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somewhereincairparavel · 4 days

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Percy this. Percy that. It was always about Percy Jackson. All the fucking time.

It was always about the Hero of Olympus, the one who defeated Kronos and led the battle of Manhattan, the one who was offered immortality by the king of the gods himself, the one who restored glory to Rome by returning the golden eagle, the one who became praetor of the Roman camp in 2 weeks with limited training.

His Roman camp. Jason Grace's Roman camp.

Percy Jackson had pulled off everything in 2 weeks that Jason Grace wasn't able to accomplish despite dedicating his whole life for duty. 11 years of blood, sweat and tears, simply gone down the drain.

Jason had failed his camp. He had failed his home. Turns out, he wasn't as great as the people of Rome had once preached about him. It was obvious considering the less than warm welcome he had gotten from his so-called “home”.

He received no hugs, no cheers, no “we missed you jason!”, no “I was so worried about you!” or even a single pat on the arm by his “friend” Dakota. Dakota and Gwendolyn hadn't even spared a glance at him.

Nothing. Instead, this new Jackson boy was held up to worship like a god amongst the people who once considered Jason a “hero”.

Jason laughed bitterly. Was it selfish of him to be disappointed with Reyna? With a pang, he got to know that Reyna hadn't sent a single search party out to look for her “best friend”. Not like Annabeth did for Percy, not like Thalia did for Percy.

With a pang, he got to know that the whole camp basically deemed him as ‘dead’ and Reyna hadn't even set up a memorial of remembrance for him. The camp had simply moved on with their new hero. Without a single shred of thought for Jason Grace.

The forgotten Hero. The lost hero. Jason Grace.

These thoughts of doubt gnawed on Jason's mind, slowly eating him up ever since he'd first seen Percy Jackson in those damned praetor togas that once belonged to him.

He didn't dislike the boy, of course not, it wasn't Percy's fault that Hera wiped their memories or switched camps.

But it was hard for Jason to not resent him, or feel even the tiniest amount of envy, knowing that Reyna willingly replaced him with Jackson. Very quickly too, at that. He overheard Octavian blabbing to his lackeys about how Reyna “was head over heels for Percy almost immediately”

“I guess that's it. Maybe I am someone who is easy to replace.” Jason thought, his eyes pricking as he looked over from the flying ship, at the place he once used to call home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jason watched remorsefully as Thalia, Grover, Percy and Annabeth were all gathered at the table in camp half blood, cracking jokes about dam french fries or whatever that meant.

Thalia caught Jason's eyes, staring at all of them from a distance. She smiled softly, and gave him a tiny wave. He weaved his lips into something that was meant to look like a wry smile, but it came out as a slight grimace, as he waved back.

Thalia was so close to Jason, yet so far away.

He knew she loved him, but it felt different. And an annoying, nagging part of Jason had known that Thalia would never be as close to him as she was to Annabeth or Percy.

Ironic isn't it? Jason and Thalia were always connected since they came from the same womb, yet she was closer to Annabeth, a girl she'd found after she had run away from the same woman that had given Jason to the wolves. The same woman who had turned his life upside down by abandoning him.

Thalia had found Annabeth right after she thought she had lost Jason. In a strangely ironic way, Jason felt like he'd been replaced all over again.

Thalia had replaced Jason as a younger sibling with Annabeth without even realizing it, all of this took place mere months after a baby Jason was considered to be dead. This situation had strangely reminded him of Camp Jupiter, how he was replaced by Percy right after Jason was considered “dead” by Camp Jupiter.

This made Jason reach the possibility that if he were indeed “dead”, he wouldn't be missed. People wouldn't bat an eyelash. Since there was always someone better than him. Someone like Percy Jackson, who could easily fill the void Jason would leave behind.

His eyes watered, as he looked at how much fun his sister had with his friends. Knowing full well, that he'd never be able to do the same.

Jason felt ashamed that he had to ask Percy about Thalia’s likes and dislikes, he was thalia’s brother. He was supposed to know.

Jason watched as Thalia quickly hugged the trio, as she left their table to leave with the hunters, not even realizing that there was one person whom she forgot to hug.

Don't take it personally. Don't take it personally. She just forgot. She doesn't hate you. She just forgot. She doesn't prefer Percy over you. She's in a hurry. That's why she forgot. Jason repeated that like a mantra, the only person he was trying to convince was himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“And he rejected immortality!- oh you should've seen Zeus' face!” Annabeth exclaimed to Hazel excitedly, as Percy was blushing at the compliment fountain being poured at him by Hazel and Annabeth.

Jason had always been fascinated by that story, the almighty Percy Jackson getting offered to become a god, by Zeus.

His father. Jason's father, Zeus.

Jason felt stupid and guilty for getting envious, it's not the fact that Percy had been offered immortality, no. Jason couldn't care less about being immortal. It was the person who offered Percy invincibility that bothered Jason so much.

Jason knew that even if he went to the ends of the world to accomplish something, his father wouldn't be able to praise him or even talk to him for a long time.

Zeus and Jason could never be like Hades and Nico, or Poseidon and Percy. That's just how it is.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Reyna had come to camp half blood for a fun visit. Jason would've been ecstatic in other circumstances, but in this case, he wanted to be as far away from her as possible. Because currently, Reyna seemed to be looking at everyone, but refused to meet Jason's eyes. She seemed to keep her distance as she laughed at something Percy and Piper were saying.

She may as well have just stabbed him, it would've hurt a lot less.

He had truly been naive to believe that he could make amends with Reyna. Now he knew, it would never be possible. There was too much pain mixed with bitterness on both ends. But seeing her get along with Percy reminded him of the old times of friendship he and Reyna had shared. Keyword: had.

Once again, the fates had shown him that Percy Jackson would always be better.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Jason Grace lay on the cold floor, coughing out blood. He realized he was alone, he was dying, but he was alone.

Like always. The sickly voice of Gaia, that had once haunted his nightmares, boomed in his head. Jason knew he was hallucinating as a result of blood loss, Gaia is in deep slumber. But that did not stop the voice in his head that was invented by his insecurities. Even in the end, you've been forgotten, Jason Grace. Because that's what you will always be. The second best. The leftover. The pawn who is discarded, after his purpose has been fulfilled. Percy Jackson would always be better in everyone's eyes.

To the Romans, you are simply the one who betrayed his lineage. But Percy is the one who restored glory. He did your job for you.

To the Greeks, you are simply a burden, one whom they were forced to welcome.

To your father, you are merely one of his many sons.

To your sister, you are a stranger.

Jason's resolve to live had weakened, hot tears were streaming down his face as he closed his eyes in defeat, he had come to the painful conclusion that nobody is going to come find his body. Nobody is going to mourn him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Oh I will always be much better than you at this! Bring it on, dude!” Percy laughed as he striked his play sword lightsaber at Jason's. They clashed.

“You wish, Jackson!” Jason shot back jokingly, as they sparred playfully with toy lightsabers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Jackson, you jerk. You were right after all, you will always be much better than me” Jason laughed bitterly, as he recalled that memory of his sparring session with Percy.

Suddenly everything went black. The life had successfully ebbed out of him.

Little did Jason know, was that someone had indeed come to look for him. Tempest, his Pegasus had come to retrieve his body, but Jason was long gone. People had indeed mourned him. His friends were, indeed, anguished. His sister was, indeed, heartbroken.

Jason's soul parted this world, with the knowledge that he'd always be The forgotten Hero.

The lost hero. Jason Grace.

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reaveries · 1 year

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▬ a warm place for numb fingers (18+)

summary: after a conversation with a friend, tension arises between the reader and arthur. action is ultimately forced into her hands... or fingers, more like.

pairings: high honor!arthur morgan x female!reader

warnings: mature content (18+)// explicit descriptions of fingering, cunnilingus, and some good ol' fucking

word count: 5.7k (estimated 23-minute reading time)

a/n: this goes out to all the cold and horny girls out there. i see you and i salute you. enjoy the fic

masterlist archive of our own

The chill was an inescapable thing and it followed her closely wherever she went. It burned her face red whenever she emerged from the mining town cabins. When she’d been forced to ride against it in fierce storms, it possessed her hair to lash violently across her cheeks in a blinding fury. And once those storms passed, it continued to insatiably lap at any skin left exposed to its gnawing teeth. Numbness in her fingertips became commonplace, leaving her defenseless as her trigger finger trembled beneath thin leather gloves. Like a starved coyote, the chill searched for any scrap of flesh it could find and devoured it to the bone. It wasn’t forgiving, as nature often isn’t.

She draws her coat closer to her body now, but the little winds continue to hungrily nip at her cheeks and dust them pink. What once ravaged her has become meek since they’ve descended the peaks of the Grizzlies. But it’s still there, and will continue to be until spring thaws the world.

“Can’t believe I’m lookin’ at one of the most wanted outlaws this side of the Dakota.”

She looks up from her feet and sees Karen smiling, holding a cigarette between her fingers. She brings it to her lips and draws out the smoke.

“God, if the Pinkertons knew how big of a baby you really are, maybe they’d have tried their luck in Colter,” she says with a cheeky grin.

“That’s the only way those fuckers could’ve taken me down,” the outlaw says, laughing bitterly into her scarf. “I’ve never done well in the cold. Every day that I wake up and can’t feel my toes, I’m closer to packing up and fleeing to New Austin. Thinking of building myself a house made of cacti.”

She walks through the frost-laden grass to where her friend stands, overlooking the Dakota river.

“You’re fulla shit,” Karen says, rolling her eyes. “The day you leave this bunch will be the day God, himself, shoots you off your horse. Got too much love in your little heart for the lot of us.”

The woman chuckles dryly, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Got too much love for you, Karen,” she says in a sickeningly sweet tone and leans in, tilting her head dramatically to the side as if to give her a sloppy kiss.

“Get the hell away from me!” Karen screeches and fumbles to push her away.

The outlaw stumbles backward lazily with her head thrown back in laughter.

“You play around too much, you know that?” Karen says, shaking her head, but the forceful tug on the right side of her lips gives her away.

She smiles down her nose at the blonde woman, “Yeah, that’s what I keep hearin’.”

Once they both settle down, Karen extends the cigarette to her, offering whatever she can manage as it quickly dies out. She takes it between her forefinger and thumb and lets the smoke warm her from the inside.

“You know what I overheard some of the workin’ girls sayin’ when I was in town?” Karen speaks up as the smoke escapes the woman’s throat.

She hums in question. Words out of the mouth of a working girl can hardly ever be taken for truth, but damn if they weren’t entertaining.

“Apparently, the number of clients they get skyrockets in the winter months. Somethin’ about men subconsciously wantin’ to be warmed up so they seek out activities that make ‘em break a sweat.”

She nods, “I guess that makes enough sense.”

Karen shakes her head, “That’s not all. The girls were also sayin’ that as it gets colder, the men are more and more riled up. Almost like it’s something with the moon, but instead of turnin’ into the dogman, they just wanna bury themselves in a woman real bad. But all I’m hearin’ while these girls are sayin’ this is that we got ourselves a bunch of fools too dumb to think clearly down in that little town.”

She stomps the life out of the cigarette with the toe of her boot, her spurs jingling as she drives it into the dirt.

“Ain’t no way that’s true,” she says with a sardonic smile. “That last part, sure, but the moon’s got nothin’ to do with it.”

“Well, somethin’s gotta explain it,” Karen says and crosses her arms defensively across her chest. “I can tell ya, once it gets colder the men start lookin’ at ya different. I never noticed the link ‘till now but it kinda makes sense.”

