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who-knew-a-sheep-can-write · 12 days

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What Happens When You're Left Alone: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Contains: Rapeplay, consensual non!con, rough sex, creampie

You lifted the basket to rest at your hip, turning away from the rickety old porch and stepped inside of the colonial home. You had just watched Charles and Sadie ride off in search of more food, probably towards the edge of this damned swamp for deer, anything but whatever slop Pearson would come up with. Sadie was hesitant to leave at first, offering you multiple times to come along, but you stayed back. You still had a lot to do, and you surely didn’t want Ms. Grimshaw to erupt when she saw everyone had left and that nothing was clean.

Everyone had left, going off into groups to their own places. Who went into town for medicines and quick bounty work, who went off for food, who went off for a ride to clear their heads. It was just you left at camp.

You wiped your forehead at the sweat that had gathered at your hairline. You hated being in the swamp, it was horrible. It was constantly hot and humid, you were constantly bitten by bugs and kept awake at night by croaking frogs and chirping crickets. You sneered at the thoughts of what laid out in the mud and murky pools in the swap, what reptiles and fish were just waiting for you to just cross by and drag you through to kill you.

You found your refuge in the Shady Belle from the balmy heat, padding through the house and climbed the stairs to start putting your clothing away in the old wooden dressers you and your husband used, folded the freshly dried clothes before putting them away in the drawers. You were halfway through the basket before you realized you had somehow grabbed the wrong laundry from the makeshift clothesline you had set up when you and the other women in camp had washed clothing earlier this morning. You cursed to yourself softly and hoisted the half-filled basket before turning around on the creaky flooring and started your way down the stairs. You had turned the corner, aiming to leave through the large wooden doors when you stopped out of shock and fear.

You had dropped the basket of clean laundry, the wicker and wood cracked against the hardwood floors that were just swept and the laundry piles spilled out.

There was a man, a stranger in Shady Belle, in your camp’s hideout. His back was turned to you, he was crouched down and was rummaging through a chest on the floor, its contents were pooled on the floor. You could tell even with him crouched down that he was big and broad.

His head shot up and he turned to look at you as soon as he heard the basket crackle on the ground. You froze in his gaze, you wanted to just shrink down and hide. You felt like prey, especially when he started to stand up and turn to face you fully, you felt the colors drain from your face. The sweaty balm on your body made your skin feel icy and made your hair want to stand up straight.

He was tall and very broad, definitely an imposing figure that could easily snuff you out if he wanted to. His cornflower blue shirt was rumpled, the sleeves had been bunched up at the elbow to show off his strong forearms. Dark pants hid tall and strong legs that he could catch up to you should you run. He wore a black cavalry hat, the lip nearly hiding his eyes in shadows, a black bandana was wrapped around his nose and mouth, obscuring his face from you. Your eyes fell to his waist where you saw a holster strapped to his hip, a customized cattleman revolver sat heavy in the holster. Alongside the gun was a heavy knife tucked into his belt, the blade looked freshly cleaned and sharpened. A lasso wound from thick rope and leather was fashioned to his other hip.

You shivered under his direct gaze, taking a small step backward. You nearly whimpered in fear when he took a step towards you. Your heart was pounding in your ears, your breath was stuttering, you felt your eyes stinging with tears of fright.

He was going to kill you.

“Well look at you,” the intruder drawled. “I thought this place was empty, sure was a surprise to see yer still home.” He took another step closer to you, you took another step back. “And what a surprise you are, darlin’.”

The dress you were wearing suddenly felt like it weighed one hundred pounds. It was a gift from your husband, a light floral printed dress he had gotten it in Valentine as a surprise for you. You loved wearing it, but now, you felt disgusting in it.

“Please, take whatever and leave. I won’t stop you,” you pleaded. He stepped forward again, unimpressed by your little attempt to be brave. “Please, I-I won’t report you, I won’t tell anyone you were here.”

“Oh, I know what I want now,” he growled from behind the bandana.

You felt absolutely sullied being in his sight, your heart dropped right into your stomach.

You didn’t even have a chance to take off, you were able to turn around and take a run a few steps before he was upon you. You were slammed into a wall, his large meaty hands were pinning you against the wall by your shoulders, your front and face hit the wall. You sobbed, turning your head to the side as tears had started to fall down your cheeks as the man pressed himself up against your back. He reeked of cigarettes and whiskey, his hot breath hit the back of your neck. He pressed fully up against you, one of his hands leaving your neck to grab at you, a big calloused hand running down your hips to your waist and soon to your-

You strike behind you, your elbow collided with his ribs and catching the intruder off guard and causing him to stumble back from you. Taking the opportunity, you managed to squirm out of his iron grasp and fumbled through the house. It didn’t take him long to come right after you, heavy footfalls were right behind you, his booming voice threatening you. You turned on a corner and tried for the stairs, slipping over the low hemline of your dress, your knees collided with the hard wood and you cried out.

You were yanked back, his hand had snatched at your ankle and dragged you down, tearing the low hemline of your dress as you tried to dig your heels into the wood to stop him. Your nails dug into the wood, cracking when he dragged you down until you were beneath him.

“You ain’t goin’ nowhere, darlin,” he growled as he grabbed onto your wrists. You thrashed in his grip, trying to kick at him, wriggle your way out again, something other than just letting him win. He snatched at the lasso from his hip, quickly weaving it around your wrists, binding them together so tight that any movement burned your skin. You desperately tried to push him away, your trembling fingers managed to snatch onto his bandana and jerk it down, revealing his rugged face. He was stunned for a split second before rage washed over his face. “You fucked up, little miss.”

He snatched at the torn hemline of your dress, completely ripping it off of your dress and stuffed the torn garment into your mouth to silence your cries and pleading. He hoisted you up the rest of the way, his heavy feet threatening the old wooden stairs below you as he threw you suddenly over his shoulder. He didn’t even flinch with your weight now on his broad shoulder as he stomped up the stairs and threw open the first door he could find.

Your room.

Without a care, the intruder hoisted you off of his shoulder and tossed you carelessly. You landed on the bedframe with a sob, the gag muffling your cries. You twisted around to see him kick closed the door, the wood slamming echoed through the house. You trembled as you stared at him with wide eyes.

