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spooky-luvur · 3 months

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Eyeless Jack x m!Reader Pt. 2

(A/N i didn’t reread this at all so sorry if something doesn’t make sense. that’s usually the case ha)

Shivering even under the thick blanket, you run your fingers over the sore scar tissue. Part of you is scared if you move wrong or press too hard the skin will split open and stain your sheets. Maybe he smells blood. Like a shark.

Freak, you think to yourself.

A sudden knock at your door makes you jolt and freeze up in pain. You yell at whoever’s at the door to wait a moment as you pretty much fall off the couch to tug some clothes on.

Your hand pauses over the doorknob for a stiff moment. What if you open it and he’s there? Will he take your other kidney? Or maybe your liver this time. Forget shark, is this guy a zombie? You force yourself to open the door.

“Hello, dear. How are you?”

You relax against the frame and smile tiredly at the woman.

“Hey Miss Zhao. I should be asking you that.”

She shuffles past you to set a casserole dish on the table next to the door.

“Oh, I’m alright. Jack is good company, you know.”

“Jack?” You echo, folding your arms against your chest- subtly wincing in pain as the movement pulls on the raw skin. “Is that the new neighbor? I saw them in the lobby the other day, I think.”

Miss Zhao laughs and waves her hand.

“No, not them.”

Your brow burrows but the smile doesn’t drop from your face until a figure steps into view behind the stout woman. Your side aches at the sight.

He has the nerve to casually wave at you.

You stutter as Miss Zhao says something about feeding time and goes back to her room, leaving you with the very thing that’s been haunting you like a ghost.

“Hey,” he greets.

“Wha-“ Is all you allow yourself to say before promptly slamming the door shut. You stand there for a few moments, half expecting the man to open it and thrust a knife at you. But he never does, and the door stays firmly shut. You find yourself glaring at the poor wood before stomping away.

A nice shower, you think. Thats exactly what I need.

You strip yourself of what little clothes you were wearing. Grumbling, you pivot to the bathroom hallway and come to an abrupt halt. There he stands, hands in his pockets. How is that even fucking possible?

You stare at each other in silence before his head tilts down not-so-subtly.

“Nice,” is all he says.

It takes you a moment to realize this masked murderer that literally took one of your organs the other week is currently scrutinizing you.

“FUCK you!” You cross your arms over your chest which is about all you can do at the moment. “What the hell do you want? My other one?”

“Not today.” He frees one of his hands to point at you. “How is it? The scar.”

You subconsciously reach down to mess with the puckered skin.

“Fine, no thanks to you.”

“It is thanks to me, actually.”

“What?” You hiss.

“Well, it was me that fixed you up instead of leaving you to bleed out on the floor like a hog.” He shrugs his broad shoulders.

“Ugh, right,” you rub a hand down your face, exasperated, “the tub. The damn ice. What the hell even was that? Who does that?”

“Do you really want to know why I took it?”

“You’re a psychopath that won’t even show his face. My guess? You’ll be caught as soon as next week.”

The man does that stupid quiet laugh again and lowers himself onto your plush sofa.

“Kick up your feet why don’t you! Make yourself comfortable. Actually, get the fuck out.”

He folds his hands in his lap like he’s about to have a very nice conversation with your mother “I think I’ll stay.”

You’re about to snap at him again, start yelling, maybe throwing things, but you choke on the words as you remember exactly who you’re about to lash out at. This man who is obviously stronger, faster, and smarter than you (and has no problem proving it) is giving you little to no options. Part of you doubts he would hurt you again, but what’s stopping him? Nothing.

So you bite your tongue and simply glare. After hesitating a few moments longer you turn away to go take your well needed shower.

Jack pulls out his (untraceable, courtesy of a ffffffffriend) phone once you round the corner. His mouth twitches in annoyance at the messages on the cracked screen.

wya?

wyd

you ar not supplied to be out today

supposed

Jack:

ben

ohhhh i get it

its that guy

Jack:

ben

dont worry ill keep your secret

Jack feels the need to have eyes to roll as he slips the device back into his pocket. God forbid that kid keep his thoughts to himself.

“So, I should call the cops. Right? That’s what I should do.” Is what you tell the man relaxing on your couch once you face him again. He looks over at you and you almost shiver at the sight of the goo slowly sliding down the blue face.

“Sure.”