She has to fight the laugh rising in her chest as she tries to seriously process the idea that men are becoming more aroused due to a giant orb in the sky. It takes everything in her not to but Karen sees right through her.

“It ain’t that ridiculous, you know. You can’t tell me you ain’t never noticed Arthur actin’ different.”

The amusement rapidly drains from her face and is replaced by a look of bewilderment.

“What are you talkin’ about Arthur for? Arthur and I are just friends, we ain’t like that,” she sputters out.

“Oh, sorry,” Karen says, putting her hands up, “I forgot you was still on that.”

Her flustered reaction surprises even herself, causing a creeping warmth to crawl its way to her cheeks. A biting retort fumbles dumbly in her mouth.

“I’m not on anything. Don’t know what got in your head but it ain’t never been like that between Arthur and me.”

“It ain’t just in my head, honey. Everyone here knows it. You think folk ain’t seein’ the way you two touch up on each other the way you do? How neither of you goes nowhere without the other? Get real. It’s plain as day to everyone but yourself.”

She tosses a quick glance over her shoulder, hoping no one is near enough to hear their conversation. Instead, she sees that the camp has slowly come to life while she’d been distracted by Karen. Folk have begun their morning chores, migrating from washboards to clothing lines or splitting logs of wood in two. Her eyes flit across their faces until they land on the one she’s searching for. He’s far enough away, speaking with Pearson by the food supplies wagon. The cook waves his hands around animatedly but he’s turned away from her so she can’t tell what they’re speaking about. Arthur looks past the man and meets her eyes. He smiles and nods at her, to which she returns with a forced thin smile of her own.

“You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Karen,” she mutters, and without turning to say goodbye, walks away.

And yet, Karen’s words burrow themselves deep within her mind and linger in the spaces between each normal thought as the day continues. Surely she'd been exaggerating and not everyone in camp suspects her and Arthur to be intimate with each other. Karen just thinks she knows more than she does sometimes. It was very much like her to be overly confident about certain things, proclaiming them as fact even past the point she knows she’s wrong. Then again, that also wasn't the first time someone had mistaken their closeness for something more amorous in nature. Dutch, having watched her throw an arm around Arthur and share from his bottle, assumed the pair had made themselves official. This prompted some proud fatherly spiel wherein he clapped Arthur on the back and congratulated him. It was vague enough that neither of them knew what he was referring to until later. Once they both realized, it gave them a good doubled-over, tears-from-the-eyes sort of laugh. But Arthur quickly cleared it up with the man, assuring him that there was nothing of that sort going on. Apparently, Dutch remained unconvinced.

As she sharpens her knife, an interesting thought intrudes past the others. For a moment, she wonders if Arthur might be an exception to this phenomenon the working girls were talking about. He never spoke of women the way that most men did. So, if he’d ever been interested in that sort of way, she wasn’t privy to it in the slightest. But, he’s still a man and he isn’t immune to the desires of men. Could it be possible that Arthur wishes for a woman to warm his bed at night? Or perhaps, on the coldest nights, a woman to warm himself inside?

Her blade slips against the whetstone and nearly slices her hand open as depraved imagery flies behind her eyes. She curses loudly and the knife drops to the dirt with a muffled thud.

A horse gallops and skids next to the hitching post beside her and the rider quickly flies off the mount, hitting the earth with heavy feet. She looks up from her hand and it’s him. There’s a pristine buck carcass flung over the back of his mare from a hunting excursion he must be returning from.

“You alright?” He asks in a raised voice, meeting her with a walk that holds no patience. He looks down at her hands, likely expecting to see them covered in blood. His shoulders drop in relief when he can’t find any.

“I’m fine,” she says, standing up quickly and brushing dust off her pants. She forcefully clears her head of the intrusive thoughts, worried he might be able to see them if he looks too close.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack, woman. Don’t know what I’d do if you went and chopped off your trigger finger,” he says, running a stressed hand through his hair.

“You’d have to find a new riding partner, that’s for sure,” she quips unenthusiastically.

A breath of laughter leaves his lips to tell her she’s being ridiculous.

“Naw… There ain’t no replacin’ you. Ain’t a single person here has what it takes to put up with half the shit you and I do. We’d just have to teach ya to shoot with four fingers.”

His tone is lighthearted but there’s a hint of sincerity to his words that makes her cock her head in intrigue. He notices the change in her expression and quickly backpedals.

“Ah, don’t let that get to your head, now! I can barely tolerate ya most days. There’s just… no denyin’ you’re one of the best shots here,” he says, avoiding her eyes.

She smiles smugly and pats his chest.

“Tell me something I don’t know, cowboy.”

“Like I said, I can barely tolerate ya,” he says, swatting her hand off him. “Anyways, you mind takin’ that buck to Pearson? I need to have a word with Dutch about tomorrow.”

“Sure thing,” she says and slips past him to retrieve the fresh game.

She hoists the buck over her shoulder and nearly gasps from the unexpected weight. The animal is nowhere near light and it’s a wonder he managed to cleanly take down the thing. He looks over his shoulder at the sound of her boot scuffling in the dirt as she steadies herself.

She stumbles over to Pearson’s wagon and throws the carcass down on the ground. The cook is nowhere to be found so she figures she’ll save him the trouble and put her sharpened blade to good use. The knife cuts cleanly through the skin like warm butter, separating the hide from tender pink insides. As she’s making the final incisions, she looks up from the gruesome sight and sees Arthur talking to Dutch outside his tent. He seems relaxed enough, his hands resting on the buckle of his gun belt while he talks. It’s something he does often, just like someone might stuff their hands in their pockets for the sake of keeping them occupied. An endearing little action. And yet, for some reason, the common and utterly insignificant act of him doing this makes her forget herself.

Maybe it’s the suggestion of him holding a different object hidden beneath the confines of denim, right below his loose grip. Because the longer she looks, a vision of him taking himself into a fisted hand begins to overshadow her mind. He’s lying in his cot, and while everyone else huddles together for warmth in their makeshift beds, he’s fucking his hand in the darkness of his tent. His eyes are screwed shut and his mouth is parted slightly, but no noise escapes his lips to save himself the mortification of someone walking past and overhearing. He quickens the pace of his pumping hand and breathes out a quiet, ragged moan as he coats his stomach with ropes of sticky seed. His chest heaves, then slows to normal before he wipes the evidence away with a worn shirt.

Arthur looks at her with a confused look on his face. He waves a hand slowly in mock greeting to rouse her from her dazed state. Dutch, mid-sentence, turns to look over his shoulder, but she averts her eyes before they can meet his.

“Holy shit,” she whispers. She frantically finishes skinning the deer with her chin to her chest to hide the furious blush tormenting her cheeks.

Once she’s finished, she practically sprints back to her tent before Arthur can ask her what her deal is. She closes the flaps hastily and goes to sit on the edge of her bed to collect herself.

It’s not like she’s never fantasized about a person before, and she’s taken people to her bed more times than she can remember. This flustered feeling isn’t rooted in some virgin-like innocence, and yet she might as well be a pastor’s daughter with the way she’s blushing over it.

It’s because it’s him. He’s her partner. Her friend. Someone who’s grown to understand her better than she understands herself. She’s been the same person for him ever since they crossed paths in Montana all those months ago. Many feelings, albeit platonic, have come and gone since that fateful encounter, but lust? Lusting after a friend may be the most foreign feeling she’s stumbled upon in all her years of living.

A griminess so thick and so palpable enshrouds her, weighing heavily, filthily, on her skin. And there’s only one solution that comes to mind.

She straddles the firmness between her thighs as it bounces rhythmically beneath her. A moan unintentionally escapes her lips in response to the merciless feeling down below. Her blouse sticks to damp skin and plasters itself lewdly against the curves of her stomach and chest as her hips rock back and forth. Another moan. This one more pained than the last.

Her thighs have always burned something fierce whenever she’d mount her horse directly after a bath. Soft, herbal-scented skin would grate against thick cotton of riding trousers, eliciting the pained gritting of teeth. But this time, the minor uncomfortable sensation is preferable, simple, compared to the complexities of her consuming thoughts from earlier. A hot bath was her saving grace as it turned out. It cleared her head and made her feel like her normal self again. Whatever thoughts she’d been having of her partner had been washed away and left behind at the bottom of the steel tub like some tainted baptism.

She rides through the trees that fringe the perimeter of camp and calls out to Javier, who stands guarding the entrance. He gives her a short wave, and nothing else. The two of them haven’t talked much, despite having ridden together for over a year now. Most of the men in camp tend to keep to themselves, she’s noticed. It’s a shame the talkative Irish man went and got himself killed in Blackwater. He knew how to have a good time. He always claimed the two of them were kindred spirits, but she heavily denied it each time since it read like an insult.

She swings herself off the saddle and, like a moth to a lantern, migrates toward the fire to warm herself. The sun has sunk beneath the horizon and with it any amount of heat it provided, leaving her a shivering mess. Dinner bubbles inside the stew pot, prompting her to grab a portion before taking a seat on one of the logs.

The fire is reduced to glowing embers that do little to warm her bones. She nudges the logs with her boot but they just shift and plume ash. Sighing, she tugs closed the lapels of her coat and brings a spoonful of venison stew to her lips. The steaming broth slides down her throat and settles in her belly, making a furnace of her stomach. It’s a nice feeling, one that quiets her mind.

Suddenly, the log shifts as someone sits beside her.

“Where’d you disappear off to?” He asks. “I couldn’t find ya anywhere.”

Arthur settles to sit hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees, a bowl of stew in his hands. He’s wearing a dark long-sleeve shirt and a light jacket, but not much else to protect him from the cold. In fact, when she looks around, no one else seems to mind the chill as much as she does. Maybe Karen was right in calling her a baby.

“Nowhere special. I just had to go into town for a bit,” she says, taking another sip of the stew.

He nods his head, “Had to go into town and get yerself a bath, huh?”

She turns sharply to look at him, her brows drawn together in confusion.

“I could smell the lavender oil the minute ya hitched yer horse,” he explains. “What’s that about? Are ya plannin’ on finally actin’ like a lady or somethin’?”

She shoves his shoulder with her free hand.

“Shut up Arthur. You act more like a lady than I do,” she accuses. “Also, it might do ya good to take a bath for once.”

That last part she says a little lower than the first. Sometimes when they’d be out on extended errands they’d bathe in the river together. But no matter how much he scrubbed his skin, the stench of cigarette smoke and sweat would linger in the closed tent when she lay beside him in her bedroll at night. She always put up with it though because it likely meant she didn’t smell much better.

“The hell’s that s’posed to mean?” He asks, looking visibly taken aback.

“It means you smell like—”

“Naw, not that. Whatchu mean I act like a lady?”

“Oh. It means you’re goin’ all soft, big guy. Take it as a compliment,” she says, trying to suppress a smile.

“Great. First Dutch, now you. I ain’t goin’ soft, girl. And I sure as hell ain’t turnin’ into a woman,” he says, looking away from her and shaking his head. “As if you even knew what it meant to be one. Look at yerself!” He adds with an indignant wave of his hand that gestures from the top of her head to her feet.

She doesn’t need to look. Her coat is crafted from bear and bison pelts, made to fit a man larger than herself because the trapper lacked the expertise to tailor one for a woman. It keeps her warm enough, which is all that should matter. Wearing clothes that flatter her figure ranks relatively low on her list of priorities when every day is a fight to not freeze to death. On top of that, folk have always been mighty eager to remind her of her femininity whenever she dared step outside the docile role of her fairer sex. Which, in her line of work, was often.