He blocked the entire door with his broad body, he loomed over you, a horrible scowl on his face. He was furious, hands clenched into fists and he was breathing heavily.

“You really fucked up now, darlin’,” he sneered. You cried into the gag when he stomped over.

He grabbed at your ankle with a harsh grip and yanked you to the edge of the bed. Your scream was muffled, you were trembling worse than a branch in a storm. Your eyes were wide and full of tears as you stared up at him, dreading what his next move would be.

He grabbed at the shoulders of your dress and knotted his fingers in the collar, tearing the material with his bare strength. The fabric tore down your neck and past your breasts, revealing your brassiere to him. His rough hands went right to your breasts, calloused hands cupped your breasts and groped you through the thick material. His hands were dirty, covered in gunpowder and dirt and soiling the white material of your brassiere. He slid his hands beneath the hard wires and caressed the sensitive skin of your breasts. You whimpered into the gag, trying to push it out of your mouth with your tongue as tears started to stream down your cheeks.

“You feel so soft,” he purred. His touch was strangely soft now that he was violating your personal space after nearly killing you just moments ago. He eyed the wedding band on your finger and a spark really seemed to light in his eye. “How’d yer husband feel if he walked in here to see me touchin’ his wife?” You cursed him out behind the gag, barely managing to get words like ‘fuck and ‘kill’ and ‘bastard’ out through his howls of laughter. “Yer husband’s gon’ kill me? Think he’ll be stunned when he sees me fuckin’ his pretty little wife, don’t you?”

Your blood ran cold, your heart stopped for what felt like eternity. You shook your head, eyes dripping with salty tears, pleading with the man behind the gag as he grabbed onto your brasserie again and ripped it off of your body, the fabric tearing cut through the still and thick air. He looked at your naked breasts with a ravenous hunger in his evil green eyes, hands grabbing them and started to squeeze your chest with vigor. You whined and tried to kick him off, but the man’s strong stature denied you completely. Instead, he straddled you at the knees, hunching over you slightly to toy with your naked breasts. Dirty nails scratching your skin, calloused fingers squeezing your nipples, strong hands grabbing at your chest to try to get a noise out of you.

Seeing that you weren’t giving him what he wanted, he stopped violating your breasts and grabbed onto the remaining scraps of your dress and yanked again, completely tearing apart the rest of the dress and leaving you only in your white panties. He did away with them as he had done with your dress and brasserie, tearing it off of your body and now leaving you completely nude to his eyes.

One of his hands trailed down to your womanhood, hand caressing your sensitive flesh before parting you open with one finger. You winced, his calloused finger scratched at your skin uncomfortably as he plunged it deeper into your passageway. You cried when he started to finger-fuck you, his eyes trained on your body, ramping up the speed at which he tortured you. He soon added another finger, starting to open you up, enjoying what he was dragging out of you.

“Gettin’ wet from another man? Boy, I’d bet yer husband would be pissed,” he mocked as he fingered your slick walls.

You whined and tried to wriggle loose. The man laughed, taunting you, loving every second of the torture he put onto you.

He had stopped suddenly and sat back, large hands going right to his belt where he fumbled with it. You pleaded once more, eyes wide with terror as you shook your head. He had pulled out his large cock, fully erect now in his hand. He sat back up and dragged the head of his dick over your slick entrance, barely passing it through your walls to tease you before lining himself up.

You screamed when he roughly thrusted into you, your back lifting off of the bed to try and ease the pain he was causing you only for him to push you back down flat onto the bed.

He groaned lowly as he tried to get adjusted to how tight you were, fighting you back down when you tried to move and squirm with both hands now on your shoulders. He sank into you until he was fully hilted before he started to move. He started slow, trying to ease you open more, hissing at how tight you were still even after he finger fucked you open. His hips soon started to piston like a well-oiled machine, dragging his cock nearly out of you before plunging back in. The moans and words that left his mouth were vile, surely to haunt you for the rest of you life. He was quick to ramp up the speed, the bed creaking with every thrust, the mattress moving and the floors beneath squeaking.

You cried into the gag, eyes wincing and your hands balled into fists as the rope around them burned. He smirked, moaned, and laughed at you.

You moaned when he thrusted against a bundle of sensitive nerves inside of you, earning a howling laugh front him as he relentlessly pounded into you.

“Look at you,” he sneered as he pounded into you from above, “moanin’ as another man fucks you. What would that husband of yers think?”

You had somehow loosened the rope around your wrists just enough to squeeze out of them, opting to grab at the sheets rather than grab onto him. The gag was still in your mouth covered in your spit, still muffling your whimpers and now unfortunately your moans too.

You felt pressure build up inside of you, like hot metal in a forge right inside of your core. Your arousal was coming fast, and you couldn’t do anything about it. All you could do was just lay there as this man violated you.

You came with a cry, sobbing as your body was wracked with both arousal and shame. The man laughed at you, taunting you as he continued to fuck you.

“Cummin’ ‘round another man’s cock, now that’s somethin’ else, sweetheart.” You felt his cock twitch inside of you not too long after, your mind hazy from your climax and your body wanting to go limp. His groans were getting heavier and his thrusts were more sloppy. “Wonder how yer husband’ll feel knowin’ you got fucked by another man? Knowin’ that yer leakin’ my seed?”

He kept thrusting into you, his grip on your shoulders was bruising. He was getting sloppy, slowly losing control of his hips, he faltered and hunching over you, spilling his seed right into you, cumming with a heavy groan. He stayed that way, cock still inside of you until it had grown flaccid and leaned over you, riding out his high inside of your throbbing womanhood until he had finally got off.

He stood from the bed and stalked out of your sight and you rolled to your side, starting to sob to yourself quietly, afraid of the man that still lurked in your bedroom until he came into view once more.

“You say anythin’ to anyone, and I’ll come back, ya hear?” he threatened down at you as he fumbled with his belt.

You heaved, your legs trembled as you clenched them together. Your entire naked body was drenched in a cold sweat, your inner thighs sticky your horrid arousal and his sticky cum that was still dripping onto the sheets still warm. He pushed himself off of the bed, you could barely see him through the strands of hair clinging to your tear-streaked face. You saw him for a brief moment, and the next he was gone without a sound, leaving you alone to curl up into a ball and sob to yourself quietly.

