#arthur had nasty ass teeth

[saintgoths]

ʀɪᴅᴇ ᴀ ᴄᴏᴡʙᴏʏ

ARTHUR MORGAN, SIMON GHOST RILEY AND JOEL MILLER.

SOME PEOPLE MIGHT WONDER WHAT'S GHOST BRITISH ASS HERE FOR AND AHT! IT'S BASED ON HIS COWBOY SKIN.

THIS IS MY THANK YOU FOR 500+ FOLLOWERS POST

WARNING - NASTY SEX, BREEDING KINK AND P!LINKS

ARTHUR MORGAN

He had been so thick you couldn’t help but bite down on the pillow, this isn’t the first time you had him but whenever Arthur was inside of you, you could feel the way you had stretched to adjust to his size, normally when you had fucked men who were in fact bigger than you it was painful, but Arthur, Arthur knew how to use it, to stir you into a swirl of lustful craziness and break you into a whimpering mess.

As reflex, you had tightened around him, your cunt hot as the friction of his beginning motion began to quicken, and when you felt the arch of his cock slip deeper into you, you couldn’t help but push out a trembling sigh. “Oh fuck!” You had moaned, already overstimulated by his embrace, Arthur continued to rock his hips, focused to aid you to reach your high, he had been keen on your every movement, how you would further your arch whenever the tip of his shaft kissed a soft spot and the way you’d tightly grip the bed sheets when your moans would twist into a higher pitch.

It had always been like this, Arthur would at first be silent when it came to fucking you but as time moved on, he’d become more vocal about how good you felt around him, how tight your sex was and how he only wanted you to himself. Arthur barely showed his possessiveness, in shame you’d make fun of him, but if he was aware of how turned on you’d get whenever you would catch him staring down another suitor or belittle them, unconsciously realising he’d be doing it because he craved you, worshiped you and was a love sick fool.

You tucked your bottom lip behind your teeth as you could feel the pad of his thumb stroke your anus, he knew that always shaped you crazy, how your cunt would become wetter and slippery around his girth and how you’d thoughtlessly hump yourself backwards, greedy for his love and eager to feel his cum fill inside of you. “Like that?” Arthur moaned, his voice deep and throaty, rough like pine cones but lewd like the devil himself. “Like that babygirl?” He’d tease and when you’d nod your head, he would move his other hand to your hair, pulling you closer to him while he continued to move his hips forwards.

“Take me,” he whispered into your ear, your eyes blurry as you could feel tears coat your eyes, he was so big, but felt so good, “Take me,” he’d echo while his other hand would slip to one of your breasts, his palm cupped over it as he would circle the nub of your nipple with his thumb and finger. “That’s it,” he’d sooth as your body shook against his. Your moans embarrassingly soared as your nectar would coat around his length and spill against the bed sheets. “That’s it, good girl, cum for me, good girl, yeah? You’re my good girl,” he’d hum as he would continue to fuck you, your mouth wet with your own saliva as you had attempted to sum up words.

Yet, you had sounded so futile, senseless as he fucked his orgasm into you, his semen so hot and filling you had felt some of it leak down your thighs, but you were rapacious, desiring excessively for more of him that when he pulled himself out, you helped his level his wet and sticky cock to your arse.

REFERENCE

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY

You had lost count on how many times he has made you climaxed under this one showdown, he had just returned back home, impatient but smooth with how he handled you, prior to his return you had sent your boyfriend a plethora of lewd images that had commenced him to fall into his sensual pit, the moment he stepped through the door and closed the exit behind him, he put down his bag and kissed you. Telling you how much he’d take care yet ravage you, and he had always kept his promises.

With his hand underneath your knee, he had continuously rocked his hip forward, with his width had consumed you, you couldn’t help but fall limp within his touch, over-stimulated by the excessive pleasure, you looked at him with watered eyes as you had cried out pleasured wails. “Keep doing that! Keep doing that!” You repeated before he started to moan through your nose you had yelped once you had felt his hand slap against your buttocks.

“Yeah! Oh!” You cried out, beguiled with the hot and dark look that shaded his eyes you had been completely enamoured that he had taken off his mask, revealed everything to you, his body, his scars and the beautiful and comely look he had on his face that had infatuated you every time you took a look at him, you couldn’t believe he was yours, just yours, allowing you to use him for your pleasure as he did to you, he had felt so painfully good you’d whimper whenever you’d feel him slip out of you, dangerously craving for him to fill you up with his cock, there’d be a glint that would briskly sparkle in his eyes once he’d be aware with how much you had wanted him.

“Look at you,” he’d mutter, his heavy voice buried and profound which had set you into another wave of thrill, he had known just the sound of his voice would make you cum and he’d tease you with a comment there and then, but the second he would be set to talking to you while fucking his cock so broad and deep into you, the hearth and wetness of your cunt would profoundly coat his length, making his movements more polished and slick as his cock would begin to throb.

“Taking me like that, you’re such a good girl,” he’d mutter and with your mouth wide open you could feel another crest of orgasm influx and attempt to peak. “You like that? Me fucking you like this, huh?” He’d poke and with a quick nod and eluding words you had gripped your bed sheets, your opening hot as your nectar.

Your eyes tightly screwed shut as you climaxed, agreeing to everything he would say to you. “No one fucked you like this before huh?”

“No! no!” You’d whine, relieved as you would feel his fluids seep into you, his hand that had been under your legs had softened and eventually he pulled himself out of you, his chest heavily moving up and down as he caught his breath fore pressing his lips against your mouth, with a short moan, you had placed your hand against his chest as you returned his embrace, but when you had pulled away, you had looked into his eyes. “Let’s do it again tomorrow.”

“You will be the death of me,” he smiled before he kissed your nose and laid beside you.

REFERENCE

JOEL MILLER

He needed this release, so much pent-up stress and anger he had unconsciously desired to fuck out and you had been there, like a gift for his much tenacious and unyielding force. He had been unsure if you would want him, but the way your eyes looked when you had noticed the hard bulge he had terribly hid beneath his pants, had sent him the green flag, you had actually been the one to make the first move as you had always wanted to fuck him.

He was so big and strong, and you loved the sight of his muscled arms, his muscles arms that had now hung around your waists as you had bounced on his cock, mouth wide open as you had struggled to make noise due to how engulfed you were. You had felt the way his hands had now been placed on your hips as he aided you up and down his length, your sex glazing his cock with its fluids, overwhelmed by how the curve of his cock stroked against your spot, your cunt which had countlessly clenched around him in response to his rugged embrace had commenced you to dig your nails into his muscled chest.

The sounds were so bawdy and erotic, the wet racy noises that were being made by each other’s movements had heated Joel into a further passion, how your breast bounced and how you moved your hips forward as you continuously searched for your orgasm, you were like a bunny in a fever, exposed how much lust you had for him bottled up had moved Joel into an ardent and wistful state, how he had possessively clung onto you as your moans sang into his ears.

“That’s right sweetheart, keep fucking me like that,” he’d groan as he’d screw his eyes shut. “Keep going like that---you feel so good, girl,” he’d whine, his tone gruff and throaty as he could feel himself twitch beneath you, aware how you had moved one of his hands towards your breast, helping him give it a good squeeze before you started to roll your hips, your swift movements compelling Joel into a tranced state as he started to jerk his hips upwards.

He had entered a moment of silence, his mouth opened as he carelessly fucked his cock deep into you, his rough movements had helped you to find your voice again and you squealed due to how heavy and thick he had felt inside of you, how the head of his cock licked your sweet spots thus had sent you into a bubbled trance as you had stopped moving, your figure tense as you had allowed Joel to use your body and milk his cum into you, your eyes rolled backwards as your body had jerked and flinched every second to your own orgasm.

“You good there?” Joel had asked with a smirk and with a brief nod, you had collapsed your body against his.

REFERENCE

#the last of us #joel miller #the last of us 2 #tlou #the last of us two #joel miller x reader #tlou2 #joel miller smut #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan smut #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley smut #ghost simon riley #simon riley ghost #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #arthur morgan x you

[coltermorning]

Wanted: Day Three (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: Away from camp where Arthur can keep a better eye on you, the pair of you argue your differences to pass the time and take advantage of the nearby lake.

Author’s Notes: Part three of this one.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, eventual smut, enemies to lovers

AO3 Link

~

Wanted: Day Three

Word count: 5764

“You keep talking like that and you’ll lose the privilege.”

“You’re awfully threatening for a man who never follows through with them.”

You and Arthur had started the day bright and early with a shouting match over the fact that you had barely gotten any sleep, the colder weather and his hack job of a tie down keeping you from it. You had tried and failed for most of the night to pull free, and now your arms ached nearly as badly as the rest of you.

“Said you’d kill me and you didn’t,” you spat. “Twice. Now you’re threatening to, what, gag me? Keep me quiet? But you won’t. I reckon you got the least nerve out of any bounty hunter I know.”

He was trying hard to keep you from getting under his skin, but this seemed to cross a line. He stood and approached you where you still sat, bound and livid.

“You want me to hurt you?”

His words were low and quiet, intimidating in a way you had never felt from him. You took a breath. “I want you to quit mouthing off and untie me.”

“Oh, I ain’t thought of that. Sure, why don’t I just let you run off back to New Austin while I’m at it?”

You gritted your teeth. “From the ground, you bastard.”

He scoffed, the sound somewhere between a laugh and a dismissal. “Why should I? You ain’t been nothing but a pain in the ass since I ran you out of that basin.”

You didn’t have a good argument for this other than that your back was killing you and you had to relieve yourself. You looked to the lake and had an idea.

“Because I…need a wash.”

He did laugh this time. “You want me to go find a tub while I’m at it, draw you a bath? I ain’t your caretaker. You can sit there and rot for three days for all I care.”

“Please.” You tried your hardest to be sincere in the word.

He regarded your for all of a heartbeat before that snide smile overtook his face. “How’s that taste?”

“Please. I need to relieve myself, and I feel like my muscles are about to snap any second.”

“What did I just say? You’ll have to deal with it. Besides, I ain’t falling for that crap.”

“It’s not crap,” you said, your anger surprising you. You hadn’t felt it take over like this in years.

He nodded, holding your eye as he kept that infuriating smile plastered on his face. “Sure.”

You didn’t have it in you to answer him. To take that bait only for him to deny you again. So you sat instead, taking a long breath and looking out at the lake. The water was probably freezing anyway. And while it would be good means for escape, it would also be good means to get shot. Or drown.

“You know what?” he asked, following your gaze and looking out over the water. “That ain’t such a bad idea. I reckon I’ll have a wash myself.”

You shot him a nasty look, the man radiating pure smugness as he reached for his boot. You watched, unbelieving you had been caught by such an ignorant, arrogant bastard of a man. He stripped his boots, his gear, his coat. All in clear view of you, all while knowing just how much it got under your skin to do so. He took his shirt and pants off too, left in only a union suit that he started to unbutton when he caught your eye.

You realized you’d been watching his hands unbutton the thin fabric and snapped your gaze to his face instead, pure hatred spilling from you.

“It’s okay to look,” he teased. “Probably the most entertainment you’ll get out this way.”

“You’re so full of yourself. It’s embarrassing.”

“Oh, I ain’t got nothing to be embarrassed about sweetheart,” he said as he pulled the union suit from his shoulders. You were about to call him on the nickname until you saw those damned arms of his, how broad-chested he was. He was sculpted in muscle, beautiful bodied, and it only made you madder. It would be so much easier to stand this, to laugh in his face, if he was ugly and marred under all that clothing. But now you could only grit your teeth and look away as he pulled his remaining clothing off.

“Have it your way,” he said on a laugh, the sound of him wading into the water soon reaching you. You knew the lake was as cold as you had guessed when he winced and slowed his progress, his steps further and further apart. After long enough, you finally heard splashing and turned to see him working the lake water over his shoulders, washing the grit from his skin. You let out an annoyed huff of breath and turned away, shifting your body so that your back was to him, trying to swallow your anger and come up with a better plan than this.

For the first time in your life, you were drawing a blank on what to do. Most bounty hunters weren’t as smart, weren’t as stubborn, and didn’t have the resources to keep you tied up so well for so long. You needed to get free if you were going to best this man, and he wasn’t budging on that subject. The only outlet you had was convincing him that his gang members were right and he was wrong for capturing you. But even with that, he seemed to bury his head in the sand and ignore what was right in front of him. Maybe if you made him feel guilty over it, you could get through to him better. Even if it meant giving up in a sense. You decided that was the only way and that you would have to risk the dangers of the lake. As far as strategy went, it was your best option. You just prayed luck would turn in your favor once more, lest you wind up with a hole in your head courtesy of the man at your back.

After a short while, you heard Arthur walk out of the lake and toward you to dress.

“Water’s nice. You should try it.”

You turned and shot him a nasty look only to see that he had barely gotten his union suit back over his hips. What little fabric covered him didn’t leave much to the imagination. And he was annoyingly well endowed. Damn him.

“Careful. You let that mouth of yours go any slacker, you’ll start catching flies.”

You clamped your mouth shut and composed yourself, trying hard to focus on your plan and keep from arguing with him. That was all he wanted. He wanted you to ease his guilt. He wanted you to be defiant enough to make him think he was doing the right thing. No longer.

You let out a long sigh, giving him a minute so that you were sure he was somewhat dressed when you turned to him.

“Why didn’t you kill me? Back in Blackwater?”

His face set with a flat look you couldn’t figure a meaning for. He took a moment to answer, halfway through buttoning his shirt when he spoke. “I considered it.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I only kill people I see as threats.” You thought back to the only time he had shot at you—after you had nearly escaped him back in that canyon.

“So I wasn’t threatening enough for you?”

He smirked. “Threatening, no. Annoying as all hell maybe. But you were hopping away unarmed, still bound up in all that rope, knowing you wouldn’t get anywhere. Why would I kill you when I could catch you just as quick and save myself the bother?”

“Because you said you would.”

This seemed to have the effect you wanted, as he finished with his shirt before responding, frowning all the while. “You wanted me to kill you then? That’s why you did it?”

“No.” The truth was, you hadn’t been thinking at all at the time. He had been marching you straight to your death, and your panic had set in so deep you did the only thing you could do, no matter how futile. You debated keeping this to yourself then remembered what you had to do to get through to him. “You ever…been so scared you would die you’d do anything to get out of it?” You met his eye, and by the way his gaze faltered, you knew you’d hit your mark.

You didn’t expect him to answer, but his voice rose quietly. “Sure.”

You chose your next words carefully. “I had to try. I…want to live.”

To your disappointment, that goddamn smirk overtook his face. “Should have thought of that before you killed all those people. And blew up someone meaner than you, that was your worst mistake.”

You wanted to argue that he wasn’t meaner than you or he would have killed you already. If your roles were reversed, you certainly would have killed him by now. Him and that smart mouth. But you didn’t say this, taking a different course.

“You think I killed those people for fun? I been running for nigh on two years now, all because a well-respected family tried to pin something on me I didn’t do, destroyed my good name, and told everyone around to shoot me on sight. Only I wouldn’t go down so easy. I spent an entire year trying to clear my name, to no avail, and ever since they’ve sent one bounty hunter after another after me. That’s what raised my bounty so high. They just want me silenced now, want me to go away.”

To your surprise, Arthur’s eyebrows raised slightly. “Seems you and me got that in common.”

He held your eye a heartbeat too long. It took everything in you not to smile in triumph, to hold his gaze with a hard look of your own instead. You were finally getting somewhere.

“Anyway,” he said, waving the moment away like it was nothing. He picked up his gun belt and fastened it, brought his satchel around him. “I’m gonna go find something to eat. Don’t wait up.”

You scoffed, feeling your shoulders slump on their own accord.

Arthur made for his horse and pulled a gun out of his scabbard that you recognized. “Hey!”

He turned to you with a grin. “What, you like it?” He was holding your rifle in his hands, the tic marks you had carved into its side plain as day from where you sat. “I usually don’t take a man’s gun until after he’s dead, but I like this one too much to wait that long.”

You hated him then. More than anything. You despised him for the way he talked about handing you over to your own death like it was nothing. You vowed then and there if you got free, you would kill him. Brutally.

You didn’t give Arthur the satisfaction of some lightweight insult and instead stayed quiet as he retreated into the nearby woods with a grim laugh, your eyes following him all the while. When he was out of your line of sight, you tried again to free yourself. This time, you sawed the ropes at your wrists against the one tied to the stake, back and forth, hoping they would tear themselves apart with the friction. After what had to be five minutes of doing this, you gave up. He had tied you up so tightly there wasn’t room enough to move the ropes against each other properly. You stilled and decided to save your energy. You would need it if your last resort came to fruition.

Not long after, Arthur approached from the bank to your left with a beaver hanging over his shoulder. You knew your rifle was too powerful for such an animal but kept your mouth firmly shut about it.

“Soup’s on,” he said, throwing the beaver at your feet. He returned your gun to his saddle then proceeded to skin the animal, setting some of the meat to cook above the fire. Your mouth watered at the sound of it sizzling. But again, you didn’t say anything as he worked. And you remained quiet until finally, he shocked you by walking to your back and cutting clean through the rope at your hands.

“Since you seemed to remember your manners,” he taunted, circling you. “Plus, I ain’t feeding you again. You can get it yourself. Oh, and you try anything, and I put a bullet through you. That ain’t a threat, it’s a promise. You clear on that?”

You nodded, rubbing the skin at your wrists, bending forward so your back got a break from sitting straight so long. You ate your fill and savored every bite, not having had anything as good for days. You considered escape all the while. If you found a way to incapacitate Arthur long enough, you could cut through the rope at your feet with the knife at his hip. You would kill him with it too. You had to now—it was an urge not only formed from hatred but from knowing he would pursue you to the ends of the earth if you didn’t. You wondered whether his precious gang would come after you for killing one of their own. They certainly seemed close enough to hold that sort of a grudge. You shook the thought away when Arthur tossed you a canteen, like he would pull the words right from your mind if you didn’t stop thinking about them. You looked to him in question.

“I won’t offer again,” he said, nodding to the canteen. You hadn’t seen him drink from it and were somewhat suspicious of it but raised it to your lips anyway. If he wanted to poison you after all this time, he was an even bigger fool than you thought.

When the water hit your tongue, you nearly moaned. It was the only thing you had had to quench your thirst besides Charles’ kindness back in that camp, and your mouth was dry as a bone because of it. You chugged it down, nearly draining the whole thing before Arthur said, “Easy,” and came and snatched the canteen out of your hands. You shot him daggers for it but again didn’t speak. He chuckled. “Don’t take much to make a person compliant, you know.” He walked around the fire to face you, his hand resting on the gun at his hip as he drank. “For some, it’s water. Or food. But for you, it seems to be hope.” Your gaze narrowed. “I control your hope, I control you. Whatever’s left of it.”

He wasn’t wrong. And it scared you he had read you so well. It wasn’t hard to guess at, but if he knew you still had some kind of hope left, then he knew you were still planning to get out of this. And that lowered your chances of doing so significantly.

“Tell you what,” he said, taking his gun out of its holster and tossing the canteen to his feet, the thing giving an empty clunking sound when it hit the dirt. “I’ve decided to be kind today. I can at least give you one last good day.” He made sure his gun was loaded, spinning the cylinder and clicking it back into place. “We can play a little game of sorts while we’re at it.” He leveled you with a satisfied smirk, waiting for you to ask him about his grand idea.

You sighed in annoyance. “What game?”

“I’ll let you go for a swim if you want. But the second you go under, I start shooting. And I gotta warn you, I don’t miss.” His smirk had turned into a flash of teeth, his grin making you madder than the game he proposed. There went your last chance at escape. You were a strong swimmer and may have still stood a chance, but was that something you wanted to risk? “What do you say?”

Your eyes met his and you nodded. “Sure. But no games. I just want a wash, that’s it.”

He shrugged. “Have it your way. But I would have preferred the challenge.”

You rolled your eyes and put your hands on the ground, pushing yourself up. You looked to him, expecting him to cut the rope at your feet. He just nodded toward the lake, neglecting to do anything of the sort. You refrained from saying the cutting words on your tongue and shuffled your feet, making slow progress toward the lakeshore. To your annoyance, Arthur followed. Once you got to the water and debated whether to shed any of your clothes or not, he rounded you.

“I ain’t taking no chances with you,” he said, making a show of holstering his gun but leaving it visible. He then reached for the lapels of your coat.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you said, leaning back.

He met your eyes, and instead of anger, you found a knowing satisfaction lingering in his gaze. “You want to freeze to death when night falls because you were too stubborn to shed your clothes?”

“It ain’t about the clothes,” you snapped. “It’s about you taking them off.”

He smiled then. “Well in that case, I’m definitely doing it.”

He reached for you once more and you smacked his hand away. For the life of you, you couldn’t understand why that made his smile grow wider. Quicker than you could stop him, he moved to your back and trapped your arms against your sides by wrapping his own around you. “I’ll tie you up again and let you drown out there, mark my words.” When you relaxed enough to show that, as much as you hated him for it, you would let him get this over with so that you could keep your hands free and get in the lake already, he slowly released you. “Good girl,” he purred in your ear. You debated rounding and punching him straight in the nose for it. But you held your temper down for the hundredth time and let him be.

He brought his hands to your coat, slowly pulling it away, and something about the feeling made you snap. You could barely shift your weight to do something about it before he had his hand around your throat and trapped you against his chest, speaking lowly in your ear. “Behave.”

You hated yourself for it, but you fought off a shiver at the word. Something about his voice, the demanding way he said it, the feel of his strong chest at your back…you didn’t want to admit what it did to you. Didn’t even want to think about it. You stood stock still and let the feeling pass instead, waiting for him to let go of you. He reluctantly did so and went back to undressing you without a word—something you thought was odd, considering it was the perfect moment to say something stupid like he normally did. But you didn’t linger on that thought for long, as the feeling of needing to get out from under his hands took hold once more. You fought it and let him be, solely for the fact that you needed to get in the lake and make up your mind about whether or not to run.

Arthur pulled your coat from your arms, rounded you and unbuttoned your shirt. He untucked it, meeting your eye with an annoying smugness when the action pulled your hips toward him.

“Can you move quicker than this?” you snapped.

“Am I bothering you?”

“Always,” you said under your breath, but he caught it.

“You better think about being kinder to me. I don’t have to allow any of this, you know.”

“Oh how terrible it must be,” you said flatly. “To have to submit yourself to undressing a woman. I’m just putting you out, aren’t I?”

“Really, you are. I’m being awful lenient toward someone I plan on seeing swing in a few days.”

At the mention of that, you clamped your mouth shut once more. Your anger got the better of you, and you decided then and there to wait for a better opportunity to escape so that you could take him down in the process. You considered slapping him silly too, but you needed to keep your hands free. You fought down the urge.

Arthur chuckled as he unsheathed his knife, waving it at you. “You try anything, and I gut you.”

You looked away from him, toward the lake instead as he crouched and cut the rope at your feet. The need to kick him in the face was so hard to tamp down on that you clenched your fists to have something to do with all that restless energy. Arthur moved to the buttons on your pants before pulling them down your legs slowly, purposely trying to get a rise out of you. It took everything in you not to give in, in violence or in words.

He finally stepped away and looked at you with a surprising amount of anger. You didn’t know what that look was for but didn’t care.

“You do the rest,” he said, pulling his gun out again.

You understood then—he wasn’t going to pull your boots off your feet like some groveling maid. That would be bordering on selfless, something that was beneath him. You rolled your eyes and took your boots off, leaving behind nothing but your chemise and a jittery anticipation for the cold bite of the water.

~

He should not have done this. He had made a grave mistake. Arthur was already warring with himself over whether or not you deserved to live, and this only made things ten times worse. He had been letting you swim over his own indecision, then undressing you to get under your skin, but it had had the opposite effect. He had pulled you into him earlier meaning to threaten you but found that he couldn’t get the words out, the only thing coming to him a demand to behave while trying desperately to hide what his voice was betraying. And now, he could barely get your clothes off of you before needing to step away, making you finish the job because he couldn’t take his mind off of his hands on your body. What the hell was wrong with him?

He circled back around to the fire, needing to clear his head and get his eyes off of you for a moment. It was a ridiculously foolish thing to do considering he had cut you loose, but he couldn’t help it. He would do something much more foolish if he didn’t.

He walked to the far side of the fire so that he faced the lake but didn’t look up as he heard you begin to wade into the water. Why was he acting this way? He knew he couldn’t let go of the disagreements of the gang concerning you, but it was more than that. It was the thought that after all you had told him about your past, you weren’t much different than him. In fact, you probably deserved a killing even less than he did. You would have fit right in with his gang except that you probably wouldn’t have even agreed to that, being too righteous to do such a thing. So not only were you innocent and scorned, but he was holding a good person hostage, playing right into the hand of the very people he had been brought up to hate. Where did that leave him?

He knew the obvious answer was to let you go, and he was seriously considering it. But all his pitiful attempts at riling you—not to mention the harsh way he had treated you the past few days—would be enough to anger anyone to violence. Especially someone as deadly as you. So if he did let you go, would you try to kill him for it? He wouldn’t hesitate to defend himself if you did and would be willing to bet you’d wind up dead at his hand. Then he would feel even more guilt over going after you at all. Maybe he could threaten you into leaving, acting angry enough for you to think you got off easy and take the rare opportunity. In fact, that was beginning to look like his best option when Arthur heard a splash of water loud enough to make him snap to attention.

Instead of trying to escape, you were doing just as he said to do—standing belly deep in the water and washing, nothing more. What’s worse, you had stripped your chemise off too, and he watched your bare back a moment too long before looking away in shame. He couldn’t tell if his sudden attraction to you was formed from guilt or from the realization that you weren’t much different from any of the women he ran with. You were better, actually. And he stamped down on that thought quickly, so as not to cloud his judgement further.

He let you stay in the water as long as you wanted, looking up occasionally to make sure you hadn’t tried to run, not knowing what he would do if you did. He finally decided he would make his decision about what to do with you tomorrow, trying his best to keep up the same threatening act he’d used on you so far to keep you from noticing he was at war with himself over it. That made him calm some, and he took a long breath and vowed to make the rest of the day a boring, eventless one so that he wouldn’t have to think about the mistakes he had made concerning you for another second.

Arthur soon realized he had a problem—you were naked, and you would have to walk back out of that lake straight at him. He knew in order for you not to notice anything was amiss, he had to act smug about it. He had to look you over with a grin and pretend like his heart wasn’t racing when he did. He hoped with all his might that he could do so convincingly. He didn’t have it in him to argue if you called his bluff. Not with all the guilt flooding him.

Soon enough, he did exactly as he should have, sporting a lazy grin when you began walking out of the water. He never took his eyes off of you, partially to convince you, mainly because he couldn’t. You were such a sight that his breath caught. He wished then he had never let you get in that lake—he wouldn’t be able to erase the memory of you all bare for the rest of his days.

He cleared his throat before speaking to make sure his voice didn’t shoot too low. “You gonna tie yourself back up for me or make me do it?”

You shot him a nasty look, beginning to redress. He watched your every movement as you did, gripping the gun still in his hand so tightly it hurt.

“I…thanks, I guess,” you said softly, but he didn’t miss the hatred in your voice.

Once you had your chemise back on and he could breathe properly, he spoke. “I didn’t know any better, and I’d think you’re trying to butter me up.” He stepped around the fire toward you. “To appeal to my…better nature.”

“I know better than that,” you spat. “You don’t have one of those.”

He chuckled. “Maybe not.” There was more truth to that statement than you could ever know.

Once you were fully dressed, you glared at him and stood stock still, leaving the cut up ropes at your feet. He got the message and kept his gun at his side as he approached, making you eye the weapon. Little did you know, he didn’t have it in him to hurt you with it. Not anymore.