“I’ll have you know I consider myself an expert on the matter… ma’am.”

She starts to snicker but when she looks over at him his jaw is set and he’s giving her a side-eye that makes the noise die in her throat.

“Keep callin’ me a lady and see where it gets ya, woman. Y’ain’t gonna be laughin’ when I’m forced to prove myself to ya.”

If there was ever any heat being produced in her body, it's all gone and rushed to her face just now. She stares at him, unblinking.

“What?”

“Mm, s’what I thought,” he says, bringing a spoon of potatoes and broth to his lips. “Now, if you’re done foolin’ around, are you comin’ with us tomorrow or not? Dutch said you might but I know you’ve got a lot on your plate as is.”

He said he’d prove himself to her. Prove that he’s a man. There’s hardly any innocent way to interpret that.

“Tomorrow?” She asks. “What’s happening tomorrow?”

He looks at her all funny-like, slightly annoyed even.

“Did you drink the bathwater or somethin’? The O’Driscoll told us they was all holed up in some cabin not far from here. Mentioned Colm is with’em. I only told ya about it a handful of times.”

She hears him but isn’t really listening. The phrase repeats on a loop in her head. She wants to ask him what he meant by it but the moment’s passed and she knows there’s no real answer. If asked, he’d just say he was teasing her and there’s nothing more to it.

He calls her name, bringing her out of her stupor. She opens her mouth to say something but the wind picks up. A bone-rattling shiver possesses her, making her shrink inside herself. He stares at her, unphased by the chill but with concern etched into his handsome features.

“Sorry, Arthur. I- I don’t know where my head’s at,” she says through clenched teeth.

“S’Alright,” he says, looking her over. “I forget how sensitive you are to the cold.”

He sets his bowl on the ground and brings his hands to cup around his mouth, heating them with hot breath. He then takes her hands into his and clamps around them, transferring warmth to numb fingers.

“Jesus, you’re freezin’,” he says.

He brings her hands close to his mouth and repeats the same action, trying to warm them back to life with his breath. He presses into her palms, massaging heat from the pads of his fingers into hers.

Had he done this simple gesture for her yesterday, she likely would’ve just felt grateful to feel her fingers again. But today isn’t like yesterday. Yesterday, she wasn’t acutely aware of the ever-present moisture nearly dripping down her thighs or the dull, aching pain at her core as it practically begs to be filled by a man. Yesterday, she didn’t envision that man to be Arthur. She didn’t envision herself blissed out and bouncing on his cock, being guided by his hands gripping her ass and forcing her all the way down on him every time. She also didn’t visualize their sweating naked bodies pressed against one another as he hoists her legs around his waist and fucks her relentlessly against the side of his wagon. Yesterday was, without a doubt, much easier than today. Today she’d thought of all these things and more.

She watches attentively how he holds her slender fingers in the thickness of his own. Those hands have snuffed out the lives of many, brutally at that. She’d seen them wrapped around the necks of men, crushing their windpipes and severing their spines when he’d been provoked on the wrong sort of day. Lots of blood on those hands. But there’s just as much on hers and in this moment, those blooded hands are so tender towards her.

If these same hands could kill without remorse, yet be so gentle when the time came for it, then by God, what else were they capable of?

She slips her hands out of his faster than she intended to.

“Thank you, Arthur,” she whispers, looking away.

“Sure. Maybe that’ll help ya to start actin’ normal again. Get the blood flowin’ to yer brain and such.”

If only he knew it was doing the opposite. Blood is flowing elsewhere and she’s the furthest from normal she’s been in a long while.

She stands up, leaving the bowl of stew unfinished on the ground.

“Here’s hoping,” she says, her hands clasped together to preserve his heat.

Her boots crunch ice-bitten dirt loudly beneath their heels as she makes her way through the quiet camp and to her tent. She doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath until the flaps close shut behind her.

“What… What is wrong with you?” she asks no one. Her tent is empty, and even though she wants to be alone, this is no comfort.

Her palms dig into the concave of her eye sockets, rubbing them furiously to wake herself up. She groans and shrugs off her coat, letting it collapse onto the floor. Her boots are kicked off her feet and her shirt is made quick work of before it’s thrown violently across the room. Her pants meet the same fate, being unbuttoned and kicked off, then kicked again so they lie atop the other garments. She collides with her mattress in a huff and lies there to stare at the ceiling of her tent, chest rising and falling rapidly.

She’s not going to be laughing when he’s forced to prove himself to her.

Why is that phrase repeating over and over in her head? More importantly, why is she closing her eyes and slipping her hand beneath the waistband of her combinations?

She pauses. It’s wrong to do this. So wrong. To touch herself with visions of him in her head is sick. But she needs it so badly, so desperately she needs this to be taken care of. The throbbing at her core ultimately wins over her conscience, and forcefully pushes guilt to the side.

Her fingers slide between the delicate folds down below, the slick moisture coating her digits easily. She imagines it’s his hand. Large and warm, playing with her and teasing out moans by dancing around her clit. He asks her if it feels good, but only incoherent noises leave her lips.

He chuckles and the breath of his laughter hits her center as he dips his head between her thighs. Lips replace fingers, sucking and leaving open-mouthed kisses heavy with tongue, ravishing her like a starved man. Her thighs clench around him and her calves tremble against his bare back. She whispers praises to him when she can find the words.

Please keep going. You’re doing so good. So good.

Both of her hands tangle themselves in his hair. She can’t help but pull on the strands the minute he slides his thumb inside her all the way to the knuckle. Her back arches off the cot at the sudden sensation but he pulls her back down, locking her in with a hand wrapped around her thigh. She can feel him smile against her, momentarily letting up the relentless forces of his mouth. He’s loving watching her squirm beneath him, because of him.

But the combined sensation of his thumb fucking her and the concentrated movements of his tongue at her clit nearly drive her to the edge. She squirms and brings her knees up around him, causing him to pull away and leave her empty.

Ya have to keep still, darlin’.

He coaxes her legs back open, spreading them apart with firm hands. But before he can return, she whispers desperate words that fall sweetly on his ears. He changes direction and begins to kiss his way north, traces of her still on his lips as they press wetly to her stomach, then her breasts, and then her neck. While he trails up her jaw, she tugs down his union suit from where it gathers at his hips. He assists her clumsily by shaking it off his legs and kicking it to the floor, where it now lies atop her own discarded clothing.

Before he takes her, he hovers on rested elbows and searches her face for any sign of reluctance. Only half of his features she can see clearly as warm oranges and yellows flicker across it from the lantern at her bedside. The fringe of his hair tickles her forehead, teasing her into closing the distance between them. With a hand on the back of his neck, she brings him down to her level and connects their lips. Their mouths move roughly against one another, their noses squishing and bending against the pressure of their touch.

He’s warm, so warm. His mouth is hot against her tongue and the points on her body where the two of them meet are ablaze with a fire that spreads down, and down, until it rests in a sweltering mess at the apex of her thighs. She needs him, were the words she’d whispered. And she needs him now. She reaches down between their two bodies to where his cock grazes against her legs and with a sure hand, takes hold of it and guides it to her entrance. She can’t see it but it feels thick in her grasp; her hold not permitting thumb and forefinger to meet.

The head slips gently inside and opens her up to him with a slow, shallow movement of his hips. He removes his lips from hers and rests his forehead against her own, looking down and indulgently watching himself disappear inside of her inch by inch. It fills her deliciously, stretching her open until he eventually bottoms out and their pelvises lie flush with one another. She lets out a sharp exhale at the contact, knowing he’s sheathed fully inside of her. Before he moves again, she brings her legs around his waist and crosses her ankles so his movements are limited to being shallow and forceful.

The cot squeaks beneath them as he pulls out and thrusts back in, slow at first. He quickly picks up the pace, pistoling his hips to give short thrusts that fill her to the hilt each time with a near-bruising force. One hand wraps around the meat of her thigh and another hand starts rubbing furious circles at her clit. She throws her head back with a wide-opened gasp at the explosive euphoric sensation of being filled by him and the simultaneous attention given to the sensitive nub. He goes even faster when he sees how close she is, and within seconds she unravels beneath him.

She notices through her clouded gaze his brows screwing together and lips parting as her soft muscles throb around the swell of his cock. It’s too much for him. He hurriedly pulls out and releases himself on her belly, coating it with spurts of his seed. He looks at her breathlessly through hooded eyes.

The two of them lie panting, him still stationed between her legs with a heaving chest and weary gaze. He leans down and places a chaste kiss on the inside of her thigh before slumping beside her and laying there in his nakedness.

She cums hard against diligent fingers. Hot and tingly ecstacy spreads from her core throughout her limbs, fluttering her eyes to the back of her skull and leaving her a panting mess. Once that passes and the drowsiness that always follows a dumbing climax sets in, she realizes she’d conjured a strange ending to her fantasy. It was one of genuine intimacy, not driven by the carnal desires of her body.

Thankfully, sleep takes over before she can begin trying to process whatever that means. She drifts off as remnants of pleasure buzz beneath her skin and warm her beneath ticking sheets.

Morning comes quickly, and the accompanying chill of a new day forces her off the cot in search of heavier clothing. She pulls fleece-lined chaps over jeans and buttons them at the waist before throwing on the bear coat she’s worn every day since Colter. As she slips her arms into the clothing, she thinks back on last night. There’s no reason to make a big deal of it. Surely men get off with much worse ideas in their heads about the people they know. She hopes all of that is behind her now that it’s been forced out of her system.

But this is not the case.

This hope is massacred in vain shortly after being conceived. For the day is ablaze with yearning, shame, and raging inferno.

Accompanying Arthur to the hideout was soon realized as a mistake. Every small, inconsequential thing he did served to stoke the fire blistering her loins. Every word whispered atop the secluded hillock, every incidental brushing of skin, and every intentional one too. It all fanned incessantly at consuming flames.

She rides back to camp alone with heavy pockets and a heavier conscience. And as she approaches the grounds, she sees her friend, the blonde woman, standing guard outside. Without thought, she throws her reins and swings herself off the horse, hitting the earth hard and swift. A blustering storm brews inside her, fighting against fire and losing. She approaches Karen, treading heavily over branch and stone, a wild look in her eyes.

“Karen!” She calls out.

The woman turns to face her, her rifle lowering just as quickly as it’s raised.

“Oh, it’s just you. You here to tell me I don’t know what I’m talkin’ about again? If so, you can keep on walkin’, bigshot.”

She sighs and runs a frustrated hand through her wind-tangled hair.

“No! No, I- I didn’t mean it,” she says, with an unmistakable sound of desperation in her voice. “Karen, you were right.”

Karen’s tensed shoulders sink beneath her coat and her features soften. She doesn’t seem to understand, but she’s no longer angry. It’s difficult to be when her friend stands before her, uncharacteristically vulnerable and fumbling with words.

Whatever forces are at work here, be it the chill, the moon, or an unknown third thing, it can be certain she is out of her depth, adrift in deep ice waters. And he is calling to her like a siren’s song but she knows it is an illusion she has conjured up and there is no solace allowed to be found there. He cannot take her like she needs so deeply to be taken by him. It would ruin them, for certain. Because they are not a wholesome people, and despite that, their bond has been forged by goodness. Something like that is uncommon for folk like themselves. It should be held closely, protected from whatever may destroy it, even if it is from herself. It’s for that reason she withdraws her hand, rides alone, averts wandering eyes, and tries her utmost best to quench the flames.

And yet, it has been only a day.

“You were right.”