He was quick, rushing out to his horse behind the house and rummaged through her satchel bag for a small leather satchel before turning on his heel and rushing back into the house. He had made sure to grab a tin cup from a nearby table and dunked it into the bucket of fresh water nearby before disappearing into the house.

He was quiet when he entered the house, slowly taking the stairs one at a time as to not spill the water, wincing as the wood creaked eerily under his weight. He came up to the tall door that was partially open from when he slammed it at his exit, nudging his foot into the doorway and poking his head in.

His heart was pounding in his ears, his heart nearly stopped when he saw you still on the bed. You were sobbing softly, you had rolled over onto your side and faced away from the door, the gag had been spit out and had fallen to the floor. You were trembling still, trying to breathe calmly between sobs. His eyes rolled over the bruises and marks he had left on your body from thrashing you around and his eyes stayed on the ruined scraps of your dress on the floor. He would have to buy you a new dress soon.

He licked his lips and looked back at you.

“(Y/n)?” he called softly. He stepped into the room and carefully approached you. You stirred, your trembling had nearly stopped and your sobs had been cut short. “(Y/n), sweetheart, are ya alright?”

“Arthur?” you whimpered.

You wiped your face with the back of your hands before turning to look at him.

Arthur moved to set the cup and satchel down and sat next to you on the rickety bed. His large hands rubbed calming circles into your back.

“Darlin’, I didn’ hurt ya, did I?” he worried, combing his fingers through your hair.

“N-no,” you had finally caught your breath and your sniffles had quieted down some. “I-I liked it, I just need a minute.”

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief and sat up.

“I love ya, sweetheart. I got ya somethin’.”

Arthur grabbed at the satchel and put it in front of you for you to open. You fumbled with the latch and slipped open the leather to find three bars of chocolate as well as some other sweets stuffed inside of the leather.

He reached across and wiped away the stray tear that had started to roll down your cheek.

“I should head on down, clean up the mess I made,” Arthur hummed.

Before he could stand up, you stopped him, wrapping your hand around his wrist. His brilliant green eyes met yours. God, he loved looking into your eyes even when they were rimmed red from crying.

“Stay with me? Please?” you pleaded softly.

“Always.”

#red dead redemption #rdr #arthur morgan #arthur x reader #arthur morgan x reader

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bathomet-writes · 1 year

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stayin’ alive

summary: During the Kraang invasion, you try your best to help the turtles save the city. Agent Bishop and the Earth Protection Force seem to have everything under control, or so they say.

relationship: Donnie x GN!reader

warnings: romantic, fluff, humor, slight angst/comfort, near-death experience, CPR, kissing, angst with a happy ending

word count: 4,604

author's note: here's the request for @/sweetchildcloud!! thank u!

“Does anybody read me?”

You spoke harshly into your earpiece. While the turtles, April, and the others were out fighting the Kraang, you tasked yourself with trying to, in some way, help out down on the ground. You were down in the bowels of the city, being herded like cattle into rescue buses carting people out of the burrow.

You weren’t exactly a ninja, or had any special skills to speak of, but you couldn’t let yourself get taken away so easily. Not when there was something you could do. Not when your friends were still out there fighting for their lives.

Thankfully, April wasn’t too busy to pick up her comm.

“We’re– we’re fine. But Leo…”

Your heart sinks. Looking up into the sky, you finally notice that the Technodrome was forced back into the prison dimension. At least half of it anyway. The portal-chopped remains crashed down into the buildings below, sending a wave of dust and debris to come sailing through the streets. You cough and shield your eyes, before peeling off from the crowd.

You didn’t want to believe it, but you knew. Leo still wasn’t back yet.

“Goddamn him and his hero complex,” you frown.

But there was no time to mourn. You didn’t even want to call it ‘mourning.’ In your frustration, you turn off your earpiece.

“Come on, think.”

All of the sudden you felt restless. There must be something you could do, something to help–

“Get these people out of here. We have readings that the aliens planted some kind of bomb.”

Your ears perk up, and you turn to look behind you. There were a couple of suits; real Men in Black-looking types, talking amongst themselves. One stood out as their leader, directing the others toward the caravan of trucks pulling in. Without thinking, you run over to talk with him.

“These–” He stutters, too swamped to even come up with a nickname. “Whatever they’re called– don’t respond to any conventional human weapons.”

“The Kraang,” you gasp, catching your breath.

The tall man searches around for a moment before landing on you. You cough a bit and stand up to meet his perplexed gaze. It takes a while, considering he was much taller than you.

“What did you say?”

Wait…did he really not know their names? Quickly, you collect yourself.

“The Kraang. But why would they bomb us?”

You thought the Kraang wanted to enslave humanity. Infect our brains and rule over as a hive mind. Why would they use a weapon like that, especially when they weren’t even here anymore? Your mind buzzed with a million questions. It made no sense.

The man straightens, dusting himself off. Maybe you weren’t just a normal civilian after all, he thought to himself.

“Special Agent Bishop, Earth Protection Force.”

He doesn’t bother waiting for you to introduce yourself. Quietly, he leads you over to the other side of the armored truck you were standing behind. You eagerly oblige, following him until he stops at the edge of the street.

Straining your eyes, you see the abandoned docks the Foot Clan used as their temporary hideout. You recognized those shipping containers, littered with graffiti.

“Tell me, what do you see down there?” He nods over to the docks.

“I see…”

Leaning over the cement barrier, you manage to see a couple of people still lingering about down there. They were Foot soldiers, still infected with Kraang residue. They shuffled along like mindless zombies, and it made your stomach churn.

“And do you see that?”

You follow Bishop’s hand as he points over to a device sitting on the top of one of the shipping containers. You see a blinking red light, pulsating. Instantly, you grab at his sleeve and urge Bishop back to the truck.

“We have to do something! Don’t you guys have a way to defuse it?”

Calmly, he tears his arm away from you. He adjusts his suit with a detached huff.

“We have no resources and no knowledge about…the Kraang? Is that what you called them? What else do you know?”

You scoff, looking back at the bomb. “Listen, I can tell you anything you want. Just do something about the bomb!”

If the Kraang really did put that there, who knows how many more bombs were planted around the city. You watch as Bishop regards you coldly. He pushes his sunglasses higher up on the bridge of his nose before walking away.