“You’re really confusing, you know?”

“Ha.”

Your eye twitches in annoyance before you give up, heaving a heavy sign and taking a seat in the recliner beside the couch. Your hand absentmindedly wanders to caress the puckered skin of the healing wound.

“Let me see.”

“Huh?”

“The stitches. I can take them out now.”

You eye the man on your couch warily. What is this guy, some kind of doctor?

“You want to…take the stitches out.” You parrot. He nods and stands from his seat and push yourself further into the chair the closer he gets, like a picky child that’s being fed peas.

“You want them out. They’re itching.”

“Are you a doctor or something?” You snap out your previous thought causing him to stop in his tracks. You spot his hands twitch before he stretches his fingers out.

“I know what to do,” Is his reply.

Really, what other choice did you have? Going to the hospital to get undocumented stitches out would raise a few questions…not to mention you’d never be able to pay for it.

“…Fine. But I’ll catch you in the nuts the second you do something funny.”

“Noted.”

You gasp as he grabs you and pulls you up and then a second later you’re laying on your stomach on the couch. You can’t even spit out a retort when he tugs your shirt up to get better access. The cold leather against your bare skin causes you to squirm for a moment before a hand is holding itself against your back.

“Stay still.”

“You-“

He must sense your coming fit and slips his hand to lay gentle but firm across the back of your neck. Words die on your tongue as you go lax like a kitten that’s just been picked up by its mum.

“Whatever…”

You feel his hands poking and prodding before the tug of stitches being cut.

“Is it even ready?” You ask the man who is currently leaning over you on his knees like you’re on an actual operating table.

“It is.”

“But are you sure? If it isn’t healed-“

“It’s healed.”

“You love cutting me off!”

“Hush.”

You resist the urge to kick him in the face.

After a few minutes of silence he leans away, running his fingers across your skin.

“Done?” You crane your neck.

“Yeah.”

“This isn’t very sanitary. I should-“

You sit up and turn to look at him but pause at the sight of his hands retracting. The color makes you gasp and almost fall off the couch to grab him.

“What the fuck?” You hold his arm and push up his sleeve to see more of the man’s skin as he simply watches you basically feel him up.

“I don’t get a lot of sun.”

You glare at him for the joke.

“This is…so weird.” You release him and scrub a hand down your face as you relax into the couch. He takes a seat next to you like you’re two friends catching up. “What’s wrong with you?”

You close your eyes and wish your mouth had been sewn shut instead of your side but he huffs out a laugh and you look at him almost timidly.

“Shit, I didn’t mean- I mean I did but like- okay, I’m done.”

“It’s a long story.”

“Oh yeah? An interesting one?” You lightly pry. Whatever happened for him to look the way he does- for him to be some kind of kidney-stealing grey skinned freak has to be more than ‘oh yeah I got the flu real bad once.’

“Hm…maybe.”

“Are you…gonna tell me? I feel like I’m entitled at this point.”

Jack folds his arms and you hear him hum in (probably fake) contemplation.

“I’ll tell you…once you trust me.”

“Trust you?” You gape at him in disbelief. “Why would I- you tried to kill me!”

“No I didn’t.”

“Then what the hell was this?!” You gesture toward your scarring angrily.

“Not enough to kill you. I could have, though.”

Your mouth clicks shut at the new tone in his voice. Dangerously territory, this conversation. So you drop it.

“Okay. Fine. So…what’s with the goo?”

#x male reader #eyeless jack x m!reader #eyeless jack x male reader #eyeless jack #creepypasta x m!reader #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x male reader #creepypasta

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spooky-luvur · 6 months

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OPEN 24/7

(Ghostface x Reader)

(Summary: Working at a gas station at two in the morning was sooo boring- until a strange customer changes that)

The bell rings for the umpteenth time. As part of your game, you make a guess in your head. Another old beer-belly? Bud Light, but maybe Modelo. Maybe a kid, reeking of weed and you’re gonna need to ask them for ID. Those are more common than you’d like to think about.

You listen to the squeak of leather shoes against the floor, not bothering to look up from your phone until the footsteps stop in front of you.

“How can I help you?”

“Something more interesting than me?”