#red dead redemption 2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 x reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr #rdr2 fic #rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur x reader #smut #rdr2 smut #red dead redemption smut #arthur morgan x reader smut

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the-soliloquies-of-sadists · 8 months

Text

#373

“What the fuck is this I’m hearing about you? My buddy Deputy Watson asked me why I have a faggot working for me? He tells me that you have a record for sex in public bathrooms. Is it true?

“Of course it is! I can see it on your face. Have the common decency of at least admitting it…. Jesus fuck! You know when I hired you, I told you I didn’t want any drama. And now I have to deal with this. I can’t be thought of a sperm burper. With my wife filing for divorce and living across the state at her sisters, people will start to think nasty shit about me once they find out that I have a fag working for me.

“You were recommended to us because you are a hard worker; you keep your head down. You don’t drink and you don’t cavort around in town. Now I know why.

“Watson was telling me that you were caught once before at a rest stop in South Dakota getting cornholed. He also said that the charges were dropped. Lucky you. So you must like sucking on random dick at some nasty assed bathroom. What the fuck is the draw?

“Nothing to say?... I want an answer….

“…You like to blow straight men? Why would a straight man want to get blown by some fag when he can get it at home?...

“…Watch your mouth! The last time I got a blowjob has no bearing on this conversation. You know damned well that Louise and I are going through a divorce. I haven’t had anything in a long… Wait a minute, are you looking to give me head?

“…Back to being silent…?

“Uh…

“Awww, fuck it…. I could go for some head. You want it?... No one will ever know that this happened, you got that? Good. Then get on your fucking knees.

“I got a lot of skin…. God damn! You are eager! My wife makes me get hard first before I… Oh fuck! Oh man.

“Fuck! Watch your goddamned teeth!... I will knock them out. Trust me I will. My dick may not be long, but it gets really fat. Those teeth better know their place.

“Damn, not many women could deep throat me. Fuck I will be using this mouth again.

“Fuck! What did I tell you about your teeth?

“Fuck you faggot! You want me to hit you again, keep up with the teeth. You hurt me, then I hurt you. What do you have to say?... Hunh?...

“Damn right you’re sorry. Look up at me. Open your mouth. Let me feel your teeth…. Holy shit! That’s some jagged teeth you have there.

“I want you to make an appointment with your dentist. I want him to grind them smooth. You got that? I pay for your dental, let me benefit from that. And make that appointment as soon as possible.

“Look at me…. That slap means I’m serious about this. Now get the fuck up. You take men up your shitter? Of course, you do. Get out of those Levi’s.

“A fucking jock strap? You are such a fag. Leave it on. I’m not interested in what you have in front.

“It’s been years since I fucked an ass. Most of the time it was to put a bitch into place. You’ll be the first faggot, but it will be for the same damned reason.

“Spread your legs further. Damn. That’s a pale ass. Hold still…. Oooh. You have been fucked before. I can’t remember when my head went in so easy. So I guess I don’t have to wait for you to adjust to me.

“Right to the root! Fuck your pussy is treating my cock so well. Aw, shut up. I don’t want to hear any goddamned complaints from you. If you wanted more lube, you should have put more spit on my dick. Next time think to do that.

“Now shut the fuck up. I’m in the middle of fucking here….

“Your cunt knows how to take a pounding. I like that. I like that a lot…. Do that again. Fuck, this is one talented cunt. And it’s right here every day. Yeah. This cunt is going to be used going forward.

“Fuck yeah. I’m taking ownership of this cunt. It’s mine. You got that?...

“Answer me motherfucker. Who’s cunt is this?

“Damned right. You will give up other men. It’s mine. You understand faggot?

“…You better.

“Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum. Get ready. You gonna get flooded with a huge load. Here it cums. Here it goddamned cums! Urg! Urg! Fuuuck. Shit!

“Don’t fucking move. Stay put. Clamp down.

“Dammit faggot. No wonder so many men use you like this. Not anymore. I wasn’t kidding when I said you are to give up other men. That cunt is mine. I don’t want any other man touching my property. You got that faggot?... You say, ‘Yes Sir!’

“That’s better. You understand that I will be fucking it after we get done work every day?

“I’m one horny son of a bitch, a controlling one at that. That’s why my wife is filing for a divorce. You are going to be taking over her duties of taking my nut. Let’s go up to the house so you can fix me some dinner.

“No leave those Levi’s there. You don’t deserve to wear pants. The jock is all you need. As I said before, I’m not interested in what you have up front. In fact, it shouldn’t be any of your concern either.

“Now get up to the house…. Goddamn, that’s a nice ass. I don’t know if I will be able to make it through dinner without plowing that cunt and unloading a second time. My dick can go all night, especially a cunt that treats my dick well. That cunt will be so full by the end of the night. Now get moving.”

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twola · 10 months

Note

Hey don't know if this one is up your alley but I was wondering if you could do one where the reader is a sharpshooter (kinda like Black Belle) and Arthur was originally gonna take her to the sheriff's but they end up getting caught up in a fight with the O'Driscolls and she saves his life, then que the enemies to friends to lovers lmao

Later on they meet again and take down a house full of lemoyne raiders, they both lay low for a while then smut ensues lol.

I'm bad at describing but you can put your own twist on it if you want, make it however long you want, don't matter I just love your writing ❤️❤️

Hoooooo’kay. So this is probably a bit harder than the original requestor was thinking, but I’ve written too many sweet one-shots recently. It’s time to get a little nasty.

Anything You Can Do

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

Arthur meets his match in one of his bounties. His infuriatingly difficult match.

taglist: @pinkiemme, @redwritr, @mykneeshurt, @bimbo-dollz

Curtis Malloy rolls his eyes as the gunslinger ahead of him inquires about the bounty poster tucked on the far corner of his desk. Of course, the man would ask about that one. A picture of a woman, of all things, wanted for murder, robbery, and theft. A woman with hard eyes but a pleasing face.

Wasn’t the first one to come askin’. The sheriff took the damn poster off the wall after men started dying when they went after her. He’d hear talk of fool-hearted bounty hunters heading north into Ambarino to find this lady to bring her in, only to end with lead between their eyes, floating down the Dakota River.

But this man, well, he’s been rather successful as of late - and Malloy knew that he probably ran in the same vein of people he was picking up. No loyalty to the trade, he guesses. And in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t any skin off of his nose. Would get the man out of his hair and stop begging for more folks to hunt. Give him more time to deal with this Moira situation…

“Supposed to be up campin’ by Window Rock. But she likely has the area booby-trapped. Startin’ to lose count of the men who’ve gone up there to get killed tryin’ to take in this little lady.” Malloy warns as he hands the poster to the man ahead of him. The man grunts, tucking away the poster in his brown leather jacket, nodding before exiting out to the street.

Malloy gives a look to one of his deputies across the room.

Both begin to laugh.

Arthur’s seen his fair share of women easily fend for themselves. He saw the way Black Belle could shoot - likely better than he could. He sure as hell wouldn’t want to meet Mrs. Adler in a dark alley. She’d likely stab him before he could get a hand on her.

This woman supposedly had a deadly shot - a pile of bounty hunters at her feet. He knew he wasn’t going to just walk up to the tent and threaten you. This required a bit more finesse.

But still, as he gazed through his binoculars at his prize, you certainly didn’t look like the woman people were talking about in Valentine. Fairly short in stature, long dark hair falling in waves over your back. Arthur raises an eyebrow when he notices your curves as you kneel on one knee at your campfire.

Nope, he definitely does not miss the way those trousers hug your form.

He also does not miss the revolver in the belt slung around your hips as you rise from the fire, stretching your arms above your head and yawning. He does not miss the fishing line taut along the ground, tied to a rock precariously perched on a tree branch. Obviously placed there to alert you of intruders. Several fellers likely met their end due to that fishing line.

Arthur circles the campsite at a wide angle, hidden by the shadows of the night. He takes his time hunting his prey, taking in the lay of the land around, noting your movements, and ways of egress - like stalking a deer, he has you in his sights and is damn sure of it before he makes his move.

That move being edging dangerously close, revolver drawn, and diving at you once you’re in distance to reach. Your breath is knocked from your lungs as his large form lands atop you on the hard ground, caging in your limbs beneath him. You squawk, in a rather undignified manner, as he holsters his own revolver and reaches into yours to draw it out, disarming you and tossing your revolver several feet away.

“Get your damn hands off me.” You spit, but alas, the way he has you pinned down, you’re unable to fight back. The strength of this man was frightening. If it weren’t for the damn noose you know is waiting for you at the end of this, you would be excited by how strong he is. He quickly and easily hogties you, leaving you cursing and sputtering on the ground as he whistles for his horse.

Once his mare has sidled up, he heaves you over his shoulder like a damn sack of potatoes, and you yelp in indignation as he tosses you over the rump of his horse.

A sack of potatoes with a very nice ass in those trousers.

Arthur blinks briefly before shaking his head, pulling himself up into the saddle. Just to cut back through Cumberland and to Valentine, then he’d get the pretty penny on this woman’s head. One of the larger bounties he’s seen, he has to admit.

“You lousy sack of shit, I wasn’t bothering anyone!” You yell from the rump of the horse.

“Ain’t me who decides your bounty, Miss-” Arthur simply replies, urging the mare into a trot, before you cut him off with a hiss.

“Say another word and I’ll geld you.” You interrupt before he can say your name.

“Sure, lady.” Arthur chuckles, knowing you wouldn’t be gelding anyone hogtied on the back of his horse, crossing the Dakota near Fort Wallace.

Blessed silence. For what seems like only a few moments.

“Since you know me so well, who the hell are you?” You ask, raising your head a bit.

“Now why would I tell you that?” Arthur chuckles, urging his horse southward on the road, deep into Cumberland Forest.

“I’d like to at least know the man’s name before I get fucked.” You retort, an even more sour tone in your voice.

“Arthur Morgan, my lady.” He replies, egging you on with the honorific, knowing you ain’t anything close to that, especially with the mouth on you. He’s about to stay something to prod you further when he hears voices up the road in the distance.

“Shit.” Arthur curses, as four green-sashed men crash through the trees. He immediately circles the horse to change direction as he hears a rider approaching on horseback, yelling at him.

Of course, O’Driscolls had taken up again at Six Point. Morgan, you idiot, you’re waltzing straight past them.

“Let me go and I can help you.” You call from behind him, trying to duck from whizzing bullets as much as your bindings would allow.

“Yeah, so you can shoot me in the back of the head too? Not a chance, lady.” Arthur retorts as he spurs his mare into a gallop, and you grunt as the wind gets knocked out of you from the jolting.

The O’Driscolls are in hot pursuit, the rider is joined by three others as Arthur pushes his horse back toward the Dakota, but with you slung over the back of her rump, he’s not able to urge his horse faster, not if he was going to get this bounty. Needed you alive.

He curses aloud as a bullet whizzes by his head on the right, and he turns the horse to the left, which was a poor decision as the mare reaches the cliffsides jutting up on either side of the Dakota, the river far below.

Pinned down along the face of the cliff, Arthur senses his horse getting skittish. Any more of this and the mare is going to buck him, and the bounty. He curses again as a bullet nearly hits his hat, sliding off the saddle and dragging you to the ground. You squeak with indignation until you hit the ground, groaning and cursing him. But to your surprise, he is unsheathing his knife and cutting the ropes at your ankle and wrists. You immediately scramble up and turn to him, smacking him hard across the face.

“Serves you right, asshole.”

“Y’done now, lady?” Arthur fumes, working his jaw as he reaches over your shoulder to grab the long guns from his horse’s saddles, before the damn thing spooks and runs away.