“I’d suggest you clear the area. When that bomb goes off, it’s going to blow those poor souls down there to kingdom come.”

He clicks his tongue, and you shudder with fear.

“Pity.”

What the actual fuck was this guy’s deal? Internally, you debate with yourself. Sure, they were villains, but that didn’t mean they deserved to be blown up. And you knew April said something earlier about the Kraang reacting to the glowing, blue vials. The ones she swiped from the lab at Eastlaird. There was a way to cure them. To cure everyone that was infected.

“Pesticides! The Kraang’s weakness is pesticides, you piece of shit! Now you and your government goons can go grab some and–”

“Pest, that’s an apt description.” He spits, twisting around to face you. “You seem like you have a good head on your shoulders, I’d suggest you tell your friends to come back down here and help clean up the mess they made.”

You slowly back away, putting your hands out behind you. Blindly, you feel around for the concrete slab. The way Bishop was looking at you made you nervous. There was a distinct sense of dread that flooded your mind. You knew he wasn’t here to help you, he was here to gather intel. And it looked like he knew quite a bit more about your friends than you thought.

With a final look back at the docks, you steel yourself. If the so-called ‘Earth Protection Force’ wasn’t going to do anything, it might as well be you.

“Well,” you smirk, flipping him the bird. “I guess today’s a good day to die!”

You throw your legs over the divider and run down to the docks. Bishop moves a bit, reaching out to stop you.

“You idiot! You’re going to…”

Then, he sighs. Speaking into his own earpiece, he makes an announcement.

“Get me Eastlaird University.”

–

You run at full speed, dodging and dipping past the infected Foot soldiers. Like zombies, they didn’t hesitate to claw and bite. You barely miss one that gnashes its mangled teeth at your skull.

“Jesus–!”

You drop to the ground and slide a bit, your knees digging against the pavement. It's only a couple of yards to the shipping container, and only a few feet up to reach the bomb. You really didn’t expect today to end with you defusing an alien weapon, but here you are.

Reaching up, you activate your comms again. You hope you didn’t accidentally miss any important events while you went silent.

“Please tell me something good.”

To your surprise, you hear a chorus of cheers blaring from the speaker. You can make out nearly everyone’s voices, even Leo’s. As you awkwardly shimmy up to the first container, you feel your heart begin to fill back up with life.

“Y/N! We did it!” Mikey screams, jumping up and down.

Your voice warbles with emotion. “Is Leo…?”

“Back and better than ever. Didya miss me?” Leo smiles, cutting in.

“I can’t believe it, he’s really gone.” You sniffle, wiping away a fake tear. “I knew I would still hear your sweet, annoying voice speak to me beyond the grave.”

He playfully scoffs. “It’s fine, I totally didn’t just save your life or anything.”

Kicking off another Foot zombie, you manage to get to the top of the shipping containers. You stand there, suddenly frozen.

“Oh yeah, speaking of saving– I’m kind of standing next to a Kraang bomb right now. Where are you guys, not too far I hope?”

“We’re on Staten Island, so we’re probably pretty far from– Wait…A BOMB?” Raph’s voice goes from calm to panicked in mere seconds.

Donnie overrides all the communicators, speaking directly and only to you.

“What do you mean ‘a Kraang bomb’? They never deployed any bombs!”

He paces around, working on his wrist gauntlet and locking onto your exact coordinates. To his despair, you were miles away from them.

“Well, I’m standing here looking at a big box, with a blinking red light on it. It’s probably not a Kraang gift basket. ‘Sorry for almost taking over the planet, here’s some assorted cheeses.’”

You cautiously approach and crawl onto your knees. You didn’t want to accidentally set this thing off, but you have utterly no idea what to do about it. There wasn’t a handy timer to show you a countdown, and there wasn’t a panel of wires you could cut.

If only Donnie were here.

He was still miles away, but Donnie was already flying to your location. As he glides past the spires of buildings and various police helicopters, his brow was furrowed in sharp concentration.

“Listen to me, don’t touch it. Get as far away from it as you can!”

You gulp. Hearing Donnie sound so stern was a bit jarring.

“But I can’t just do nothing! These government guys, they were just going to let it go off and–”

Again, your body moves without thinking. Your hands lightly move around the box, hoping to find some kind of button. Surely most bombs are built with convenient off-switches, right? You grumble to yourself.

“Wait,” You gasp.

“What did I just say?” Donnie growls, his voice low and gravely.

Wordlessly, you spin the box around to get a better look at the other side. There was a faded, scratched-up logo. It was hard to make out, but you could swear you’ve seen it somewhere before.

There was an American eagle, its claws holding onto a sigil of the planet. Above its head, those words you hoped you didn’t have to read were inscribed. The color drains from your face.

‘Earth Protection Force.’

Your voice is quiet, weak. You felt so defeated.

“Donnie, this isn’t the Kraang.”

You hear him sigh with relief. Donnie couldn’t really handle any more life-or-death situations today.

“Fuck, thank goodness. I’m almost there.”

He speaks words of encouragement to you, but you don’t hear them. His familiar voice becomes more and more distant. You stare at the box, the blinking red light a grim reminder that at any moment, you would most certainly die. Did Bishop plan this whole thing from the start?

Maybe they would just write it off as more collateral damage from the Kraang. It would be easy to sweep under the rug. The only people who would perish were a bunch of nameless Foot thugs, and you.

You thought you could help, you thought you could make a difference. So much for that.

Chuckling dryly, you stand up.

The docks were right next to the ocean, maybe you could just jump and spare yourself the trouble. A watery end wasn’t that much better than getting blown up, but you guess you at least had the choice. You wish you had the foresight to talk with Donnie one last time. Instead, you use all the strength you have to lift the box up and toss it into the harbor.

The bomb tumbles down, causing an enormous splash.

But, it doesn’t go off.

“Huh,” you sigh. “That was weird.”

Behind you, the telltale sound of Donnie’s drone wings close in. You didn’t realize he could move that fast. In slow motion, you feel yourself turn.

There was Donnie, his face etched with worry.

“What are you still doing here?” He shouts.

You hear his voice call out to you in the distance, having already pulled out your ear piece. As you turn to fully face him, you fail to notice the bubbling from the water below. You were far too busy staring like an idiot at the purple-clad turtle.