He fished more rope out of his satchel and stepped behind you, tying your hands first. He was shocked you let him do it without a fight and was reminded of your silence when he had taken you from camp. Like you wanted him to do it, like you had bigger plans of your own. He had the feeling you were constantly weighing his every move, deciding what would benefit you best in an attempt to escape. He was thinking again that you were smarter than he cared for when he finished with the ropes and stepped away. You hobbled over and sat by the fire without a word, refusing to look at him. That was all right by him—he didn’t have to think about you quite so much if you weren’t nagging him like you usually did.

The rest of the day passed achingly slowly, and Arthur debated tying you to something and getting away for a while. He didn’t though, not wanting to risk you escaping and sneaking up on him. If it weren’t for the threat you posed, he would have gladly done it and prayed you were gone when he returned, nothing but a pile of empty ropes. It would certainly be easier on him.

He fed you again in the afternoon, warring with himself over doing so. You had eyed him with suspicion, and he knew it was only a matter of time before you called him out on treating you with such mercy. To keep you from doing just that, he tied you to a nearby tree when darkness fell, retreating to his tent without a word as you spat insult after insult at him for leaving you out in the cold. It was noticeably colder than the night before, and he figured it would send the message that nothing was amiss better than anything. You had a coat besides. You would be fine until he figured out what to do with you when morning came.

Arthur drifted off in the early evening and was awoken hours later by wind so strong it made the trees shake around him. He stuck his head out of the tent to see you sitting where he left you, still awake.

“It’ll rain soon,” you shouted over the roar of the wind. “Gonna make me sleep out here in it?”

It was all he could do not to answer you, or worse, to give in. He gritted his teeth and cursed himself as he closed his tent once more, inside and away from the weather, knowing he was damning himself every second he ignored you. So be it. He still had hours until he needed to make a decision.

~

The bastard had shut you out. You felt the first few raindrops fall cold and thick, their impact with your skin making you shiver. One slid down your back and made you pull at your ropes to change positions, not wanting to feel that iciness again. Then, like that had only been a taste, the heavens seemed to open up, the giant maw of the sky pouring freezing rain down so thick you started to shake uncontrollably. You reined in your tears, knowing how unhelpful that would be.

To your complete surprise, not even a minute had passed when you saw a flash of canvas—Arthur had stepped out of his tent and was marching toward you. Without a word, he rounded the tree and cut you away from it, not untying you but picking you up in his arms. He carried you to his tent, your mouth shut in total shock at his act. It was possible he only did it to keep you from freezing to death, but you couldn’t deny it seemed somewhat caring.

He ducked in and set you on the far left, leaving you tied as he laid down against the opposite wall, turning his back to you. That wasn’t very smart of him, but you were thankful besides. The tent wasn’t exactly warm, and water still dripped in in some places, but it was much better than sitting outside in the rain. The constant downpour was so loud it was even a bit relaxing now. You debated thanking him but didn’t, thinking that may be pushing your luck. You did, however, turn to look at the gun belt he wore. His blade and gun were missing, probably on his other side. You cursed your lot and turned back over, mad at him all over again. It didn’t make any sense. Why was he taking such care to keep you alive only to have you killed in three days time? Why was he suddenly setting you free to wash, feeding you, letting you sleep in his tent? The answer to that hit you like a train—all this wordless kindness started when you had taken your clothes off. There was only one logical explanation for that: this man wanted you. He was lying as far away as he could so as not to touch your rain-soaked body. He probably hated himself for it too, telling himself this would all be over soon, that the temptation would pass when he turned you in. But still, there was enough feeling there for him to drag you in here in the first place. That, you could work with.

You fumbled with your tied feet and got them under you enough to turn over, facing him. You scooted closer until you touched him, your body lined against his, making him flinch.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m freezing. You’re warm.”

“Get off of me before I throw you back outside. You’re wet.”

You nuzzled into him tighter, curling into his back, wondering if you could make him give in.

“Quit,” he snarled, sitting up. He shoved you away and took the bedroll out from under you, throwing it over you before laying back down with his back turned once more. Again, caring. But not enough to free you, not enough to convince him that what he was doing was wrong.

You evaded sleep and came up with a better plan, knowing you had hours to enact such a thing and the perfect setup—close quarters. You smiled. You would have him cutting through your bounds in no time.

_________

Part four is here.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #fanfic #writing

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Your character profiles always blow me away. I like The part about Brighid going to therapy bc that whole family desperately needs it let’s be real. Do you think that there’s any of them that are stubborn at first and/or would downright refuse to go?

Thank you! Honestly, she and Alasdair are probably the weakest ones; that's why they went before Arthur and Rhys so I'm glad to hear it.

As for therapy: honestly, all of them! All of them were extremely paranoid and reluctant if they went at all. All nations fear institutionalization, especially as the asylum movement hit some wicked nasty highs in the 19th century. Brighid has always been very wary of authorities, especially the male anglo elite that dominated her brother's regime, but as therapy became largely feminized work in the 1990s and there were private practice options, she got a little more comfortable. And she wanted better for her people, her country and herself, which was very much reflected in her want to go to therapy, even if it's only sporadic.

For the rest of them, after Zee was born, Arthur became far more aware of the implications of her sex (insanity was a diagnosis applied nearly 3 times as often to women than men in particular times and places and modern ratios aren't tons better) he emphasized personal emotional control and privacy and closed doors. Smash all the emotions down and never let people see what they were. It hit some extremes in the 19th and 20th centuries that even Alfred's early upbringing didn't have. So none of them were going willingly. Even Zee and Alasdair, with a lot of formal education and medical background, didn't trust psychology. Freud was full of shit!

So that begs the question. How do any of them end up in therapy? Well, I think Matt landed his ass there first. He's the least effective at smashing down his emotions when in crisis. He won't verbalize, just like Arthur taught him, but he will go fucking nuts. He'll drop his humanity at the edge of the forest. Canada largely falls apart in the 70s, 80s and into the mid-90s, his ties to Britain are weak, and Alfred isn't paying any attention; he's more alone than ever. Hikers report a cryptid in the woods. Carcasses start appearing in clearings with human teeth marks and specific organs with key nutrient profiles missing. Matt hasn't had a human thought in weeks. No one is coming to get him. So he either eventually drags himself out or the forest service gets him down with a solid half dozen moose tranqs, and he ends up in the nearest ER with 6 kinds of tick bourne diseases and clinically nuts. He bails himself out without getting locked up, but when he's home, he's shaken and a little terrified. The boy has to start feeling his emotions, or he will lose any grip on humanity. Desperate and isolated, he ended up in therapy and has been there ever at least periodically ever since. And I think as his behaviour changed and therapy became less stigmatized, his family slowly joined him.

#ever been so reluctant to burden your loved ones you ended up in therapy? #thats matt lmaooo #matthew || my country is winter #Brighid || An Bearna Bhaoil #the ask box || probis pateo #meatsack mechanics || the sociology and biology of nations

[queenxxxsupreme]

Aftermath (Arthur Morgan x f!reader)

A/N: Here is my masterlist and here is the link to go to if you’d like to be on any of my taglists! My latest rdr2 fic was a Charles fluffy piece called The Chase if you want to check it out :)

Warnings: mentions of falling off a train, hurt reader, descriptions  of wounds and blood, but mostly fluffiness

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: After a heist ends badly, Arthur cleans you up and chastises you for not being more careful. 

***

Your horse came to a stop in front of the hitch post just outside of camp. You paused for a moment to breathe now that you were safe. 

Your heart was still racing from the events of earlier and your hands gripped your horse’s reins so tightly that your knuckles hurt. But that pain was nothing compared to the rest of your body. 

“Need a hand, Y/N?” Lenny asked, tying his horse up and moving towards you. 

“Get me down before Arthur-,” You stopped, the sound of hooves pounding against the earth making your stomach clench up. You knew it was him. 

Lenny helped you down from your horse, catching you as you slipped down from the saddle. You tried to put weight on your left leg, but the pain in your ankle was too much. You nearly collapsed. 

“Easy there, Y/N.” Lenny kept his arm around you. 

Your eyes caught sight of Arthur and John coming into camp. 

“Go, Lenny.” You urged, letting him go and giving him a push away from you. 

“Are you sure, Y/N? You can’t even stand on your own.”

“I’ll be fine, Lenny.” You assured him, leaning against the hitch post for support. “He’s angry and I don’t want him yellin’ at you.”

“Tie ‘er up.” You heard Arthur tell John, no doubt talking about his horse. You couldn’t bring yourself to look in the direction of his voice. 

You took a deep breath and started to make your way across camp to yours and Arthur’s tent. You gritted your teeth together. Your nails dug into your palms from how tightly your fingers were curled up. But you pushed through the pain and kept going. You just needed to make it to the tent before Arthur could make a scene in front of everyone. 

“Y/N!” Susan gasped. “What in the hell happened to you, girl?”

You wanted to shake it off, to tell her you were fine, but you knew if you opened your mouth you’d make some sort of pained sound, something that would alert a certain outlaw that you were more injured than you let on. 

“Don’t let her walk away from you, Mrs. Grimshaw.” Arthur spoke, his voice deep and devoid of the usual teasing tone he had when he spoke towards you. 

“What happened, Arthur?” Hosea moved towards you both, wanting to make sure you were okay. 

You shook your head, still hastily walking in the direction of the tent.

“Y/N!”

You didn’t acknowledge Arthur. 

“Don’t you walk away from me, woman!”

You were so close to the tent, maybe another six steps and then you’d be able to—

A large hand grabbed hold of your arm and he pulled you around to face him. You lost your balance, stepping on to your left leg. You cried out in pain and your knee buckled. 

Arthur caught you, one of his arms wrapping around your torso while the other grabbed your hip. 

“Let me go, Arthur!” You pushed against him, your hands flat against his chest as you tried to put as much space between yourself and him as possible. 

“Don’t be fucking stupid, Y/N. Ya got a busted ankle. Shouldn’t be walkin’ on it.”

“I can handle it my-damn-self!” You protested, still pushing against him. You tried to pry his hands away from you, to break his firm grip on you by grabbing his fingers and pulling away but he wasn’t letting go. 

“Quit being so goddamned stubborn, woman.” Arthur growled through clenched teeth. “Ya just fell off a fuckin’ movin’ train! Stop tryin’ to act so tough!”

“Get your hands off of me, Arthur Morgan!”

“Enough!” Dutch boomed, sending a wave of silence across the whole camp. It was only then that you realized everyone was watching you look like a fool. 

Arthur released you. The second he did, your weight was naturally distributed to both of your legs. You winced and lost your balance, using a crate by John and Abigail’s tent for support. 

Arthur flinched as if he’d catch you, but you caught yourself before he could come to the rescue. 

“Y/N, are you okay?” Dutch asked, a furrow in his brow. 

“M’fine.” You forced through gritted teeth. “Wish people would stop askin’ me that.”

“Looks like you got into a bad fight at the saloon and lost.” Micah commented. 

“I’ll fucking show you a bad fight, you fucking inbreed-,”

“You better watch your mouth-,”

“I might be torn to hell but I will beat your ass into the ground-,”

“Cool it, both of you!” John intervened, stepping in front of Micah. 

“You can barely stand on your own, and you’re covered in blood.” Dutch said.  

“S’not my own.” You muttered, but he didn’t bother to listen to you. “Least I don’t think it is.”

“We don’t need you dyin’ off from an infected wound, Y/N. If you won’t let Arthur help you patch yourself up, have one of the girls do it.”

You nodded, locking your jaw tightly. 

Hosea shooed everyone away, knowing very well you’d pick Arthur. You were thankful that he’d give you guys some privacy. It was hard when the only walls you had in camp were made of canvas. 

“Are ya gonna stop bein’ a stubborn ass so I can help you?” Arthur asked. 

You nodded, keeping your eyes down. 

He moved towards you, carefully scooping you up bridal style. You winced, eyes squeezing shut. The way you were moved created a sharp pain in your ribs. 

Arthur took you to your shared tent and sat you down on the cot. 

“Start taking off your clothes.” He moved away from you and began to unravel the sides of the tent to give you privacy. 

Your hands were too heavy. Your muscles ached. Even the thought of moving brought on pain. You knew very well you wouldn’t be able to undress by yourself. 

Arthur glanced over his shoulder to look at you and saw that you were just staring at the picture of his mother he had framed on the chest next to the cot. 

“Pumpkin?”

“Hm?” You didn’t tear your eyes away from the picture. He could see it in your eyes. You weren’t really there with him. You were in your head. Arthur let out a gentle sigh, rubbing the side of his head, and moved to kneel down in front of you. The movement caught your attention, drawing your eyes to him. 

You took in a little breath, straightening your posture as your eyes focused on him. 

“M’gonna go get some things to clean you up with. Get some of your clothes off so I can see what we gotta deal with okay?” His voice, though deep and rumbly, was sweet and gentle. “Maybe put on your little gown, okay? That way we can see everything without you bein’ so uncovered.”

You said nothing, but you kept your eyes on him, on his lips more specifically. He wasn’t sure if you were actually getting everything he was saying, or if you were still zoned out. 

“Can you do that for me, pumpkin?”

You nodded your head a little. 

He rubbed the outside of your thigh before standing up and leaving the tent. 

You watched him go and for some reason seeing him leave made your heart beat harder and faster. Tears stung your eyes and you quickly brought your hand up to wipe them away. 

The events of earlier that day flashed through your head.

It was supposed to be an easy train robbery. Dutch and Hosea had planned it out with Arthur taking the lead. You joined him with Lenny, John, Javier, and Sean. 

Everything went smoothly until another group of eight men on horses showed up with plans to rob the train themselves. And as luck would have it, you used to run with one of the men. He was anything but a nice guy and definitely not someone you wanted to run into during a heist. 

When Arthur returned to the tent, he found you sitting on the cot hunched forward with your head in your hands. You weren’t changed out of your clothes and it appeared that you were crying. 

He placed the bowl of warm water down on the chest by the cot and put the other supplies in his arms down as well. 

He knelt down in front of you, large hands wrapping around your wrists to pull your hands from your face. Your cheeks were stained with tears and your eyes were red. 

“Are you cryin’ cause I was yellin’ at ya?”

You shook your head. 

“Are you hurtin’?”

You nodded. 

“Where at, pumpkin?”

“Everywhere, Arthur.” You cried quietly. “I-I’m so-sorry.”

“Don’t start that now.” He shook his head. “Won’t do you any good to start apologizin’ while you’re upset like this. It’ll just make ya even more upset. Don’t want ya makin’ yourself sick. Now let’s get you outta these clothes.”

“I-I can’t-Arthur, I’m just-,” You couldn’t seem to form sentences even though you knew what you wanted to say. The adrenaline had worn off and you were exhausted. You just wanted to sleep, but you knew Arthur wouldn’t let you do that just yet. 

“S’alright, pumpkin. I’ll help ya.” He reached up and began to unbutton your shirt. 

You fell silent, sniffling every now and then. 

Once your shirt was unbuttoned, he carefully pulled it off of your shoulders. 

“Shit, Y/N.” Arthur cursed under his breath. With your shirt gone, the bruising on your arms and chest could now be seen. 

There were hand-shaped bruises along your upper arms and a few cuts on the back of your right forearm. Your chest had a long bruise across it too. It was an odd pattern and Arthur couldn’t figure out quite what it was. 

“I-I didn’t….” Arthur reached out to tentatively trace his fingers over the bruising on your bicep. “Did I….?”

“No.” Your voice was raspy. “That’s not from you. There was a man on the train. He caught me off guard. He’s the one who gave me a busted face.”

Arthur pressed his lips together in a firm line. You could see the anger festering behind his eyes. His large hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing across the corner of your cracked lips. You winced a little. He apologized softly. 

“What about the one on your chest?”

“There was another feller, he used a metal bar to clothes line me.”

He pulled his hand from your face, eyes lingering on the nasty bruise on your chest. 

“The second I got my footing, I put a knife between his ribs.” 

“That’s my girl.” He praised, making your heart race. 

Arthur reached around you to find the strings to your corset. With one effortless tug, the corset loosened and you took a breath. 

“I know you’re happy to be outta that.” Arthur tossed the corset to the foot of the cot. “Ya think you could stand so we can get your jeans offa ya?”

“I can stand on my right, but not my left.”

“I’ll be on your left. You lean against me. How about that?”

You nodded. Arthur stood up and helped you to your feet. You slipped an arm around his shoulders, grabbing a fistful of his jacket to brace yourself. He put an arm around you too. 

“How am I supposed to get my jeans off when I got one arm around you and you got one arm around me?” You asked him. 

He paused for a moment and you watched as he thought about it. 

“Well, I gotta hand and you gotta hand. Why don’t we use ‘em both?” He suggested. 

You giggled. 

It took some effort, but the two of you worked together to unbutton your jeans and get them down. 

Arthur nearly had a heart attack when he saw the cut on your thigh. How did he not see it before? 

“Jesus Christ, Y/N.”

“M’fine, Arthur.”

He got you into your nightgown and then sat you back down on the bed. 

He started with the thigh wound, cleaning the dried blood and then wrapping a bandage around your leg. From there, he looked down at your ankle. A bruise had already formed and around the joint was swollen. 

He sighed out, then turned his attention to the bowl of warm water. He dipped the clean rag into the water and rung it out. His eyes flickered up to your face. He paused for a moment. 

Your nose had been bleeding but now the blood was smeared across your cheek, dried. Bruising trailed from underneath your eye down to your cheekbone where a cut was from a fist. Your lips were busted and split open. The corners of your eyes were black and blue. Your nose didn’t look broken, so that was good. 

He let out another sigh. You knew he was trying to keep his emotions at bay. 

“I…. Arthur, m’sorry.” You whispered, your voice breaking from how quiet you were. 

He shook his head. His jaw ticked as the muscle tightened. He was gritting his teeth together. 

“How could you be so stupid, Y/N? Told you to wait for Javier or John. I knew there were men coming but you didn’t listen.”

“You would’ve done the same.”

“But I wouldn’t’a been thrown from the goddamned train.”

“You don’t know that.” You mumbled under your breath. 

Arthur took hold of your chin, turning your head so you had no choice but to look at him. 

“Don’t get that way with me, pumpkin.” He started to wipe blood from under your nose. “You could’ve died today. I…. I could’ve lost ya.”

You fell silent. 

He cleaned the blood from your face, using soft, gentle brushes with the rough rag. 

“Arthur? Y/N?” Mary Beth spoke from outside of the tent.

“It’s alright, Mary Beth.” Arthur dipped the rag into the water. “You can step in.”

You looked to him then down at his chest. 

“Just wanted to bring Y/N some supper. Thought maybe she’d be hungry.” Her eyes found you and she gasped softly. “Oh, Y/N. You….” She trailed off. 

“I’m okay.” You assured her, offering her a little smile.

“Thank you, Mary Beth.” Arthur took the bowl of soup from her and placed it down on the chest by the cot. 

“Is there anything I can do for you?” She asked softly.

“Get me some fresh water in this bowl please, would ya?” Arthur asked her. 

“Of course.”

As she slipped out of the tent, Arthur returned his attention to you. 

“The man who threw me over….” You started, but trailed off, unable to finish. 

“I’m gonna find him and kill ‘em.”

“No, Arthur.” Your eyes widened as you looked up at Arthur. “Please. You-You have to promise me never-to never go after him. I’m-I’m fine. Just a little beat up is all.”

Arthur furrowed his brows together. 

“Do you…. You know that feller, don’t you?”

“Used to run with him.” You answered quietly. “He’s not someone you play with, Arthur. He’s worse than Micah.” 

Arthur sighed through his nose. 

“And you didn’t think to tell me back there that you knew him?”

“It wasn’t really high on my list when we had fellers shootin’ at us, Arthur.”

He rubbed his brow.

“I know you’re mad at me.”

“M’not mad at ya, pumpkin. Just…. I was scared that I was gonna lose you.” 

You turned your head away from him but he wouldn’t let you look away for very long. With two fingers beneath your chin, he turned your head back to him. 

“When I saw you go over the side of that train, I-I fuckin’ lost it. Nearly beat the piss outta poor Lenny ‘cause he was in my way. Couldn’t get to you fast enough.” Arthur shook his head. He brushed a tear from your cheek. “When we finally stopped the train and I found you….” He trailed off. 

“It don’t matter now, Arthur. I’m here.” You reminded him, turning your head to kiss his palm. 

“Yeah, but that’s not the point, Y/N.”

“We got dangerous lives, Arthur. You can’t protect me from everything.”

“I can damn sure try.” He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “You mean the world to me, pumpkin. Ain’t gonna let shit happen to you. Even if that means I gotta stop you from doin’ stupid shit.”

You smiled a little, leaning forward to tuck your head underneath his chin.

Taglist:  @doggone-cowgirl @winterwolf @lauramb7 @caraqas @bluscryn @krenee1drful @zodiacaldust @nonodino @gabstaroc @cal-lifornication @thefirelordm  

If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x reader fluff #arthur morgan fluff #rdr2 #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fic #rdr2 fluff #arthur morgan oneshot #queenxxxsupreme

[clareguilty]

Coal Fires and Snowstorms

This was a request fic that was originally for the Overwatch cowboy but I changed to Arthur Morgan for... apparent reasons Arthur Morgan/F!Reader (reader also has big enby vibes) Rating: Mature | No Warnings Word Count: ~2,200

Arthur wakes with a wheeze, bolting upright and smacking his chest with his fist as he tries to pull in enough air.

He’s shirtless, but a woven blanket had been draped over him while he was unconscious. A ray of light cuts through a grimy window. The angle is harsh enough that it’s probably late in the evening.

The last thing Arthur can remember is the dark of the night and the clamoring of the law on his heels. So he’s been out for at least a day.

His lips are dry and cracked, and his muscles groan in protest with every movement. God, his head is pounding like he was hit by a damn train.

A door creaks open, and there’s a squeak of surprise. “Oh! You’re awake!”

Arthur blinks in the harsh sunlight that’s streaming into the small cabin. Whoever is there is bundled up in furs and a jacket with a bow over their shoulder. They’ve got two armfuls of game practically swallowing them.

“Who are you? Where am I?” He means for it to sound rough and demanding, but it’s more croaky and pathetic when the words pass his lips.

“I’m not really anybody, and this is my cabin up in Cumberland. The law chased you a long ways from Annesburg didn’t they? You must have done something real bad.” The hunter dumps all the game onto the table and rushes to the bedroll where Arthur lays. “You aren’t hurt too bad or nothing, but you’ve got a real nasty cough. I’ve got tea and herbs that should help. I bandaged up all the bleeding bits as best I could”

Arthur is bewildered. He knows there had been a fire in Annesburg -- the coal had gone up in a pyre in seconds. Somehow, he had gotten separated from Dutch and the others. The smoke had taken him like crows to a carcass, and he was lucky to make it across the ridge with the way his eyes and lungs were burning.

The last thing he remembered was the pinkertons still on his heels and the darkness of the trees as he tried to hide in the brush. He must have made it to cover before the smoke and the soot finally got him.

He flinches as the hunter sticks an open flask under his nose. “Tea. It’s bitter but you’ll need it.”

Arthur sniffs the mouth of the flask, but it sure does just smell like weeds and water. He takes a sip and wrinkles his nose. But the flavor is a small price to pay for the way the liquid soothes the burning in his mouth and throat.

“Thank you,” he says. “You could have left me in those woods to rot. I appreciate you dragging my sorry ass back here.”

You grin and pat the bandage on his arm. “It weren’t much trouble, but you sure are one large fella.” Arthur thinks you must be a young boy -- it’s hard to tell. Your hair is short under your cap but your voice isn’t all that low.

You turn to the game on the table and grab a knife from your belt. “I hunted enough for the both of us the next few days. It’s gonna be a while before you’ve got your strength back, and a snowstorm is rolling in off the Grizzlies anyways.”

Arthur frowns. “Bit early for snow, isn’t it?”

You shrug. “Winter never listens to me. At least the game was out. Everyone is trying to feed as much as they can before it gets too cold to hunt. That includes us.”

Arthur grunts and struggles to his feet. “I can help with those,” he offers.

You watch him with narrowed eyes, obviously skeptical of Arthur’s strength. “Take the small ones,” you offer up the rabbits and squirrels.

Arthur usually doesn’t have a problem skinning game, but the smoke must have gotten to him more than he thought because he finds himself having to take a rest after just a few minutes. He finishes off the flask of tea and sorts through his pack and weapons.

“My horse…” he asks after a while.

“She’s fine,” you say. “I found her not far from where you were unconscious and she helped me get you back here. She’s out back with my Old Girl.”

“Thank you,” Arthur sounds genuinely touched. “She really means a lot to me.”

You shoot him another smile. “You’re nothing but a big softie, ain’t ya? What could you have done to have the law chasing you all the way across the damn country?”

Arthur rubs the back of his neck, flushing in embarrassment. “My folks might have blown up Annesburg? I don’t actually know how much of it is left…”

“Ha!” you bark. “You’re with them van der Linde folks?”

Arthur’s silence is answer enough.

“I won’t judge,” you shrug. “You’re safe as long as you want to rest here.”

And rest Arthur does. He’s confined to the bedroll, rolled out on a warm pile of furs near the stove. You’re good company, witty and friendly and far too nosy for your own good. Arthur learns that you’ve has been living in these parts for a few years now, trapping and hunting and crafting to sell in town every few weeks. It’s more of a living than Arthur could ever ask for. Arthur thinks he might be sweet on you.

It’s another day before he’s got the strength to walk. He makes it outside to his horse, glad to see that she’s well taken care of. You had said you were going off to bathe in a nearby stream, and Arthur follows the sound of the water.

He’s not expecting what he finds. The water is shallow but fast moving, and he sees a familiar jacket hung on a branch by the bank.

You’re turned away, rinsing in the ice cold water, and Arthur can see the gooseflesh on your skin.

But when you turn slightly, it’s the swell of breasts and the curve of hips that catches Arthur’s attention. He averts his eyes quickly, darting back towards the cabin with his cheeks stained pink.

Now that he thinks about it, you had never said that you were a man. Arthur had simply figured it was most likely. The soft voice and gentle features make more sense now.

“You had better wash up if you want to,” you say when you return to the cabin. “The snow is coming in tonight. I can smell it. I stocked up on herbs for your cough and we’ve got plenty of provisions. I’m gonna split some more wood to bring inside.”

Arthur can’t help but find it attractive that you’re so knowledgeable and well prepared. He makes his way to the stream on his own and washes up in the frigid water, pushing through another coughing fit when the cold makes his muscles seize.

It’s already getting colder when he gets back inside. His weak breath fogs even inside the cabin and the little stove can’t do nearly enough to warm the small space.

“You’re going to freeze,” he tells you. He’s big enough to handle the cold -- spent a damn month up in the grizzlies without much of a problem -- but you surely won’t last the snowstorm.

“I’ve made it before,” you say with a huff and a glare. “I’ve got plenty of furs to keep me warm.”

“Put your bedroll beside mine,” Arthur insists. “We can share the blankets.”

The snow begins to fall, sticking to the ground in wet clumps, and you brace yourselves for the days to come. You’re practically strangers -- save for the fact that you had dragged Arthur out of the woods and saved his life. Now you have no choice but to rely on each other until the snow melts.

Arthur wakes in the night to your violent shivering under the blankets. He pulls you so that you’re pressed against his chest, tucking both of you under the quilts closer together. “I thought you said you’d made it through this before?”

You huff, teeth chattering. “I survived. I never said I kept warm.”

“Stay close to me. It’s my turn to keep you alive.” He drifts back to sleep to the howl of the winter winds.

The next morning he’s greeted by a bowl of piping stew that makes his sinuses burn. “I had some jarred peppers I keep for weather just like this. You’re in no condition for liquor so this is the best you’re gonna get.”

Arthur accepts the stew graciously. He’s not ready for the way you stand on your tippy toes to kiss him on the cheek when he offers to wash both of the bowls.