The tone of the man causes you to finally avert your attention. He’s neither fat and bald nor young enough to require questions, if the shadow on his face is any indication. He's giving you a look, hands nonchalantly tucked into the pockets of his jacket. Not a mean look- you’ve gotten enough of those working at this crummy gas station to know the difference. The smooth brow and twinkling eyes is enough to tell you he isn’t mad and isn’t about to yell at you about the pumps not working. Not yet at least.

You flush a bit at the call out, awkwardly slipping the device in your pocket. Thankfully it’s just you tonight, so there’s no annoying coworker to rat you out for this.

“Sorry,” you tell him, trying to sound at least a tidbit professional. “Slow night, I guess.”

The man’s lips quirk but he’s not quite smiling. You wonder if he’s actually upset about it before he nods to the shelf behind you.

“Some reds. Gotta look cool and mysterious for all the people flinging themselves at me.”

You let out a ‘ha’ at his joke and he grins. You turn to grab a pack of smokes, placing it on the counter and he pulls out some cash to pay for it. Not unusual, but usually people his age love to flaunt their fancy credit cards to prove they have them or some other bullshit reason to flash the shiny hunk of plastic at you. Normally a shitty pick-up line follows it.

“Not very good for you,” you attempt to joke. The man raises his brow and you immediately wish you kept a gun behind the counter to shoot yourself with.

“I know,” he says. “Ever found yourself hooked on something, though? Can be tough as hell to break away.” He gives a kind of wry smile that leaves you fidgeting where you stand.

“No. Not- nothing like that, no.”

The man deftly tucks the smokes into his pocket.

"Right. Well, have a nice night," he says before turning on his heel and swiftly exiting the store, the encounter happening so quickly that it leaves your head spinning.

“Alright,” you mutter to yourself, a bit too stiff to go back to your casual leaning against the counter pose.

You’re still absentmindedly staring at the glass doors when the phone rings. The blaring noise makes you jump but you snatch it up nonetheless, stuttering out a hello.

“Heya, just checking in.”

The voice of your boss makes your shoulders relax. You suddenly can’t remember what they were tense for.

“Hey Jimmy, I’m doing fine.”

“Yeah? No robbers?”

“If there was, I wouldn’t be talking to you. I’d be crying in the freezer.”

“Ha. Never gonna happen, kid. Not when they know Big Jim’s the one that owns the place.”

“Course not.”

He reminds you to restock the drinks before he hangs up, leaving you sighing against the phone. A couple seconds after you set it down it rings again and you pick it up fully expecting for Jimmy to answer saying ‘and another thing-‘

But it isn’t Jimmy who responds to your hello this time. A peculiar voice echoes the word back to you. It makes you pause, and a short silence follows.

“…Hello?”

Snapping out of it, you instinctively adjust your posture as though the person on the other end could discern your lackluster demeanor and reprimand you for it.

“How can I help you?”

”Who is this?”

“…Jimmy’s Station. Do you need a pizza, or…”

“No, no. Was hoping you could help me with something else.”

“Okay…what is it?” You naw your lip, nervous for some reason. Your gut twists like you’ve eaten something bad.

“You got any knives?”

“Ah…”

You glance over at the rack of colorful blades on the other side of the counter. All shapes and sizes, all dangerously sharp.

“Yes, we do.”

“Perfect. You got any pink ones?”

“Buying one for your wife?”

Seriously, curse you and your automatic attempts to desperately avoid weird conversations. The voice on the other end laughs a bit. Or scoffs.

”Maybe. Think she’ll like it?”

“I mean, probably.”

“Hm…what about blue? You got any blue ones?”

“Yes, we have blue knives.” You answer, simply exasperated now. Part of you thinks this guy is just messing with you, but these seem like regular questions well enough. It’s not like there’s a lack of strange people out there that could be asking them.

“Well, that’s just great. Hey, could you do me a favor?”

Knowing he’s probably gonna say something stupid, you reply with a ‘sure, whatever.’

”Take one of those pretty, shiny knives- one of the really nice ones, you know? Pick your favorite color, even. Take it, really feel the weight- and shove it in your gut till you bleed like a stuck fucking pig.”

The phone is suddenly a block of ice in your hand.

“W-What?”

”What?” It mocks you. “You think it’ll hurt? I bet you’d like that.”

You shake. Why the hell haven’t you hung up yet? The sick freak on the other end laughs tauntingly. Like he’s actually having fun with this.