“Dee?” You whisper, your hand weakly reaching up.

You watch as his eyebrows raise, his eyes widen. What was he looking at, you wonder.

Then, it happens.

KA-BOOM–!

The piercing sound of an explosion rocks you to your core. The shipping container instantly gets knocked about by the tidal wave that cascades from below. The bomb finally went off, but thankfully it was deep in the bottom of the harbor. That’s all you can think about as you fall off, your feet slipping off the edge of the metal.

Thank goodness it went off before Donnie got here. Please, let him be safe.

Those were your last thoughts.

Your body smacks against the surface of the water like you fell onto straight concrete. The blow knocks you unconscious, and your lungs slowly begin to fill up. The water tasted bitter, almost sour.

Finally, you plunge into the darkness.

–

“No! No, no, no, no!”

Donnie screams, shielding himself from the explosion. The bomb goes off and sends a great deal of water up into the sky. The shipping container you were standing on breaks from the impact, and he watches as you fall into the harbor.

He seethes, gritting his teeth. You were an idiot. A stupid, impulsive idiot. Why were you still here? Next to a fucking bomb?

Donnie flies over to the water and immediately dives in. He would have risked everything to get you to safety. He guessed having to expose his tech to water would be an acceptable sacrifice.

With little effort, he manages to swim in and find you. You drifted along, your body limp and lifeless. His tech goggles covered his eyes and allowed him to see within the clouded water.

He got enough self-sacrificing from Leo today, why did you have to go and do something so brave.

“I hate you,” he spits, lifting you up into the air. “How dare you make me carry you.”

He couldn’t go back to the docks. It was still crawling with Foot zombies. The dirty beach would just have to do. The sand buckles and shifts below Donnie’s feet as he slung your dead weight over his shoulder.

“Please. Please don’t be dead.”

He sets you down against the course sand, careful not to jostle you too much. He quickly assesses your wounds. Your body was relatively unscathed, but you were still unconscious.

Gulping, he angles your neck up. Feels at your pulse.

Thank God, you still had one. It was weak, but it was there. Donnie takes you by the shoulders and shakes you about.

“Wake up. C’mon, don’t make me have to—“

His eyes desperately rake over you, looking for any sort of response. You didn’t stir, your body still slack.

Donnie sucked in a bit of air through his nostrils. You definitely were water-logged, and you were unresponsive. He hated to admit it, but there was no other way.

“Alright! Here goes nothing…!”

Donnie places his hands in the center of your chest and gives you a set of quick compressions. He hadn’t had to administer life-saving protocols before, but he prided himself on being fully prepared for any scenario.

He just didn't think he’d have to do them on you.

After about 30 compressions, he stops.

“Wake up,” he urges. “Wake up already.”

Your eyes remained shut. Looking down, Donnie’s heart seizes. Your mouth was slack, slightly open and with no breath escaping.

No, please. Anything but that.

Before he could spiral down into his own self-pity, Donnie grabs at your head. Pinching your nostrils closed, he leans down to linger upon your lips.

It was only two breaths, two measly breaths. He had to shift into a medical mindset. This was for your own good.

“You better not be faking it.”

With one last sharp inhale, Donnie smashes his lips into yours. One breath, two breaths. He felt your chest rise with the second breath.

Lifting himself off of you, he gazes upon you with quiet reverence. You looked like you always did, only a little drenched. And cold. Donnie’s hands wander down to your arms, squeezing you tightly.

You simply couldn’t be dead. It was a scientific impossibility. Sure, you were as mortal as he was, and we all have to bite it someday. But he wouldn’t let that happen today. He would rewrite the laws of the universe if he had to.

“Fuck…”

He felt the tears that he fought so hard to keep in start to run down his cheeks.

“You’re stronger than this. You can’t just—“

His eyes bore into your closed eyelids, willing them to finally open. Any second now. Donnie resumed the chest compressions with a little more desperation. He didn’t even care that he might be bruising your ribcage at this point.

“Don’t you know that there are people who still need you? We still have to finish the Jupiter Jim marathon! You’ve only seen the first 7!”

Donnie’s voice started with a quiet, commanding tone before lilting into a shout. There was so much left for you to do here, you just couldn’t leave now. What would his brothers say? Or April? Your parents?

After the last couple of compressions, Donnie stilled. That was it.

“You’re…” He whispers, tears streaming down his face.

He needed to call Leo, or send a distress signal. He needed to do anything except sit there and stare at you. He felt despair begin to creep in, slowly consuming his every thought. Immediately, Donnie pushes it away with a slam of his fists on the sand beside your head.

Anger. No, rage. White-hot rage.

“I told you to leave. And like always, you didn’t listen.”

Donnie glowered at you, his eyes going dark. But for some reason, all his fury disappeared once he got a good look at your face. He’s been angry with you plenty of times before. You were kind of an annoying person. He lets out a light chuckle before scooping you up into his arms. Carefully, slowly.

He’d never really hugged you before though. It was nice, feeling your body lean up against his, but…

“I wish this were under different circumstances.” Donnie smiles, feeling a new bittersweet emotion bubble up in his chest.

“Usually you have something funny to say back. Or something stupid. Remember when I caught you reading my book of life-saving procedures?”

It was still a work in progress, but he was on a mission to draft a follow-up to his New York Times worst-selling hit, Donnie’s Big Book of Bad Guy Codes.

He didn’t realize until just now, but you were the only one who read either of his books.

“You were at the CPR chapter, practicing on Sheldon. You two were singing that song to keep the correct pace…”

Donnie sniffled and brought you in closer to his chest. Even though you were soaking wet and covered in sand, he needed to bury his face in your hair.

What was that stupid song anyway? It was probably for the best that he couldn’t remember, he wouldn’t be able to listen to it again. It would remind Donnie too much of you.

“It’s alright.” A small voice spoke.

“No, it’s not alright.”

He didn’t know who exactly was speaking to him right now. Donnie squeezes you even tighter, all of the sudden hearing someone wheeze.

“It’s alright, it’s okay.”

You finally stir, petting Donnie’s battle shell. You tried to be as soothing and calm as possible, but you knew there wouldn’t be much time left before you puke up a bunch of water.

