picking it up with calculated calm. Dutch was using another wet cloth to wipe the blood and grime away in measured motions, looking over each bruise and remnant of the torture Josiah had endured. It was as though he were caught in a trance, placing one forearm down in exchange for the other.

The gang leader’s hand slid down Josiah’s arm, carefully supporting his wrist as his other hand went to hold his fingers. Dutch’s gaze went to the red chafing from the rope, the red knuckles from his attempts to fight back. Each mark, Josiah realized, was telling Dutch more of the story. His hand left Josiah’s in favor of taking the cloth over the wounded knuckles as he returned to ridding the body of filth. It was almost a marvel in itself. The hands that had ended so many lives were now treating his own life as though it were made of porcelain.

Fingertips brushed against Josiah’s collarbone as his filthy shirt was pulled away to expose more bruising. More cuts. More injuries. Another clean cloth was brought to his skin causing a small shiver.

“Dutch,” Josiah spoke and Dutch stopped his motions, as though awakened from deep meditation. His hand and the cloth were still resting on Josiah’s chest. “You’ve got more important things to tend to, I can handle this.”

“Nonsense. You protected me. I owe you at least this.” Once again, Trelawny found himself stunned into silence. It almost as though Dutch was taking responsibility for everything. Like he felt the cause of the entire ordeal fell on his shoulders. Sure, the bounty hunters had wanted Dutch. But it was Trelawny who spoke so vibrantly of the outlaw, had been so careless in his own poking around that provided the link between himself and the Dutch Van der Linde.

Before Trelawny could question him or alleviate the man’s concerns, however, Dutch stood up, guiding him to do the same. “You can’t lift your arms to get your shirt off, can you?”

Even though he knew the answer, he tried anyway. His arms made it half-way before refusing to move any further – and Josiah found himself looking away in what he could only describe as that same shame from earlier. The one that kept him from looking at those in camp.

“I thought so,” Dutch’s hands went to the opened placket on Trelawny’s ruined white shirt, “Forgive me, for my… uncouth,” his voice pitched up in its signature cracking, "behavior.” And in the next instant, he pulled the shirt apart – ripping down from where the last button had been undone to the bottom of the shirt. The fabric hung limp on Trelawny’s body, leaving him feeling more exposed and vulnerable than he would have had the shirt been removed in its traditional, rightful manner.

But this meant the shirt and the vest could slip right off. And despite the sudden ripping of what was left of his top, Dutch was treating him so carefully. It was though he saw Josiah as some fragile glass that would shatter should he move too quickly. The nightgown came on, fitting him decently and falling well below his knees. Dutch averted his gaze as Trelawny removed the last of his filthy clothes from under the gown.

Was it so obvious how uncomfortable Josiah was at this moment? Being so weak. So unable to perform a trick and vanish as he normally would. He had no control anymore over where he was – being at the mercy of those around him. He wasn’t even sure if it made things better or worse, how tenderly the leader of the Van der Linde gang was caring for him.

At least he felt clean now. The filth from the ordeal scrubbed from his body for the most part, his tattered clothes in a heap on the ground to be disposed of. Dutch’s attention was on him once more, helping to lower him onto the bed, laying him down while Dutch sat in the chair next to him.

“I’m very lucky,” Trelawny finally spoke after his long silence.

But Dutch was distracted again. This time by the bright red marking on Trelawny’s throat. The man’s calloused fingers went to Josiah’s jaw, holding it firm but with care, pushing his chin up with his thumb to get a better look. It was impossible to know what Dutch was thinking, the man’s poker face almost near as good as Josiah’s (when he hadn’t been near beaten to death earlier in the day).

He hadn’t realized how close Dutch’s face had gotten to his own. Almost tantalizing. The hand on his jaw moved to his neck. An act that hours ago had brought fear, but now the touch brought an inexplicable comfort. Perhaps he was foolish, trusting a man like Dutch so completely. Not perhaps. Josiah was plenty a fool. But not when it came to where he put his trust. Dutch’s thumb brushed over the part of his neck that was raw and red. The damaged skin bristled at the touch but Trelawny didn’t want to show that on his face.

And in the next moment he felt lips on his. The wanted man’s body leaned over the fallen magician, the kiss itself firm. Protective. Dominating. And for just this time in their charade together, Josiah let himself accept without competing. He was far too tired to offer anything more than a return of the kiss with approval and light appreciation.

Dutch pulled away in the next moment, “Thank you.”

Josiah wasn’t sure what he was being thanked for. For accepting the kiss? That hardly needed a ‘thank you.’ They had gone back and forth with their trysts before. For not revealing information about him to the bounty hunters? Perhaps. But Dutch should know, the man might not have Josiah’s honesty – but he had his loyalty.

“Get some rest. There will be time for more later,” Dutch’s hand made a last trip up Trelawny’s neck, cupping his injured cheek before moving on to some light grooming of Trelawny’s hair – fixing stray strands that had drifted too far from their rightful place.

He then stood and made his way to the front of his tent.

“Dutch?”

The outlaw worth far more than Trelawny could even imagine stopped in his tracks, giving his full attention to Josiah.

“Please, let sweet Miss Mary-Beth know I will be right as rain in just a day or so. The dear seemed quite concerned. I’d hate for anyone to lose sleep over a fool like me.”

“I’ll let her and everyone know you’ll be okay,” and he reached for the flap at the tent’s entrance, “Glad you’re safe, Josiah. We’d miss you. I’d miss you.”

With that, he slipped out of the tent and Trelawny let himself breathe in deep once again. The breath caused his body to ache but it only served to prove what he had been telling himself since he had gotten to camp: everything may hurt, but he was alive.

His eyes shut and in barely a moment’s time, the cunning magician hobbled by the greed and desires of others had fallen into a deep sleep. As Dutch had said, there would be plenty time for more later.

#{my writing}#red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #josiah trelawny #dutch van der linde #vanderlawny #long post #{one-shots}#{rebloggable}#((One day I will stop writing Trelawny trash #but today is not that day #tomorrow doesn't look good either))#((up next on the drabble list: let's traumatize that poor sonofabitch again))#((maybe. depends))#{queue}

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