“If you wanna go with them, be my guest, but O’Driscolls don’t have a particularly good reputation of their handlin’ of women.” Arthur sneers at you, shoving a repeater at your chest, glaring before another bullet whizzes by and the both of you hit the ground out of sheer reflex.

You immediately open and close the lever to chamber a round, gritting your teeth. “This thing full at least?”

“Yes, your majesty.” Arthur retorts as he pulls revolvers from his belt, dual wielding as his mare screams and bolts for cover.

By the time the two of you rise, bullets fly and hit their targets, one O’Driscoll falling off his horse in a spray of blood to his chest, another gets shot in the head and his body limply clings in the saddle. Arthur runs across the open glen, knowing he’s a sitting duck in the wide open, and you dart in the other direction to the other treeline, quickly disappearing from sight.

Goddamnit. Of course you ran. Morgan, you’re even more of an idiot.

Arthur is fuming to himself so much so that he doesn’t hear the clicking of the revolver’s safety until too late, the steel of a barrel being pressed against the back of his neck.

“Drop 'em’.” The O’Driscoll threatens, and Arthur drops the revolvers in his hands, clattering to the ground as his captor pushes him forward, winding an arm around his shoulder and pressing the revolver further into his neck. They stop in the middle of the clearing.

“Think ol’ Colm misses ya, Morgan.”

Arthur scowls at the ground with the warm barrel of the gun against his neck, probably burning his skin. The O’Driscoll laughs behind him.

“You stop right there, you mick bastard.”

Your voice, high and sharp, cuts through the mountain air like a knife.

The O’Driscoll spins himself and Arthur around, forcing Arthur ahead of him to shield most of his body.

“C’mon now, you go on and leave the shootin’ to the men, dearie. I’ll even give you a head start.” The O’Driscoll laughs as you point the repeater dead at his face, twenty feet away.

You don’t move, and the O’Driscoll frowns, shoving his pistol into Arthur’s neck harder.

“Put the gun down, lady. Or Morgan gets the next round.”

Your stance never wavers. A small smirk comes across your face.

“Doin’ me a favor then?”

The O’Driscoll raises his eyebrow, but in a flash, it is all over. The crack of the repeater echoes in the glen as a body hits the ground. Arthur’s hat rolls on its lid across the ground.

“Jesus Christ!” Arthur stumbles ahead, holding his ear, absolutely covered in blood and brain matter. His eyes flit behind him, to take in the O’Driscoll, dead on the ground, half his face caved in from the bullet that hit him between the eyes.

He looks up to you in shock and bewilderment. You slowly lower the repeater and open and close the lever, chambering another round. Completely unfazed.

“I got one more round in here, Mister Morgan. I’d like very much not to use it on you.” You state with an air of superiority, dead serious as you grip the repeater tightly.

Arthur slowly raises his hands, his guns still strewn across the ground feet away after his tussle with the now-dead O’Driscoll.

“Now listen to me. I’m gonna take one of these horses and be on my way. And you ain’t gonna follow me. You’re gonna forget that bounty and get on with the next sucker you chase down.” You say, with an even, deadly tone.

“Don’t you usually shoot them men comin’ after you?” Arthur asks, his hands still outstretched.

“I do. But usually the men comin’ after me ain’t as handsome as you are. Would be a shame to blow your brains out.” You say with a smirk, starting to back away, toward where the O’Driscoll’s horse grazes in the long grass.

Arthur’s cheeks tinge pink as he remains still, but lowers his hands.

“I’m sure I’ll see you again, Mister Morgan. Maybe you can make up for me savin’ your pretty hide.”

You give an exaggerated curtsy before climbing into the saddle of the horse, the repeater still ready to fire. You grab the reins tightly and circle the horse once before galloping off, leaving Arthur Morgan standing alone in the clearing, saved but for the dead O’Driscoll.

Lemoyne was too damn hot. Sweltering. Disgusting. Even as the dusk fell. Even outside of the damn swamp, Arthur hated it. The gang had moved south after that shootout with Cornwall in Valentine. Bad business all around. Now, Dutch and Hosea have been working both angles of the local yokel families, locked in some kind of bitter generational feud.

Arthur just needed to clear his head. Dutch had him working as a lawman, of all the ridiculous things. He’s taken this free moment to do his own work, having been tipped off on a Lemoyne Raiders safe house not far from Ringneck Creek, supposed to be just a few of these idiots and a cache of items they have stored from their roadside robberies throughout the state.

Ripe for the taking.

The old barn house stood on the rise, and he could tell, as he swung down from his mare just beyond the treeline. He smacks her rump and she’s off, back down toward the Kamassa. He lets the rifle strapped across his shoulders down, aiming through its sights at the movement of men in the distance.

“Well well, if it isn’t the fastest draw in the west.” A sharp voice cuts through the quiet.

Arthur swings his rifle at the interloper that appeared several feet away from him, cursing himself for not being aware of his surroundings.

Oh. It’s you.

God damnit.

“The hell are you doing here?” Arthur harshly whispers, lowering the rifle.

You nod your head toward the barn behind him, “I was going in on a tip I got that the yokels had things stashed here.”

Arthur frowns. “Don’t tell me you got that from Alden.”

“The ticket man, in Rhodes.”

“God damnit.” He rolls his eyes. He scowls at you, standing there with your hand on your hip. Looking positively infuriating in dark trousers and a fairly tight-fitting button-down. Highlighting your curves, while your dark hair is pulled back into a long braid.

Focus, damnit. Arthur chides himself as he turns back toward the barn, looking again through the scope of this rifle at the men mulling about.

“Tell you what, Mister Morgan. You could use another gun. I could use wastin’ less bullets on these inbreds. Split what we find.”

Arthur has counted seven Raiders going in and out of the barn, which would be a fairly large number if he were alone. He sighs in exasperation.

“Fine.”

“Well, probably wasn’t the whole lot of them, I’m sure there are more of these wannabe civil war soldiers slinking about.” You muse, rifling through papers on a makeshift as Arthur picks a lockbox, pocketing the billfolds inside. Stepping over a dead body, you catch Arthur’s frame over that lockbox.

You notice what his hands are doing, and glare at him. “Hey - asshole, we’re splittin’ this.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, but acquiesces, tossing one of the billfolds at you. You catch it with ease.

“After that noise we should probably lay low for a bit.” You move toward the barn door, shouldering your repeater, stopping to listen outside for a moment.

“Oh, so now there’s a we?” Arthur snaps back at you as he follows you to the door.

“Be my guest if you wanna head into the swamps at this time of night. I, on the other hand, have a cabin I cleared out on the other side of Dewberry Creek.” You glance at him, pushing through the barndoor with your hand on your gun, looking around for any kind of movement. Your horse has meandered closer, and you whistle lowly for it to come closer.

You pull yourself into the saddle and look down at him.

“You coming? Or you just gonna stand there like an idiot?”

“Ain’t this homey?” Arthur retorts, looking at the rundown state of the cabin inside. A bed, with a near-disintegrating blanket, an old table, broken cabinets, and maybe one chair that didn’t look like it was about to fall apart.

“Ain’t your momma teach you manners? Lady invites you into her abode and you just insult her.” You slide the rifle from your back and place it upright against the stone fireplace.

“You’re a lady now? Coulda fooled me.” Arthur follows, placing his repeater on the table, unwilling to have you get the last word in.

You sneer at him, crossing your arms over your chest. “Last time I checked, I have two tits and a cunt - pretty sure that makes me a lady - unless you’ve encountered different.”

“Pretty sure a lady wouldn’t be speakin’ like that.” Arthur returns, glancing away from you and trying to hide the flush that he knows is burning up his cheeks - he’s trying not to look at your breasts, framed by your crossed arms. Trying not to think of your ass in those trousers, the taper of your hips, the cunt he suddenly can’t not imagine filling.

“Oh, is you a gentleman? A dashing outlaw with ladies falling in his lap from here to Armadillo?” You point at him, pressing your finger into his chest, gritting your teeth as your self-righteousness and hackles both rise.

For once, he’s silent. For once in the whole goddamn time you’ve known him, he’s given you an opening. Seize it. Take the enemy down. Merciless. Just like shootin’.

“Bet you couldn’t please a lady even if you was the one being paid.” Your voice lowers as you go in for the kill.

To his credit, Arthur resurges with sputtering indignation, pushing you several steps backward until your back slams against the cabin wall. Your eyes widen in surprise.

“Christ alive, the mouth on you. How’s about I shut you up by givin’ you somethin’ to fill it?”

With his hands clamped on your shoulders and his large frame looming over yours, it’s not fear that you feel. Not that he’s going to hurt you, or turn you in. Something more profound than that. Something that shoots to your very core.

“I’d like to see you try.” You hiss at him, and see his jaw work in frustration, “Probably can’t even make a woman come.”

His thigh immediately rams forward, parting your legs as his hands fly to your hips, lifting you several inches above the ground, you yelp as he presses up against your core.

“I’m gonna make you eat them words, missy.” He hisses as he leans into your ear.

“Not if I make you come first.” You respond breathily, your hand moving to cup at the seam of his pants, grabbing at his burgeoning cock. He grunts and shoves his thigh up higher, and you mewl as it causes you to grind against the hard bone of his femur.

“You’re askin’ fer it.” He grunts as he presses his pelvis against you, his cock hard against your belly. A zing of pleasure shoots through your core in response. He’s not lacking, in any measure. His hands briefly leave your body to pull at the buckle of his gun belt, and the belt clatters to the floor at his feet.

“Yeah,” You grab his collar two-fisted and pull him to you, “I am askin’ fer it.” You parrot back in his drawl, lips inches away from his for just a moment, before you bridge the distance and take his mouth forcefully, not letting him respond as you shove your tongue inside.

He’s not surprised, nor taken off balance, matching your fevered press into his mouth with his own, battling for supremacy as his tongue wrests with yours. You barely feel one of his hands leave your hip and start to work the buttons of your trousers, it's not until he works them open enough to shove his hand down the front of your pants that you groan in surprise into his mouth. His rough, calloused fingers weave their way downwards, under the waistband of your bloomers, and straight to your moistening core, where he slides a long, meaty finger into your cunt, making you mewl.

But you cannot let him win.

Summoning all the fight you have in you, battling against the sweet sound of his hand smacking up against wet skin, your hands shoot down to cup his burgeoning erection through his pants, and he moans as his hips move to press forward into your touch.

You grit your teeth, squeezing your eyes shut as you open his pants, breathing through your nose as he latches his mouth to the side of your neck, slipping his middle finger inside you, making you curse under your breath as you finally reach your goal. You nearly rip his pants open and fish his hard cock out, your fingers wrapping around it as you begin to pump his shaft, desperate to make him feel as helpless as he’s making you feel.

Arthur moans needily against your neck, rolling his hips, and losing his rhythm as he rocks his hand into you. You smile as your head tilts back, pleased at yourself that you’ve met him and matched him.

It would not be for long, though. He retracts his hands and finds your hips again, and the next thing you know, you’re lifted in the air, caught off guard, and instinctually wrap your legs around his waist as he walks you both the several steps to the table. One of his hands moves to your lower back, keeping you upright, as he lays you down and spreads you out on the flat surface.

The gunslinger leans over and captures your lips again as he starts to work your trousers and bloomers down your waist, over the swell of your ass that you raise in the air to help him. You have the wherewithal to kick your boots off as he works your pants down your thighs, standing to his full height as he peels them off you completely, leaving your lower half bare to his gaze. Your tapered hips, glistening folds, wet and ready for him.