“Whether you’re a brother or whether you’re a mother, you’re stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive. Feel the city breakin’ and everybody shakin’ and you’re stayin’—AUGGH!”

Finally, you cough and sputter, water shamelessly spilling from your mouth. You really didn’t want to have to do this while Donnie was holding you so sweetly.

Donnie’s sad expression falls away. “What the—?”

He pulls you away and searches your face. Your eyes were screwed shut as you continued to get out all the water that was in your stomach and lungs. Mindlessly, Donnie slams his arms against your back to help you.

Then, the realization hits him. You were alive! And not only that, you were your same annoying self!

“Donnie! I— augh, God. I need to tell you about Bishop. There’s this—“

Donnie shuts you up, pulling you back in for a spine-breaking hug. Or at least, a rib-breaking one. You recoil a bit and cry out in pain, feeling a weird ache in your chest.

“OW!” You shudder.

“You’re an idiot. A dumb, stupid, reckless, insubordinate idiot. Please don’t ever leave!” He cries, nuzzling his head against yours.

Somehow, you ignore Donnie’s unusual show of affection. There was still Bishop and the E.P.F., and the Foot Zombies clambering above you both. This was not the time or place to be canoodling.

“We have to go! Where are the guys? I think there’s a secret Black Ops that knows about you? And they—“

Once again, you’re cut off by Donnie. Another sting of pain runs throughout your body, and you push yourself off.

“Jesus! And I thought drowning in the Hudson was suffocating.”

You smirk at Donnie, wiping off the last bit of water from your chin. He was still caught up in…emotions? Is that what he was experiencing right now? You lean forward, leveling him with a teasing grin.

“Ha-ha, you saved me.” You chuckle.

But looking at Donnie’s face…his dumb, happy, handsome face. It made you nearly tear up yourself. You suddenly remember the events that led up to this moment. The bomb, the falling, the almost dying.

Your smile curls into a frown, complete with a quivering lip. “You…you saved me.”

“Well, duh. I only did what Donnie’s Big Book of Life-Saving Procedures taught me.”

Donnie finally lets his familiar snark return. With a flippant smirk, he reaches into his battle shell and pulls out a spare handkerchief. He always kept one or two on his person, just in case.

He supposes he could have used his robotic arms to hand it to you, and to pat you down with it too. He could have used them to resuscitate you as well, now that he thought about it. But he didn’t.

With a light touch, he places the rag against your cheek and your hair. It didn’t really do that much, considering you were both soaking wet. It didn’t matter.

Your eyes meet, and you both finally smile at one another. A genuine, thankful smile. They said all they needed to say without any words.

Still, you felt a little bad for making Donnie have to do CPR on you. You’re sure it wasn’t a pleasant experience for him, what with all the…physical contact involved.

“I’m sorry for not listening to you. And for all this.” You gesture vaguely to your chest. “I guess I thought I could be a hero like you guys…”

“We’re no heroes. Just a couple of highly-trained, highly volatile young adults with advanced weaponry and mystic powers. What’s so heroic about that?”

Up above on the docks, you hear a suspicious sound. More so the lack of sound, since the Foot zombies were somehow no longer growling up above.

“Wait—“ You stand up, your legs a little wobbly.

“Woah, slow down there cowboy.”

Donnie quickly catches you before you fall, putting a solid arm around your midsection. You blush, feeling his hand grab you so firmly.

“You do know that in the last couple of minutes, we’ve had more physical contact than we ever had since…ever?”

“Yeah, I know.” He sighs.

You chance a sheepish look to him as he leads you over to the other end of the beach. Getting a clearer view of the docks, you both see a couple of government workers in hazmat suits spraying people down. The Kraang infections begin to slowly fade away, and you grab ahold of Donnie’s arm.

“Wait, how did they…?”

“The pesticides. I guess someone managed to tell them that the Kraang had a weakness. And to think they were just going to leave them, or worse.”

Donnie smirks down at you, giving you a gentle but reassuring pat on the back.

“Whoever did that sure is a real hero.”

You tear your eyes away from the docks to look back at Donnie. Your stomach fills with butterflies at his tender gaze. He’s never really looked at you like that before. Tonight was a night of many firsts.

You shrug, feeling embarrassed. “I guess you’re right.”

“I’m always right. Why does it take the world to nearly end for people to understand that?”

Chuckling, you stand up a little straighter. You definitely needed to rest, your body would be a mess tomorrow. Donnie’s hand shifts a bit to lay on your hip, and you find yourself leaning into his hold.

“So, we saved the day? Do you think that means you guys will be given some kind of award? Key to the city?”

Donnie scoffs, helping you walk up back to the street. “I’m sure our valiant efforts will go relatively unnoticed. Not that we need to be congratulated, but…it doesn’t really matter.”

“Sure it does. I’m not an official or anything, but I think you all deserve some kind of honor. A plaque at least.”

You manage to climb back up to the pavement with Donnie’s help. Once you dust yourself off a bit, you wring out your damp hair.

“Oh yeah, they’ll be putting up statues of us in no time. Sing our praises in the streets. Ugh, and then there are the public appearances. I would hate to have to kiss a baby.”

As you two walked back toward the rest of the gang (you both agreed that flying was a little out of the question for your slightly broken body), you moved to be a little closer to Donnie.

“Nah, kissing’s gross. I only do it in emergency medical situations.” You tease, knocking against Donnie’s shoulder with your own.

Donnie suddenly stops, a deep blush filling his cheeks.

“I— It was protocol! It’s two breaths, with minimal skin-on-skin contact. If I was going to kiss you, I wouldn’t be so cold and clinical about it.”

You feel yourself begin to laugh before you clutch at your tender muscles. Ah, there’s the pain again. Why was Donnie so cute and funny, he was going to be the death of you.

“Whatever you say.”

With a little hop and a skip, you manage to plant a small kiss on Donnie’s cheek. You know it’s not nearly enough of the thanks he deserves, but you hope it makes him feel a little more…heroic.

“Thanks for helping me stay alive.” You smile.

In a charged couple of seconds, Donnie peeks down at you. You’re almost afraid that you’ve overstepped your boundaries when he doesn’t say anything. Eventually, his lips tug into a small smirk.

Quietly, he begins to sing. His voice is comically flat.