You pass the time snowed in with several rounds of cards. Arthur tells stories about him and the gang until his throat aches and he starts coughing again, and so the you regale Arthur with your life’s tale and a few stories you picked up over the years. You’re curled up next to each other in front of the stove, and you have no shame about burrowing against Arthur in a quest for body heat. He lets you steal as much as you want.

“I thought you were a boy when I first woke up,” Arthur says.

You shrug. “Most people do. I find it makes things easier a lot of the time. How’d you figure me out?” You don’t seem to feel too strongly one way or another about how Arthur and others see you.

Arthur hides his embarrassment behind a cough. “I, uh, caught you washing up in the stream.”

“Oh,” you laugh, “that’s pretty solid proof, ain’t it.” You’re smiling, not shy at all. “You’re not mad at me for lying, are you?”

“You never lied,” Arthur says. “I just came to my own conclusions. Doesn’t matter much to me anyways, whether you’re a man or a woman.”

You frown at that. “Doesn’t matter?”

“Nah,” Arthur ruffles your short hair. “You’re cute either way.”

It’s the right thing to say. The frown disappears and you settle back against him, humming contentedly.

He wakes in the night to the feeling of your breath on his neck. You shift and your lips brush against his skin. He can’t help the way his whole body tenses at the sensation. His arm is draped around your waist, holding you close because he knows you’ll freeze if he doesn’t.

He pulls you in closer. Every inch where your skin touches his feels oversensitive and hot. You’re still asleep -- he can tell from how slow you breath against his skin, but you reach an arm around his neck and burrow against him.

His heart begins to race. He’s flushed and half asleep and you fit against him so well in this tiny cabin that you’ve made your home. One of his hands slides down your back. You moan as his palm passes over the small of your back and the curve of your ass. His hand comes to the back of your thigh, but you shift again and rock your hips against him.

He gasps, then has to fight back a cough. He doesn’t want to wake you, but your quest for warmth has you plastered against him in a very compromising position. It’s starting to make his long johns downright painful, and he thinks he’ll combust in shame.

You rock against him once more, mumbling sleepily into his skin.

“Darlin’” he croaks. But the sound doesn’t wake you. He tries to wriggle an arm between you so he can push you off, but instead he winds up with a handful of your breast, and the most gorgeous sound he’s ever heard escapes your lips.

He freezes. He’s painfully hard now, and you’re still gently rocking against him in your sleep, perhaps even more so now that he’s got a hand on your chest.

“Arthur, please,” you whine.

He’s pretty sure you’re awake by now, so he readjusts his hand and rubs his thumb over the peak of your nipple. You let out another breathy moan against his skin. This time when he runs a hand over your ass he lets himself take a moment to appreciate how it feels under his palm, they way his fingers sink into the soft skin beneath your winter sleep clothes. He once again places his hand on the back of your thigh and pulls you so that your hips are lined up with his, straddling him under the blankets.

You whine against him once more and grind your hips downward. The friction does way more for him than he imagines it must for you, and his vision whites out momentarily at the heat and weight of you against him.

He loses himself in the motion of your hips for several long moments, but then your whines grow frustrated and unsatisfied and he knows exactly what your after.

Gripping both of your hips tightly, he flips you both so that you’re laying back on the bedroll and he’s kneeling over you.

Your eyes fly open.

“Arthur?”

“You were asleep?” he looks absolutely bewildered.

“I thought so? I was having the best dream.” Your eyes look past him as you remember.

“I don’t think you were dreaming, sweetheart,” he chuckles. He leans in to place an open mouthed kiss against your neck. You gasp and dig your nails into his shoulder.

“Then I think you had better keep going, cowboy.”

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan/reader #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #mild lemons #oranges #i guess #maybe limes

[holylulusworld]

Ketch me if you can...

Summary: Dean ignores your presence. What happens when a certain British guy tries to get your attention?

Pairing: Dean x Reader; Arthur Ketch x Reader?

Characters: Sam Winchester

Warnings: angst, language, unrequited love, flirting, cocky Ketch, jealousy, arguments

There is something about this man, this hunter making your heart race. You’ve got no clue if it’s the way he carries himself or the angry expression whenever his eyes land on you but, he gets under your skin. 

Every. Fucking. Time.

While you are busy watching Dean, the man you are supposed to hate, flirt with a random girl, someone has his eyes set on you.

“You know, the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else,” the British guy Sam and Dean seem to trust nowadays smirks, giving you a taste of his non-existent charm. “We could have a private conversation at my suite.”

“Listen, Mr. Important from Great Britain,” you pry your eyes off the scene in front of you to face the ‘hunter’ Sam wanted you to meet. “I got no clue what you mean with getting over someone but for sure I will not get under you.”

Sam snickers at your words, not hiding he was spying on you and their new ‘partner’. You always were better at reading people, so Sam wanted you to check on Ketch before they get involved even more with the British Men of Letters.

“Your loss, Y/N,” Ketch leans closer, smiling wildly as Dean’s eyes drift toward you.

The hunter does not pay attention to the girl any longer, rather watches Ketch hit on you with angry eyes. His jaw ticks and if he clenches his teeth a bit harder he might need to see a dentist.

“A woman never complaint about leaving my room unsatisfied.”

“I bet they all had a vibrator ready,” it’s your turn to smirk and Ketch, well he snickers at your comment. “I know you try to test my boundaries, just leave it, okay. I’m not fucking hunters; I’m not collaborating with them nor do I fall in love. Sam asked me to come here and listen to your organization's offer, nothing else.”

“Tough words from a tough hunter,” Ketch raises his glass, turning his attention toward business again. “We offer the newest technology, our help in any department, and all we want is your loyalty towards the Men of Letters,” you nod turning around to lean your back against the counter.

“Loyalty is a problem among hunters, you know. One day they tell you about all the things you could have,” your eyes drift toward Dean when you scoff at the hunter's angry expression, “and the other day you find out you were just…convenient.”

“Figures,” Ketch nods, watching Dean ball his hands into fists. “Those American hunters seem to be a bunch of unorganized, uninformed, and stubborn hillbillies…”

“Whoa, I didn’t say all of them are idiots, okay. Sam, over there is smart, loyal, and a hell of a fighter. I mean, he defeated Lucifer himself, dude,” you fist Ketch’s tie, twirling it around your hand. “I meant someone specific whose name I refuse to use.”

“Winchester, Dean. Born January 24th, 1979. First sexual contact with you around six years ago. He seduced you to become his hunting and sex partner until Sam Winchester came back. Two weeks later he called things off, provoked a fight and you left, never looking back,” your mouth hangs open when Ketch tells you they were watching you and the other hunters for years.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Did you have a camera in that motel room and filmed me having sex with that idiot?” Furious you fist Ketch’s tie, missing the way Dean storms toward you and said man.

Dean missed you yelled at Ketch only saw you tugged at his tie to bring the taller man down to your eye level. To the hunter, it seemed you wanted to kiss Ketch.

“Hands off,” Dean barks, puffing his chest. “We invited you here to get to know more hunter, a huntress to be specific, not to get your hands on her,” now Dean shoves you behind his back, ready to attack Ketch.

“What the fuck, Winchester! I wanted to mop the floor with Ketch!” Scrunching up his nose Dean turns around. Lips pursed; he shakes his head. 

“You will not do anything with that guy. No making out, flirting or mop anything with him,” you snicker, watching Dean’s chest heaves up and down.

“Mop the floor is not a term for sex, Winchester. It means I want to mop the floor with him, literally, you frustrating idiot. Now get out of my way and I’ll hurt that bastard,” you want to jump at Ketch who sidesteps your attack, smirking as Dean needs all his strength to hold you back.

“Lady, I will go back to my suite and have sweet dreams,” that bastard smirks again, looking at you in Dean’s arms. “If you want to act on your words…Ketch me if you can…”

“I hate stupid wordplays…I’ll scratch your eyes out! Freaking pervert! You can’t just stalk people and watch them have sex or worse!” You fight with tooth and nails, struggling against Dean’s strength until you give up, hanging limp in the hunter’s arms. “Why didn’t you let me hurt him? They were watching us for years. That asshole knew when we had sex…”

“Wait…what?” Sam nods but tries to stay out of your fight with Dean. “They watched us while we…you know…fondued?” Laughing Sam looks at his drink, while you snicker silently.

“Fucked, Dean…not fondued. Who says ‘fondued’? We had nasty and kinky sex, not cheese on bread or crap,” Dean chuckles, finally letting go of you. “I want to hurt his stiff ass.”

“Count me in, sweetheart,” the pet name let your stomach drop and you step away from Dean, shaking your head. “Y/N, wait…”

“I’m out of this, okay. Whatever they offered to you and Sam, I’m not interested, and you shouldn’t’ agree either,” looking at Dean you shrug. “My guts tell me someone stalking you for years can’t be trusted.”

“Y/N, they have resources we only can dream of. They have an army, knowledge, weapons,” Sam tries to argue but you huff, getting your silver knife out to ram it into the counter.

“I got weapons too, just like knowledge and resources. It’s about giving and take Sam, you know that. I help the guy trading me my weapons, he helps me. A priest blesses my water and blade for me, I protect his church. For those guys everything is about control, nothing else. But who am I to talk about making the right decision?” Huffing you look at Dean. “I let Dean Winchester break my heart after all, even though, I knew he would do so…”

You grasp for the knife, pulling it out of the counter. “Trust them or not, I’ll dodge this party, sorry…” Dean watches you walk out of the bar, a sinking feeling in his guts.

“What happened between the two of you?” Sam blinks when Dean tells him he used you back then to have someone besides his side.

“I needed a partner, she was willing to help. I messed up, end of story…”

Part 2

Tags in reblog.

#Ketch me if you can... #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester SPN #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean x you #Arthur Ketch #arthur ketch x reader #angst #jealous dean winchester

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Paint it Black

gif credit: @spnwhenever​

Dean Winchester x Reader

Words: 3103

Summary: Dean must deal with a particularly nasty demon after it possesses his girlfriend. 

Notes: Kicking off the final week of the Winchester Takeover, this imagine is based on the song ‘Paint it Black’ by the Rolling Stones. Both Dean imagines are song based this week, so I hope you guys enjoy!

Special shout out to my amazing beta reader Sarah, @suckmysupernatural​ . I love her so much and honestly, she’s helped me so much in getting these imagines out for you and she has some absolutely killer writing of her own!

Want more Supernatural? Find it HERE

-

I see your red door

I want it painted black

“Deeeeaaan.” Your sing-song voice made him shiver. “It’s cold in here, Dean.”

“I said stop talking.” He spat, pacing back and forth outside the circle. Sam eyed him cautiously, the tension of the room making his chest tight. He had to keep a cool head. 

As much as it pained him, he wasn’t sure Dean would do what had to be done if it came down to it. It would have to be him. 

“Dean,” He sighed, opening up the journal. “We have to do this.”

“Just wait a second, Sam.” His eyes pleaded, his panic evident in his voice. “We can figure this out.” 

“Come on Dean.” You groaned. “I can see in her head and I think we both know I’m a lot more fun.” 

“Son of a bitch!” Dean lunged towards you, but Sam stopped him. A sick smirk spread across your face. 

“I knew this would be fun.” You closed your eyes and opened them again. Dean felt his blood run cold, staring deeply into the empty black.

-

24 Hours Earlier

“This is a bad idea.” Sam covered his face with his hands as you stared down his brother. 

“This is between me and Maverick, Samuel.” You smirked.  Dean just glared back at you. 

“Don’t call me that.” He growled, but even Sam could hear the playful tone in his voice. You had given him the mocking nickname when you discovered his fear of planes. That, and his inability to follow the rules. You knew that he secretly liked it. “Are you ready to put your money where your mouth is, sweetheart?” 

“Just shut up and drink.” With a hand signal from Sam, you started downing shot after shot of tequila. Dean was gaining speed, but you were too stubborn to let him win. You finished the last shot when he still had three to go. Letting out a victory cheer, you gave Sam a high five, wobbling slightly from the impact. 

“I had a couple beers earlier.” Dean mumbled as a begrudged excuse. You sloppily kissed his cheek. 

“Next round’s on you, champ.” 

“I think we should head in for the night.” He gave you a suggestive smile and Sam took that as his cue to leave. Your mouth opened in mock offense. 

“Dean Winchester, did you get me drunk so you could get me in bed?” You snorted when you laughed, but Dean found it incredibly attractive. 

“Something like that.” He leaned his head down to meet your lips with his for a kiss that was far too inappropriate for standing in the middle of a bar. 

“Guys, come on.” Sam groaned from the other side of the room. “We have a motel room… go use it.” The mood was quickly killed when the door to the bar flung open and a bloodied, screaming woman burst in. 

“Somebody, help me!” She stumbled towards you and Dean caught her before she could trip. “Please, it’s my son. Something’s wrong with him.”

“Where is he, ma'am?” Sam asked and she pointed out to the parking lot. 

“He-he killed my husband.” She bawled, clinging to Dean’s jacket. She looked pretty hurt. 

“I’ll stay with her, go find him.” You said, gently prying her away from him. You told the bartender to get you some bandages and something to clean the wounds with. Dean and Sam rushed out the front door and you took the woman to the back room for some privacy. 

Dean followed Sam and ducked down behind a beat up old truck for cover. There, in the middle of the lot, was a man’s body, his face all carved up and clothes drenched in blood. More importantly, the smell of sulfur lingered in the air. 

“Demon.” Dean growled. They cautiously searched the entire premises, but there was no sign of the son. “Well that’s just great.” 

“Let’s get back to Y/N and see what the woman knows.” Sam suggested. 

“That’s going to be hard.” You sighed, wiping your hands off on a rag as you walked towards them. “She’s dead.” You froze, smelling the air. “Sulfur?” The boys nodded. “Wonderful.” 

“We need to head back to the motel and sober you two up before we do anything.” Sam held his hand and Dean threw him the keys to the impala. Dean sighed. There went his plans for the rest of the night. 

“No rest for the wicked, sweetheart.” He draped an arm over your shoulders and you leaned into him, hiding your bloody knife in your boot.

-

No colors anymore

I want them to turn black

Dean took a cold shower to clear his head, still foggy from the alcohol. You seemed fine, considering how much you had had. Sam was watching you with a curious eye. 

“You sure you’re doing okay?” He wondered. You gave him a small smile. 

“There was nothing I could do. She was half dead coming into that bar.” You shrugged. That’s the moment Sam knew something was up. Every death, no matter how hopeless, always ate at you for days. This wasn’t just alcohol calming you down. 

“Right.” He nodded, letting his suspicions seep into his mind. Dean came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel and placed a kiss on your cheek. 

“So what’s the plan?” The three of you gathered around the table and you tossed the woman’s wallet in front of the brothers. 

“I grabbed this so we could figure out who she was and where her son might have headed. Her name was Jolene Arthurs. That should at least give us a place to start.” They nodded in agreement. You stood. “Okay, it’s my turn for the shower, but when I get out, let’s head over to the Arthur house and see if we can find the son.” 

You vanished into the bathroom and Sam waited for the water to run before leaning to his brother, lowering his voice to a whisper. 

“Is she acting a little weird to you?” Both pairs of eyes looked at the closed door. Dean shrugged. 

“She seemed fine to me. Hell, she’s holding up great considering she had more tequila than I did.” 

“Exactly.” 

Under the hot water, you washed the woman’s blood off of your skin, cleaning off the knife as well. It was a good thing the bar was pretty empty. She was a screamer. 

“Get out of me, you black-eyed bitch.” You tsked at your reflection. 

“Now that’s not very hospitable of you.” It was your voice, but it didn’t sound like you. With a quick blink, your eyes turned black. “You and I are going to have such fun together, Y/N. Who knows, maybe I’ll get to take Dean for a spin. I’ve always wondered what he’s like in bed and from what I can tell from all those dirty thoughts of yours,” A sick smirk spread across your face. “He’s delicious.” 

“If you touch him, I swear to God-”

“We both know the big man doesn’t care about little insignificant problems like us, so why don’t you try a different threat?” 

“I promise you, I’m going to send your ass back to hell faster than you can say Lucifer.” 

You leaned on the sink, looking deeply into the mirror. 

“Baby, if I’m going to hell, you’re coming with me.” 

A knock at the door almost made you jump. With one more quick wink to the mirror, your eyes returned to normal and opened the bathroom door, finding Dean on the other side. You gave him a bright and confident smile. 

“Did Sam figure out where the house is?” 

“Uh, yeah, we’re about to head over.” He stepped into the room and closed the door, eyes filled with worry. “Are you okay? Sam thinks you’ve been acting a little weird and I know that you think you could have saved that woman-”

“She was so scared, Dean.” You whispered, tears welling up in your eyes. Time to try a different method. “I… I tried, but she had lost so much blood. She begged me to save her. She begged to see her family one last time.” Your lip trembled and any suspicion Dean had immediately dispelled. He pulled you into his arms. “E-every death hurts, Dean.”

“I know, baby. I know.” He soothed, running his fingers through your hair. That’s why you were acting strange. You were trying to hold it together in front of Sam. “Tell you what,” he pulled back enough to look down at you with a small smile, “when this case is over, how about you and I go on a little vacation? Just the two of us. We could go camping in the Rockies like you said you’ve been wanting to.” 

“Really?” You sniffed, wiping your eyes. He nodded and leaned in for a kiss. 

“It’s not me, baby. That’s not me!” 

You wrapped your arms around him again and smiled into the mirror.

-

No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue

The day was spent looking through county records and checking the Arthur house. Nothing gave you any clue as to where Jolene’s son, Mika, might have gone. Sam was frustrated, but he made sure to keep an eye on you. Dean shrugged off your behavior as being upset about Jolene, but Sam wasn’t convinced. Something was just… off. 

You kept up your act perfectly. Dean would occasionally cast you a sympathetic smile and reminded you about the camping trip he’d promised once this was all over with. Dean Winchester was a good boyfriend. Who would have guessed? Man, this was going to be fun. 

“Stay away from him, you Pazuzu wanna-be.” 

You ignored the quip. 

“I got something!” Dean announced, coming into the room with Mrs. Arthur’s wallet. He held up a small piece of paper with an address on it. “Mica’s new apartment. So proud of him!” He read. “Hopefully our demon is holed up there.” 

“What if the demon isn’t him anymore?” Sam suggested. You shrugged. 

“Well this is our only lead, Sam. We might as well look into it.” 

Sam gave you a once over and you stared innocently back at him. Maybe he was just being paranoid. The two Winchesters went out to the car and you gritted your teeth. Sam was a problem. You’d have to take care of him if you were going to get to his big brother. Oh well. 

Arriving at the apartment building, Sam and Dean prepared themselves for an exorcism, grabbing supplies to make a devil’s trap just in case. You brought your knife. All you needed was a moment alone with Sammy boy…

Dean knocked loudly on the door and at first, there was nothing. Listening carefully, you all heard the sounds of someone scuffling inside. He was trying to get away. Dean kicked in the door and you filed inside, finding the young man trying to climb out the window. The older Winchester grabbed him the back of his jacket and yanked him back into the room. Mica cried out for help, earning a hard punch to the mouth from Dean. 

“It isn’t in me! It isn’t in me!” He cried. One of his flailing arms hit Dean in the nose and he was able to break away. He grabbed you, wrapping an arm around your throat. He smelled like pathetic fear. Being in his head was like having a conversation with a frightened frat boy. You were much more interesting. 

“Let her go.” Dean growled. Sam gripped the demon blade in his hand, but he didn’t dare make an attack. One quick movement and Mica could snap your neck. 

“I just want to get out of here, man.” Mica sniffed. “I saw what that thing did to my mom. It was in me. I don’t know how, but it was in me.” His body shook as he tried to hold you against him as a shield. 

“You’re not going anywhere.” Dean started to circle around him, slowly as to not startle him. Great. A macho showdown. Boring. 

“Ugh, this isn’t fun anymore.” You whined, whirling around and slicing your knife across Mica’s throat. The young man sputtered and choked, blood pouring down from his neck, before collapsing. 

“What the hell, Y/N?” Sam exclaimed. You smiled, closing your eyes. 

“Guess again Sammy.” Both brothers revolted, staring into the cold black that replaced your eyes. 

“You son of a-” Dean started towards you and you quickly turned your blade on yourself, plunging it deep into your side. Dean screamed. “No!” You winked at him before falling next to the boy you had slaughtered. 

-

I could not foresee this thing happening to you

When you came round again, there was a bandage on your wound, tightly bound to try and stop the blood. You were strapped down to a chair, a devil’s trap painted on the floor beneath you. 

“I didn’t take you for a bondage kind of guy.” You smirked at the scowling hunter. 

“Shut up.” He snapped. Sam searched his bag for his journal. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Sammy. Y/N here is looking a little rough.” You motioned to the wound. “In fact, her little annoying voice is fading already.” 

“Stop it.” Dean’s fists clenched at his sides. The demon was right. If they exercised it now, Y/N might not make it. 

The window Mica had tried to escape from was still open, sending a cool breeze flowing through the room. 

“Deeeeaaan.” Your sing-song voice made him shiver. “It’s cold in here, Dean.”

“I said stop talking.” He spat, pacing back and forth outside the circle. Sam eyed him cautiously, the tension of the room making his chest tight. He had to keep a cool head. 

As much as it pained him, he wasn’t sure Dean would do what had to be done if it came down to it. It would have to be him. 

“Dean,” He sighed, opening up the journal. “We have to do this.”

“Just wait a second, Sam.” His eyes pleaded, his panic evident in his voice. “We can figure this out.” 

“Come on Dean.” You groaned. “I can see in her head and I think we both know I’m a lot more fun.” 

“Son of a bitch!” Dean lunged towards you, but Sam stopped him. A sick smirk spread across your face. 

“I knew this would be fun.” You closed your eyes and opened them again. Dean felt his blood run cold, staring deeply into the empty black. You leaned forward and captured his lips in a kiss. Dean jerked away and you cackled wickedly. It didn’t sound like your laugh. Your laugh was hearty and warm. This sound was icy and cruel. 

“Do it Sam.” He said, backing out of the circle. 

“I can give her back to you Dean.” You offered slyly. “I can keep her alive and rent her out to you whenever you like. All you have to do is let me stay.” 

“Go to hell.” 

“Don’t you want to see her again? To hear her voice? She’s just dying to get her hands on you, Dean. I can hear her screaming.” 

“Sam, do it!”

“She’ll die, Dean! You’ll kill her.” 

Dean couldn’t look at you. No, it wasn’t you. It was a demon. He knew what you would want. Turning away, he gave Sam a nod. The latin words were almost drowned out by your screaming. Shrieks filled the room until the dark cloud finally shot up into the air, diving back into the fiery pit. 

Everything went silent. Sam stared at the limp body in front of him and Dean kept his back turned away. Sam suddenly put a hand on his arm. 

“Dean,” he started softly. His eyes widened. “Dean, she’s still alive!” 

Sam rushed to you as you stirred, coughing and trying to speak. Dean ran and fell to his knees beside the chair, helping his brother to undo the restraints. You slumped forward into his arms. You tried to speak, but your voice was garbled and inaudible. 

“I’ve got you, baby. It’s alright now. I’ve got you.” He hushed. Your eyes held a terror that he had never seen before as they welled with tears. “Sam and I are gonna take a look at you, okay?” You nodded weakly and they lifted up your shirt to look at the wound. You winced as Sam lifted the bandage. 

“We’ve gotta get her out of here.” He concluded. Dean slowly lifted you up in his arms, moving extra carefully so that you wouldn’t be in any more pain. 

“You’re gonna be just fine, sweetheart.” Dean promised. He looked into your Y/E/C eyes and smiled. “Everything is going to be okay.”

-

I want to see it painted, painted, 

Painted Black

They told the doctors that you were mugged. That the man who did it got away without them getting a good look. It was enough for them to not ask more questions. When they asked for next of kin, they said that they were the only family you had, which was the first true thing they said since they stepped in the hospital. 

Dean was sitting in the lobby, his leg bouncing up and down with nervous anticipation. Sam had made him stop pacing because he was getting odd looks from people. They were both bloodstained and exhausted, so people steered clear of their direction. 

“You can go back now.” The nurse announced. Both Winchester boys jumped out of their seats and nearly sprinted down the hall. 

“Now, Miss Y/L/N, you need to lay down-”

“No, you don’t understand, I have to see them.” You fought against her as she tried to urge you back into the bed. Your eyes locked with your boyfriend’s and you let out a cry of relief. “I’m so sorry, Dean. I should have known. I should have seen it in that woman before I helped her-”

“Shhhh,” Dean took you in his arms, making sure he didn’t bump your bandages. “I thought I lost you, baby.” 

“I’m glad you’re okay.” Sam sighed, giving you a small, guilty smile. 

“You did what you had to, Sam.” You assured him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you.” 

After they got you checked out, Dean kept his promise and took you camping. It was a break that you needed. Sometimes, you could feel the darkness closing in again, that inky black that the demon had tormented you with. But Dean kept it away, like he always did.

-

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination;  @mylovegoesto; @yellowbadgergirl; @itmejado​

Supernatural: @desimarie12; @deandreamernp; @vicmc624; @halesandy; @livshaes; @d-whinchestergirl87; @mrspeacem1nusone

#dean winchester x reader #supernatural imagines #rolling stones #paint it black #sam winchester #demon #dean winchester #jensen ackles #Jared Padalecki #winchester take over #october

[dead-fandom-society]

Rating US Presidents Based on Whether I’d Fuck Them

Disclaimer: this is not a serious post. I am fully aware that most of these men were terrible people. this list does not focus on policy.

1. George Washington

He was an army general so he probably had a nice body, but he also had slave teeth in his mouth which is a massive turn off. Not to mention this was the 1700s and people weren’t very clean. Maybe if he took a shower and got new teeth 5/10

2. John Adams

Weird hairstyle. Bald on top but too much on the sides so he just looks insane. Chubby. Literally made criticizing the government a crime. I hate him. 1/10 if I was given a lot of money

3. Thomas Jefferson

terf bangs and terrible sense of style. In his portrait he looks like he’d call me a slur and then laugh about it. Giving him 1 point for being tall, 1 point for being rich, and 1 point for writing the Declaration of Independence 3/10

4. James Madison

Small and sickly. Always ill and had epileptic seizures. Had a piss kink, -3 points for nastiness. Kind of looks like a sheep. However, I get the feeling he was cleaner than most of the other founding fathers which shoots him up to 3/10 with an extra pity point since he’s basically a freaky make-a-wish kid

5. James Monroe

Weird chin. Looks kinda stuck up but otherwise not terribly unnattractive. 4/10

6. John Quincy Adams

Quincy is a stupid name. Related to John Adams but somehow was more decent. Kind of a disappointment, so who’s to say that doesn’t extend to sex? Kind of handsome when he was young 3/10

7. Andrew Jackson

This motherfucker. This motherfucker was horribly racist and was the first president to garner a cult-mentality. He was also from Tennessee. Dweeby looking. However, he does get points for probably having a nice body considering his military service and being very pretty 6/10

8. Martin Van Buren

Looks like Old Deuteronomy’s human-sona. However, he does have a very handsome looking face under all of that beard. 3/10 if he shaved and was a little younger

9. William Henry Harrison

Not bad looking. Big nose. Also kinda old. 5/10 if he was younger

10. John Tyler

Looks like he’s deficient in every nutrient. 3/10 if he had a protein shake and a big burger.