You take advantage of his dumb-struck stare to unhook his suspenders from the front of his pants, yanking them down over his hips to let them rest above his knees.

Wasting no time, before you know he’s going to catch you, you wrap one hand around his shaft and cup his testicles with the other, squeezing both gently as he groans, his hands holding himself up as he leans above you, his hips starting to thrust forward.

It's only a matter of time. Only a matter of time before his eyes open, hands snap to your hips, and you’re yanked bodily forward, ass nearly hanging off the table, and you let go of his member as he presses forward, the head of his cock touching your wet folds and making you both moan aloud.

“Still askin’ fer it?” He pants, and all you can do is moan in response and shake your head in the affirmative, spreading your legs for him.

Arthur immediately slides his cock all the way in, until the chestnut curls at the base of his cock meet the dark hair over your cunt, and you cannot help but to mewl, watching as he slowly withdraws and presses in again. Your legs spread even wider as both of you can’t look away from the sight: his long, hard shaft glistening with your slick, disappearing into your body.

One of his hands moves from your hip to splay beneath your abdomen and presses down hard, he moans in appreciation as he can feel himself through your skin as he buries his cock in your cunt again. And again. And again. You fall back from your elbows completely onto your back, the pressure of him making you gasp and whine.

Fuck, this is where you hurtle toward that point of no return, there’s no holding back the wave of pleasure that threatens to drown you as Arthur pounds himself into your hips. There’s no winning or losing anymore, there is just the chasing of that pleasure.

You’re cresting, back beginning to arch uncontrollably as he pumps into you hard and fast. You don’t give a shit about losing, because you’re wrung so tightly you’re about to snap, needy whines escaping your throat as you squeeze your eyes shut, unable to stop tears from overstimulation from spilling down your cheeks.

The head of Arthur’s cock keeps hitting that spot in your cunt that makes you want to die in pleasure, his large hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises.

You can barely recognize the shriek you give as your own, and the grunts in return, fucking you harder through your release. Your spasming, clenching, shaking release.

“Yes, yes,” Arthur grits out. The broken syllables of his name escape your mouth as you come, he thrusts deep inside of you and you gush warm slick around his length.

He immediately groans, loudly, clenching your hips hard as he jerks himself from you, painting your mound white with arcs of his spend landing in your dark pubic hair. Arthur pants, not letting go of your hips as you at least have the wherewithal to lean up on your elbows again.

“Think…” he rasps, voice sex-hoarse and breathless, “I win.”

A smile cracks from your lips as you tighten your legs around his hips, drawing him closer.

“Best…” you pant, “Two outta three.”

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x female reader #red dead fandom #rdr2 #twolafic #tumblr prompt #red dead smut #arthur morgan x reader

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chasedbyatlantic · 2 months

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comfort crowd, joel miller

masterlist summary: IN WHICH — joel miller shows you and ellie how to properly play golf, he's in it to win it - without a doubt.

warnings: post outbreak!joel, pre-jackson era!joel, female reader, no use of y/n, implied relationship, ellie being the comedic relief, these three being a happy and loving family, mentions of weapons, swearing. lmk if i missed anything!

wordcount: 2.7k

a/n ha..haha... (im in denial). guys i thought this was really funny and this was my brilliant idea. plz i hope u love it LOL. remember to like, comment, reblog and follow for more! xoxo.

—

You hated lawn chairs for as long as you could remember. The pain of your skin getting lodged between cracked pieces of plastic, your skin slipping and sliding off from the seat when there was just a slight temperature change, you could name five thousand different things. Yet, right now, those were the least of your worries. A nice lawn chair propped up at the top of a house, overlooking the entire street. You were far from complaining, Joel as well.

The two of you not only walked for the entire day without taking any breaks, but had to keep up with Ellie, your 'special mission'. The little girl, immune to everything, was the fastest and most talkative kid you had ever came across, apocalypse or not. You were hesitant at first, as anyone would be, but grew to trust the girl with your life. She did protect you a handful of times, your reflexes not as keen as they used to be.

The three of you were in South Dakota right now, your car breaking down in Iowa and having to walk the rest of the way to Utah. You knew the whole thing was sketchy after Boston, but Joel was set in his ways. You never questioned that man, you feared that he knew too well to put the three of you in a bad situation.

The three of you were in the outskirts of some suburban town, already done clearing the street. By the amount of runners, and the walls built around, you could tell people used to live here. Not many people, five or six people at most. This place had reminded you a lot of Bill's place, though, you weren't sure if that was a good thing.

You were ripped out of your thoughts when you heard Ellie's voice ringing through your ears. "Do you wanna hear a construction joke?" Your hand fell onto your forehead, blocking out the sun that highlighted your face too much for your liking. A small 'Leave her alone, Ellie.' was heard from behind you, Joel wanting you to go back and rest. "Awh, fuck you Joel- you ruined it!" Ellie had complained, which only made you laugh, "But, I'm still working on it, the joke."

You had actually laughed, despite not wanting to. Her jokes were so bad, if there was an award given to the worst jokes ever said, Ellie would win it by a landslide. "That fits him, ya'know." You nodded your head over to Joel, who had made his way in front of the two of you, and knelt down to search through his bag. Ellie rose her brow, giving you a questionable look. "He was a very good fixer-upper."

Joel cut you off, "A contractor." You had nodded your head at that, "The best one'n Austin that is." You had added to his comment, and he could only let out a laugh. Ellie had asked him what a contractor was, and he explained it as you shut your eyes and just- enjoyed the sun for a moment. It was hot as fuck outside, you didn't deny that, but not having to drag your feet across the hot pavement for the next while was so damn nic-

Splash. You yelped as your eyes shot open, scanning the surrounding area. You weren't sure if it were your survivor instincts, or this just really fucking pissing you off, but you were ready to pounce on whoever did this to you. In fact, you had taken out your knife that was tucked away in your waistband, the sunlight reflecting heavily off of the blade.

You turned your head, to see not only Ellie, but Joel laughing. Ellie was one thing, but Joel too? This had to be some inside joke or something, you thought to yourself. "I'm going to fucking kill you guys." You did everything in your power to suppress your smile as you stood up, put your knife back in your waistband, and launched forward. You grabbed onto Joel as he did nothing in his power to stop you, just standing there with his arms crossed and a smile to his face, but Ellie? Oh no, she ran back, and to the other side of the roof.

"Alright," You admitted defeat, "One's good enough for me, run away while you can, Ellie." This brought an even bigger smile to her face, she was having fun with this. Sometimes, you forgot Ellie was just a kid. Ellie didn't have a childhood, not whatsoever- the poor girl lives in the fucking apocalypse, for Christ sake. If she wants to have fun like this, let her. You had planned to talk to Joel soon about not dropping her off with the doctors in Salt Lake City, but who knew if he would even consider that.

The three of you played around for a while longer, careful not to get too close to the edge of the roof and have the possibility of falling off. You three were acting like a family, maybe not the sanest one, but a family. After these months out by yourselves, you may as well be family. You would take a bullet for Joel or Ellie, within a heartbeat.

"Alright, Joel." You had replied, "Whatever you say." He could only chuckle as he folded his arms now, leaning against the space beside the window. You had abandoned the lawn chair, and were now laying down right in front of him. It was uncomfortable for you, but he was definitely not complaining about you being there. You two weren't officially a couple, but you acted like it. Kisses being exchanged here and there, the occasional hand holding, sleeping in the same bed every night. You had claimed it was because it made you sleep easier, which wasn't totally wrong, but you knew Joel loved it.

"I'm tellin' ya'," He held his hands up un defense, "A degree in doodlin' was stupid, ya' could've saved a shit load'o money." You two were conversing about your lives before the apocalypse, school and what not. Ever since Ellie brought up the whole contractor thing, it had been on your mind. You met Joel when he and his brother Tommy (you think it was) had started to fix up your house, but the project never got finished due to- well, everything.

"'Kay, Mister 'I fix houses'. Not like I would’ve gotten a job, anyway." You could only laugh at this, "Plus," You added, "I only minored in arts. My major was environmental biology." Joel went back to crossing his arms, his brow cocked back. "My girl's a biologist, eh? Best get you to Utah too, ya' can help'n restoring the planet." He let it slide off his tongue so easily, his girl. It felt too innocent coming from him, knowing what he would use that little pet name for all too well. Though, you liked when he did that, he wasn't much of a PDA man so it was nice when the two of you were alone like this.

Speaking too soon about being alone, Ellie had popped back out of the window and basically gave Joel a heart attack. You brought your hand over your mouth to cover your laughs as Joel shot you a look, and Ellie yelling a quick 'sorry!'. Though, she was excited about something. "You will absolutely not believe what I fucking found while snooping around!" Joel turned his glare from you over to Ellie, "Ellie," He began, "You know what I told ya' 'bout lookin' in these homes." He set a rule with her at the start of this mission, that she would never explore more than they needed to. For example, in this house, he didn't want her to look around and find photographs of the previous homeowners and grow- attached, in some sort. You weren't really sure, you found the rule stupid.

"Doesn't matter, I was bored as fuck." She then tossed this case over, it landed in between of you and Joel. By looking at it, you would've assumed it was a guitar case, though, it was too skinny to be a guitar. Following suit, another smaller and more round case may it's way over, hitting the first and landing beside it. "Guess." Your eyes moved from the cases to Joel, having no clue what this could be. He shared the lost look, both of you turning your attention back to Ellie.

"Ugh, you guys are such grandparents." That had to be an insult, you thought to yourself. Joel, yeah sure, but you? No way. Before you had time to bicker with the girl, she reached forward and started to unzip the cases. You were pelted with small balls in a matter of seconds, not processing what they were yet. It was only after actually picking one up from the tens of them that were on your lap, that you realized what they were.

Golf balls. Ellie had found a golf set. Thank god for these rich South Dakota folk, for a nice and big roof, and now this. You hadn’t golfed in twenty years, so this was going to be so much fun. You looked up to see how Joel was reacting to this, he looked to be somewhat interested as well. "Alright, before we do anythin'," Joel started as he got up, "Clean these up and we'll do everythin' in an orderly fashion." Even if he was acting like an old man right now, he was your old man.

Ellie did so while Joel helped you up, a reassuring hand placed on the small of your back and the other intertwined between your fingers. You were surprised, this was the most affection he had showed you around Ellie. Though, you weren't complaining. After what felt like forever (once again, no complaints), he let go and Ellie turned in unison. "I have to admit this, nobody laugh. I have no fucking clue how to golf."

Before the man beside you had time to reply, you did for him. "Joel'll show you, he's the best golfer outta the three of us." You brought your arm up and rested it on his shoulder for a moment, before giving him a few reassuring pats on his chest. "Go get 'em, tiger." He was annoyingly staring at you, knowing this would only amuse you.

"Get two clubs, kid." He ordered Ellie, (gently) shoving you off of him. He shook his head at you, eyes lingering for a moment too long, before moving over to the edge of the roof. He would find a way to get you back, you could feel it. As Ellie searched through the bag to find the tallest club, you went over to find a few tees. Once the tees were in hand, and the case of golf balls in the other, you made your way over to where Joel was.

As you set up the tees and golf balls in an appropriate place, just on the edge of the roof, Joel started to explain this whole thing to Ellie. She looked mesmerized, the few times you turned your head to see this. Joel acting like a teacher and all to her was sweet, when he usually treated her like an adult. Not that Joel was Ellie's father by any stretch of the way, but it was nice she got to experience a father-daughter moment right now. It warmed your heart too much.