”You would wouldn’t you? I’d take your damn guts and string them up on the wall- really spice the place up a bit, it’s so dreary. Then I’d-“

You finally rip the phone away from your ear and slam it down onto the receiver. Gulping in a breath, you rub your hands down your face to steady yourself. Stupid prank callers.

Deciding you need to get the hell up and do something with your hands you leave the counter and head toward the back of the store behind the freezers. Upon entering you shiver, considering going back out to your car to retrieve your jacket.

You haul a box of beers onto a table and begin unpacking them, the repetitive motion allowing you to lose yourself in your thoughts. For a few minutes it’s a good distraction from the voice you keep replaying in your head.

Then your phone rings. Not the store phone still on the front counter- your personal cell resting in your back pocket.

‘Ugh,’ you think. ‘What is it now, spam?’

Thinking that, you ignore call and let it continue ringing until it stops. But then it happens again, and you’re annoyed enough to whip it out and answer it.

“Listen-“

”You’re being really fucking bad.”

The can you’d been holding slips out of your grip and explodes on the floor, wetting your feet. You curse loudly and fling your phone onto the table.

“What the fuck!”

The device slides off the table and clatters onto the stone floor. All you can do for several moments is stand there and stare as if the voice would reach through the device and grab you, carrying out the acts it had told you to perform on yourself only minutes prior.

Thinking quickly you hurry over to the freezer door and lock it from the inside. Great, now the only people that can get in and get you are people that work here. You can just stay in here till morning, right? Or maybe Jim will call again and you won’t pick up and he’ll get worried and he’ll call for someone to help you and-

“Saved me the trouble.”

A pair of arms wind around your waist and you’re ripped away from the door and tossed onto the ground like a sack of food. The concrete scratches your skin painfully as you gasp for breath, glancing up to see a kind of black shroud. It’s all you allow yourself before you’re scrambling to your feet and further into the room.

Only, as you stop in front of the back door that leads to basically the woods, you realize you don’t have the one think that opens it on your person. Your mind thinks back to the key ring in the office as you hear the shrouded attacker approaching.

“Please,” you’re saying before you even turn around. Once you do you’re met with a stark white face twisted in a dramatic scream. The figure is tall, you notice as it stalks closer.

“Already begging?” It teases you in a warped voice. The same one on the phone, you realize.

“What the hell?” The fearful tears in your eyes sting angrily. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Want do you want? I’ll call the fucking cops!”

He’s laughing before you can finish.

“Really? Who am I to stop you, then?”

He steps to the side and waves his arm to the doorway behind him.

“Phones just over there. Go ahead.”

Surely. Surely he’s messing with you. You’re not that stupid, and neither is he. And he knows that you know that, if the silent laughter that makes his shoulders shake is any indication.

“Fuck you,” you hiss at him as you press your back to the locked door. Your hands splay across the cold metal as if searching for a blackhole to swallow you completely.

“Such a dirty mouth! Think it’s good for anything other than cussing me out?”

“Get fucked.”

“Are you offering?”

You find yourself paralyzed with fear as he reaches into a concealed pocket, retrieving a knife. The silver gleams in the shitty light of the freezer.

“What do you want?” You take pride in lack of tremble in your voice.

“You were so rude earlier,” the masked man says. He slides a finger down the blade of the knife tauntingly. “Hanging up, and then ignoring me? Didn’t your mother teach you any better?”

“You deserved it, freak.”

“Oh!” He laughs. “You think so? Mm, maybe I was a bit forward…” He playfully taps a gloved finger against the plastic mask like a cartoon villain.

Your heart beats painfully in your chest but you force yourself to steady your breathing and consider your options. Right now you’re stuck between this obviously intelligent freak of a man and a locked door you have no hope of opening unless you suddenly get super strength.

“I see you thinking, doll. Wanna share with the class?” By now he’s standing mere inches away and you flinch as he brings up the gutting knife to trace the tip of it along the vulnerable skin of your exposed collar.

You steel yourself, tilting your head so you’re not looking up at him like a frightened child. “Get away from me.”

The knife pauses in its path up your throat and you nearly shiver at the sharp chill.

“Away? From you?”

A hand tangles in your hair and shoves you harder against the door, making you groan in pain.

“Go ahead and have an attitude again, I dare you. Double dare, even.” He hisses, bringing his mask closer to your face. You can’t see his eyes behind the cloth. Just a black void.