11. James K. Polk

This man has a VERY pretty face. However, he’s got a very weird hairline. His support for slavery is also a turnoff. 6/10 if he got a better haircut and wasn’t racist

12. Zachary Taylor

Handsome. Died from exhaustion and eating too many cherries, which is a total mood. 6/10

13. Millard Fillmore

His name reminds me of a duck. I’m pretty sure I would beat him up if he went to my school. Looks like a dweeb. 2/10

14. Franklin Pierce

Look at this handsome man. That pensive stare and beautifully sculpted jawline. He is probably the first one on this list that is genuinely fuckable by choice. Deducted a point because of course he’s racist. smh why can’t we have nice things 9/10

15. James Buchanan

He looks so sad in every single portrait painted of him, I kind of feel bad :(. Not terrible looking. 4/10

16. Abraham Lincoln

Ok. He was tall and fit. His assassination location also implies that he liked the theater. Overall very handsome man. REALLY nice facial structure. This is self explanatory. 8/10.

17. Andrew Johnson

Gives me kind of bulldog-ish vibes. Otherwise, not bad looking. 3/10 I really have nothing else to say he’s kinda bland

18. Ulysses S. Grant

Ulysses is a cool as fuck name. He fought on the side of the union in the civil war too, which is very, very sexy of him. Usually I’m not one to like facial hair, but this guy rocks it. 8/10

19. Rutherford B. Hayes

Like his predecessor, Rutherford is also a really fucking sick name. His abolitionism is very sexy of him. 6/10 if he shaved his stanky looking beard differently

20. James A. Garfield

Again with the stanky ass beards. Shave it and you’ll be a 5/10

21. Chester A. Arthur

Chester is a stupid name. Can you imagine fucking a guy named Chester?? Can you imagine moaning the name Chester? I cannot. He also had a fucking unibrow and one of those beards that make old guys look like cats. 2/10

22. Grover Cleveland

He reminds me of the British walrus from Ice Age. 1/10 very rotund

23. Benjamin Harrison

Would be very handsome if he shaved and worked out just a little. 4/10 he has a lot of potential

24. Grover Cleveland

This bitch again. See 22.

25. William McKinley

You could make a Minecraft skin out of this guy and you wouldn’t even have to change anything about him. Very square head, nice side profile. Kinda chubby. Has potential. 2/10

26. Theodore Roosevelt

I don’t agree with a lot of the things he did, but this man was a badass motherfucker. I don’t even care that he looks like a chubby mustachioed nerd, he’s cool as hell. 6/10

27. William Howard Taft

Meet the globglologlab. Was so large that he got stuck in the White House bathtub and it deadass had to be replaced. He’d probably crush me into a bone and organ smoothie. Also from Ohio. 1/10

28. Woodrow Wilson

Woodrow is a stupid name, but otherwise he’s ok. Kind of a twink. Also kinda dig the nerdy look, really cute. 7/10

29. Warren G. Harding

This man needs to show me his brow routine, because I wish mine were as thick as his. Handsome looking face. 5/10 if he was younger

30. Calvin Coolidge

He looks like he’d call me a slur and then lecture me about Bitcoin or some shit. Nice facial structure, lack of eyebrows is off putting. 5/10

31. Herbert Hoover

He wasn’t bad looking when he was young. Kinda chubby. 4/10

32. Franklin D. Roosevelt

He looks very kind. I’d hang out with him. If he was younger, 7/10

33. Harry S. Truman

Okay, I’ll admit upon first glance at the round glasses I was about to unload with rat-related insults. However, he looks very polite and actually has potential to be fuckable and has a nice facial structure. 6/10

34. Dwight D. Eisenhower

He reminds me of a frog. Why is his mouth so large. 4/10 because I like frogs

35. John F. Kennedy

John fucking Fitzgerald Kennedy. The president that had hordes of screaming fangirls that I can assure you I would have been a part of. I can go on and on about him. This man was THE sexiest president, hands down. Look at his hair. Look at his face and his physique. His POSTURE. The amount of charisma he had despite sickness. The fact that he actually knew what the fuck he was saying when he spoke and he did it with CONFIDENCE. The fact that he served in the navy in wwii and you KNOW 1940s navy boys are PRETTY. He went to prep school and Harvard AND he was from New England AND he died tragically the man was essentially a dark academia dream boy. Not to mention that SMILE. I can listen to his accent for hours. He is gorgeous. He is beautiful. Hnngggd he’s so fuckking sexy 20/10 I would peg him so goddamn hard

36. Lyndon B. Johnson

In terms of sexiness, Kennedy’s vice is a massive step down. 3/10

37. Richard Nixon

He has an okay face I guess. 4/10

38. Gerald Ford

Again, has a nice face. He was very attractive in younger pictures. 7/10

39. Jimmy Carter

Pretty good president, overall a really good dude. Handsome face. 8/10 if he was younger because he’s like 90 now and that’s a little weird

40. Ronald Reagan

Made republicans into nasty little creatures. I hate him. However, he isn’t terribly ugly in his presidential picture. He gives me weirdly attractive 60yo. sugar daddy with a boat vibes I don’t fucking know 6/10

41. George H.W. Bush

Looks very polite, was handsome in younger portraits. Army vet. 6/10

42. Bill Clinton

Looks like a genderbent Karen. Has an oddly punchable face. He also gets points off for being from Arkansas and cheating on his wife 5/10

43. George W. Bush

Looks like his father, handsome. Don’t really know how I feel about him otherwise, 6/10

44. Barack Obama

Obama is one of the three on this list that I would definitely be down for. He’s tall, fit, respectable, and overall conventionally attractive. 9/10

45. Donald J. Trump

I’m pretty sure that Donald Trump is the most unfuckable “human” being that has ever disgraced our miserable little world. I can’t imagine so much as touching him with a 100 foot pole if it meant curing me of death. For someone who was wealthy for all of his life, you’d think he’d have better taste when it comes to clothing, hair, and the stolen animatronic faces that he chooses to wear. Thinking of him naked in bed makes my already concave genitals cave in further. Wretched, dirty little man deserving of no respect. He’s never pleased any of his wives, and he’s never even pleased the prostitutes he’s hired and taken advantage of because no person would have sex with him without incentive (and even with the promise of great sums of money he would still make me want to regurgitate my innards and bleach them). He is the personification of celibacy. I hate him. It’s difficult to express concisely the amount of vehement disdain I hold for him. I’m not even religious and he makes me want to become a nun. -20/10.

46. Joseph R. Biden

Have you seen pictures of this man when he was young? Goddamn. I’d let him absolutely rail me if he wasn’t currently 80. 9/10

#shitpost #Donald Trump #us presidents #history shitposting #another disclaimer: I’m not actually thirsty for any presidents kdufjflgkgk I can’t believe I have to say that #satire #except for maybe Kennedy I’d definitely fuck him

[mister-fleck]

full of surprises: arthur fleck x reader

Prompt: Could you perhaps write a fic where Arthur has a praise kink?

“So, will you come?”

Shifting uncomfortably on the locker room bench, Arthur’s face scrunched into a hesitant wince. “I don’t know, Randall. Clubs like that aren’t really my scene.” 

“C’mon, buddy,” Randall took a seat next to him and placed one of his meaty paws on Arthur’s shoulder, shaking him gently. “Don’t be a wuss. Birthdays don’t happen all that often, pal.”

Tilting his head, Arthur eyed him wearily. He had personally worked twelve birthday parties this week. “They kind of do.”

Randall tightened his grip and Arthur bit back the urge to shy away at the muted pain. He knew that he’d never hear the end of it if he acted like a frail little girl.

“It’ll hurt my feelings if you don’t,” Randall told him plainly, leaning in closer and raising his eyebrows expectantly. His bulky figure blocked out the sunlight from the window behind him and it casted a nasty shadow. “I thought you were my boy, Artie.”

My boy.

A wave of nausea washed over Arthur and he had to look away. There was something about that nickname, about the way Randall towered over him, about how he constantly reeked of gin and motor oil — it always smacked him in the face with unpleasant deja vu.

“I don’t want you to be upset with me,” Arthur eventually found himself mumbling, feeling helpless. He fiddled with the leather tongue of his clown shoe, green eyes focused on his own bitten-down nails and calloused hands. “I’d hate it if you were mad.” 

“Then show up.” After firmly clapping Arthur twice on the back — almost hard enough to make him fall off the bench — Randall pushed himself onto his feet with an ugly grunt, slung his bag over his shoulder, and made his way toward the stairs. “Oh, don’t forget to bring some cash. You’ll be useless there without any.” 

As Randall stomped off, Arthur tried desperately to figure out what it was about him that made him want to puke and hide. Every interaction with him left him with a headache and there was only so much of it that Arthur could take. He rubbed at his eyes after a few minutes of not blinking and forced himself to get ready for the long walk home. 

Saturday night came quickly. With his mother tucked away safely in bed, Arthur paced around his living room, hair mussed and brow knitted. It had been an entire week since the forced invitation and he still wasn’t even remotely prepared.

“Don’t be a wuss,” Arthur scolded himself, echoing Randall’s distaste. He pulled the sleeves of his sweatshirt past his hands, finding comfort in the habit. “It’s just a party. They’re just dancers.” 

Still muttering to himself, Arthur made his way over to the china cabinet against the wall and lifted the lid off of one of the delicate teapots. Inside was a meager amount of crumpled bills, his secret savings account that he had set aside for emergencies. It pained him to have to dip into what little he had, but with a grimace Arthur blindly grabbed at a handful and shoved the cash into the front pocket of his pants.

He’d be the butt of a joke if he showed up penniless to a strip club. 

The subway ride there was bumpy and crowded and it didn’t help ease the queasiness developing in Arthur’s gut. His brain had kicked into overdrive, imagining every bad scenario and uncomfortable situation. What if he arrived first? What if the strippers didn’t want to go anywhere near him? What if he drank too much, made a fool of himself?

Arthur had never been taught how to properly act around a woman, let alone one scantily clad and asking for money. He knew that he’d have to be a little forward to fit in with the others, but he’d hate himself if he overstepped and made one of the dancers uncomfortable. A little lightheaded, Arthur lifted the fabric of his sweatshirt to his nose and took a sniff, making sure he didn’t reek. 

Fifteen minutes later, he stood alone outside of The Centerfold. It was tucked away in the corner, the sidewalk illuminated only by the buzzing neon sign perched crookedly above the entrance. Arthur’s stomach twisted and he puffed out a sigh, scratching at his neck. He felt like a nervous schoolboy, but instead of teachers lurking the halls there were half-naked women.

“Hey there, Arthur,” came a soft voice beside him. Arthur looked around — and then down, to where Gary was smiling up at him kindly. “Didn’t think you’d come.”

“Yeah,” Arthur chuckled, pushing back his hair. He felt a little relieved now that there was a familiar face. “Neither did I.”

Gary shoved one of his hands in his pockets, the other holding onto a white envelope. He looked calm, almost bored. “It’s not too bad in there. Smells a little like piss and sweat, but aside from that — nothing awful.” 

Arthur was too focused on the card in Gary’s hand to digest any of what he was saying. It had dawned on him that he hadn’t gotten any kind of present for Randall. “Shit,” he cursed under his breath, leaning in to speak privately through his teeth. “I forgot to get him a gift.”

“I can add your name to the card, if you want,” Gary offered with a shrug. Arthur couldn’t help but smile a little — Gary was genuinely the only person aside from his mother that didn’t resent his existence. 

“Are you sure?” He dug his shoe timidly into the gravel beneath his feet. “That would be great —”

But before Gary could open the envelope, Randall was pushing open the doors and grinning broadly at the two of them. 

“Took you two clowns long enough. That for me?” He didn’t give Gary the chance to respond as he snatched the card out of his hand. “Better be somethin’ good. C’mon, we got a great table near the stage.” 

Arthur felt his stomach drop and he exchanged a wary glance with Gary before letting Randall lead the way. 

It didn’t come as a surprise to Arthur that he ended up having to frequently rush to the bathroom to hide his laughing fits. The club was a brand new social experience for him, one that he had never imagined having to tackle, and the last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to himself. The place was packed with guys that would happily taunt him if given the chance to. After decades of bullying, Arthur could spot them from a mile away.

Of course, the party of men he sat with all assumed that Arthur was escaping to the restroom to whack off, overwhelmed with all of the breasts and ass on display. The women working at The Centerfold were all beautiful, Arthur couldn’t deny it, but he was wound so tight with anxiety that he couldn’t even consider being turned on by any of them. 

Upon returning to the table for the fifth time, Randall yanked him back into his chair by the fabric of his hoodie. “Just realized you didn’t get me anything, you son of a bitch,” he jabbed, and Arthur couldn’t tell if he was playing around or actually offended.

“I’m sorry, Randall,” Arthur spoke up quietly, rubbing at his arm. He tried to conjure up an explanation. “I think I left it on the counter at home.”

“Did Mommy help you wrap it?” One of his other coworkers cut in, leaning in with a sloppy grin. With the exception of Arthur, the birthday group hadn’t wasted any time on getting plastered. “Or did you do it by yourself like a big boy?”

Embarrassed, Arthur felt himself shrink in his chair, not knowing what words he could string together to defend himself. He settled instead for laughing a little, hoping to hide his discomfort and feign amusement.

“Don’t sweat it, pal,” Randall scooted his chair forward and slung a heavy arm over Arthur’s shoulder, making him nauseous all over again. “I know exactly what you could do to make up for it.”

Instantly sick, Arthur visibly shuddered and tried to push away that terrible deja vu. When he spoke, it was barely audible over the pulsing club music. “What is it?”

Randall leaned back — arm still very much around Arthur — and put two fingers into his mouth to produce a piercing whistle. A dancer from three tables over turned around on her heel, scanned the room and made her way over.

“You see, Artie, this isn’t just any strip club,” he informed him smugly through a sleazy chuckle. “They have… an array of special services available.” 

“I don’t know what that means,” Arthur told him meekly, wishing he hadn’t left his cigarettes at home. 

“I took the liberty of asking this young lady here to tell you all about it.” Randall finally retracted his arm, but only to smack the woman on the ass. She didn’t seem phased, but didn’t look particularly happy about it either. 

“Hey there, boys,” she drawled in a low, silky voice, slender hands resting on her hips. She was wearing a black brassiere and a matching thong, red high heels giving her a couple of extra inches. Her eyes met Arthur’s and he twitched under her stare. “Is this Artie?”

Randall downed the rest of his whiskey and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, letting out a belch. “Yup. Take him away, hot stuff.” 

Arthur stiffened, gripped at his throat in anticipation. This was all too much at once. “What’s going on? What do you mean?”

The woman sauntered around Randall and reached down to tuck a lock of hair behind Arthur’s ear. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll take good care of you.” 

—

You were able to spot him right away. He matched the brief description that had been given to you earlier — skinny, unkempt, timid. Kind of a loser. You fought back the urge to yawn. This wouldn’t be the first time you fucked a virgin. He’d be your fourth this month.

This really wasn’t how you had envisioned your twenties playing out. You were supposed to go to a respectable university, study psychology or ethics, maybe find some sort of garden apartment and adopt a couple of dogs — but all of that had gone to shit after getting knocked up at nineteen. You of course loved your son, he was your entire life, but being a single mother at twenty-five in downtown Gotham had unfortunately forced you into a dirty profession that guaranteed decent pay.

But you’d do anything to offer your son a good, clean life. And if that meant blowing strangers Friday and Saturday nights — well, that’s life. 

Taking the man’s hand in yours, you gently led him through the bodies and crowded tables. His palm was sweaty as he stumbled behind you, almost tripping a few times over misplaced bar stools. The birthday boy Randall hadn’t been discreet about the purpose of all of this — he was nearly crying with laughter as he informed you that ‘his pal Artie’ would probably have an anxiety attack or cum in his pants thirty seconds into being alone with you.

You didn’t find the former funny at all — the latter was something you had experienced a dozen times, nothing special — and you ran your thumb over the back of the man’s hand as the both of you pushed through thick red drapes. 

“How are you doing tonight, Artie?” You asked him smoothly, attempting to loosen him up a bit. He seemed like a good enough guy. “Having a nice time?”

“It’s Arthur, actually,” the man stammered, the lighter pitch of his voice endearing. “And I’m doing okay.” 

“Just okay?” You teased, guiding him further into the dark hallway. You nodded at one of the security guards who stood rigidly against the wall. It always gave you great comfort, knowing that there were a handful of bulky men ready to defend you if something were to go sour during a session. All you had to do was call out.

“I’ve never been to a club like this before,” Arthur explained after a long pause, mousy and apologetic as the both of you passed several rooms. A loud groan erupted out of one of them, making him tense up. “I guess I’m a little nervous.” 

Stopping in front of one of the empty rooms, you took a moment to briefly look over Arthur. The poor thing looked like a stray dog with its tail between its legs. Giving Arthur a patient, sultry grin, you motioned for him to enter. “That’s perfectly normal, honey.”

Once the pair of you were inside and the door was closed, you watched as Arthur took in the space like a frightened child.

The room was something similar to a motel bedroom: a queen-sized bed, a small couch, a night stand. You had chosen one of the nicer rooms that had a small bathroom connected to it, figuring that Arthur might be more at ease if the space wasn’t too closed-in. Especially with the unnerving way he rubbed at his neck. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was claustrophobic.

Rolling your shoulders back, you approached the nearby table to fiddle with the CD player that had been placed there. No time like the present to kick things off. “Okay, Arthur. Take a seat on the bed and we’ll go over the rules.” 

—

Arthur didn’t know how to process any of this. He had just gotten used to the whole table situation, finding that he could calm down and block out the pressure if he hummed a gentle tune under his breath, but now he was alone in a secret room with a stranger and his inner monologue had blurred into static. 

He wanted to speak up, tell you that he wasn’t interested in this, that you didn’t have to do... whatever it was that you did. But once you began to rattle off your terms and conditions, Arthur closed his mouth. He didn’t want to be impolite.

“I’ll keep it simple. No choking, no leaving marks, no kissing on the mouth. We provide condoms and you must wear them. If at any moment I feel threatened, or if you break any of these rules, I will not hesitate to call for one of those big guys out there. Your friend prepaid for thirty minutes. If at the end of our session you’d like to buy more time, it’ll be an extra hundred bucks, okay?”

Perched on the edge of the bed, Arthur remained frozen, lips pressed together and fingers bunched up in his sleeves. You had said it all so quickly and he felt like he could pass out from the implications alone. He had heard the word condoms  — were the two of you going to make love?

When Arthur finally mustered up the courage to respond, it came out jumbled and uncertain. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to offend you, but — I, um — “ He ran a hand through his hair, eyes flitting all over the room, not knowing quite where to land. “I don’t think this is a good idea. You — I mean, you’re really beautiful, but I’ve never…” 

He watched you walk over to him slowly, lips parting as you reached out to gently unfurl one of his fists.

“Arthur.” He had a hard time getting over the lovely, feminine lilt in your voice. “It’s okay if this is your first time.” 

It happened before he could even attempt to stop it. 

A jarring, strangled laugh surged out of him, loud and abrupt, and he felt you jump away from him in alarm, rightfully startled. Not wanting to frighten you, Arthur hid his face in his sleeve and closed his eyes tight, each spasming attack making him lurch forward. It almost felt like vomiting, the way his body contracted, but the source of it lived deep in his chest like a demon.

“What’s going on?” He heard you say after a few moments. You sounded guarded now, cautious. 

Terrified that you might call one of the hulking security guards into the room, Arthur lifted his head and tried his hardest to speak through the laughter. “I have a — a condition — that makes me — “ Trying his best to muffle another series of hard laughs, he covered his mouth with both hands and ducked his head, buried deep in shame.

He hated the way he sounded during attacks. It wasn’t anything like his actual laugh. 

There was a long beat. With his eyes cast downwards, Arthur couldn’t gauge your reaction, but the last thing he had expected after such a heavy pause was a pair of soft arms wrapping around him.

—

You switched modes before you even realized it. You had never seen anything like this before — this ambush of tormented laughter, but the panic attacks your son struggled with made it easy for you to recognize that this wasn’t intentional.

“Let’s take some deep breaths, honey,” you instructed calmly, rubbing careful circles on his back. Your fingertips wandered over the prominent dips of his shoulder blades and you wondered if this man ever even ate. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. We’ll do it together, okay?” 

Arthur stiffened initially at the physical contact but it didn’t take long for him to warm up to the attention, nodding shakily through bursts of laughter. It was admittedly hard to watch — all of the choking and gasping, the pain in his eyes. Pursing your lips, you reached out for his hand and placed it flat against your bare abdomen. 

“Here we go. Breathe in.” You took in an exaggerated breath, hoping that he would feel the deliberate rise and fall of your stomach to help him focus. “And out.” 

It took him a few tries to properly inhale, his lungs hindering the process as they stuttered, but Arthur eventually found a stable rhythm. Not quite hunched over anymore, he kept his hand pressed against your stomach, the other now all balled up between his knees. 

Lost in the transformation in front of you and more than pleased with how he had listened — men never listened anymore — you pushed his hair out of his eyes and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.  “Good job, honey. That was very brave.”

With a bashful smile, Arthur shook his head and shyly retracted his hand from your stomach. “No, not really.”

Something had shifted in him. You narrowed your eyes a little, studying him. There had been a definite change in his demeanor upon your gentle approval. Some of the tension had faded. Running your teeth along your bottom lip, you hesitated a moment before testing it out. You had already gotten paid, there was really nothing to lose here.

“Yes, really.” Leaning closer, you brushed your lips against the shell of his ear and scratched at the middle of his back with manicured nails. “You were a very good boy.”

He whimpered a bit and you smiled. There it was. Priding yourself on your intuition, you let your free hand rest against his thigh and dipped your chin to kiss at the underside of his jaw. He smelled like an ashtray but you didn’t mind it. Anything was better than the terrible cologne most of your customers drenched themselves in. “Do you want to know what I think?”

You took a moment to look up at him and watched as he took a deep breath, seemingly steadying himself. His lashes were wet, the poor thing. When Arthur answered you, it was lost in the back of his throat like a secret. “What?”

“I think that this good little boy…” You tiptoed your fingertips up his chest before toying with the zipper of his sweatshirt. “Deserves to be rewarded."

—

Good little boy.

The phrase should have made him angry. If he was like any other man, he would have scoffed and retreated, asked for a refund — but the genuine approval in your voice filled Arthur with a belonging so poignant that it knocked the wind out of him. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been called good. If ever. 

Hot all over, Arthur watched you begin to unzip his jacket, his neck still tingling from that feather-light kiss. Although a part of him wanted to carefully take your hand and halt your intentions like a gentleman, he knew that this may be his only shot at being intimate with a woman. And if you were willing, if you didn’t feel disgusted, Arthur figured that he had to at least try. 

“You have such pretty hands,” he murmured awkwardly, heat rising up his neck. “Do you play piano?”

You giggled next to him — giggled — and Arthur felt pride swell in his chest. “I used to.” 

There was a playful tug to his sleeve and Arthur shrugged out of his jacket obediently, leaving him in his brown slacks and white button-up. His shirt hadn’t been pressed in ages and he frowned, reaching up in attempts to smooth away some of the wrinkles, but you playfully batted away his hands and popped open the top button.

“Why did you stop?” He heard himself ask, not knowing if it was proper etiquette to make small talk. 

“Life got in the way, I guess.” Three more buttons undone. 

Arthur watched as you moved closer and couldn’t hold back a groan upon feeling warm lips against his pulse point. Eyes fluttering shut, he felt his cock twitch hard in his pants, completely at your mercy. He had never been touched like this before and he was still fully dressed. 

With the front of his shirt now open, Arthur shivered a little, his fingers bunching up the fabric of the comforter beneath him. When you nipped at the corner of his jaw, he gasped. “That — That feels nice.” 

This earned him a warm chuckle, but then you were gone, the warmth of your body no longer pressed against his side. Worried that he had done something wrong, Arthur’s eyes flew open—

To see you ever so slowly sinking down to your knees. 

—

You had to admit that there was something charming about Arthur. He hadn’t groped at you with greedy, dirty fingers, he hadn’t tried to smack your ass or tug your bra off. He was willing and kind, and more handsome than he allowed himself to be. You had to hold back your laughter — your faintest touch drove him wild and you wondered absently just how long he would be able to last.

Kneeling now, you smirked up at him from beneath long lashes and watched him squirm in anticipation. You weren’t ashamed to admit that you were great at giving head. You had recently developed a bit of an oral fixation, soothed by lollipops and toothpicks. But if the bulge in Arthur’s pants signified anything, there was an alluring alternative being offered to you. 

“I can make you feel really nice.” You slid your palms up and down along his thighs, rolling back your shoulders again to accentuate your cleavage. “Would you like that, baby?”

Arthur heaved in a breath and nodded eagerly. “Yes ma’am.” 

“So polite,” you tutted, fingers now dancing around the buckle of his belt. Once it was undone, you spread his legs and pressed a lingering kiss to the crotch of his slacks. “Such a sweet boy.” 

As you expected, Arthur was a complete mess, trembling and speechless as you pulled down his zipper. You had neglected to press play earlier on the CD player across the room, but you didn’t mind it. The little noises coming out of him were… 

Pressing your thighs together, you forced yourself to focus on the task at hand, thrown off by your body’s reaction. You never got aroused at work, but you had to pause after pulling his erection out of his pants, the dull throb between your legs unwarranted and distracting.

You must have been standing still longer than intended because Arthur eventually spoke up, voice tight with worry. “You don’t — You don’t have to, I know that I’m not handsome, I don’t want you to feel pressured —”

With pink cheeks you snapped out of it and kissed the head of his cock, effectively shutting him up. “You’re very handsome,” you assured him, trying your best to keep your confidence through the storm building inside you. You had half a mind to actually stop, not knowing whether it would be wise to continue with a foggy mind, but your mouth had a mind of its own: You flattened your tongue against the base of his length and dragged up, up, up before taking the tip of his cock into your mouth.

Arthur groaned again right away, low and desperate this time, and you found yourself grabbing onto the front of his pants to steady yourself, your other hand holding his cock in place as he trembled next to you. 

“That feels so…” Swallowing hard, Arthur reached toward you for a moment before hastily retreating his hand, clearly very shy.

“You can touch me,” you told him in a breath, pressing lazy kisses to the side of his now very hard cock. You closed your eyes, thinking that maybe if you didn’t look at him, you could pretend that this was some other client and not Arthur. Not Arthur and his sweet little whimpers and — his now gentle fingers sweeping your hair behind your ear.

“Is this okay?” Arthur husked quietly, the pad of his thumb tracing along sensitive skin. 

You shivered instantly and had to stop yourself from leaning into his palm, instead smiling demurely and nodding. “Very okay.”

With other clients, you had a bit of a routine. Some heavy petting, a little generic dirty talk, followed by a long, drawn-out blow job, hoping that you could take up most of the allotted time on your knees. Nine times out of ten, it would be more than enough for the men who frequented the club. They just wanted to get off, it didn’t matter how. 

But with Arthur… you couldn’t stop yourself from taking the whole of him into your mouth, wanting to hear him moan again, wanting to please him. 

Obviously not accustomed to this level of pleasure, Arthur yelped a little and sucked in a ragged breath. “I think — I might, I’m sorry I might —”

Knowing that he was looking for permission, you opened your eyes and finally looked up at him again. The sight of Arthur panting, his bare chest flushed, his eyes so dark — you realized that you were now very, very wet. You locked eyes with him and swirled your tongue just so, silently communicating that he could let go.

And he did with a ragged, handsome cry, cumming hard with quivering hips and the slightest tug to your hair. 

You knew then and there that you were screwed. You never, ever, ever let any of your clients cum in your mouth. 

But Arthur didn’t need to know that. 

Swallowing slowly, you didn’t pull back right away. Partially because you didn’t want to, but also because a part of you knew that there was still at least twenty minutes left. You hadn’t been prepared for this. So you remained kneeling, in a daze as you dragged your bottom lip along his now very sensitive cock.

Arthur was out of breath and sounded a little hoarse when he spoke, clearly out of his element and overstimulated. “Thank — Thank you.” 

This made you smile despite yourself and you dropped a kiss to his thigh. He was full of surprises. Still trying to pull yourself together, you squeezed affectionately at his knee. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

“What about you?”