After Ellie was taught the correct form, Joel moved her in front of the tee and ball, helping her get the correct stance before swinging. It missed, by a foot. This sent you through the roof (figuratively, not literally), you couldn't help yourself. Ellie was a bright red from embarrassment as she cursed you out, and Joel couldn't help himself either.

Ellie swung twice more with added force each time, before successfully hitting the golf ball. it went flying, not far, but high. "Good job, kid." Joel congratulated her, despite just laughing about her misfortunes prior. You rose your hand up beside her head, she replied with a high five and you two giggled. Since Joel's job was done, he now picked up his club and went to the tee set up to the right of Ellie. You followed suit with the left.

It took you a moment to get back into the swing of things, the last time you had moved your body like this was- well, dealing with runners. After a swing or two, it came back to you like you had been playing golf for the last twenty years. Joel too, from the looks of it. He let out a complaint or two about how this would strain his joints, but you guys were planning on spending a day or two here anyway.

Eventually, the three of you had came up with a game. Whoever could punt their balls the farthest wins. It was simple, really, but there were little roadblocks in the way- cars, mailboxes, you name it. Ellie's golf balls were blue, yours were red, and Joel's were yellow. You had counted down from three, indicating when all of you could start.

Three. You placed your feet in the appropriate position, cracking your neck just a little. Ellie twisted the club in her hand, as if it were a pencil or something. Joel stayed calm, his club resting on the floor.

Two. You rose your club into the swinging position, focusing on the middle of the red golf ball right in front of you. Ellie took notice of what you were doing and copied the motion, she was eager to hit it on the first go this time. Joel slightly raised his now, still sluggishly moving.

One. You started to move your club to hit the ball, Ellie too. After both of yours were hit in sync, you could hear Joel's being hit after. Your eyes made their way over to him, to examine his strategy, he was still remaining calm. This annoyed you, to say the least.

The three of you went through thirty golf balls each, eventually punting at your own pace. You were the first to finish, feeling pretty proud of yourself of where the balls had landed. Ellie was next, she was proud too. After not golfing for her entire life, this looked pretty promising. Joel was last, no surprise to that. He took his sweet time and finished around five minutes after you and Ellie were done, only earning snickers from Ellie.

"Alright," You told the girl, "Go down'n check who made it the farthest." She obliged, a small 'yes ma'am' before taking off for the window. Your eyes followed her with a smile to your face, "Havin' fun, aren't ya'?" Joel asked. You turned back around to face him, "Not as much as you are, clearly."

He knew he was acting cocky, and was for the past little while. Though, since you definitely didn't seem to mind, he kept up the act. "Ya'know what would make this even better?" He asked you, shifting his weight from his right leg to his left. You tilted your head, indicating that you were waiting for a response. "A golf cart." Before you had time to slap him for his ridiculous request, Ellie was yelling something from down the street.

You averted your attention from Joel, and now at the girl. She was mouthing something, that only you were able to understand after she repeated herself four times. Joel. Joel had won, for fuck sakes. "Well, shit." Was all you could say. He, on the other hand, was ecstatic, the most ecstatic you had ever seen him. For a moment, while he acted like that, you enjoyed it. Joel was having fun, that's what had mattered- he had to let loose every once in a while too.

After a moment, he collected himself once again. The same grin plastered on his face, though, as he folded his arms across his chest and watched as Ellie ran back over to the house. Before she came up, he nudged your shoulder. "Today was fun, eh?" He asked you, which had earned your head nodding almost too quick as a response. "Y'ur a pretty good golfer too, I guess." He admitted. You could only laugh, nudging his arm back. "Not as good as you, Mister Winner. Ya' should've skipped contractor school and went pro golf."

—

comfort crowd, conan gray

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crushedsweets · 3 months

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What is the ethnicity/nationality of everyone in ur AU?

I don't have concrete HC's for everyone, and a lot of them just have a general region/race rather than specific ethnicity, but i have some stuff for some characters! fine with it being up to interpretation too

most r born in alabama..cuz.... story takes place in alabama

Tim - white american, born in alabama Brian - white american, born in alabama Toby - white american, grandparents were german immigrants, born in colorado Kate - half white, half chinese american, born in alabama

Natalie - french american, born in louisiana - family has been in america for quite a few generations Jack - indian american, parents immigrated from india, born in north dakota Sally - half chilean, half white american, born in alabama BEN - white american, born in oregon

Jeff - white american, born in new jersey Liu - white american, born in new jersey Jane - black american, born in alabama Nina - mexican american, born in california

Ann - argentinian american, born in new york Lulu - vietnamese american, born in alabama Lazari - white american, born in alabama Dina - english/white american, born in alabama

ok basically theyre all born in america. damn. maybe i should change that HAHA

#creeped #hcs #asks

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anniesocsandgeneralstore · 7 months

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parenthood killed the rodeo star | famous!rhett x oc

Summary: Rhett's been riding bulls in Montana, Tessa's been curving barrels in Oklahoma, but now they're both in South Dakota with a rodeo on the horizon. So of course the first thing they do is get a hotel room with one, king-sized, bed to share. (wc: 2330)

Warnings: straight filth, 18+ only minors DNI (language, thigh riding, pleasure dom rhett, praise kink, pinv, size kink, no condom be smart unlike these two, rhett liking when it hurts a little, slight cock-warming), fwb situation, idiots in love

✎……listen, i am but a simple whore and sometimes ya just gotta let it out. based off this little post i made where rhett and tessa are both famous rodeo contestants.

✎……MASTERLIST || NEXT INSTALLMENT

Her skin felt burning hot beneath his hand as he trailed it down, down, down her side. Rough fingertips slipping over yellow lace until they came to a halt on her hip. Rhett gently guided her hips to rock against his thigh once more, barely needing to apply pressure as she succumbed to the dripping need between her legs. He could feel a wet patch already forming on his jeans.

Tessa broke away from his desperate, consuming kiss with a whimper, fingers tangling in his hair. She looked so damn pretty in the low hotel room light. Light brown hair like burnt honey tossed messily over one shoulder. Blue eyes hooded and pink lips swollen from too many kisses parted and wet. Rhett leaned back against the headboard and just watched her for a moment. Those muscles in her abdomen rolling and contracting as she moved her hips against his leg all on her own. Just like riding a raging bull. God, he wished he hadn’t thrown his hat off at the door. That too big stetson sitting on her pretty head would be a sight right then.

God, he missed her. A month was too long. But they had different commitments, different rodeos. And they always knew they would end up together again somewhere down the line.

Somehow they always did.

His other hand slid up her thigh to squeeze the forgiving but hardened flesh tightly. “That’s it, keep goin’, sunshine.”

She was getting shy on him now. Leaning into his chest with her face pressed into his collar. No matter how many times they hooked up, Tessa still liked to hide from him. Hold back those noises. Not let him see. But Rhett loved coaxing her out of that shell. Making her fall apart over and over until all her inhibitions were down and she could just be Tessa. Not the famous, million-dollar barrel racer. Just the girl from Wabang, Wyoming getting her world wrecked by the boy she went to high school with.

So, picking up on her rhythm, Rhett pressed his thigh up into her at just the right time to make her grind down just that bit more pleasurable. And he revelled in the heavy moan that she let slip into the crook of his neck.

“Sound so pretty, sunny, tha’s a good girl.”

Involuntarily, her back arched, pushing her chest into his as a breathless oh slipped past her lips. Sometimes she hated how Rhett could climb the walls of her and poke at her tender center. Her most vulnerable parts. But really, it was her own fault for letting him in in the first place. He was a piece of home, a comfort, a release…One that she had missed terribly for the past four weeks. Their unspoken agreement when they were in the same city was one she didn’t want to break. One she didn’t want to lose because it wouldn’t just be the piece of home, the comfort, or the release she lost. It would be Rhett.

Who, despite the growing hardness in his jeans she could feel against her leg, didn’t push it. Didn’t even move besides the hand on her hip and thigh and his leg pressed into her. Who, despite the mutual benefit of their agreement, always put her pleasure first. Always made sure she fell apart as many times as she could take. Until there was nothing left in her head besides him and him only.

So, heart racing in her chest, she reached between them and cupped him through his jeans. Feeling the hard outline of him beneath the rough denim, long and thick and overwhelming.

Rhett’s grunt quickly turned into a low moan right in her ear, his hips bucking up into her hand. Then he shook his head with a kiss to her hair. “Don’worry’bout me, lemme help you.”

She whined high in her throat, moved against his thigh faster, burrowed into his chest further. But she can’t bring herself to retract her hand. Mostly out of embarrassment that her tactic to get him to finally fuck her didn’t work. But also because the feeling of him was grounding. This physical thing that showed he wanted her too.

But, God, she was getting impatient. She wanted him. Had craved the feeling of him stretching her out and making her his for nearly a month. That feeling of her just being Tessa Abernathy, and him just being Rhett Abbott, two kids from Wabang trying to find some sense of home in one another. Maybe even some sense of love.

Tessa, of course, didn’t know how to articulate any of that. Let alone that she just wanted him to press her down into the mattress and make her forget her own name already. Instead, all that came out was insistent whining into his chest. Her hips working against him harder, her hands pawing at his bare, broad shoulders.

She felt those same shoulders rumble with a chuckle. “Whaddaya want, sunny? Come on now.”

Threading his fingers into her hair, he pulled lightly and she went without complain, letting him look into her blown pupils with raised brows. Her hips slow to the occasional cant against the large wet mark in his jeans. After a minute of looking at him, wetting her lips and trying to find the words she finally whispered out:

“Wan — Want you.”

As her fingers reflexively squeezed around his bulge, making him groan. Then he captured her lips in a searing kiss, tongue fighting to lick inside her mouth and teeth nipping at her bottom lip. For a moment, she thought she was going to get what she wanted. But then his hand left her hair and trailed back down to her hip, gently urging her with a push and a tug to get her going again.

“Soak my thigh like a good girl,” he grumbled against her parted lips. “‘N’ll give ya what ya want.”

A half-frustrated groan slipped past her lips.

Rhett grinned. “What? Don’wanna be my good girl anymore, sunshine?”

“Wanna be good,” she whispered back, fingers pushing back into his hair she cut in a hotel bathroom back in Texas.

He smirked again as he pecked her lips, moved her hip a little harder.

“Then show me how much ya missed me.”

It was like a flip got switched. With a moan and a tug of his hair, she was reclaiming his lips. Possessive and overwhelming but in the best way possible. Rhett whined softly as her tongue slipped past his lips to taste whiskey and chewing tobacco. Her body moved harder, faster. It really was like she was riding a bull. Moving and rolling with every buck. Taking it all in stride. Even when he surprised her by trailing kisses down her neck and sucking at her hardened nipples through the lace of her bralette.

“Rhett,” she breathed, just on the edge, just a little more.

“Come on, sunny baby, give it t’me,” he panted back, warm breath enveloping her breast.

The way she gasped his name as she came had him twitching in her hand still tight as a vice around him. Then, like she weighed almost nothing, he was lifting her from his lap and settling her onto her back on the soft sheets. Gone were the rough motel thread counts they rolled around in when they both first started out on the circuit. Now, they were in a five-star hotel with a view. Now, the sheets were silken and expensive and there wasn’t a slot for a quarter to make the mattress vibrate (a feature Rhett sometimes missed).

Rhett undid his belt buckle, a big one from his latest win in Montana, and pushed his jeans and boxers far enough down for his cock to spring free. Angry and red and dripping precum. He felt ready to burst as he leaned back over her still panting form, his seams on their last threads with his hands on either side of her head.