“I’m sorry…” you mutter, having to come up with something quick. Maybe if you convince this guy you’re totally giving up he’ll slip somehow and you can get away. Or he’ll see right though it and you’ll end up with your insides strewn about like party streamers. That’ll be fun for the next shift.

Your breathy tone causes him to pause. After a moment his chest rumbles like a happy purr.

“Oh, that’s good. I like that. Say it again, won’t you?”

You can feel his knife poking your belly- thinly veiled threat.

“I’m sorry.” You grow bold enough to slide your hand from the wall and onto his waist. You touch the man lightly as if he was a bomb you could set off at any moment. Which he is.

“I’m just scared. Please.”

“Of course you are. But it’s gonna be okay,” he brings his other hand from your hair down to your face to traces your lips with his finger. It would have made your stomach flutter if he wasn’t holding a knife against it.

“I’m not gonna hurt you too bad. I just wanna have some fun, but you’re being such a brat.”

“I…”

Your eyes slide past him to the open doorway. Your phone still rests on the floor in that room, but doesn’t he know about that? No way he’d let you anywhere near it. You’d have to think of something, fast.

A hand under your chin forces you to look back at the screaming mask.

“I hope you’re not thinking of it. I don’t know if I can handle anymore of that tonight.”

“No…no, of course not.”

“Good. Good boy.” His hand moves from your chin to curl around your throat as if simply admiring the flesh there.

“Please,” you push yourself off the wall and further against him, straight up pressing your chest to his at this point. His hand stutters against you and you don’t feel the sharp press of the knife anymore. “You’re…making me feel so-“

“Yeah? How am I making you feel, baby?”

You smooth your hands up his arms, having to mentally scream at yourself to keep you from fawning over the firm muscle there.

Maybe he’s too desperate to get his hands on you, or maybe he’s distracted by your hands on him, but he’s loose enough to not notice the not so subtle tightening of your grasp all of a sudden.

“So…urgh!”

You don’t know where you got the strength but you throw your entire body weight at the guy in order to shove him away and pretty much fling him toward a metal rack stacked full of boxes. He yelps in pain as he crashes into it, bottles spilling out and exploding. If the bitter smell of strong alcohol doesn’t suffocate him, his now drenched mask surely will. You use his momentary stun to turn and sprint to the other room, nearly slipping on the liquid covering the floor.

Your hands are shaking from adrenaline so badly you almost lose your balance once you crawl under the table to retrieve your phone. Breathing a sigh of relief once you have it you swipe to your contacts and click on the first one you see, the scream for help on the tip of your tongue. You don’t remember if your finger hit the call button or not before you’re suddenly grabbed by the ankle and dragged out from under the table shrieking.

You don’t have time to prepare yourself to meet the terrible mask once again before you’re flipped onto your back, but that doesn’t matter. A gasp gets stuck in your throat at the bare face that greets you.

“You…”

The man’s hair is damp as it falls over his eyes and he reeks of fancy beer. He’s breathing heavily as he sits on your legs to keep you still.

“Hey, doll. Funny seeing you here.”

A brief exchange- a single purchase was all it took to become a victim? He must see the realization on your face because he grins like a bully.

“I know, I know. I did good, didn’t I? Had to stop myself from jumping over the counter then and there. Knew the wait would be worth it, though.”

“You fucking prick!” Squirming within the man's unyielding hold, he maintains a smug grin while firmly clasping your wrists. You can tell someone like him is simply reveling in his sense of control. “I hope you choke on your damn cigarettes!”

He throws his head back and laughs. If he wasn’t currently holding you captive you probably would have blushed at this man’s boyish charm.

“That’s good, I might use that. You mind if I use that?”

You attempt to kick him off before there’s a hand on your throat and squeezing. You sputter, grasping at it. The man brings his face down to yours to hiss angrily, but before he can get a word out-

“Hello? Please answer me…”

The room fills with a thick silence as both of you freeze. You both pivot your heads in unison, eyes landing upon the phone which is nearly concealed beneath the table's shadow. The screen is lit up in a call, the name of your friend that lives just down the road splayed across it. You’d laugh in pure relief if you weren’t still face to face with the man in the shrouded costume.

The man on top of you faces you with a blank look and brings his finger up to his mouth in a shushing motion. As if you’re dumb enough to yell out for help now.