“Ah, ah, ah, ah, stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive.”

You give him an even bigger, goofier smile. After he loops back around to the chorus, you happily join him, with a little more enthusiasm in your delivery.

You hook your arm around his, singing and laughing all the way. You would deal with the fallout and boring stuff later. Right now, you were just glad to be with Donnie. You should be glad you aren’t dead too, but that was secondary.

taglist: @saspas-corner

#rottmnt x reader #donnie x reader #rottmnt donnie x reader #donatello x reader #tmnt x reader #sfw #requests #idk why i decided to include bishop in this lol #i guess to add more plot??#some fun government corruption preamble

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loverhymeswith · 7 months

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The End is Extremely Fucking Nigh

Day Two of the October Dreams 1K Follower Event

Pairing: Jim (28 Days Later) x F!Reader

Summary: Holed up in a tiny cottage with Jim, problems and feelings ensue. The title kind of sums it up.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Zombies (kind of), blood, guns, canon-typical violence, language

A/N: Shout out to @a-reader-and-a-writer for plotting this with me <3

“Oi. That fucking hurts.”

Jim slaps your hand away with a scowl, tugging down his sweatshirt to cover the large bandage wrapped around his waist. The oversized jumper swamps his lithe frame - leaner since you’ve had to resort to rations.

“Well it hasn’t healed then, has it,” you remark, closing the lid of the makeshift first aid kit and stowing it away beneath the sink. “I told you it would take at least another week.”

“It’s fine,” he insists, his expression softening as he grabs you by the shoulders and squeezes. “I’m fine. Would you stop worrying?”

You’ve been this way for the last ten days - overly cautious and over-protective. Ever since Jim went and got himself shot by a bunch of trigger happy soldiers who mistakenly thought he was one of the infected. By some small miracle the bullet missed anything vital, but even so, he’s been out of action for a while.

“Maybe if you stop giving me reasons to worry.”

You’re only half-joking. Right from day one, when you found him bewildered and wandering around outside the abandoned St Thomas’ Hospital, you knew he was going to cause you trouble.

You hadn’t wanted company. Had actively avoided it, in fact. Even before the outbreak. You certainly hadn’t planned on rescuing anyone, let alone the enigmatic bicycle courier - you were barely surviving yourself - but after you’d intercepted Jim midway through his first encounter with the Rage virus, you hadn’t been able to shake him.

Six weeks later, you don’t know how you’d survive without him.

“How about I prove it to you, yeah?” There’s a spark in his bright blue eyes and his full lips upturn into the ghost of a smirk; he already knows you’re not going to like his suggestion. “I’ll go on a supply run.”

The thought alone is enough to make your stomach turn. The closest store is easily a day’s walk away and with a company of unbalanced soldiers roaming the nearest city, it’s far too risky to drive.

“Jim-”

“Look,” he releases your shoulders, sliding his palms along your arms until he reaches your hands. “We’re down to our last cup of coffee and I know how cranky you get without your caffeine.”

You’ve noticed it a lot lately. The jokes. The sarcasm. Once the initial shock had diminished and he got a hold of his grief, Jim turned to humour as a coping mechanism, determined to get you to laugh. To smile. And goodness knows, there have been nights when you’ve relied on it. On him. Nights when you’ve felt like giving up. Like falling apart. When the only thing standing between you and taking the easy way out - just as his parents did - is the man before you.

The fact of the matter is, your situation is dire. It’s not just the coffee. The food is running out. Clean water, too.

“We’ll manage a little while longer,” you lie as he gives your hands a final squeeze and releases you. “Either that, or I can go by myself.”

You’ve been unwilling to leave his side up until now. You couldn’t risk the chance that the infected - or worse - might descend upon your hideout while you were away, with Jim being far too weak to fight them off alone.

Paying no heed to your plea, Jim starts pulling on a worn pair of boots - a vestige of the previous inhabitants of this cottage, just like the rest of your clothes. He’s careful not to wince as he bends over, although you have no doubt that he’s in pain.

Straightening and facing you once again, he runs a hand through his russet hair. It’s growing out after the hatchet job he performed back when you first met. You hadn’t minded the severe look. It had certainly emphasised his features - high cheekbones, a sharp jaw, and of course, those piercing blue eyes.

But with his hair like this, just a little longer, he seems… softer.

“I just need to get out of this fucking house,” he tells you, shrugging on a thick jacket. “I won’t go far. Promise.”

You glance around the cramped kitchen and concede that your living arrangements have been somewhat confining. The tiny farm house on the outskirts of Manchester has less square footing than your old London apartment, which is an achievement in itself. But personal space doesn’t really factor in when you’re in the middle of the apocalypse.

It’s not all bad, though. You’ve been sharing the single bedroom under the pretext of safety, but as the weeks have worn on, you’ve come to find Jim’s presence comforting.

Some nights you wake before dawn to find his arms wrapped around you, his face buried in the crook of your neck. By morning, he’s back to his side of the bed and you know better than to mention it. No matter how much you might have warmed to one another, the end of the world is no time for falling in love.

You follow Jim towards the porch and watch as he checks over the old hunting rifle, just one of a handful of weapons the two of you have acquired along the way. Neither of you knew a thing about guns before the outbreak, but you’ve had little choice but to become fast learners.

“At least let me come with you.”

Jim pauses with the rifle slung over his shoulder and one arm outstretched towards the front door, his expression uncharacteristically firm. “You need to rest. When was the last time you got some proper sleep?”

“As if I’ll be able to sleep while you’re gone…” Even as the words leave your mouth, you find yourself leaning against the wall, fatigue fighting your instinct to stay close to his side.

In an unexpected gesture of affection, Jim reaches out and brushes his thumb over the swell of your cheek. “Just sit tight. I’ll be back before it gets dark.”

Despite Jim’s request for you to sit tight, you find yourself pacing the cottage in his absence. You don’t begrudge him the need for space after being holed up in here for the best part of two weeks. Still, you’d feel more comfortable if he wasn’t alone. If he wasn’t still healing.

It’s difficult to pinpoint, but somewhere along the way your feelings towards him have shifted. At first, he was an unnecessary hindrance. A tag along, slowing you down. Quickly though, you had grown accustomed to his presence, his company undeniably preferable to being alone with your own dark thoughts.