“Did so good, sunshine, my sweet baby girl,” he muttered as he pressed kisses all over her face. She only hummed in reply, a happy sort of sound that made him grin against her cheek. “Wanna keep goin’?”

“Uh-huh, please,” she whimpered back, already squirming.

“Well, whaddaya want?” he teased, notching himself against her clothed entrance. “Come on, use y’r words.”

He couldn’t help but love to tease her on occasion. It made her bashful. Made her cheeks pink to something like cotton-candy in the low light. Even as she wriggled her hips to get him to do what she wanted and her teeth came down hard against her bottom lip. He could see the gears turning behind those bright blue eyes. The words she so desperately wanted to say but couldn’t bring herself to. With his fingers curling into those ridiculous silk sheets, he rolled his hips against her. Watched as her mouth dropped open and her eyelids fell nearly closed.

A sight he thought about almost every night while she was away from him.

He barely even started the next flex forward of his hips before she squeaked out, “Want you inside me — please!”

He couldn't resist that, no matter how much he wanted to keep teasing her. As he moved her panties to the side, he dropped his forehead to hers, and pressed his lips wherever they could reach. Then he pressed in slowly, letting out a deep, guttural groan at the feeling of her walls fluttering in a desperate attempt to accommodate him.

“Fuck, y’re tight,” he huffed as he paused, trying not to blow his load right then and there with the way she was squeezing him.

Tessa arched her back, brow furrowed as she looked down to where they met then back up to his face. “It-It’s been a month, bubs.”

“What? Didn’have anybody t’tide ya over?”

They both knew the answer to that. They both didn’t want to think about the implications of it right then either.

Rhett stilled again once he was sheathed to the hilt. Just feeling her pulse around him, warm and tight and just what he had been wanting. Listening to her panting where he had her caged beneath him. Struggling to take him. Some whine got caught in her throat as she pawed at his chest.

“Big,” she gasped sharply.

It made him shudder, arms buckling with his lips breathing heavy against her temple. “I know, baby, s’okay. You c’n take it. Know you can.”

She whined again as he tilted his hips and ground them into her clit. Trying to help, trying to ease the ache. She knew that. But right then, all she could truly think about was just how big Rhett Abbott was. How did she forget that nearly every single time? How he filled every available inch of space inside her, pressed against all the proper places, until she could feel him in her guts. How those broad shoulders and chest filled her entire view with her below him. Everywhere. All the time. Everything was him. And that meant everything was good.

“M-Move,” she was finally able to whisper as she hooked her calves over his hips. “Please.”

The small whine that punched out of him on his first draw back and push in makes her head spin. He moved slow but firm, moving in inches that felt like so much more to her. The once cool metal of his belt buckle pressed against her thigh now felt burning hot — a brand of his own making.

“Doin’ so good, sunshine, takin’ me so deep,” he praised as he mouthed at her cheek and jaw.

“R-Rhett,” she whimpered, feeling tears prick at the backs of her eyes as he tilted his hips just right and hit that spot only he had ever been able to find. “Oh, f-fuck, right there. Don’stop.”

“Can you cum f’me again, sunny? Be my good girl?” he asked, panting and stuttering, pace no longer slow but hard and fast, unable to control himself.

Tessa barely managed to sob out a yes. Tears streaming down her cheeks that part of her doesn’t know why they have appeared. Was it because it just felt so good? Was it because it was finally them together again at last? Was it because she already knew he was going to be gone in two weeks time? What she did know, what she did understand, is that when he wrapped one big hand around both her wrists and pushed her arms up the bed, she was a goner. Sobbing and moaning and sloppily trying to meet him thrust for thrust. When she reached that high, she crashed into it hard with a cry and an arch of her back and Rhett’s sweaty hair sticking to her neck.

She barely registered the warmth flooding her as Rhett gave his last few thrusts. And then a few more just because he liked when it hurt. When he was edged towards that overstimulation that made his eyes water. She always wondered if he did that with everyone he slept with or just her. But when he tried to pull out and she tightened around him, he hissed and whined and let go of her wrists to pound his fist into the mattress.

“Uhn, Tess, t-too much,” he grumbled breathily.

“Wan’you t’stay,” she said, tongue feeling too big for her mouth.

Still breathing heavy, Rhett flashed her a small smile. “Wanna keep me warm?”

“Uh-huh,” she replied, pushing his hair back behind his ear from where it had fallen across his face. “Jus’for a minute. Please?”

They both knew the answer. They both didn’t want to think about the implications of it.

With some slight manuevering and a few more noises from Rhett, he was flat on his back and she was straddling his hips. Curled up on his chest, listening to the slowing beat of his heart. A piece of home. Comfort. Release…

Happiness. Wholeness. Love.

i no longer have a taglist, please follow @anniesocsandlibrary and turn on notifications for updates. but just because M asked nicely: @ahopelessromanticwritersworld

#oc: tessa abernathy #fic: parenthood killed the rodeo star #fd: outer range #rhett abbott #rhett abbott x oc #rhett abbott imagine #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott fanfic #rhett abbott fic #outer range #outer range imagine #outer range fic #ocapp #rhett abbott x tessa abernathy #lewis pullman

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acurlygirlamy1 · 4 months

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DIARY OF A SNOW SHOVELER:

Moved to North Dakota this fall. We heard that summers are fun and winter is beautiful. We think there is no more beautiful a place in the whole world!

December 8 - 6:00 PM It started to snow. The first snow of the season and the wife and I took our cocktails and sat for hours by the window watching the huge soft flakes drift down from heaven. It looked like a Grandma Moses print. So romantic, we felt like newlyweds again. I love snow!

December 9 - We woke to a beautiful blanket of crystal white snow covering every inch of the landscape. What a fantastic sight! Can there be a more lovely place in the whole world? Moving here was the best idea I've ever had! Shoveled for the first time in years and felt like a boy again. I did both our driveway and the sidewalks.

This afternoon the snowplow came along and covered up the sidewalks and closed in the driveway, so I got to shovel again. What a perfect life!

December 12 - The sun has melted all our lovely snow. Such a disappointment! My neighbor tells me not to worry- we'll definitely have a white Christmas. No snow on Christmas would be awful! Bob says we'll have so much snow by the end of winter, that I'll never want to see snow again. I don't think that's possible. Bob is such a nice man, I'm glad he's our neighbor.

December 14 - Snow, lovely snow! 8 inches last night. The temperature dropped to -20. The cold makes everything sparkle so. The wind took my breath away, but I warmed up by shoveling the driveway and sidewalks. This is the life! The snowplow came back this afternoon and buried everything again. I didn't realize I would have to do quite this much shoveling, but I'll certainly get back in shape this way. I wish I wouldn't huff and puff so.

December 15 - 20 inches forecast. Sold my van and bought a 4x4 Blazer. Bought snow tires for the wife's car and 2 extra shovels. Stocked the freezer. The wife wants a wood stove in case the electricity goes out. I think that's silly. We aren't in Alaska, after all.

December 16 - Ice storm this morning. Fell on my ass on the ice in the driveway putting down salt. Hurt like hell. The wife laughed for an hour, which I think was very cruel.

December 17 - Still way below freezing. Roads are too icy to go anywhere. Electricity was off for 5 hours. I had to pile the blankets on to stay warm. Nothing to do but stare at the wife and try not to irritate her. Guess I should've bought a wood stove, but won't admit it to her. God! I hate it when she's right. I can't believe I'm freezing to death in my own living room.

December 20 - Electricity's back on, but had another 14 inches of the damn stuff last night. More shoveling! Took all day. The damn snowplow came by twice. Tried to find a neighbor kid to shovel, but. they said they're too busy playing hockey. I think they're lying. Called the only hardware store around to see about buying a snow blower and they're out. Might have another shipment in March. I think they're lying. Bob says I have to shovel or the city will have it done and bill me. I think he's lying.

December 22 - Bob was right about a white Christmas because 13 more inches of the white shit fell today, and it's so cold, it probably won't melt till August. Took me 45 minutes to get all dressed up to go out to shovel and then I had to piss. By the time I got undressed, pissed and dressed again, I was too tired to shovel. Tried to hire Bob-who has a plow on his truck-for the rest of the winter, but he says he's too busy. I think the asshole is lying.

December 23 - Only 2 inches of snow today. And it warmed up to 0. The wife wanted me to decorate the front of the house this morning. What is she, nuts?!! Why didn't she tell me to do that a month ago. She says she did but I think she's lying.

December 24 - 6 inches - Snow packed so hard by snowplow, l broke the shovel. Thought I was having a heart attack. If I ever catch the son of a bitch who drives that snow plow, I'll drag him through the snow by his balls and beat him to death with my broken shovel. I know he hides around the corner and waits for me to finish shoveling, and then he comes down the street...at a 100 miles an hour and throws snow all over where I've just been! Tonight the wife wanted me to sing Christmas carols with her and open our presents...but I was too busy watching for the damn snowplow.

December 25 - Merry f---ing Christmas! 20 more inches of the damn slop tonight - snowed in. The idea of shoveling makes my blood boil. God, I hate the snow! Then the snowplow driver came by asking for a donation and I hit him over the head with my shovel. The wife says I have a bad attitude. I think she's a fricking idiot. If I have to watch "It's A Wonderful Life" one more time, I'm going to feed her through a chipper shredder.

December 26 - Still snowed in. Why the hell did I ever move here? It was all HER idea. She's really getting on my nerves.

December 27 - Temperature dropped to -30 and the pipes froze; plumber came after 14 hours of waiting for him, he only charged me $4,400 to replace all my pipes.

December 28 - Warmed up to above -20. Still snowed in. The BITCH is driving me crazy!!!

December 29 - 10 more inches. Bob says I have to shovel the roof or it could cave in. That's the silliest thing I ever heard. How dumb does he think I am?

December 30 - Roof caved in. I beat up the snow plow driver, and now he is suing me for a million dollars, not only for the beating I gave him, but also for trying to shove the broken snow shovel up his ass. The wife went home to her mother. Nine more inches predicted.

December 31 - I set fire to what's left of the house. No more shoveling.

January 8 - Feel so good. I just love those little white pills they keep giving me. Why am I tied to the bed ???

-Author Unknown

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edeadinside · 5 months

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tired of this blasphemy

gamers of the jrwi community i cannot stress how important Ms. Gilbert is to me and she deserves so much more

was she only in a one-shot and like a couple episodes of PD? Yes. But this fucking Ms. Frizzle type woman is just so damn fantastic. Look me in the eyes and tell me that you can’t find it in your heart to love a fucking superhero that calls villains ‘bad nuggets’. TELL ME WITH A STRAIGHT FACE THAT YOU DON’T ADORE A WOMAN WHO USES QUIET COYOTES IN EVERYDAY SITUATIONS. She literally wears the ladybug earring and plastic red recess whistle over her armour. And she’s, like, such a badass! She’s actually so cool! She has a fucking ROCKET LAUNCHER, gamers. And then this beautiful 40-year-old woman goes back to the school after blowing up literal meat planets to go sing the learning song with children. Dakota’s admiration was just so damn well placed. Did she sorta fuck the PD over? Yeah. But guys she’s just so cool i’m so sorry i’m a filthy traitor you are now permitted to put me in a box and ship me overseas

literally pacing across the room with how passionately i feel about this character

#jrwi #prime defenders #the prime force returns #Ms. gilbert #The Prime Force #Ms. G #can’t believe this #slander #dakota cole #just roll with it #jrwi rant #y’all this is actually so much nothing

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floridaboiler · 5 months

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