“The cops are on their way, I called them a few minutes ago. Maybe everything is fine but I just wanted to make sure-“

The man quietly seethes with anger and scrambles off you to snatch up the device, ending the call. He leaves you on the ground, breathing heavily and staring up at him.

“I know where you live. I know where you work.”

He crouches beside you and there’s that stupid fucking grin again, like a child that just stole another kids candy.

“I know where you go to eat, I know what roads you take, I know where you piss in the morning. I know everything about you, doll. So please, tell them everything and give me a fucking reason.”

You hadn’t noticed his knife was back in his gloved hand until it’s being dragged down your leg, catching the fabric of your pants. You suck in a breath and look back up to meet his eye, shaking your head.

“Good. I know you’ll behave.”

He stands back up and makes to leave through the back door, swinging the ring of the key on his finger casually. He winks at you before he slips away.

“Until next time, baby.”

Thirty minutes later you’ll be seated in your friends car as they drive you home, remembering the feeling of the masked man’s hands on your skin, on your body, around your throat- until it’s seared in your consciousness. It isn’t until you’re laying in bed that night that a shiver of fear, or maybe even sick excitement runs through you when you remember he still has the key.

——————————————————————————

(chat gpt fr saved my ass on some of this 🤫)

#ghostface #ghostface x reader #ghostface x male reader #x male reader #slasher x male reader #slashers #slashers x reader

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spooky-luvur · 7 months

Note

Can you do Javier x male reader, where they are in secret relationship because reader is a O’Driscoll. But male reader is not the same like other O’Driscoll. Like he is kinda cute maybe???????

I ASKED YOU EARLIER BUT I WANTED TO BE ANONYMOUS SNSNSNSNSN

((a/n): i’ll look past it if you somehow forgive me for forgetting about this 🫶😍)

………………………………………………………………………………….

“The hell did Dutch mean by activity anyway?”

Javier shoots the burly man a look. “Activity, Williamson. You know, sightings? Rumors? Gunshots? Come on, compadre.”

Bill huffs and puffs and Javier simply shakes his head and continues trekking down the dirt path toward some cabin Dutch insisted they check out.

“I just don’t see why this is-is- is necessary, that’s all!”

Bills flaps his hands about, further trying to get his point across but Javier ignores his complaining. He would have brought Arthur or even Micah but he knew they were too smart. Would have raised eyebrows as soon as he started his spiel about ‘Dutch needing us to check something out.’ Probably still would have gone, but would sniff something out for sure.

Thankfully, Bill was not Micah nor Arthur and therefore was simply thinking nothing of it and wishing he were back at camp with a bottle in his hand.

Upon arriving at the derelict cabin in the forest, Javier promptly instructs Bill to keep to the tree line.

“For look-out,” he says with a friendly clap on the man’s shoulder. “Anyone sees my hermano here and simply walks the other way, ha…”

Bill puffs his chest out (much to the amusement of Javier) and marches to take point by the trees, leaving the other to turn on his heel and enter the cabin.

Broken glass cracks under his boots, the sound quickly complimented by the clicking of another set of spurs rounding the corner.

“What’s with the oso?”

Javier lets out a mirthful chuckle, casually draping himself against the wall. His arms cross over his chest as he gazes out of the window.

“Bill? Harmless. He is my companion for now- my excuse.”

His mundo stalks closer and pulls his arms apart to slot himself against him. Javier lets out a content sigh at the weight and warmth of the other man, tucking his head under his chin. (M/n) cradles the back of it with his hand, resting the other on his hip.

“This jacket,” he says. Javier hums in question.“Didn’t I give this to you?”

Javier peeks down at it. Brown, with red accents. A little bird on one of the pockets. “Yes,” he answers. “My favorite.”

“Of course it is,” (M/n) laughs quietly. He pulls away to kiss the man, holding him close. It’s slow yet desperate, as neither of them know when they’ll get this chance again.

“He’d kill me you know,” he breaths against his lovers lips when they part for air. “If he knew what you were doing- who I was-“

Javier hushes the man with another kiss.

“I know, vida. I’m sorry.”

(M/n) smiles mournfully. “I love you though. I can’t help it.”

It makes Javier laugh and relax against him, knowing they only have a few minutes left.

“And I thank Dios for it everyday.”