The question came so soft and you blinked a few times before glancing up at him, not understanding. “Me?”

Arthur’s brows were furrowed as he nodded, regarding you sincerely. “Yeah. I don’t — I don’t want this to be all about me.” 

Heat rushed through your body like wildfire and you gaped at him, now completely caught off guard. Was he implying that he wanted to — 

“I might not be very good at it, but I’d like to try,” Arthur continued, rubbing at the back of his neck. His eyes then grew wide. “Unless that’s against the rules. Or you don’t want me to. I just figured that I —”

“No, it’s — it’s allowed,” you cut him off, pulse quickening at the idea. You ran a hand through your hair and tried to seem nonchalant, knowing you looked anything but. “You can, if you want to.”

In a clumsy blur Arthur was helping you to your feet and watching as you climbed up onto the bed. You squeezed your thighs together again, realizing now that he’d be able to see just how wet you were. The two of you locked eyes, both a little uncertain, but Arthur surprised you by taking the initiative, shyly reaching over to pull out one of the pillows from underneath the comforter and setting it against the headboard of the bed.

Silently inviting you to lay back. 

You blew out a shaky breath and smiled at him, charmed despite suddenly feeling like a teenager on prom night. Not wanting to make him feel unsure of himself, you slid to the middle of the mattress and stretched out onto your back as gracefully as you could manage, your chest heaving now that the tables were turned.

Arthur’s eyes trailed over your body for the first time all night and you found yourself melting beneath his stare. He wasn’t ogling you like the men outside did — he looked like he was appreciating every dip and curve and you just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Take my panties off,” you prompted, shame flying out the window. You couldn’t remember the last time you had been this turned on and you’d surely combust if he didn’t touch you in some way. 

Nodding quickly, Arthur bashfully tucked himself back into his pants and knelt beside you to do as he was told, warm fingers hooking beneath the hem of your thong and dragging the ruined garment down the long expanse of your legs. It got caught momentarily on your heels, making the two of you chuckle a little, but the nervous smile on Arthur’s face faded into pure lust upon gazing at your pussy for the first time.

You had expected him to pause, ask permission again, maybe procrastinate and stall a little — but Arthur was between your legs in a flash, settled on his stomach now, his tongue already lapping eagerly at you.

“Oh m-my god,” you spluttered, both hands flying up to sink into his hair, seeing stars as you tried to register how somebody so inexperienced could instantly figure out how to do that — 

Arthur took your reaction incorrectly, however, his head shooting up, green eyes wildly apologetic. “Did I hurt you?”

“No! No, no, no —” You shook your head, your mouth dry now as your hips bucked up. You were planning on saying something reassuring, something coherent, but all that came out was a slutty little whine that made something shift in Arthur.

With a renewed sense of determination, Arthur surged forward once more and went right back into eating your pussy like it was his job, his hands curling around your waist as you all but writhed beneath him. 

“Fuck! That’s —” You moaned girlishly, arching your back. His blunt fingernails dug deliciously into your hips as he held you down. You laughed breathlessly, delirious in your pleasure. “Are you sure you haven’t d-done this before?”

Arthur chuckled low against you, a rumbling sensation that sent a shiver rolling up your spine. It was beyond you how the fumbling, timid man from before had the potential to turn into this. 

He didn’t let up, learning as he went along, playing close attention to what really made you quiver — and yet somehow, holding back a bit, as if he didn’t want it to end just yet. 

Almost on the verge of tears, you lifted your head up from the pillow to catch a glance at what he looked like and noticed that he was absently jutting his hips into the mattress, seemingly turned on all over again. 

The words came tumbling out before you could stop them, high-pitched and wanton. “Come up here. Fuck me.” 

This was enough to make Arthur pause, lift his chin, lock eyes with you as if making sure he had heard you correctly. 

“You did so good, baby,” you told him in a rush, pushing back his hair to really look at him. With your entire body quaking with need, all you could do was whimper out a small, “Please.” 

Arthur sprang into action, tugging off his pants — well, stopping a moment to kick off his shoes and then taking off his pants, which made you giggle behind your hand — and climbed back up onto the bed in just his open shirt. 

He hesitated above you and you wondered for a moment if he had spotted some sort of flaw, if maybe up close you weren’t as attractive to him as he had thought, but then he nervously murmured, “You said you had condoms?”

Blushing furiously, you broke into a breathless smile and reached over to the bedside table, catching a glimpse of his cock in the process. The sight alone made your pussy throb hard and your hand trembled as it rifled through the top drawer. You felt around, knowing that there was normally at least a dozen condoms kept there. But, nothing.

Cursing under your breath, you sat up a little more and Arthur did the same, the both of you trembling with want and realizing at the same time that the drawer was completely empty. 

Rolling back onto the mattress, you caught those green eyes again and worried your bottom lip between your teeth. In any other circumstance, this would have been the end of it, but there had already been so many exceptions tonight, and you were most definitely on birth control — 

“Fuck it, just —” You reached out, grabbed ahold of his collar and tugged him forward to break another rule, kissing him hard. 

Arthur didn’t respond right away, shocked and well aware of the terms you had set out, but soon kissed you back in earnest, his hands immediately cupping your face with a tenderness that made you sink into the mattress. 

Smoothing your hands beneath his shirt, you scratched down along his back and he purred in response, grinding his cock against your inner thigh. Completely out of self-control now, you bit down on his lip and reached down to help guide his length towards your pussy, crying out as it brushed against your clit. He took this as the last bit of permission needed and broke the kiss to look down, and —

“Fuck!” 

Arthur didn’t fuck slowly. Once he was inside of you, his pace was rapid right away, hips snapping forward with each unforgiving, bruising thrust. 

You buried your face in his neck, bit down at the skin there and sobbed a little, overwhelmed with pleasure. “Arthur, fuck, fuck, fuck!” 

This time, Arthur didn’t tiptoe around it. “I’m gonna cum,” he grunted, a throaty kind of whine that made you instantly clench around him. 

“You’re — I’m —” You couldn’t fucking speak anymore, because he had tilted his hips up in such a way that made your vision crackle — and then you were cumming, hard, shrieking into his neck.

With your pussy clamped down hard on his cock, Arthur couldn’t have pulled out if he tried. He came inside you with a long, sensual groan that made you wrap your arms around his neck, just wanting to feel him. 

The both of you sort of collapsed into each other simultaneously, all heavy breathing and rapid heartbeats and shaky limbs. 

“Baby boy,” you eventually breathed out, a sort of sigh of disbelief, your hand returning to his hair.

Clearly exhausted, Arthur pressed a kiss to your temple and you felt his lips turn up into a sleepy smile. “Mm?”

“Your friend can go fuck himself,” you murmured, scratching lazily at his scalp and smiling right back, “Cause you’re coming home with me.” 

--

reader tag: @taintednihilist @galaxycat-1459 @hxneyboy @sebastianshoe @insomniabird@jesstaggartt@lenawiinchester @emissarydecksetter @ghoulsguilty @vampirozi @spaceinvader@aclownthing @zy-nnic @alirabbitt @mapreza1 @the-jokers-wolf @nicimixerxoxo @catch-a-star-wish-from-afar @umetsa @skaravile @live-love-loki @clowneyrat @darknessisafriend @chaosheartjester​ @shikoshikomanzuri​ @myfaceisaturnoffsorry​ @foofee0924​ @tearfuljokers​

(if you’d like to be added to the reader tag, shoot me a message! sorry if i’m missing anybody, lemme know if i did!)

#arthur fleck x reader #joker x reader #arthur fleck #joker #idk how this turned into 6k+ words but i hope you all enjoy it lmao x #drabble

[porkchop-ao3]

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 61)

Stitched Up

I really love this chapter, ngl... I hope you do too ;) Full of conflict, violence and gore!

Tagging @emily-strange and @actuallyhansolo ❤

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

-

"I was in Van Horn, selling those jewels, Arthur," I began, wrapping my arms carefully around Arthur’s waist as he began riding back to camp, avoiding his injury, "I went into the bar and had a drink 'cause I was thirsty and there was Pinkertons in there! One of 'em came and spoke to me, he didn't know who I was and I didn't give him any clues."

"What did he wanna know?" Sadie asked.

"He was talking about us. Had photos of you boys, was showing 'em 'round. But when I came out I saw Micah! I stopped him and warned him, told him what happened and then…" I stalled, remembering the kiss. "We argued again. He… he really upset me," I shook my head.

We slowed when we came upon our abandoned campsite.

"But we went our separate ways and I came back here, after I told him this was where I was going," I continued. Charles and Sadie got down and helped each other to swiftly collapse the shelter, and we were soon on the move again. "Then the Pinkertons showed up, knew exactly where I was and who I was… that Arthur and I are together. I can't possibly see how they'd find out without Micah telling them. He must've gone back and done it out of spite 'cause he was mad."

"I guess he was counting on both of us getting taken out of the picture," Arthur growled. "Soon as I see him I'm gonna kill him," he added. 

"Do it slowly so I can castrate him before he loses consciousness," Sadie hissed through clenched teeth.

"And I wanna pull his teeth out one by one," John piped up.

I panted heavily, panic pulsing through every limb, putting me right on edge. This was it. It was all going to implode… and all because I wanted to have a damn drink.

–

We made it back to camp, a strong sense of urgency dictating our every move. I slid down off of Jet and supported Arthur on his way down too, conscious of the pain he must've been in. I stowed away the guilt I felt for another time; we had something big to confront. Like a wave of people storming towards us–

"Here she is, the goddamn Judas!" Bill roared out across the camp, and my heart suddenly felt like it was going to fall out of my ass, I froze on the spot. "Kill the bitch!" 

"Wha– the fuck are you on about Williamson? You better stay the hell back!" Arthur growled, stepping in front of me immediately. 

"It's her! She's the rat, Arthur, Micah figured it out," Javier pitched in, heading right for us, his hand on his gun where it sat in his holster. My eyes darted to Bill's hand, his gun was already out, sitting between white knuckles. I gasped, going lightheaded, staggering backwards.

"She ain't a goddamn rat, he is! You're gonna believe anything that comes out of that goddamn snake's mouth?" Arthur spat. 

"It's true, she ain't done nothing, it's–"

"Shut up, Marston! You ain't got a loyal bone in your body, I trust you as much as I trust her!" Bill interrupted. Sadie stomped forwards, in between us and them.

"Everybody calm down!" 

"How can we be calm? There's a traitor standing right in front of us and we've gotta move again, before the Pinkertons show up!" Javier argued.

"What exactly has that bastard been saying?" Arthur demanded. 

"Either you're really as stupid as everyone says, or you're in on it too. Move aside, Arthur, or I'll just blow a hole right through you," Bill spat, though he didn't raise his gun. Part of me knew that he wouldn't. He couldn't. Bill wouldn't do anything without Dutch's say so; I'd taken him to be one of the boot-lickers, especially in more recent days. 

"Arthur! Arthur, goddamn it, I knew she weren't to be trusted, I never wanted her in this gang in the first place! Ever since John brought her in–" Dutch began yelling from across the camp, barging out of his tent, but his words turned into muttered grumbles that we couldn't make out until he got closer again. Micah was dutifully at his side and I scowled at him over Arthur's shoulder. "– all she's done is poison you against me, typical woman. Just like Abigail!"

"What the hell are you talking about Dutch? She ain't poisoning me against nobody! You wanna see top class manipulation you wanna look at yourself, see what Micah's done to you!" Arthur protested, waving an arm in the blonde bastard's direction.

"She's working for the Pinkertons, Morgan. She's got to go," Micah said snidely, ignoring Arthur's words. "She was in Van Horn, having a good old chat. Even had the courtesy to warn me about 'em! You know, I believed her at first, thought she was too innocent to sell us all out. But then she suddenly disappears, and comes back without a scratch on her?"

"They were using her to get to me, after you told 'em where she was staying!" 

Micah laughed, shaking his head. "Why the hell would she tell me where she was going? She hates me, told me herself!"

"She saw you and told you about the Pinkertons in that bar, she said you had some sort'a argument and then you went back and told 'em about us. They wanted to capture me, and I'll bet that was all your idea anyway!" 

"The entire time you've been here you've caused nothing but trouble and tension in this gang, Micah, and you didn't see how they had her; chained up and sitting there like an afterthought while they all waited for Arthur to show up–" Charles began, but was swiftly interrupted. 

"She ain't been here as long as I have and you really believe her over me?" Micah hissed. 

"She ain't been nothing but good to every one of us, even you, Micah. Even with how you been slobbering over her this whole time," John said, shaking his head in disgust, "I wouldn't be surprised if you did all this just 'cause you're bitter."

"You kissed me!" I shouted, stepping out from behind Arthur, he tried to grab me and shield me but he was too slow. "You grabbed me and kissed me earlier on, again! Ain't the first time you've tried."

Micah laughed harder. "God, are you listening to this?"

"You never said that," Arthur pointed out, stepping forwards and grabbing my arm, his tone sharp and surprised. 

"It weren't the best time," I breathed a laugh void of any humour, pulled my arm from his grip. 

"You s'posing I'm heartbroken, wanted to get my revenge?" Micah cocked a brow. 

"Not at all. I think you like playing God! You like seeing me squirm, you like doing exactly the things I don't want you to do, and you like seeing other people suffer. You did all this to entertain yourself, probably!" I exploded, I looked at the crowd that had gathered; most of the gang. "You wanna point the finger at me? Go ahead! But if you kill me I guarantee you'll still be in the same goddamn boat 'cause you'll still have your filthy rat!" I jabbed a finger at him. 

Micah swaggered towards me, stepping between Bill and Javier, who'd both gone very quiet, looking unsure. Arthur edged closer, sticking by my side protectively. Sadie, John and Charles hovered close too.

"Your nasty lies'll get you killed before the rest of us, mark my words. We all know you're such a great con-woman. You've probably had us all on from the start, even Morgan," he said, his voice a low rumble. 

"I think I'd know by now," Arthur scoffed, his whole body exuding disbelief and something like amusement.

"I think you wouldn't have the slightest idea, you're just like any other pretty boy, gets his pecker wet and turns soft," Micah accused and it was Arthur's turn to laugh. 

"That why you're so tough?" He retorted. A sharp sigh caught my attention and Dutch, who had been mostly silent, standing and listening to the whole thing unfold, was rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

"Enough!" He snapped. "Children! You are all a bunch of children! It seems we are at an impasse of sorts, and ain't nothing gonna get solved by throwing petty insults around."

"You can't be serious, an impasse? How can you not listen to the things I'm saying? Dutch, you know me! I at least thought you'd listen to me and see sense," Arthur exclaimed, I could see the wounded look in his eye just from his profile.

"I thought I knew you, Arthur, but you started putting her before the rest of us and it's you that ain't been listening to me. You've questioned me at every turn ever since she showed up, and now you wanna turn around and act like I'm the one betraying you?" Dutch's voice cracked with its sudden raise in volume and I looked at the sneer of a smile Micah was wearing. 

"But Micah–"

"At least Micah is with me! All you're concerned with is getting away from me, running off with your new woman! Why should I listen to a damn word you say when you're a goddamn deserter!" Dutch yelled, thoroughly losing his temper. My heart felt as though it had been shattered. I shook my head and stared brokenly at Dutch.

"So that's it, that's what you think of me?" Arthur hissed after a few long seconds of painful silence. "All them years don't mean nothing now, yet you'll trust him, just fine," Arthur nodded slowly, leaning backwards, his body loosening, not quite shrinking, but losing its menace.

"I think we're getting a little off track, here," Micah indicated with a mildly impish tone, a little like he was tip-toeing through the words. Eager… but trying to hide it. "What're we doing about the traitor, Dutch?"

"Which one?" Was the response he got, and a series of gasps could be heard. 

"That ain't right, Dutch. First you give up on me and now you wanna do the same to Arthur? Ain't you thinking straight?" John rasped irritably, "what's wrong with you?"

"You're one to talk, seems real convenient that they had you locked up for a month or so and never hanged you!" Bill spat.

"Fuck you, Bill!"

"For God's sake! Why don't we just leave? We'll go our separate ways and that'll be it, never have to see each other again," I cried out, squeezing my eyes shut and balling my fists at my sides.

"You'd like that, now, wouldn't you? Finally getting your way, pulling this gang apart," Dutch said, regarding me with disdain. My jaw clenched tight and a growl built in my throat.

"She never did that, that was you and Micah. You didn't need any help from her," Arthur defended me. 

"You lot ain't had an ounce of loyalty between you!" Bill chipped in. 

"I have to agree," Javier added, a little pompousness to his tone. 

Everyone had their say, talking over one another and bickering and shouting and getting defensive and I stood there with something building and building inside me until I couldn't take anymore and I snapped–

"I am done with this!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, "I'm going! Anyone else who is finished here is free to fucking join me."

I spun around, pounding my feet into the hard mud below me as I headed straight for Rayna. 

"Ain't none of you gonna act?" I heard Micah questioning, words all but a growl. There was a pause, I had one foot in the stirrup. "Well I guess I gotta do everything around here," he added, and it gave me pause enough to turn and look to see what he was on about and–

My heart stopped when as quick as a whip he drew his gun, arm swinging up, eyes locked on me. I barely had enough time to register my fear before Arthur reacted; standing just a few feet away from him he threw himself at Micah, colliding hard with his chest, his shoulder slamming into him as he tackled him to the ground. The gun went off, Micah's arm flying up into the air, the stray bullet soaring past my head so close I could've sworn I'd felt a breeze. But the gun slipped from his grasp, skittering across the ground. 

Arthur was on top of him, grunts of exertion came from them both as they struggled and fought for the upper hand. It happened so quickly, not even giving anyone enough time to know what to do and then there was a sudden, choke of a gasp and Micah froze, his hands turning a sickly white with how hard they gripped onto the fabric of Arthur's shirt. Then I saw Arthur's hand jerk back, and registered the fresh blood – wet and glossy, adding to the dry flakiness from his own – before I registered the knife. 

Then everything kept moving. 

"Arthur!" Dutch yelled, and he along with everyone else swarmed forwards. Bill dragged Arthur off of Micah, pulling him out of the prickly grip on his clothes as if loosening him from the spines of a cactus. He stumbled back and landed on his backside, sitting on the ground and staring at the aftermath of the scuffle, the crimson knife still in his grip, wrist resting almost daintily on his knee as he stilled.

Huffs and grunts and wet, shaky gasps came from Micah where he remained on the ground, and I inspected him through the bodies rushing around him and saw the darker shade of red spreading out across his already carnelian shirt, rushing down to stain his beige pants. I stood with my mouth wide open, all stiff, not even in a fit state to tell my muscles to move let alone successfully do it. 

Charles and John came forwards, checking Arthur; his only wound was the one he already had, though it started bleeding profusely again, soaking his shirt with fresh blood after all the commotion. Charles took his wrist in his hand, and carefully peeled Arthur's fingers from the knife, removing it from his firm grip and tossing it on the ground. 

Mary-Beth was teary-eyed with shock, her hands plastered over her mouth where she stood far off from the crowd. Javier stared open-mouthed at Micah. Dutch and Bill hoisted the injured man up, hands underneath his arms. Micah hiccupped and gurgled and coughed and retched, groaning in agony, his face crumpled in a wince the likes of which I'd never seen on him. Blood oozed from his lower belly, leaving droplets on the ground like breadcrumbs all the way to Dutch's tent. Susan followed them, rushing around and yelling about cloth and towels and anything at all to stop the bleeding–

And I stood there, my foot still in the stirrup. Arthur still sitting on the ground, his head in his hand now, Charles and John asking him if he was okay, was he hurt? John congratulating him in a very muted way, telling him it was okay, he did what he had to, Micah deserved it. Sadie came into my line of sight and it took effort to get my ears to focus and register what she was saying. 

"You okay?" She was asking. I nodded numbly and dropped my foot down, marched straight over to Arthur and kneeled down beside him, hissing at the sharp pull on my burns but sucking it up, touching Arthur's arm and his knee and finally getting him to peel his eyes from the ground. 

"You hurt?" Were his first words and I shook my head sharply. 

"You are, we need to do something about this," I told him, bringing my hand to the wound on his side and applying some pressure. Arthur sucked in a sharp breath but I shushed him in a way I hoped was soothing. We needed to stop the bleeding. "Can someone get me something to clean this and wrap it up?" I asked anyone who'd listen. 

"Grimshaw's throwing everything we've got at that bastard in there, I don't know if there's anything–"

"Are you fucking serious?" I screeched, interrupting Sadie, my rudeness not at all intentional or personal. She didn't mind. 

"I know!" She hissed back, just as livid. 

With my free hand I opened up Arthur's satchel, it wasn't a time to worry about asking permission, I searched for whatever alcohol I could find. There was a few inches of whiskey left inside a bottle. It'd do. 

"Sweetheart, lie back," I whispered, and he did as he was told wordlessly. 

I pulled open his ruined shirt, pushing it off of his shoulders, his suspenders getting dragged off with it. He helped me get his upper body out of his union suit and I could finally see what was leaking all the blood. He had a deep gash ripping right past his mid torso, at the bottom of his ribcage. It was clear a bullet had skimmed past his side, trimming a chunk from him. An inch further in and he'd be in real trouble. 

"Arthur," I whispered, shaking my head. 

"I'm fine," he shook his head.

"You're hurt. Stop it," I chastised, "I'm gonna clean it as best I can. I'm gonna hurt you, but it's gotta be done. I think it'll need stitching, it needs closing up somehow," I added.

"I'll see what I can scavenge to help him," Sadie said. 

"Shall we move him to his bed?" John asked. 

"Yeah that's probably best," I nodded, watching the blood drip down Arthur's side with a churning gut. 

John and Charles helped Arthur to his feet and we all walked back through camp, enduring all sorts of stares. Some looked worried and upset, while others just looked pissed off. Disgusted. I didn't have time to really think about who was wearing which set of emotions.

"Did I really jus– did I kill him?" Arthur questioned, his tone lifting up in shock. 

"He ain't dead… you ain't–" I was trying to make him feel better. My instinct was to nurture away any guilt he might've felt; but he had no reason to be guilty. "Thank you," I suddenly blurted out. 

"Huh?" He grunted as Charles and John helped him to lay down on his bed.

"You saved me. He almost shot me," I breathed, a laugh bubbling out from me that was totally misplaced. Nothing about this was funny; I was just in shock. 

"You should'a gone in a second or third time with that knife," John hissed. "If that prick lives–"

"He won't," Charles said firmly, and it almost sounded like a threat the way he said it, "I'm calling it now, the knife went deep, and you see where it was? Try all they like to stop the bleeding, that had to have done some damage inside." 

"I didn't know I'd done it till it already happened. Didn't consciously do it," Arthur frowned to himself. I tended to him, pouring a splash of whiskey over his wound, earning a sharp hiss. "Who the hell expected me to just stand there and let him– he pointed his gun right at you! No fucker does that and lives, especially not someone I've been waiting for a damn excuse to kill anyway." 

"I got some stuff, managed to convince Grimshaw to give me just a little dressing. Got a needle too, in case he needs stitches," Sadie returned, handing the supplies over to me. I shook my head bitterly. 

"How on God's green earth can they all coddle him and leave you with nothing," I spat. "After what he's done! Why don't any of those fools believe us?"

"Cause he got to 'em first," Arthur muttered pessimistically, staring down at his side where I gently pressed an alcohol soaked cloth to him, cleaning the wound. "Anything we said after just sounded like we were trying to save ourselves."

"But you've been with Dutch years!" I exclaimed. 

"So's Marston, yet he's been a suspect since that bank robbery. Dutch had his doubts, thinking he was the rat; ain't no reason he wouldn't think the same of me. 'Specially since I been sneaking off with you, that fool will believe anything once he's got his claws hooked into an idea." 

"Goddamn it, I hate that you're right," John sighed, leaning against the side of the wagon. 

"So that's it? He thinks we're all betraying him, selling him out to the Pinkertons? I can't believe he's listening to Micah over anyone else, what a stupid man!" I spat through bared teeth, then took a breath to try and steady myself. I had to sew him up. "I am so sorry, all of you. If I hadn't– I don't know. This is unbelievable."

"Don't apologise for him. You ain't in control of how he thinks, he chooses to trust the wrong person, that's his mistake!" Arthur said, his eyes shifting across the camp towards Dutch's tent, unrelenting hatred in his eyes. "I will never forgive him, all those years I spent with him don't mean nothing to me no more."

"Stay still darlin', I'm gonna stitch you up," I told him softly. My hands were shaking a little as I eyed the wound. I really didn't want to hurt him. 

"If it makes you folk feel any better, Micah is not doing well," Sadie began frankly, "he was out cold when I was over there. Grimshaw's packing bandages into his gut just to try and stem the flow, ain't pretty. You really did a number on him, Arthur."

"I ain't sorry," Arthur muttered, "hope he dies slow."

"They keep wasting our medical supplies on prolonging the inevitable, he will. Even if they stop the bleeding, you probably punctured his intestines, or his bowels. Next few days will be fun, if he even lasts that long," Charles said almost nonchalantly, glancing off towards Dutch's tent.

I bit down on my lip as I carefully began to stitch up the gash on Arthur's side. He didn't flinch or make any noise, so either he was good at hiding it or I wasn't causing him much pain. It was reassuring enough that I could finish the job quite quickly. The stitches held enough to greatly reduce how much he was bleeding, so I carefully had him sit up so that I could wrap the dressing Sadie had nabbed around him. I secured it firmly, keeping it tight to his wound just enough to support and protect, but not so tight as to be uncomfortable. I checked he was okay, if there was anything else I could do for him. 

Arthur shook his head, "thank you, my darlin'," he sighed, his words so sincere and sweet, his eye contact so warm and full of love it felt almost like it shouldn't be shared in the company of others. I kissed his forehead once, then rose to my feet. 

I cleared my throat and looked around at John, Charles and Sadie one by one. "So, what the hell are we gonna do?”

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #fanfiction #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #atink #rdr2 fanfic #reader insert

[the-queen-of-things]

You’re My Number Thirteen, Honey (Joker x You) - Explicit

A/N: kk people, I’m posting this here as well in case anyone is interested in reading it. I literally wrote this in one afternoon just beacuse it popped in my head out of nowhere. UNBETAED WE DIE LIKE MEN. Also Smut / No plot.

Warnings: Graphic Smut, Daddy Kink, Prostitution 18+ ONLY YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Summary: You're assigned to please Joker for one night.

You carefully examined your reflection in the LED lit mirror. Dressed in a see through, white lace nightgown that was barely covering the very top of your thighs. Fake, coal black eyelashes adorned your eyes, the tips decorated with tiny rhinestones. Just as he liked it.

Or so just as you were ordered.

You popped your lips, smoothing down the pale pink colour of the lipstick. Your hands roamed over the straps of your tiny dress, carefully adjusting them. There were times like this one you loved being one of Sasha's girls. The pay was good, the feeling of belonging gave you a sense of security in an otherwise dangerous city like Gotham.

But then again here you were all dolled up and expecting the most dangerous man in the city.

When you were offered the job of pleasing him you couldn't help but be intrigued by his intimidating persona or how the media made him out to be.

One thing you knew for sure. Joker was not the erratic man you thought he was. He craved control now. His old Arthur Fleck self only a mere speck on his immaculate blood red suit. Joker only wanted the best whores on his bed. Playing dress up by his rules and coming up with elaborate settings so his whores could satisfy the fantasies that Arthur had denied him for four decades.

You'd heard stories of him being the best lover a woman could ask for but you'd also heard that he was not an easy man to please. This rumour alone made your blood run cold. What if he killed you because you couldn't please him?

Your train of thought was interrupted as you heard the door of the hotel room creaking open.

You turned around slowly and came face to face with a man you had never seen before. His face was concealed by a clown mask and your spine crawled when you saw the handle of a gun tucked away at the front of his trousers.