Yet it wasn’t until he’d been shot - until you’d almost lost him - that you realised quite how important he’d become. It was no longer a case of what he could do for you and more a question of whether you could exist without him.

Exhaustion finally claims you and against your better judgement, you find yourself curled up on the corner of the threadbare sofa, drifting off into a restless slumber. Every night since the outbreak, it’s been the same. You dream of crimson flowing through the streets. Of bloodshot eyes and burnt flesh. Of bodies piled high. Mourning all that you have lost. The past, nothing but a distant memory; the future, a destination you will probably never reach.

You wake with a start, plucked swiftly from sleep by the distant sound of tapping against glass. Your thoughts fly instantly to Jim. Scrambling to your feet, you grab the nearest weapon - a baseball bat - and nervously approach the door.

The eyes staring back at you through the window aren’t the colour of a winter sky at all.

They’re red.

Infected.

No.

The weeks of tending to Jim must have softened you. It takes a full ten seconds before your brain jumps into gear, recognising the danger for what it is. A death sentence. Because there’s more than one of them. A host of the infected, clawing at the cottage walls in a frenzied attempt to reach you.

Suppressing your fear for Jim and praying he’s not among the swarm, you stagger back from the door and exchange the baseball bat for the second rifle. You can’t possibly hope to outrun the infected. The neighbouring buildings are at least a mile away and you’ve barely eaten in days. The best chance you have is to pick them off one by one.

Providing they don’t get to you first.

It only takes another five seconds, just long enough for you to grab a handful of ammunition and ready the gun, before the first bloody hand breaks through the glass. With your heart in your mouth, bracing yourself for the kick back, you squeeze the trigger.

The explosion of the gun echoes throughout the small cottage, temporarily deafening you. When you open your eyes, the monstrous hand has disappeared only to be replaced by a face, coated in blood and filth and twisted into something no longer human.

You allow yourself the briefest flicker of relief. It’s not Jim. Then, ears still ringing from the first blast, you reload the rifle and take aim.

This time, the wooden door splinters as you miss the window.

Shit.

The infected has its head and shoulders wedged through the small gap now. It’s snarling and spitting, crimson eyes wide and thirsting for blood. Your hands, once steady, are shaking, your fingers fumbling with the small golden bullets as you try to jam them into the magazine.

Where the hell is Jim?

Your next shot finds its target. The infected - or what is left of it - slumps. But it’s a temporary reprieve. In the blink of an eye, the body disappears and another pair of glowing red eyes fills the window space. The onslaught is far from over

Shoot, reload, repeat.

Over and over again, you fire at the door until contaminated blood stains the cottage's wooden floor. But it’s no use. There are far too many of them. For every one of the rage victims you dispatch, another immediately takes its place.

Further inside the cottage, a second window shatters. Your heart sinks.

You’re surrounded.

A wave of hopelessness pushes you back against the wall as you struggle to catch your breath. The door isn’t going to hold for much longer and there's nowhere to run. You attempt to reload the gun, but your bullets are finally spent, the casings littering the floor. Jim took the second box of ammunition.

Where is Jim?

As a last resort, you flee the porch and hurry up the stairs, locking yourself in the bedroom. Despite the knowledge that it will only buy you a matter of minutes, you huddle against the far corner of the room, clutching the empty gun. This is what it has come to. All these weeks of fighting for survival. The foolishness of daring to hope for a future. Your feelings for Jim.

Jim.

If only you’d told him how you feel.

But in the end, none of it matters. It was all just borrowed time.

Tears of anger and frustration pool in your tired eyes. There’s banging and clattering and more glass shattering downstairs. The infected are inside the cottage now. You can hear their savage snarls as they scramble up the stairs. It was foolish of you not to save a bullet for yourself.

Any second now…

Too weak to put up a fight, you squeeze your eyes shut as the bedroom door crashes open, choking on a desperate sob. Death has been a constant presence these last weeks; you didn’t think you’d be quite so afraid when your time finally came. But just like the bullets, you’re fresh out of bravery. As you prepare to take your last breath, you send a silent prayer. Wherever you end up, you hope you’re not alone.

But death, painful and bloody, doesn't come.

Your eyes flash open at the sound of heavy breathing - panting - and a strangled cry tears from your throat. The figure filling the doorway is a terrifying sight to behold: drenched in sweat and blood and wielding a crimson-coated baseball bat, a wild expression on their once-familiar face. It looks as if they’ve clawed their way out of hell.

But they aren’t infected.

You know it by the pale blue eyes staring out at you through the layers of dirt.

"Jim."

The sound of his name seems to break whatever spell he’s under, the ice cold rage in his expression melting into something like recognition as he steps over the infected body lying lifeless at his feet. Beyond him, the cottage has fallen silent.

When he speaks, his voice is hoarse. “Are you ok? Tell me you haven’t been bitten.”

“I’m ok.” You’re more than ok. Because he’s here, alive and uninfected. Because he’s saved you.

Jim’s shoulders slump with obvious relief and even with the gun pointed in his direction, there’s no further hesitation. He closes the distance to you in two long strides before pulling you into his arms, his gaze rapidly darting across your face.

“I thought I was too late,” he rasps, cupping your cheek. “I thought I’d lost you. I can’t fucking lose you. Not after everything that’s happened. I can’t...”

You shake your head, afraid that if you open your mouth to interject, you’ll stumble. Or even worse, that with the adrenaline from your brush with death still coursing through your veins, you’ll say something stupid. Something like-

“I love you.”

You don’t have time to react, much less process Jim’s abrupt admission before his mouth crashes into yours and he’s kissing you. He’s kissing you like you’re the cure. It’s rushed and messy and desperate and so thoroughly Jim.

If he notices the tears that begin to spill down your cheeks he certainly doesn’t comment. If anything, he holds you tighter and kisses you harder.

With every brush of his lips, you can feel a piece of your fractured self falling back into place.

Perhaps the end of the world is the perfect time for falling in love.

October Dreams Taglist: @a-reader-and-a-writer @zablife

#cillian murphy #28 days later #jim 28 days later #october #october dreams #cillian murphy fanfic #follower celebration #halloween #zombies

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sheep-and-lykos · 6 months

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Kinktober Day 9 - Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader: Rapeplay