"Good evening Ma'am." He bowed his head and clasped his hands in front of him. "I'm gonna have to ask you to strip for me first."

You looked at him in confusion as two other men barged in, ignoring you completely and began patting down the walls, pillows, opening drawers, checking the closets.

"Ma'am." The first man had not moved from his place, staring at you expectedly. "Please."

You nodded your head as realization sunk in and lifted the tiny dress over your breasts so he could see you were not wired. You were pretty sure he did it on purpose though cause you weren't wearing anything other than the white lace dress and a tiny red thong.

"Very well." He said and gestured for the others.

They all left the hotel room, shutting the door behind them leaving you with your breasts exposed still.

You smoothed down the dress and turned to your beloved mirror. You had started to feel self conscious, adjusting your thong so it sat perfectly on top of your ass and pinching your nipples so they peaked through the fabric. Anxiously you ran your hands through your hair going for the sexy unkept look.

Maybe you could still get out of this predicament. You had done this a thousand times with many men, so you tried to reason with yourself why would this be any different?

You shook your head and stood up straight taking a deep breath. Taking one last look at yourself in the mirror you climbed on the luscious bed dragging the transparent curtains that hang from the ceiling behind you.

Fluorescent lights sensually caressed the walls of the white room. Glam rock was playing on the radio and you stood on your knees in the center of the bed.

Your heart began pounding wildly as you noticed the door opening again.

He casually walked in the room and without even looking at you, he lit up a cigarette.

You were in absolute awe. This man was mesmerising. Lean yet strong, his dark green hair slicked back and sitting in curls on his shoulders.

He took a passionate drag from his cigarette and leaned on the door frame humming some song under his breath that you couldn't figure out.

When he let out the smoke, his eyes locked with yours and you found yourself shivering at the glistening green eyes looking back at you. His face was painted white and despite the big red smile he had on, he looked deadly.

Your hands began roaming on your body, first on your nipples then on your stomach and down to your pussy that was surprisingly wet and ready for some action.

You swayed your hips to the music and without breaking eye contact you bend over on all fours, your chest resting on the bed and your ass in the air.

"Where was daddy all day long?" You whimpered and brought a finger to your lips.

He smiled and looked down for a minute before moving from the door frame and shutting the door with a swift move of his leg.

He took another drag from the cigarette and whirled around while holding his jacket. He lazily approached the bed, his shoulders hanging down.

He looked at you again under his dark eyebrows and let out some more smoke. The cigarette hang from his lips as he pulled back the curtain and grabbed your chin.

You looked up at him with hooded eyes and licked your lips.

He let out a boyish laugh, showing off the top row of his teeth for a split second before his face hardened again. He blew smoke directly into your face and threw the cigarette bud over him.

"You look cute in this." He crashed his lips on yours unexpectedly, your eyes widening at the intrusion of his ashy tongue.

Despite the taste, his tongue felt cool against yours and the kiss got better as he deepened it, his soft lips taking you by surprise.

He abruptly broke the kiss and stated at you as you sat there with your mouth hanging open.

"Daddy heard you did some nasty things while he was gone."

He arched an eyebrow and smirked at you, as your cunt leaked juices on your thong. "With other men."

You grew frantic and tried to reason with him, putting all your acting talents on the table.

"No, please daddy, I didn't do anything."

"Ah ah ah, so someone's lying to me." He spat, his lips pursing in disappointment. "Turn around, I gotta find out myself."

"No, daddy!" You fake cried.

He straightened himself and looked down at you with furrowed brows.

"I'm not repeating myself."

You shuddered visibly as he reached down and caressed your cheek, his thumb slipping between your lips. You sucked on the digit with vigor, all the while moaning and looking in his eyes.

Joker took his thumb out of your mouth and ran it over your swollen lips, his left hand tagging on the buckle of his belt. As you lifted yourself on your arms, your dress hang low on your chest and he tilted his head to the side looking at your exposed breasts.

"Turn around princess." He grunted, his voice dark. "You're making me repeat myself." He grabbed your hair and was in your face now. "Let me see that virginal pussy of yours."

He licked the side of your face and let out a deep sigh near your ear. You couldn't believe the heat you were feeling. In all your days as a prostitute you haven't felt this desire for any man  other the one you have in front of you right now.

You hastily turned around, your ass being where your face was before. You could clearly see yourself in the mirror in front of you. Your eyes roamed higher, your breath turning erratic as you witnessed Joker fondling the bulge in his pants. His hand slipped beneath the waistband and he groaned as he repositioned his hardening cock.

You were salivating at the thought of his cock pounding your pussy and you wiggled your hips to express your anticipation.

His hand left your eyesight and your pussy pulsated as his fingers tagged your thong out of the way to reveal your sparkling hole and wet lips.

You looked at him through the mirror, his breathing heavy, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. The paint from his face began running, making him look impossibly sexy.

You moaned while looking over your shoulder and bucked your hips towards his fingers.

Suddenly a hand struck your left ass cheek and you let out a loud cry. "Don't be impatient kitten."

He said, his voice soft, caressing the bright red imprint his hand left on the supple flesh.

He spat on your pussy and you perked up at the sudden feeling. Your brows furrowed deeply as his long fingers found your opening and buried themselves in one quick wrist movement.

His thumb circled your clit, the feeling of thick slickness encompassing your whole body. He twisted his fingers inside you making your torso collapse on the sheets giving him even more room to enter you.

"You've been a very bad, bad girl." He clicked his tongue and you heard the rustle of clothes falling on the floor. Unable to see what he was doing, you assumed his pants were now off and his cock was freed.

You quickly crawled away from him, his fingers leaving you feeling empty but you had other plans to be filled up again.

You were facing him again, finally witnessing the Joker's cock in all its pulsating glory. Long, thick, bright pink at the top, engorged veins circling the shaft in every direction. He looked completely taken aback by your actions and you didn't know whether that look was good or bad. You didn't want to think further so you got on your knees and brought your hands on his jacket. You grabbed the hems and brought him closer until your lips met.

Joker lost his balance and toppled on the bed, you jumping at the chance to straddle him. His eyes were wide as he looked up at you, momentarily glancing down to where your pussy hovered dangerously close to his cock.

"Look at that... The pussy is actually a tiger." He teased and chuckled at his own joke.

You leaned down close to his ear and whispered: "I want to fuck you hard." You moaned and moved your head to kiss him, your mouth desperate for his.

His chuckling ceased completely as you ravaged his mouth frantically, sitting completely on him now, your pussy leaving wet patches on his hard cock like it was kissing it.

"Do it." He said between your lips.

You both struggled to free him from his jacket, your owns hands trying to simultaneously unbutton his vest and shirt.

Impatient, Joker lifted your hips, guided his cock with his hand, the head entering you and then slammed your hips down so hard you felt it in the back of your throat.

You cried out and shut your eyes as you gave up on getting him out of his suit. You tried adjusting to his thickness but Joker gave you no time to do so as he lifted your hips and slammed his against you, going so deep that he tickled at your orgasm with his cock.

"Uh, fuck." You wanted to scream and rotated your hips around his length wanting to feel all of him everywhere inside.

He tried lifting your hips again but you wouldn't budge. You looked at him, his face was a hot mess, paint smudged all over, his hair damp, strands plastered around his chiseled face. The sharp curves of his nostrils fluttering as his breath quickened.

His eyes looked hungry enough to make you feel like a pray despite your top position. You began moving on top of him, his dick slipping effortlessly in and out of you making you both moan in unison.

Your impending orgasm began to rumble in your head like a far off thunderstorm making your ears ring. Just one more stroke, just one more you kept repeating in your head as you bounced uncontrollably on his cock. His fingers lifted your lace dress exposing your swollen nipples to him and he slapped the bouncy breasts once, before he grabbed and shoved both of them in his face. He sucked on each nipple, one after the other and this was what ultimately sent you over the edge.

You screamed his actual name "Arthur" and came harder than ever your pussy contracting tightly around his shaft. Before you had time to come down of your high, Joker flipped you on your back and thrust vigorously inside you his palm wrapping around your neck.

Your mouth was wide open and you were moaning non stop as he fucked you into oblivion, his hand almost choking you. He pulled out at the last minute and sprayed his cum all over your thighs, pubic area and stomach. You felt some of it hitting your jaw and you looked down to see the work of art he had created.

He panted, his jacket was half hanging off his slender shoulders. He sat back and tried to regain his breath all while looking at you.

"What's your name, kitten?" He asked breathlessly.

You grabbed a neatly folded towel from the nightstand and cleaned yourself from his sticky cum. You glanced over at him as he slid off the bed to fish his pack of cigarettes out his pocket.

Joker lit another cigarette with some kind of grace that made him look like he was swaying to a rhythm only he could hear.

"You can ask for Kitten next time." You finally replied.

"I like you." He grinned while putting his pants on. He buttoned up and smoothed his jacket down grinning at you from ear to ear.

"Here's my card. Right at your service sweetheart." And with that he took a bow and left the room, the sound of his maniacal laugh fading off in the distance.

You took a look at the card he gave you:

Forgive my laughter

I have a condition

More on Back

You flipped the card around and laughed.

If you want more of my sugar you should wait for me to call you 😘

#arthur fleck #joker x reader #joker 2019 #smut #fanfiction #joaquin phoenix joker #Joaquin Phoenix

[unpack-my-heart]

De Profundis

Written for @violetreddie​ as a very late secret santa gift! I hope you like it 🥦

@tinyarmedtrex @xandertheundead​ @constantreaderfool​ @appojoos​ @moonlightrichie​ @toziesque​ @eds-trashmouth​ 

Click HERE to read the whole thing on AO3

Preview:

When they were in high school, they had always been EddieAndRichie. Inseparable, Maggie Tozier had called them. She cooed when they went to prom together, “just as friends, Eds, just friends, two bros, chillin’ in tuxes, totes platonic, you know the drill,” Richie had insisted, after badgering Eddie to tell him what colour tie he planned to wear so that they’d match. It was at this prom that they’d stood on the football field in the pouring rain and sworn that they’d apply to the University of Maine for college, that they’d convince the others to come too, but, more importantly, that they’d remain EddieAndRichie, no space, no room for anything, or anyone, else.

“It’s just you an’ me, Eds, s’how it’ll always be,” Richie had shouted, voice fighting against the torrent of water falling from the sky, and Eddie had nodded fervently.

“You and me”

After senior prom, and the most bizarre moment of Eddie’s life, when Richie had lent in so close to Eddie’s face that he went cross-eyed, and Eddie was so sure that Richie was going to kiss him, before he’d pulled away and lept out of his own mothers moving car at the intersection, everything had changed.

It wasn’t a tectonic shift at first, nothing too dramatic or noticeable to the undiscerning eye. The movies that Eddie watched late at night when his mother was having her NyQuil nightmares told him, with their hazy colour palettes, that the summer between high school and college, when he was not a boy, not yet a man, was a transformative time, an eight week stretch that didn’t abide by such silly constraints as time and space, when things, and people, changed and always, these movies insisted, always, for the better.

The movies lied.

Read the whole thing under the cut

The first day of the rest of Eddie’s life fizzled like a dud firework. The University of Maine, those hallowed halls that Eddie had romantically-with-a-capital-R imagined himself walking down, books clutched in his hands, glasses that he didn’t need perched studiously on the end of his nose, had been the place that, according to the brochure, would nurture him, would propel him forward to greatness with a great shove, and Eddie had eaten up these sickly promises greedily. In actuality, Sonia had dumped Eddie at the entrance to his dorm building with a sob and a screech, and, as soon as her car turned the corner and disappeared out of sight, the bottom of Eddie’s suitcase had given up and his clothes hit the pavement with a dull thud.

If Eddie had been the kind of person who cried, he’d have cried. He’d have dropped to his knees dramatically, thrown his head back and howled his woes at the grey-blue sky with his teeth bared. But he wasn’t. Eddie Kaspbrak didn’t cry. Instead, he swept as many articles of clothing as he could into his grasp and walked purposefully towards the registration desk.

“Eddie Kaspbrak, I’d sign my own name but … y’know, clothes”

The girl sat behind the desk laughed.

“I can see that, but I really do need your signature, otherwise I can’t hand over your keys”

“Seriously?”

“As a heart-attack, I’m afraid. I could take over on don’t-let-Eddie’s-jumpers-drag-along-the-floor duty whilst you sort yourself out though?”

“Are you sure?” Eddie asked, already thrusting the bundle of clothing at her, “you’re a life-saver, I swear to God”

“Us members of the arrival survival team take our pledge very seriously, I’m just doing my job,” the girl said with an exaggerated shrug, sending a sleeve of one of Eddie’s shirts flying over her shoulder.

Eddie filled in the relevant paperwork, signing his name with an overemphasised flourish. The girl handed his clothing back, revealing the name tag that was pinned haphazardly to her sweater.

“Kay? You’re a peach. Thank you. Now, uh,” Eddie said, shifting his grip on the clothes so he didn’t drop his keys, “which way do I need to go? I think I’m in the Arthur Lewis building but I … have no idea where that is”

– X –

The diner smelt like three-day-old oil and loneliness, the kind that only those who sought solace under the flickering lights of a 24 hour diner will ever understand, and the bell jingled miserably when Eddie pushed the door open. He shook his head like a dog, droplets of rain water spraying the wall, much to the chagrin of the overworked and under-payed waitress.

“Eddie! Over here!”

A familiar voice cut through the clanging of pots and the low chatter of the other patrons of Bob Grey’s Diner.  

Eddie picked his way through the labyrinth of tables, before slumping down onto the crackled leather seat, immediately dropping his head onto Beverly’s shoulder.

“Hey,” he muttered, eyes closed against the artificial light of the sign buzzing in the window.

BOB GR Y’S DIN R

BOB GR Y’S DIN R

BOB GR Y’S DIN R

“You’re late,” Bev said, factually, but she didn’t look at him, instead continuing to push half-eaten eggs around her plate with a fork.

“I know, I got held up at home,” Eddie replied. It was a lie, a white lie but a lie nonetheless, and a lie that he knew Beverly would see right through, but he said it anyway.

“Hiya, Eds!”

“Don’t call me Eds, Richard”

It began almost immediately. Richie would lunge forward with an aborted attempt at humour, perhaps chastise Eddie for something, “why do you order like such an old woman, Eds?” and Eddie would parry with a “shut the fuck up, trash-for-brains”, before it’d start all over again. It was exhausting, and Eddie would limp off the battlefield with new wounds that would scab over and form fresh scars, but there was something intoxicating about it. The most fucked up mating ritual in the animal kingdom.

“Can I getcha anything, sweetheart?” the waitress asked, and Eddie snapped out of his introspection with a sharp jolt.

“Uh, maybe, yeah, yeah, hang on, uh, can I get the, uh – the eggs? But can I get them on whole-wheat instead of white bread, please? And, maybe, maybe the – uh – the orange juice? But no ice, oh and could you double check the eggs don’t come with pepper, please? Thank you, thank you so much”

He handed the menu back over to the disinterested waitress with a sheepish grin, and turned his attention back to the table, only to be met with that familiar Richie smirk.

The dance continued.

“So,” Richie began, and Eddie tensed, steeling himself. “So, you’ve decided you’re allergic to pepper now, too?”

“Pardon?” Eddie replied, shooting for bored but sailing straight past and landing on uptight.

“Pepper. Could you, uh, could you maybe please maybe make sure there isn’t any of that nasty sneezy pepper on my uh, on my eggs? Thank you so much, thank you,”

“Fuck you”

“If you ask nicely, sure”

“You’re incorrigible”

“That’s a big word for such a little boy”

“I’m going to garrotte you with Stan’s dental floss, don’t think I won’t, because I will, I’ll come at you in the night”

“I’m trembling in my boots, Spaghetti, honestly”

“Jesus, will you two either go fuck in the bathroom or shut up? You’re making my ears bleed,” Bev said, shoving at Richie with a playful but still sharp elbow.

The rest of the losers ignored them and their bickering, instead busying themselves with lamenting about their huge college workloads.

“Professor Sumner has really been on my ass this semester, I handed in three problem sheets yesterday and she’s still not happy –”

“Yeah! I submitted my portfolio for the semester for grading four weeks ago and I still haven’t had it back, every time I check my grade I feel like –”

“Oh Jesus and don’t even get me started on how many exams I have when we get back after the Christmas break, just looking at my exam timetable is enough to –”

“I have INTOLERANCES, Richard! It’s not my fucking fault pepper makes me sneeze!”

“Pepper makes everyone sneeze, you moron!”

The monthly brunch was permanently etched into each of the Losers’ calendars on the last Sunday of every month. It was Mike’s idea. Initially, they’d tried to stick to a weekly schedule, dedicating each and every Sunday to each other, but the cracks had soon started to show. Stan was the first to become flaky, missing this Sunday and that, citing difficult homework or plans with new friends as the reason for not showing up. Then, Bill had stopped coming almost all-together, showing his face perhaps once a month at most, and even when he did, he’d disappear almost immediately after finishing his food. When they’d gone almost a whole month without seeing each other at all, Bev had rung Eddie with steel in her voice and demanded that he help her organise an intervention. Eddie had been reticent at first, having almost convinced himself that he was bizarrely content with letting the flame of their friendship die down, but then Richie had, without warning, turned up at his door with a blanket tucked under his arm and deep purple rings framing his eyes.

“I can’t sleep”

“Come in, Rich”

– X –

When they were in high school, they had always been EddieAndRichie. Inseparable, Maggie Tozier had called them. She cooed when they went to prom together, “just as friends, Eds, just friends, two bros, chillin’ in tuxes, totes platonic, you know the drill,” Richie had insisted, after badgering Eddie to tell him what colour tie he planned to wear so that they’d match. It was at this prom that they’d stood on the football field in the pouring rain and sworn that they’d apply to the University of Maine for college, that they’d convince the others to come too, but, more importantly, that they’d remain EddieAndRichie, no space, no room for anything, or anyone, else.

“It’s just you an’ me, Eds, s’how it’ll always be,” Richie had shouted, voice fighting against the torrent of water falling from the sky, and Eddie had nodded fervently.

“You and me”

After senior prom, and the most bizarre moment of Eddie’s life, when Richie had lent in so close to Eddie’s face that he went cross-eyed, and Eddie was so sure that Richie was going to kiss him, before he’d pulled away and lept out of his own mothers moving car at the intersection, everything had changed.

It wasn’t a tectonic shift at first, nothing too dramatic or noticeable to the undiscerning eye. The movies that Eddie watched late at night when his mother was having her NyQuil nightmares told him, with their hazy colour palettes, that the summer between high school and college, when he was not a boy, not yet a man, was a transformative time, an eight week stretch that didn’t abide by such silly constraints as time and space, when things, and people, changed and always, these movies insisted, always, for the better.

The movies lied.

The morning after senior prom, Eddie woke before Richie. He grabbed his suit, where it lay crumpled in a sad little pile in the middle of Richie’s bombsite bedroom, and left without saying goodbye. Richie didn’t ring him. Eddie hovered around in the kitchen when he got home, but the phone didn’t ring. Around lunch time, Eddie sat at the kitchen table, pretending to be very interested indeed in the story his mother was telling him about the woman who worked at the supermarket on a Wednesday and her mother’s brother’s son’s daughter’s scandalous second marriage. Yes, mother, do please tell me more about this woman and her promiscuous affair with the postman while I sit here and wait for my best-friend-but-maybe-not-anymore to ring me to settle this tempest in my stomach. The tempest raged on well into the evening, and the bland stew that Sonia Kaspbrak proffered went uneaten on the kitchen counter.

Soon enough, and without consciously realising, Eddie stopped waiting for the phone to ring.

– X –

“I can’t sleep”

“Come in, Rich”

Clasping the blanket tightly between his hands, Richie shuffled into the room.

“This is weird”

“Is it?”

“Not really,” Richie said, flopping down onto Eddie’s bed. “That’s precisely why it’s so weird”

Not knowing how to respond, Eddie busied himself putting his study materials away into neat piles. Pencils here, anthology of renaissance poetry there, a packet of post-its balanced neatly on top.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asked, and Richie nodded his head in response, before pausing for a beat, and then shaking it.

“Not really, Eddie Spaghetti, not really”

“Oh.”

A pause. A pause that stretched for slightly too long, and then a great, deafening silence. Richie lay on the bed, arm thrown dramatically over his eyes, and Eddie stood awkwardly in the corner of his own room, a stranger imposing on an intimate moment, made even more painful by the fact that he didn’t know whether he was allowed to console Richie anymore, or whether Richie would shrug him off as he would a barely-there acquaintance.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Eddie asked dutifully, but remained shielded by the comfort of his corner, a poignant distance maintained between them.

“Ah,” Richie said, a glint in his eye that Eddie didn’t recognise, “don’t worry about it. I’m fine, really I am. Just got a case of can’t-sleep-itis. I’ll survive, the prognosis looks pretty good”

Considering it was the first time in just under a month that they had spent more than brief moments in the hallways together, small waves and tiny smiles at each other over the raging sea of other students, before one of them got swept up in the tide and was pulled away before greetings could be exchanged.

“I’m going to take a lit elective,” Richie said, as easily as if he’d just told Eddie that it was going to snow the next day. “Oh, and it’s supposed to snow tomorrow”

“Pardon?”

“Yeah, the weather dude said we were supposed to get a few inches over-night, but I’ve got a few inches I can give him overnight if you catch my drift,” Richie said, grabbing at his crotch gratuitously.

‘What? No – gross. I’m not – No. I meant the lit elective, you’re taking a lit class?”

“Yup,” Richie said, popping the ‘p’ like it was bubblegum, “I got it all sorted a few weeks ago, actually. I’m taking the ‘poetry and experiment’ class”

“Ben’s taking that, he said he’s enjoying it so far, he said it was helping him push the boundaries of genre, and he said that –”

“Are we a prospectus now? Push the boundaries of genre?”

“That’s what Ben said!” Eddie said, defensively, and crossed his arms over his chest. Richie laughed at him, a laugh that Eddie had never heard before, that sounded more like a shaky gasp than genuine laughter.

“C’mere, you moron. Why are you stood in the corner, all blair-witchy?”

“I dunno”

“Yes, you do”

“No, I’m just – stood. There isn’t a reason for –”

“Yes, there is”

“No there isn’t!”

“Eds…”

“Richard”

“Come sit with me”

“Okay”

As he sat down next to Richie, Eddie could feel his heart thumping like a pneumatic drill, hammering against the cage of his ribs. He was sure that Richie could hear it too, but if he could, Richie didn’t mention it. All he did was swoop his arms around Eddie’s shoulders and tug him down, and Eddie squawked as he fell, but he still let Richie rearrange his limbs so they were sat close together, Richie tucked around Eddie’s side neatly.

“Have you spoken to Bev?” Eddie asked.

“Hmm,” Richie hummed, stroking a hand through Eddie’s hair thoughtfully. “She rang me yesterday, something about getting the old gang back together. What do you think?”

“I nearly said no”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I nearly said that I didn’t care if we all drifted apart, that that’s what happens to people when you go to college, everyone says so”

“Not everyone fought, and brutally murdered, a demonic clown from outer space with their friends before they’d even finished going through puberty, some of us still haven’t finished going through –”

The sentence died in Richie’s mouth as Eddie pummelled him with closed fists, shrieking as he did so.

“Fuck you, Richard!”

“Hey! Hey now, I’m – Jesus, short-stack, I was joking! Suspend the attack, call off the troops, ooof!”

After flipping Richie off, Eddie turned so he was lying on his side, so that his back was flush against Richie’s front.

“I know, I – I guess I was starting to forget”

“Forget?”

“Forget what it was like when we were all together, that – that feeling I get in my gut when I’m with you all, like – like this is where I’m supposed to be, you know? Like, these are my people”

Richie nodded.

“Yeah, yeah I get you. I said yes, but mainly because I was scared Red would come at me with those massive fabric shears if I said no”

With that, all of the tension drained out of the room, and out of Eddie’s spine. They spent the evening in Eddie’s bed, always curled around each other, always talking in hushed tones, always breathing in sync. When he was sure that Richie was in a deep sleep, Eddie, trying not to think too much about the reasons why, logged onto the college portal and swapped out ‘contemporary literary theory and its applications’ for ‘poetry and experiment’.

When Eddie woke in the morning, Richie had gone.

– X –

The next time Eddie saw Richie was just under a week later, when Richie loped into the seminar room for Poetry and Experiment. Eddie, who always sat next to a very enthusiastic Benjamin Hanscom, shrunk down in his seat, as if he could hide behind the three large textbooks on his table. No such luck.

“Well, fancy seeing you two fine feathered fellas here!”

“Hiya, Richie! Eddie told me you were going to start taking this course, it’s great to have you!” Ben said, pulling out the empty chair next to him, before gesturing for Richie to sit down.

“Ah, yes, he told me that you’d be here, handsome, but not that he took this course also! Holding out on me, Kaspbrak?”

“Well, actually, Eddie has only just transferred to this course, he dropped –”

“Hey! Ben, esslay ofyay ethay ansferredtray,” Eddie hissed at Ben, but Richie just raised an eyebrow in challenge.

“oureyay utecay enwhay oureyay anickedpay. You’re not the only one that speaks Pig Latin here, Eds”

“Shut up”

“Ever the charmer, isn’t he, Ben? Just gets my heart a’thumpin,” Richie said, before he reached down into his backpack and pulled out a notebook. “Right, I don’t know about you but I’m ready to flex my poetry muscles, you up for the challenge, Kaspbrak?”

“Bring it on, Richard”

– X –

The seminar was a disaster. Each of the students stood up at the end of the two hour session to read out what they had so far, and Eddie was the last to go. He stood up with trembling knees and read from his notebook in wavering, hushed tones.

“…That way, she’d live forever. That’s, uh, that’s all I’ve got”

Richie yawned, long, dramatic, and fake, from his corner of the room.

“Blank verse? Pretty uninspired, Eds. It’s okay, though, we can’t all be John Milton, no hard feelings”

“At least I don’t have a stupid fucking TS Eliot tattoo,” Eddie shot back lightning fast, face immediately creasing in embarrassment when the professor shot up, scolding him for his profanity.

“Now, enough! Sit down you two. Eddie, that poem was a good start indeed, but I am tempted to side with Richie on this, blank verse was certainly the easy way out. I have a few other notes …”

Immediately after the seminar had ended and the professor had dismissed them, Eddie shot out of the room as quickly as a buttered bullet.

“Eddie! Wait!”

It was Ben.

“I have a message to deliver to the whole class, could you come back a sec?”

Reluctantly, Eddie slunk back into the classroom to find Ben stood at the front of the room, several pieces of paper in his hands.

“Right, as most of you, or at least some of you, know, I’ve wanted to start an undergraduate literary journal here at U of M for some time, and I managed to convince the dean to give me the funding so … here we are! I’ve got enough writers for the criticism and stuff, but I need some essayists and poets to flesh out the fiction sections. If you want to submit work, please take a signup sheet! Thanks, guys!”

As soon as Ben had stopped talking, and a small huddle of people had gathered around him, Eddie slipped out of the room again.

“Eds! Wait!”

It was Richie

“Jesus, I didn’t know such little legs could move so fast,” he continued, jogging to catch up with Eddie who didn’t slow down.

“What do you want, Richie?”

“Not signing up for the journal? I thought you’d want to submit She Who Mocks or something”

“Naw, like the professor said, it was uninspired,” Eddie mumbled, taking a sharp left turn, almost losing Richie to the thrum of the crowds in the process.

“I don’t think the prof used that word, Eds, and I was just ribbing you when I said it, you know that”

“Drop it, Rich. I’m not signing up”

“Well, neither am I, so you’re in good company. Mike ran into me earlier and said that he and Stan were going to be at the ‘bucks, shall we?”

“Never call it ‘the ‘bucks’ again and you’ve got yourself a deal”

– X –

To: [email protected]:

So … this journal thing

From: [email protected]:

you gonna sign up? :O

To: [email protected]:

Thinking about it. What do I have to do?

From: [email protected]:

send me the poem you’d like to submit, and if it’s successful it’ll be in the Christmas vol which will be published just b4 the end of this semester!!!!!!

To: [email protected]:

If I do submit something, which I might not, you can’t tell R

From: [email protected]:

why?

To: [email protected]:

Just don’t, okay?

From: [email protected]:

he likes u, u know

To: [email protected]:

*rolling eye emoji*

From: [email protected]:

Send it to my college email when you’re done x

Eddie logged off of AOL messenger, opened a blank word document, and took a deep breath.

– X –

Eddie had almost forgotten about the literary journal when a copy of The Maine Literary Review landed in his pigeon hole one frosty December morning. He blinked stupidly at the journal for a few seconds, before he picked it up gingerly, as if it might explode in his hands. Holding his breath, and anxious for a reason he couldn’t place, he flicked to the contents page, and there it was, in size twelve Calibri font.

Birdbones by Mr Bleaney (p. 23)

“Huh,” Eddie breathed out loud to no one but himself. “Huh”

He was now, technically, a published poet. Edward F. Kaspbrak, published poet. It had a ring to it. Not that anyone would know that he, demure little Eddie, had actually written birdbones, and if anyone asked, of course he’d deny ownership. But he knew, and that was enough.

He scanned the rest of the contents page briefly, and his eye was caught by one particular name.

You by De Profundis (p. 24)

Eddie rolled his eyes. De Profundis. Almost certainly a pseudonym chosen for the writers affinity for Oscar Wilde.. He flicked to page twenty-four, and read the sonnet once, twice, three times before he shoved the journal in the front zip pocket of his backpack. Trite. That was the word that most accurately described what he had just read. Trite, with a sort of cloying optimism that turned Eddie’s stomach and made his teeth itch.

When he returned to his dorm in the brief interlude between classes, he started jotting a few lines of verse down, mind swimming with You, You, You, and then, before he’d given it much conscious thought, a new poem was staring up at him, fresh and shiny. And, within it, a small, barely-there jab at De Profundis.

         … From the depths of vacuity, he sits, Promethean, ….

When he found the time, Eddie typed the poem up and sent it off to Ben without giving it a second thought.

– X –

“You’re late again”

“I know, I know”

“Richie’s late too”

“I know”

“You walked in together”

“I am aware”

“Do you have anything you’d like to –”

“Absolutely not,” Eddie said, turning his body away from Bev and her inquisition, and towards Mike and Stan who were currently debating the merits of IHOP syrup over the stuff Stan buys at Trader Joes.

Richie sat next to Eddie, elbows on the table, head cradled in the palm of his hands. He was watching Eddie. Eddie could see him, out of the corner of his eye, helped by the fact that Richie was making no attempt to hide his gaze.

“Have I got syrup on my face?” Eddie asked eventually, squirming under Richie’s gaze.

“Nope”

“A bit of pancake? A forgotten smudge of shaving foam?”

“Don’t joke, Eds, we all know you don’t need to shave yet”

“Asshole,” Eddie scolded, and he tried to shove at Richie with his hand but Richie caught it mid-air, and pulled it down towards the familiar crackled leather of the booth.

Eddie tried to pull his hand away, but Richie held tight, wrapping Eddie’s smaller hand up in his. They weren’t holding hands, not really, but Eddie’s hand was soft and pliant in Richie’s and it almost felt like something, something that just friends don’t do.

“So,” Ben started, drumming his fingers on the table in what Eddie imagined Ben hoped looked inconspicuous, “the first volume of my journal came out”

“I’m so proud of you, babe,” Bev said, running a hand through Ben’s sandy hair.

“Aw, I barely did anything. I had some really great submissions, actually. Especially from two poets in particular, really chalk and cheese, but I put them together because –”

The rest of Ben’s sentence faded to white noise as Eddie felt Richie’s hand tense around his. Eddie looked up at Richie, and was met with a soft smile and a squeeze for his efforts.

“You okay?” Richie whispered.

“I’m fine, I’m great, yeah, it’s all groovy”

“Groovy?”

“S’what I said”

“Why are you nervous?”

“I’m not nervous”

“Yes you are”

“M’not”

“Is it because I’m holding your hand?”

“Absolutely not”

And, as if to prove it, Eddie wiggled his fingers in between Richie’s, interlocking them so that they were holding hands properly.

“Eddie, have you looked at Ben’s journal yet? Inquiring minds want to know,” Stan asked, an innocent enough question but panic shot through Eddie’s spine like adrenaline.

“Uh, sort of. I had a flick through, I wasn’t that impressed”

Richie’s thumb stilled from where it was rubbing small circles on Eddie’s skin.

“You weren’t?” Ben asked, sounding mildly hurt.

“Oh, I mean, it was put together beautifully and your editor’s note was brilliant, and some of the essays were very good, very original stuff about Frankenstein and I liked the thought piece about the influence of Icelandic ghost stories on nineteenth-century culture, but some of the poems were …"

Eddie paused, and Richie didn’t breathe.

“Some of the poems were awful”

“Awful?” Richie asked, voice quieter and more serious than Eddie had heard it in a long time.

“Well, maybe not awful but … cliché. Chocolate box poetry, a dime a dozen type stuff”

“Care to name drop any particularly awful pieces?”

“Well, that birdbones poem was pretty shite, and the pseudonym was ridiculous”

“You like that Larkin poem, though. You read it to me when we moved out of Derry, said that it made you feel old and young all at the same time,” Richie said, voice even but Eddie could sense there existed an undercurrent of annoyance.

“Well yes, but … still,” Eddie finished feebly, waving his hands around as if they could speak better than his mouth.

“Huh,” was all Richie said, before excusing himself to the bathroom, and, without providing an explanation to the rest of his friends, Eddie followed him.

Richie was standing in front of the sink when Eddie pushed his way into the men’s room, staring at himself in the grimey mirror.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asked, leaning against the wall and trying not to think about the hundreds of other patrons who had also leant against that very wall, very probably without having washed their hands or their other appendages properly.

“Huh? Me? I’m fine, Eddie Spaghetti, don’t you worry about me”

“I’m not worried, I’m just … concerned”

“Eddie,” Richie laughed, turning around, “they’re synonyms. They mean the same thing”

“No they don’t!” Eddie insisted, “they mean entirely different things. Worry is more extreme, I am … diluted worry, worry with added water”

“Whatever you say, my little worrywart,” Richie said, pushing his way out of the bathroom to re-join the others at their booth. Eddie followed, unconvinced but not willing to push it further.

– X –

The next volume of The Maine Literary Review landed in Eddie’s pigeon hole three weeks after Christmas break. As he had before, Eddie flicked to the contents page with shaking fingers. And, as had been the case before, there he was, or rather, there Mr Bleaney was, right there, immortalised on the page.

From the Depths by Mr Bleaney (p. 14)

Eighteen by De Profundis (p. 15)

There they were, right next to each other, nestled on opposite pages like the best of friends. The name of Eddie’s poem would surely catch the attention of De Profundis, and if that didn’t, the reference in the poem surely would, if De Profundis would actually bother to read Eddie’s poem, of course.

– X –

Eddie would always remember the first time De Profundis name checked him in one of their poems. He’d been idly flicking through the Journal, not having been enticed by the title of his self-proclaimed rivals offering, – The Sailor Who Fell From The Stars – and he’d decided to briefly scan the poem when a particular stanza caught his eye.

                      From the depths of vacuity

                      All I see are flowered curtains, thin and frayed,

                      Falling to within five inches of the sill.

                      Do you warrant better? I don’t know ….

A fist made of stone and poetry punched Eddie in the stomach. De Profundis used his words. De Profundis used his words, spat them back in his face, and then stamped on them for good measure.

This was, as far as Eddie was concerned, a declaration of war, and Eddie wasn’t about to surrender.

– X –

Void. by Mr Bleaney (1st Feb 2003)

… the winds are cold and so are you,

baseless insults, show yourself ….

Testify by De Profundis (11th March 2003)

… the winds grow tired of your howling, the void will spit you out ….

Everything by Mr Bleaney (23rd April 2003)

one day

you will bleed the words I

breathed into your skin

and there will be no bandage

and you will rot in a pool of naïve

sincerity you never deserved

sssssstutter by De Profundis (15th May 2003)

… my fuh-fuh-friend, don’t bluh-bluh-bleed on the carpet,

Your wuh-words will stain …

I am not your friend by Mr Bleaney (4th June 2003)

See above.

“Eddie,” Ben sighed, the crackle of the phone signal obscuring his words somewhat, “That last submission wasn’t really a poem, was it”

“Who are you, Benjamin Hanscom, to tell me that that wasn’t a poem. You’re telling me that that doesn’t count as a post-structuralist, postmodernist attempt to subvert the reader’s expectations about what poetry actually is and force them to look up for answers? Up to the title, perhaps? You need to broaden your horizons, Sir”

“Eddie.”

“Yes, yes, fine. I know it was a bullshit excuse for a poem, but you didn’t have to publish it!” Eddie said, voice verging on shrill.

Ben sighed. “Yes I did. You would have accused me of ‘not appreciating your art’ if I didn’t. And, at any rate, I heard from De Profundis a few days before”

“… You did?”

“Yes. He asked if you’d sent in a response to stutter”

“Ssssstutter,” Eddie corrected, causing Ben to laugh. “Why did he want to know?”

“Ask him yourself”

Eddie rolled his eyes, but, upon realising that Ben couldn’t see him roll his eyes over the phone, Eddie just groaned.

“I’ve got to go, I’m meeting Rich at Coffee Hoppers in 10”

“Enjoy your date”

“Thanks – wait, I mean, it’s not a date! Ben! It’s not a –”

Ben had already hung up.

– X –

When Eddie arrived at the warm, hazily lit coffee shop, Richie was already there, sat on one of the plush, squishy sofas in the corner with two steaming mugs sat in front of him on the table.

“Hey, Rich. What do I owe you?” Eddie said, sitting down next to Richie.

“Naw, I got you, Eds. It’s my pleasure to keep you in your disgustingly sweet coffee-but-not-really drinks,” Richie said, batting his eyelashes at Eddie.

Although it had no reason to be, the atmosphere was charged. They were sat close together, knees knocking every time one of them shifted, but this was no unusual thing. They often sat close together, if not on top of each other, Richie’s legs sprawled across Eddie’s lap, or Eddie perched on the end of Richie’s knees when they were in Bill’s beaten up old truck. No, the unusual thing about this particular coffee date, was the fact that as soon as Eddie sat down, Richie grabbed his hand.

“So,” Richie started, “the new volume of Ben’s journal comes out tomorrow”

“Does it?”

“Yup. Have you been keeping up with it?”

“Sort of, not really, I don’t know. Have you seen the new adaptation they’re doing of that Stephen King book? It looks pretty good, Bill said’ he’d go see it with me, I know that –”

“Ah, yeah yeah, I’ve seen the advert. It looks … fine. Why’re you going with Big Bill, though?”

Eddie blinked.

“Because … he likes films like that?”

“So do I,” Richie huffed, knitting his eyebrows in a way that should look petulant but instead just looks endearing.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, Oh”

“Do you, I mean – you don’t have to, but would you like –”

“Eddie Spaghetti, it would be an honour to escort you to the movies to get our scream on”

“Our scream on?” Eddie said faintly, and Richie laughed.

“Y’know, like, screaming at horror movies. Get your mind out of the gutter, you dirty bird”

Well before Eddie was ready to let Richie go, the clock struck four in the afternoon, and Richie had to leave to pick up his shift at the local video store.

“I’ll ring you about arranging our movie date, Eds,” Richie said, wriggling into his jacket and smoothing his hair down.

Eddie laughed. “Yeah, yeah, our date”

“Um. Yeah? Like, holding hands in the dark, I’ll buy the popcorn if you buy the tickets, type thing?”

“Oh, like, a real real date?”

“I mean – I thought that much was obvious, Eds”

“Uh – I guess it is now. I’ll ring you, or you ring me – you ring me, yeah, I’ll wait for your call, or I’ll – yeah. Date”

“You’re ridiculous, Spaghetti head”

And with that, Richie was planting a kiss on the top of Eddie’s head, before bustling out of the coffee shop and disappearing out of view.

On the table, lay a book. It was face down, and Eddie grabbed it, standing up with the intention of chasing after Richie, who had forgotten it, but he thought better of it. He’d give it back to Richie in their next Poetry and Experiment seminar, or on their … date. Whichever came first.

Eddie sat back down, and turned the book around to look at the cover.

                     De Profundis and Other Writings

                      Oscar Wilde

                      Penguin Classics

Huh.

There were several small pieces of paper sticking out of the book, and Eddie could see that the pieces were littered with the familiar scribbled scrawl of Richie’s writing. With curiosity getting the better of him, Eddie gently tugged a few of the pieces of paper out of the book.

The first piece had a few lines from a Keats poem scribbled on it,

Sweet, sweet is the greeting of eyes,

And sweet is the voice in its greeting,

When adieus have grown old and goodbyes

Fade away where old Time is retreating.  

The second had a stanza of a poem Eddie didn’t recognise written on it, but the last, the last one he did recognise. It was only a line, but it was a line he’d stared at for hours, trying to come up with a response, wracking his brain, willing his fingers.

the winds grow tired of your howling, the void will spit you out

Without even thinking, Eddie could name the poem, and the author.

De Profundis.

Could it … ?

The bell above the door of the coffee shop rang out, and Eddie’s head snapped up. Richie was walking back over to him, hair and coat damp with late winter rain. Eddie shoved the pieces of paper back into the book with trembling fingers.

“Sorry, Eds, forgot my,” Richie gestured at the book sat bereft on the table, before picking it up and tucking it into his messenger bag.

Eddie nodded wordlessly.

“Okay well, I really gotta run, so I’ll see you – later?”

Eddie nodded again, face contorted into a grimace that, try as he might, wouldn’t be chased off of his face. Richie left without another word, but shot glances at Eddie over his shoulder until he disappeared from view once more.

– X –

“You’re … early,” Bev said, swirling the straw around in her Bloody Mary.

“I know”

“Is Richie not with you?”

“Nope”

“Where is he?”

“How the fuck am I supposed to know?” Eddie snapped, regretting it immediately when Bev’s eyebrows shot up. “Sorry, I just – stressed. I have a lot of homework due”

“Hmmm,” Bev hummed, unconvinced, but her train of thought was interrupted by Richie’s arrival.

“Good afternoon, fellow human people!” He said, slotting into the booth next to Eddie.

“Hullo, Rich” Mike said, ignoring Richie’s request for a fist bump in favour of continuing to absently scritch a hand through Stan’s hair.

“Lame,” Richie shot back, before turning to Eddie. “I’ve looked at the showing times for the movie, can you do Friday?”

“Uh, no. I’ve got – homework”

“Sunday?”

“Homework”

“Next Tuesday?”

“Uh, homework,” Eddie supplied feebly, shrugging his shoulders.

“Oh, uh – okay. Maybe you could pick the date then? Let me know when you’re free?” Richie said, the timidity of his voice tugging at Eddie’s heart.

“Yeah, yeah – I’ll ring you”

The conversation ebbed and flowed for several hours, before Richie, drunk as a skunk, began to tap on his glass with a spoon covered in whipped cream.

“Attention! Ladies and germs, can I have your attention”

“Jesus Christ,” Stan said, rolling his eyes. “About to announce that you’re pregnant with Eddie’s child, finally?”

“What? Ew, gross. Not everyone shares your fondness for MPREG fanfiction, Stanley,” Richie said, earning a fork to the head for his trouble. “No, I have another announcement to make. I, Richard “Big Dick” Tozier, am a published poet”

Eddie’s stomach dropped to the floor.

“Yes, it’s true,” Richie continued, “I have been sending in work to Benny-boy’s little journal and he’s been publishing it! Fancy that, you all being in the presence of a celebrity”

“Hey, Rich! That’s pretty cool!” Mike said, reaching over the table to shake Richie’s hand.

“I thought you told me not to tell anyone?” Ben asked.

“Yeah, I didn’t want you telling anyone, but this is me telling everyone, so that’s different,” Richie said, sitting back down and he leant his head against Eddie’s shoulder.

“Are you proud of me, Eds?”

“Yes, very proud,” Eddie deadpanned, wringing his hands in his lap.

“I have a rival, you know. I’m Byron, and ‘Mr Bleaney,” Richie mocked, “‘Mr Bleaney’ is Polidori”

“Oh really?” Eddie said, trying to keep his voice as calm and even.

“Yup! He started it, taking the piss out of my pseudonym, when his is just as stupid. You said so yourself! That stupid Larkin poem. I know you like it, Eds, but I don’t. Too bleak. And his poetry,” Richie mock-retched, “God is it depressing. Not a single hopeful theme, would it kill the guy to use a happy metaphor for once? Even your poetry is less dull”

“My poetry?”

“Yup! You’re a much better writer than Mr Bleaney”

“Good to know,” Eddie replied sharply, but Richie was already distracted, talking to Ben about his latest submission.

After brunch, Eddie disappeared before Richie could stop him.

– X –

The first time Eddie realised he liked Richie in a more-than-friends sort of way, they’d been sitting in the back of Bill’s rusty old truck, on their way to the drive-in. It was the night before Halloween, and their local drive-in was showing back to back classic Zombie films into the early hours of the morning. Bill had bribed all of the Loser’s to go with him, with the promise of all-they-could eat popcorn, a promise Richie took as a challenge. They had been sat together in the truck bed, three blankets wrapped around their shoulders, huddled together for warmth. Richie had hooked an arm around Eddie’s shoulder and pulled him in, so that Eddie’s head was nestled neatly in the crook of Richie’s neck.

“I’ll keep you warm, Eds, don’t you worry. I won’t let you turn into an eds-icle”

“You’re jokes are so fuckin’ lame, Rich”

“You love them,” Richie had said confidently, eyes sparkling in the late October moonlight, and Eddie was sucker punched by the realisation that it wasn’t just Richie’s jokes that he loved.

– X –

Nearly a month later, someone knocked at Eddie’s door, a knock that was shortly followed by a muffled voice.

“Eddie?”

A pause.

“Eddie? I know you’re in there”

Another pause. Eddie held his breath.

“Eds, please”

Breath escaped Eddie’s lips without permission.

“Rich?” he called out from the safety of his blanket nest, voice hoarse from lack of use.

“Eddie”

Another pause.

Richie sighed audibly from behind the door. “Eddie, I can’t sleep.”

“Have you tried counting sheep?” Eddie said, and he shifted from the confines of his bed,  padded across the room with silent steps, and stood with his arm extended, palm flat against the wood of the door.

“I’m sorry,” Richie said, and Eddie pulled his hand back from the door, as if he’d been burnt.

“What?”

“I said I’m – I’m sorry”

“What for?”

“I’m not entirely sure, but I’m sure I did something that made you pull away from me like this, and whatever it was, I’m sorry”

The large, angry lump in Eddie’s throat refused to be swallowed.

“Richie, Rich, you haven’t – you haven’t done anything”

“Then why won’t you let me in?” Richie pleaded, voice cracking, and that was enough, enough of a catalyst to tug on Eddie’s poor, weary heart.

Eddie wrenched the door open, and Richie all but fell onto his chest.

“Rich, I’m the one who should be saying sorry, I’ve been an asshole”

“No you haven’t”

“Yes I have!”

“Well … maybe a tiny bit of an asshole. I just – I don’t get it”

Eddie shrugged, arms still wrapped loosely around Richie’s shoulders. “There isn’t really much to get, I’m just an asshole who doesn’t deserve friends like you, I guess”

Richie looked up, eyes shiny. “Friends?”

“Uh –” Eddie stammered, “I don’t know, Rich. You mess with my head, you know”

“You mess with mine too,” Richie said, and then they said nothing more, just stood in the middle of Eddie’s shitty little dorm room, and embraced.

When Eddie woke in the morning, Richie was gone. What lay in his place, next to Eddie’s head on the pillow, was a note.

          I’ll wait for you at Coffee Hoppers after class

          My bounty is as boundless as the sea,

          My love as deep; the more I give to thee,

          The move I have, for both are infinite.

          R x

As the piece of paper fluttered to the floor, Eddie knew what it was that he must do.

– X –

I Loved You First by Mr Bleaney (21st August 2003)

         I loved you first: but afterwards your love

Outsoaring mine, sang such a loftier song

As drowned the friendly cooings of my dove.

Which owes the other most? My love was long,

And yours one moment seemed to wax more strong;

I loved and guessed at you, you construed me

And loved me for what might or might not be –

Nay, weights and measures do us both a wrong.

          For verily love knows not ‘mine’ or ‘thine’;

With separate ‘I’ and ‘thou’ free love has done,

For one is both and both are one in love:

Rich love knows nought of ‘thine that is not mine;’

Both have the strength and both the length thereof,

Both of us, of the love which makes us one.

By Mr Bleaney / Eds.

– X –

Hammering on the door.

“EDDIE!”          

Silence.

“EDDIE! Seriously, open the fucking door!”

More hammering.

“Eddie! –”

The door opened and two bodies collide.

“How long have you –”

“I didn’t know how to tell you –”

“You write so beautifully –”

“I love you –”

“I love you –”

“Rich?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up”

With a renewed boldness, Eddie leant in and pressed his lips to Richie’s, and, for the first time, they wrote poetry together.

#reddie #it fanfiction #it fandom #IT 2017 #IT 2019 #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #richie tozier x eddie kaspbrak #college au #poetry au #fanfic #richie #eddie #it novel #stephen king #reddie fan fiction

[wannabecowpoke]

Consumption

TITLE: Consumption

RATING: Explicit

PAIRINGS: Javier Escuella/Arthur Morgan, Arthur Morgan/Mary Linton (implied)

WARNINGS: explicit sexual content, unsafe sex, implied cheating, canon compliant

DESCRIPTION: The Guarma humidity is starting to get to Arthur, and so is that nasty cough of his.

xX————————————————Xx

In the quiet stone halls of La Capilla, Arthur polished his revolver, trying to ignore the humid, oppressive heat that seemed permanently affixed to the tropical island of Guarma.

Ever since they’d been taken in by Hercule’s men, it’d been a lot of sitting and waiting — they weren’t in any position to launch an assault on Colonel Fussar’s men, at least yet, nor were they able to try making their way home by boat, due to the ships patrolling the surrounding waters.

Being unable to do anything made Arthur restless, eager to get back to the action, because last he knew, John had been taken into custody and the rest of the gang was stuck at Shady Belle. Arthur was hardly able to sleep, kept awake at night by both his worry for them, and by the pervasive cough that seemed to plague him. He’d been sick before, but stranded on a humid island where he needed to be in peak condition, he wished that whatever cold or flu he had would’ve picked a more opportune time.

“Dutch seems different,” Javier mused.

“Hosea was everything to him,” Arthur reminded him wryly. They’d known each other for over twenty years, and he knew that Dutch had loved Hosea in ways that weren’t exactly... brotherly. It’d been so abrupt, him getting shot, that they’d immediately descended into panic. He wasn’t about to start unpacking his own feelings on the matter. “But I’ve come to think that maybe he started to decline a while ago, not just after Hosea... y’know.”

“He isn’t declining,” Javier contradicted him. Arthur had considered himself the most loyal member of the gang before, but once he’d started growing a mind of his own, it was difficult to not notice the blind adoration that the others had for him. “He’s just tired and upset, like the rest of us.”

Humming, Arthur holstered his revolver, dragging a hand over his face and through his hair. Without pomade or a proper bath, his blonde curls were becoming unruly and greasy, and he promised himself distantly that whenever they got back, he’d immediately go wash it. “Maybe so.”

“You aren’t starting to doubt now, amigo?”

Arthur opened his mouth to respond, but his breath caught in his throat, and he dissolved into a coughing fit before he could catch himself, hacking raggedly into his elbow. Standing up abruptly, Javier hurried to come up behind him, rubbing his back gently while he murmured reassurances in Spanish. “I— it’s,” he managed to choke out, “I’m okay—”

“You should go to a doctor when we get back,” Javier suggested, mouth pulled downwards into a worried frown. He tried to brush away the tears that’d welled in Arthur’s eyes, but he brushed him away. “That cough doesn’t sound good.”

“Just a—” Arthur cleared his throat, feeling phlegm loosen itself in his lungs. It struck him that maybe it was pneumonia, which wouldn’t be good whatsoever, but he’d cross that bridge when he got to it. He’d always been bad with dealing with his own illness, especially the sicknesses that led to him being bedridden, and pneumonia could be debilitating to anyone. “I’m just a— a little sick.”

Javier didn’t look convinced, but he sat back down regardless, using the table to support himself as he rested on the bunk he’d been given. The bullet wound in his leg was healing well — it hadn’t gotten infected, but he still had bandages wrapped around it, and he was still walking with a limp. It’d be some time before he could use it properly again. “Last night,” he started wearily, “I realized that every one of these heists that Micah is involved in end badly.”

“You just noticed that?” Arthur scoffed, and Javier shoved at his shoulder, a smile spreading on his lips. Once the conversation was away from Dutch, he seemed much more relaxed. It didn’t hurt that they shared a mutual, passionate hatred for Micah Bell. “But seriously,” he continued, “there was this bank robbery, the meeting with Colm, Blackwater...”

“It makes me wonder whether he’s truly worth keeping around,” Javier huffed.

“Yeah,” Arthur drawled in agreement.

Javier pulled out his knife, absentmindedly twirling it between his nimble fingers skillfully, and Arthur watched him in vague fascination. The man was as talented with knives and blades as Arthur was with guns — there wasn’t anyone who could beat him with a dagger in the gang, and he doubted there were man people who could in the country, either.

It wasn’t like he was trying to be discreet, but Javier still clucked his tongue when their eyes met, tossing it into the air before catching it by the wooden handle. Arthur imagined what would’ve happened if he’d caught it by the blade, and he cringed internally at the image. “See something you like?”

“No,” Arthur scoffed, even if his eyes tracked the movement of Javier’s throat as he swallowed and licked his chapped lips. He raised a thick eyebrow, eyes glimmering with mischief, and Arthur remembered the promise he’d made to Mary, trying to calm the twitching of interest in his pants.

“You sure seem interested,” Javier prodded, “amigo.”

A lump formed in Arthur’s throat. “I ain’t into men.”

“You don’t have to be,” Javier assured him, his smile turning sly.

He was playing a risky game, being so open with him like that.

But Arthur had been lonely, and sad, and it’d been longer than he’d like to admit since he’d shared the warmth of another person. He would’ve liked to pretend it was a difficult decision, but it wasn’t.

Standing up, he walked towards Javier, and the man spread his legs, allowing Arthur to come kneel between them. He bent down, quickly catching Arthur’s lips in a kiss as his hands came to cup the back of his head, and Arthur massaged Javier’s thighs where his hands rested on them.

“Mierda,” Javier cursed into his mouth between messy kisses, “I’ve fucked,” he combed his fingers through his hair, tongue swiping at his teeth, “most of the people in camp,” Arthur could feel his own pants straining, and he hurried to reach down and relieve the pressure before he actually popped a button, “but I’ve always wanted to fuck you most of all.”

Arthur pulled away long enough to unbutton Javier’s shirt, rumbling with them but knowing better than to simply tear it open. It wasn’t like they had a lot of clothes to begin with, and Javier was especially picky about what he wore, so he wouldn’t risk invoking his ire for ruining his shirt.

“What am I to you?” Arthur asked as he pushed it off his muscular, broad shoulders. Quickly, he worked at the buttons of Javier’s pants, eager to wrest them open. “An item on a shopping list?”

Javier laughed breathily, hissing through his teeth when Arthur wrapped a hand around his length and pumped it once, then twice. Stilling his hand, he reached into the bag next to him, pulling out a vial. “Gun oil,” Javier explained needlessly, “do you want it? Or should I use it?”

Arthur had bottomed before — he plucked it from Javier’s fingers, standing up to remove his own shirt as Javier fully removed his pants. “I’ll do it,” he said plainly, pushing Javier onto the bed. He hadn’t been wearing undergarments, and his cock stood at attention, clearly aroused. Shucking his own pants, Arthur straddled him, then shifted down the bed so that his head was level with Javier’s impressive length.

Pressing two lubricated fingers into his own ass, Arthur held Javier’s length between his forefinger and thumb as he slipped the head of his cock between his lips, tongue caressing the underside of his foreskin. It’d been awhile since he’d held a man’s length in his mouth, but he remembered how to stroke his tongue along the underside of his length, how to hollow out his cheeks as he sank down on him and then suckle gently at the tip when he pulled back slightly, sinking down again afterwards.

Javier’s fingers curled in his greasy blonde curls, and he licked his lips, blinking up at the ceiling. “You’re good at this,” he sighed, more a complaint than a compliment, and Arthur hummed around his length in response. The hand fisted in his hair pulled harder, and though the sting made his eyes smart, it made him twitch against the bedding. “Oh, damn. You’re really good.”

Arthur added a third finger to himself, pushing it past the ring of muscle, and crooked them to roughly press against his prostate, hips canting back into his own hand. When Javier started to thrust up into his mouth, he knew that he was getting close, and he pulled off of him, crawling up his body to position himself above him.

“Arthur,” Javier murmured softly, gaze soft.

Arthur looked stubbornly up at the ceiling, even as Javier reached up to caress his collarbone and his jaw with a tenderness that made him want to cry.

Holding Javier steady, Arthur sank down onto his length, and the man took a shaky breath underneath him, fingers clenching his hips tighter. He filled him completely, thick enough to put pressure against his walls without being painful, and Arthur’s cock leaked onto his tan stomach in interest.

“Arthur, cariño,” Javier groaned, caressing his ass as his eyes flitted over him, from his chest to his flushed cock leaking clear fluid onto his stomach, “eres hermoso, te quiero—”

Arthur didn’t speak much Spanish, just what he’d picked up from Javier and other folks over the years, but he knew what those last words meant.

It wasn’t something that two men should say to each other, let alone something that anyone should be saying to him. Back in the States, he had Mary, too, waiting for him to come back so that they could run away and spend their lives together, and here he was, letting his male friend fuck him. It’d change everything if he acknowledged it, if he recognized it as attraction, and he didn’t want anything to change, whether out of his desire or just his pride.

So, even if he knew, he pretended that he didn’t.

“Javier,” Arthur groaned, rolling his hips down into him, “shit—”

Slicked with gun oil, it was easy to fuck himself onto Javier, feeling the head of his cock pressing against the place inside him that made him moan with every thrust. Javier stroked his chest, twisting his nipples, and the sensation made electricity shoot down his spine.

It wasn’t long before Javier groaned, “I’m gonna’ come, cariño,” and Arthur didn’t pull off him when he tensed, lips parting in a moan while he pressed himself further into his pliant body, shooting his seed into him.

Arthur gripped himself, hand still wet with their makeshift lubricant, and it was only several loose thrusts of his hand that had himself spilling over Javier’s stomach, pearly white streaking across his tan skin. He tried to imagine that it was Mary underneath him, that his release was painting creamy breasts and being licked from plush, pink lips, but she was so different from Javier that he couldn’t. He wasn’t sure if he was angry or terrified that he didn’t quite mind.

“Mierda,” Javier cursed quietly in Spanish, “shit, that felt good.”

“Sure,” Arthur mumbled.

Spend dribbled out of Arthur’s ass as he rolled himself off him, collapsing into the bunk next to him with a wheezy sigh, and he regretted not pulling him out before he came in his ass. Limp and satiated, he breathed raggedly, staring up vacantly at the stone ceiling. Javier tried putting a hand on his shoulder, but he pushed it away, forcing himself out of the bed.

“I’m gonna’ go get cleaned up,” Arthur said, an excuse, and he pretended to not see the hurt in Javier’s expression.

#javiarthur #i don’t usually write angst #but that’s what this is i guess #rdr2 #smut #nsft #arthur morgan #javier escuella #i need positive reinforcement #please tell me what you think #red dead dedemption 2 #guarma

[assless-chapstick]

This is me sending myself an ask… because I am boredt and my teeth hurt and I want to lay in bed….

So I ask myself … how are the Couch AU boys coping with the COVID19 lockdown??? Are they ok??

Tbh I think Charles and John are taking it harder than Arthur and Javi. Like, Arthur and Javier are a little more stable, a little more mentally well/neurotypical, and while everyone is finding it hard, I think Charles and John are struggling more than average.

Charles practically lives at John and Arthurs place, so he’s locked down over there; half his stuff is over there already, and while it might be a little crowded, it’s better than him being alone at his place. He doesn’t have any roommates and he needs to have someone around to help with the anxiety and keep him on a schedule. With Arthur around, he doesn’t sink completely into a depression. Sure, he’s finding it hard to focus and stay motivated and he spends a lot more time on the couch, napping and watching jeopardy and comfort-eating, but he’s not completely vacant and spending all day in bed, forgetting to shower or eat like he might if he was alone.

Arthur has a little gym/studio in the spare bedroom where he draws and does his fuckin bowflex or whatever, and they set Charles up there so he can get some studying done and continue to attend classes online. Charles is just finishing his first year of law school and he’s like, determined not to let this whole situation fuck up his academic career, even if he’s a little worried about it all…

Arthur is going a little stir-crazy; he works at an autobody shop, and they closed for a couple weeks at the beginning so he was out of work for a while. He was all “perfect I can work on my art,” but he’s so used to being super busy working two jobs and going to the gym and shit that having so much free time has been stressful to him. He processes a lot of feelings through anger, so the punching bag on the balcony has taken some pretty rough beatings the past couple weeks…

He’s back at work now, three days a week, so he’s feeling a little better… I think his biggest concern is money, cuz with reduced hours and all the cons he was planning to sell art at being cancelled, his income is reduced, and as a teen/early 20s he struggled a lot so that really scared him… But Dutch and Hosea aren’t too bad off and they’ll help out if he or John are ever in a pinch…

I think Arthur authors/creates a queer cowboy romance webcomic, so he’s been working on that a lot… he’s finally pages ahead and has some updates queued, so if he needs to be can afford to take a break for a week or two! He’s psyched about that. His patreon profits have gone down a little, but he’s got some loyal-ass fans and they’re really helping him thru it, too, I think… and he’s made some new merch for the first time in ages, and has had time to open up more commissions… He and Charles spend a lot of afternoons in the study, listening to Arthur’s vinyls and working together in silence …

So Arthur is doing ok, and Charles is pulling through, but John is having a… really rough go. For someone who seems really chaotic, John really really thrives when he had a routine and a set schedule, and with classes being moved online or canceled, he’s really struggling to keep a routine and as a result, his mental health is suffering. It also doesn’t help that he can’t leave the house and can’t see Javi, a major source of security for him. John runs to get his frustration out, and not feeling like it’s safe to go for a run has him feeling really bad.

He and Javi FaceTime every night, but it’s not the same and John is pretty miserable. He spends a lot of time in his room, music Loud, and he stops sleeping with any sort of regularity. The stress also makes his nightmares worse, I think, so he’s spending a lot more time avoiding sleep, which definitely makes him even bitchier than he would be otherwise. That and the situation have him really snappy, so there’s some Big Fights between him and Arthur; fights over nothing, fighting just to have something to do, to just feel something, because he’s angry with the situation and the feelings and everything… He’d just started to get his life on track and here it is, all out of order again. The uncertainty and instability are really unsettling for him.

I think John’s been seeing his therapist online, but it’s not the same, and he really hates it. In the first few weeks, things were all over the place and he forgot to take his meds and stuff… when Arthur noticed something was wrong, he kind of just started gently helping John remember to do things, just gently coaxing him and reminding him to take his pills, etc…

Like Arthur starts making meal at the same time every day, and cooks for all three of them so John remembers to eat… he makes coffee and sings when he makes breakfast to wake John up, and they watch movies and play boardgames and stuff after dinner, just to keep John on a little bit of a schedule. John usually goes to bed in his own room and climbs into Arthur and Charles’ later in the night, but during this whole thing, he starts going to bed with Arthur and Charles, and that helps too...

I think eventually he gets a little more used to it, once he gets back into a routine and then he’s still having trouble, but he’s doing better…

Javi lives in college dorms, so he’s moved back to living with his mum and his sister, which sucks, but that also means he can borrow his mum’s car… so when John is feeling really bad, one day, Javi throws his guitar in the trunk and goes to John and Arthurs place and stands under the balcony and plays all the dumb joke songs he’s written for John… songs called shit like “im sorry I backwashed in your redbull, flaquita” and “youre a pendejo but I love you anyway” and that cheers them both up…

Also, John makes up little care packages and has Arthur drop them off at Javi’s!! little doodles (John’s been practicing drawing but he’s like, crazy bad, just awful) and poems (marginally better, not great), their favourite snacks, little trinkets from around the house and stuff he picks up on his runs (once he starts going on runs again), and of course, of course, cuz he’s nasty, panties that he MAYBE wore on his run, for Javi to, y’know, do with what he will…

And of course they have a lot of phone sex, especially once John pulls it together a bit… at first he kind of went AWOL and didn’t talk to anyone, let his phone go dead and stuff, but he’s doing better now and now they’re… being quarantine horny …

Javi prefers regular voice phonesex, loves to call John up and tease his girl until John whines for him to stop, ask if John is touching himself when Javi can tell by the hitch of his breath that he is… Javi loves that, but not seeing one another, John insists they do videocalls, even if Javi is a little uncomfortable…

But it leads to some… fun roleplay … John pretends to be an innocent starlet trying to make it big, and Javi is a big-time director that keeps on pushing… “you look so good on camera, babe, but maybe take the bra off, let us see how those little titties of yours look? Don’t be shy, it’s all business, just want to see… grab them for me, that’s it, now show me that ass…”

And they also play like Javi is broadcasting the video to everyone, like all his friends can see what a whore Javi’s girl is, how he can suck that dildo like it was a real cock and how desperate he is for it… they pretend Javi is advertising John as if he’s a thing for sale, like Javi is booking John’s ass by the hour…. All “cmon baby, show them how greedy your pussy is, you’re gonna take so many cocks for me tonight, you’ll be leaking cum by the time they’re done with you, you’ll be so sore but you’ll do it for me, won’t you, flaca? Til you’re rubbed raw and then I’ll slide into your wet, gaping hole…”

And of course, of course, John BIG gets off on watching Javi jerk off into the panties he sends him… Javi maybe even… sniffs them, licks them a little, cuz he misses John so bad and he loves the way John looks in the pale yellow, lacy panties he’s got wrapped around his dick, loves the idea of coming in them and then making John put them back on,…

Aaaand that’s that on that, I think!! So thanks for reading, mister, if you’re still out there somewhere. I have dental surgery tomorrow and I’m more scared than a spider in a shoe factory, so please wish me some luck and send me some non-COVID related asks, iffin you’re feeling it!!

#the couch au #COVID19 mention

[deafseries]

Gilbert’s head was swimming from the alcohol in his system, making him sway back and forth as he made his way down the narrow hallway backstage. He was covered in a thin layer of sweat, his throat throbbing from his performance. Being in a band was all fun and games until he lost his voice from screaming into the mic. 

It didn’t help that he spent all night hydrating with some drink that had been burning his throat bad. It was a surprise Gilbert hadn’t dropped dead already, from dehydration or otherwise. The hallway widened enough for light to pour in, illuminating the decades-old stickers slapped on the dirty punk-show venue walls. He lifted a hand to press it against the layered plastic and paper, guiding himself along. Where his band-mates went he didn’t know, and didn't care. All he could think about was crashing in the dressing room for a few hours- curling up on the couch and sleeping off his intoxication.

When he opened the door and he was hit with a cloud of cigarette smoke, he knew that wasn’t how the night was going to go. The room was dark, with only the yellow, flickering ceiling bulb casting light. Which Gilbert was almost grateful for, he could only imagine how many scummy things were crawling around in this place that he couldn’t see. But what he could see wasn’t any better, that was for sure. A dingy mirror leaning against a graffiti-covered wall, peeling plastic stools tucked under the desk. And then there was Arthur, sat on the couch like he belonged there. Another scummy thing he was forced to see. 

One of Arthur’s ankles was crossed over his knee, fishnets criss-crossing over his pale, bruise-peppered legs. He’d kicked off his platforms and left them aside, more clutter in the small room. A cigarette dangled from his lips, black lipstick and eyeliner smudged all over his face. A flannel dangled off his skinny frame, barely covering the t-shirt to Gilbert’s band. Kind of tacky. Gil couldn’t tell if Arthur was wearing shorts under that shirt, but he wouldn’t doubt if he wasn’t wearing anything. 

“I told them not to let groupies back here,” Gilbert slurred, stumbling in his clunky boots to the desk and throwing his jacket over it. It made a soft noise when it landed, chains and spikes clinking together.

“Don’t be an asshole,” Arthur’s voice didn’t fit a place like this, not really. Despite the clothes he wore and the attitude he had, there was no escaping that proper accent. And it rolled over Gilbert like honey “Are you drunk?”

“Yeah I’m drunk. Are you?” Gilbert kicked his boots off next, letting them clunk against Arthur’s. He could hear people passing by the room, voices bouncing off the walls and the clumsy noise of instruments being roughly dragged onstage. 

“Of course I’m fucking drunk. It’s the only way to get through your sets.” Now that they were closer, Gil could smell the alcohol on his skin, the weed on his breath. Arthur shifted next to him, throwing a leg over his legs and settling on his lap. Arthur was hot, skin burning against his own where they touched. At some point, Arthur had gotten rid of the cigarette, but he hadn’t seen what he’d done with it.

“Why do you even come if you’re just gonna get drunk and sit back here?” Gilbert set his hands on Arthur’s hips, pulling him forwards so their hips bumped together through the fabric. And surprise surprise, Arthur was only wearing a thin thong that left nothing to the imagination. If he was sober, Gil would wonder where the man’s pants went. But he was drunk, and only cared about the outline of Arthur’s cock against the fabric. 

“You know why,” Arthur breathed and shoved himself forward, mashing their lips together clumsily. Both of their lips were chapped and Arthur tasted like nothing but sin and sweat and made him realize how dirty everything about this was. Arthur’s teeth closed around his lower lip, biting down hard and pulling back enough to pull a groan from Gilbert's throat. 

“Make it quick,” Arthur panted, reaching down to tug at Gilbert’s belt, fumbling between the studs and the leather. “Alfred wanted me home twenty minutes ago.”

“Twenty minutes ago? Pushing it with him.” Gil swatted Arthur’s ass quickly before helping Arthur pull his jeans down. He heard one of the patches on his jeans rip, but couldn’t find it in himself to care. He would care later, when he was hungover and missing a patch. But not now.

“Been blowing up my phone for a few minutes now,” Arthur grumbled, rolling his eyes. Alfred wasn’t someone they talked about often. It was clear Alfred wasn’t someone Arthur wanted to be talking about. 

“Why don’t you get on your knees and blow something else?” Gil mumbled, and he was barely able to catch Arthur’s pearly, drunk laugh. 

“You’re the worst,” Arthur said, but Gil could see the way he was grinning. He watched Arthur shift down to his knees between his legs, pulling Gilbert’s limp cock from his pants. That was clearly disappointing for the blonde, but it wasn’t like Gilbert could do anything about it. Arthur wrapped his lips around the head, black lipstick framing the pink of his cockhead. He silenced a moan, one hand threading into Arthur’s hair as the man began to bob his head, swallowing around his cock eagerly. Arthur gave head like nothing else, and the thought of him going home and pleasing his little American pet like this had a nasty ripple going up his spine. The hand in Arthur’s hair tightened, and the brit let out a noise Gil couldn’t pin as pleasure or annoyance. 

“Does he know you’re here?” Gilbert asked in a puff, and Arthur shook his head. When he came up, spit dribbled from his lips. 

“Thinks I’m at my brother’s,” Arthur mumbled before getting back to it, clearly bothered by being interrupted by such a question. 

“You’re fuckin’ dirty, lyin’ to him like that. I bet you even bought a spare change of clothes,” Gilbert huffed, feeling blood rush to his cock the more he thought about Alfred waiting at home like the good boyfriend he was, while Arthur was gagging on cock in the dressing room of this place.

Arthur just moaned, meeting Gilbert’s eyes with his own green ones. He knew Arthur didn’t feel any guilt about it too. Maybe he did the first time, when Gilbert fucked him in an alley behind a bar after Alfred didn’t put out. But any guilt he had was gone by now. Anything that remained would show after this, but right now, Arthur was more concerned with sliding his cock down his throat. Gilbert gave another hard tug to his hair, and Arthur moaned again, sending vibrations up his cock. 

As for Gilbert, he couldn’t care less what Arthur did. If he wasn’t spreading his legs for him, he would be spreading his legs for someone else. 

Gil gasped, his hips pitching up when Arthur’s tongue slid against the slit of his cock, and that’s when Arthur pulled himself up. 

“Condom?” Arthur asked, pushing Gilbert aside so he could lay across the couch, hooking one leg over the back of the couch. 

“You didn’t grab one?” Gilbert panted, repositioning himself over Arthur and reaching down. The fishnets blurred in his hands when he tried to pull them off. An agitated, unintelligent noise left him, and the fabric ripped in his fingers where he pulled, leaving behind a large hole in the stockings. Arthur made a displeased noise, but his only real protest was him shoving Gilbert’s shoulder.

“Ugh. I thought you were a rock star,” Arthur complained, fumbling in the flannel pocket in order to find a condom. “I can’t afford to waste these on you.” 

“What? He doesn’t wanna hit it raw?” Gilbert joked, and got another rough shove on his shoulder from the brit. The condom was dropped in his hand, along with a travel sized bottle of lube. 

“Will you stop talking about my boyfriend and fuck me already?” He snapped, and Gilbert laughed. He put the condom on and lubed his cock up, pushing Arthur’s legs open wider with his other hand. Even in the dim light, Gil could see the slick wetness of lube on the inside of Arthur’s thighs. So he’d been keeping himself busy in here. That made Gilbert throb. With the hand that wasn’t slick with lube, Gilbert moved the thin thong aside, and sure enough, Arthur’s hole winked at him invitingly. 

Sliding into Arthur was like coming home. He was warm and just tight enough that Gil let out a soft moan. Just then, whatever band that was scheduled to be playing started up, shaking the walls with the loud screaming of both the singer and the guitar. The noise of the couch banging against the wall was disguised by the slamming of drums and Arthur’s high moans were almost lost to the noise. 

This was when neither of them cared about the other- as if they actually cared about what each other did outside of sex. Gilbert and Arthur were both drunk and frankly, pretty selfish lovers.Each of them only cared if they got off, and it showed. But unfortunately, it seemed like they were the only people who could scratch some filthy itch. Sex with no strings, sex that was rough and uncaring and neither of them bothering with pleasantries. It was just sex. Arthur’s blunt nails dug into his shoulders, gripping him with intensity. Soft panting turned into Arthur’s back arching up, words and phrases Gilbert couldn’t catch spilling from his pink lips. 

Even in the dim light, he could see the way sweat gathered on Arthur’s face, the blonde’s face screwed up into a look between concentration and pleasure. Gil found himself watching his face as he fucked him, eyelids fluttering as Arthur’s own squeezed shut. He wondered if Arthur was thinking about someone else while being fucked like this. If Alfred bent him over and fucked him to tears or if it was nothing but missionary sex after dark. Clearly Gilbert had something that Alfred didn’t. 

When Arthur gasped and arched up again, his eyes stuttered open. They were clouded in pleasure, and Gil barely noticed he was staring until Arthur panted it out. 

“Got a starin’ problem?” He accused over the music, one of his hands moving from the couch to reach down and pull at his cock, shuddering with each thrust. Gilbert wasn’t sure what he said, but he knew that he leaned down and kissed Arthur hard, pulling in sharp breaths from his nose. 

Gilbert came first, groaning against lips that tasted like Jack Daniels. Arthur’s legs squeezed around his hips, pulling him deep and keeping him deep inside of him. Gilbert was happy to stay, Arthur’s walls tightening around him over and over as the other man worked himself into an orgasm. 

He came with a loud noise Gil knew he would deny was a squeak, and then flopped down on the couch heavily, his eyes closing again and legs falling open. Gilbert leaned back, pulling out and settling on the other side of the couch. He slowly caught his breath, head falling back as his sight went black at the corners. Arthur recovered before him, and he could hear him shuffling around his room. When he finally got the energy to lift his head, he watched as Arthur gathered his things and began to change. A soft button-up, pressed dress pants, of course. It made Gilbert chuckle. 

“What?” Arthur snipped, leaning close to the mirror and using the t-shirt he’d been wearing to wipe the makeup off his face. 

“You’re ridiculous.” 

“Fuck off.” 

“Text me?” 

The fishnets flew across the room, hitting Gilbert in the face. 

“I’ll think about it.” 

#hetalia #hws england #hws prussia #aph prussia #aph england #pruk

[redemptionbaby]

Recipe for Stuffed Rabbit

Paring: Arthur/Reader

Word Count: 1363

Summary: Hybrid AU with Wolf!Arthur and Rabbit!Reader. And it’s nasty lmao. I wrote this all today, sorry to keep you guys waiting and sorry if it kinda sucks lol

Steps:

1.Get your rabbit

You could already feel you jittering heart urge a kick in your legs as soon as Arthur laid you down on his bedroll, and you had to fight your own nature not to shy and flinch away from his ministrations. The both of you had just finished something of a play chase, and he had won, snatching you up as his prize. 

It was difficult, but you managed to calm yourself and convince your own body that you weren’t in any danger, your ears lowering when you managed to finally submit. Your predator boyfriend was patient with you, but still eager, you could tell from the wagging of his tail and the ever-growing tent in his pants. He was almost beaming when he observed the steady rise and fall of your chest while your breaths evened out, still blushing from the adrenaline rush.

“There’s a girl.”

2. Preheat

Arthur crawled slowly behind you, so as not to accidentally spook you, until you were cradled against his chest and tucked between his legs. You helped him to tug off your bottoms, and he rested his head against your shoulder to observe as you revealed yourself to him. You felt a gentle lick against your neck before Arthur latched on with lips and teeth, hoping to show his appreciation of your willingness to be vulnerable, and for seeing your lower lips start to wet with slick.

He brings one of his calloused to cup your pussy reassuringly before using his fingers to explore your anatomy, stroking every surface before settling on your clit and coaxing it out from its hood. You felt his teeth grip just a little harder when you squeaked at the sudden spike of stimulation, prepared to hold you down to take your pleasure if need be.

“C’mon now, sweet pea. Yer doin’ so good, just trust me.”

3. Prepare

It wasn’t so long before you were soaking, and Arthur tentatively prodded you with a finger before slipping inside. You could hear his tail start to thump against the ground behind you before long, a new wave of lust hitting him as he felt the warmth of you inner velvet flutter against the sense of intrusion. He went as deeply as he could before starting to rock his finger in and out of you, adding a finger, then repeating, until you could take three comfortably, four with some easing discomfort.

He wasn’t under any illusion. Arthur was completely and totally in love with you. He knew it, his instincts knew it, and he’d been waiting for your unconditional trust for the longest time. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he wouldn’t be able to resist the sweet allure of knotting you and sewing his seed as best he could. You were the perfect mate for him, there was no buts about it.

Now, your big bad wolf had only just gotten a taste of your sweet complete vulnerability. He wasn’t about to abuse it and lose, nor would he take the chance. So as much as your momentary whines of discomfort made his heart ache terribly, he’d endure so you weren’t crying later, without a second thought.

4. Get stuffing!

When your puffy tail twitched, and you rolled your hips into his palm, Arthur knew you were as ready as you could be. He quickly maneuvered himself from behind you, stripping you both of your remaining clothes, revealing just how painfully hard he was. He gripped himself at the base and stroked a few times, both to try to whet your appetite and provide a bit more lubricant, coaxing a few beads of pre from the slit to drool onto your cunt before he used his head to smear it into your opening. Arthur didn’t exactly pride himself as a thorough man, or necessarily quick-thinking, but with you it was like his mind operated on a different channel. Anything and everything that could make you more comfortable, he would do.

The first push was a scary one. As a wolf, Arthur was a lot bigger than you, a rabbit. Even an idiot could see that, not to mention that he was a little huskier than the average. It was very possible that he would hurt you, and that would scare you, and he’d spend the rest of the night comforting you, the rest of the week trying to make it up to you, and the rest of his life feeling guilty over it. But he had to try. He loved you so damn much, he wanted to be with you in every possible way two people could be together. In the most intimate of ways, the ways his instincts yearned for unendingly.

So, while watching your face carefully for fear or discomfort, he pushed. You squeaked and perked your ears as the ruddy head of his cock popped into you, but you relaxed again quickly, feeling no pain and remembering that you were small enough that a hard clench would make things too tight. Arthur meanwhile, groaned and rumbled so low it was practically a purr.

“Baby, darlin’... Yer just so tight. And so soft. Just as soft as I thought you’d be. I reckon everythin’ about you’s soft and warm, ain’t it? This pussy o’ yours ain’t no different. I might never wanna leave.” The lovesickness is clear as day on his face, he pants between words and shoves the hair out of his face before coming closer and inching his way into you, as far as you’ll let him. You can feel the warmth of his heavy balls settling on your ass, and his hands drift from your thighs to cup your face and pepper it with loving kisses. His sigh of relief is palpable in the air.

“Feels good, don’t it? Hell, I’m already gettin’ used to this. You’re gonna have to get used to it too, sugar, ‘cause from now on this pussy is mine, all mine. I love you more than anythin’, honey. My perfect little rabbit, made just for me. Thanks for lettin’ me in, but I’m gonna be the one to open you up.”

6. Finish off

And from then on, nothing could stop the wolf that was Arthur Morgan in love. He thrusted and kissed and bit with everything he had, and you didn’t doubt that. He stroked the deepest parts of you, and you could swear you felt his pulse from the steady throb of his cock as he pounded you. It wasn’t long before the both of you were reaching your peaks, and Arthur put a calloused thumb against your clit and rubbed as his knot swelled.

Arthur had told you multiple times about the details of his lupine anatomy, usually while he was teasing you and trying to make you blush. So while it didn’t surprise you, the sensation was still something that made your eyes widen. The stretch was admittedly uncomfortable, you just weren’t built biologically to expect it, but at the same time you didn’t want it to stop. It was Arthur, dammit, and you wanted every bit of him.

Your orgasm was intense, body-shaking, eye-blinding, and all around disorienting, but you were anchored by Arthur, who continued to thrust shallowly and fill you with rope after sticky rope of his spend. When he was finally able to wind down, gentle kisses and licks were lavished on your skin.

7. Enjoy!

“Haven’t knotted anyone in…well, in a long time, darlin’. We might be here a while.” He was still breathing heavy, but he’d since collapsed, rolling the both of you over so you could rest on top of him. He buried his head in your neck and tangled his hands in your hair to sate his unrelenting urge to provide you with security and comfort, as well as his yearning to remain as close to you as possible. 

“Thank you, sweetheart. I mean it. I love you so damn much.”

“I love you too, Arthur. How much longer?”

“I’unno. Probably another 25 minutes. You got somewhere to be, bunny rabbit?”

“No. But you’re lucky I love you.”

“Just about the luckiest wolf in the goddamn world, baby.”

#drabble #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 x reader #rdr2 #rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #hybrid au #writing