………………………………………………………………………………….

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 x male reader #rdr2 x male reader #javier escuella #javier escuella x male reader

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spooky-luvur · 8 months

Text

man why the bots gotta steal the cool usernames

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spooky-luvur · 9 months

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Eyeless Jack x m!Reader

(Summary:a strange man you meet at the store wants more from you than you ever could have guessed)

cw: language, mentions of mild gore

“Ah, shit.”

The keys slip from your hand and clang loudly against the concrete ground, making you wince. Hopefully nobody heard that and swiveled their heads to stare at you as if asking ‘why did you make noise? now we all have to notice you.’

You lower your head to hide your face, quickly snatching the keys and fumbling to stick them in the lock. This apartment building was old- and so were most of the residents. No one complained about the loose windows or the broken air conditioning because maybe they hardly even noticed it. Or maybe they just didn’t care. But rent was cheap, and the only thing you really had to worry about was your left-door neighbor Miss Zhao and her (illegal) cats. You didn’t tell the landlord, and she didn’t play her flute at two in the morning. Speaking of her,

“Such a sweet man. Your wife?”

The older woman smiles at you holding the door open for her as if you didn’t do it every time this happened.

“Still no wife Miss Zhao. Are you interested?” You tease her back, making her laugh as she passes.

“Maybe if I was younger!”

She tells you about her newest kitten as you both make your way up to the second floor. You have to help her past the slippery steps, mentally cursing your landlord once again. You’d call him a cheap bastard, but you know karma would probably bite you in the ass and break your arm or something. Curse you for believing in stuff like that.

“Ah, actually-“

The woman grabs your hand before she opens the door to her apartment, slipping a few bucks in it.

“Get me a pack from the station? I’ll let you pet the kitten.”

“Ha,” you pocket the cash. “Sure thing Miss Zhao. Think I wouldn’t pay for it myself, though?”

She shakes her head as she unlocks the door. “I know you would, that’s the problem. Now- the red ones, please.”

There’s a woman arguing with the cashier as you enter, pressing her fingers against the plastic barrier angrily. The man behind the counter looks like he’d rather be under a bus than here right now. The scene causes you to make a beeline for the back of the store, keen on scouring the snacks till they’re done.

“Hmm. Sweet or sour?”

As you turn to look down the other side of the candy isle, you suddenly realize you’re not alone. There’s a man just off to the side in front of the freezers, tall and dressed in dark clothes. His hands are in the pockets of his jacket casually. You flush in embarrassment, realizing he must have heard you say your stupid thing.

Thankfully the man doesn’t turn his head to look at you. You try to convince yourself he actually hadn’t heard you, and allow yourself to relax and look back at the snacks. You peek back at him when you hear the freezer door being pulled open and see him grabbing a box of frozen waffles. He pauses before grabbing a second box. And then a third.

“Fan of eggos?”

You don’t have time to slap yourself in the face and sprint right out of the store before the tall man turns his body to you. You know he’s looking at you crazy under the sunglasses he’s wearing. He’s also wearing one of those cloth masks famous people wear in public. Covering his entire face? Hood pulled up? This guy was either a celeb or about to rob the store. You suddenly feel less weird.

He tilts his head down at the boxes in his arms.

“Guess so.”

Then he leaves you in the aisle and heads toward the front of the store. Part of you wants to stay here, curl up on the floor and cry- but another part wants to follow the man to see if he actually is about to rob the store. With a jolt of fear, you hurry your way to the cash register and stand in line for a moment before the hairs on the back of your neck stand up as you realize the covered man has just stepped up right behind you. There’s a girl in front of you buying some chips and you mentally yell for her to hurry up at the back of her head.

Once she leaves, you realize you hadn’t picked up any snacks and simply ask the cashier for a pack of red cigarettes.

“Smoker, huh?”

The man’s voice makes you jump and you hear him let out a quiet snort at it.

“Ah, no- they’re for a friend.”

You don’t know why he’s talking to you and you don’t know why you’re talking to him- maybe he feels like he needs to because you said something to him earlier? You scream at yourself in your head but you cross your arms and slightly face the man in a way where it won’t look like you’re ignoring him if he says something else, but you won’t look stupid if he doesn’t.

“Drink alcohol?”

You purse your lips and eye the man strangely. That isn’t normally something someone brings up in small talk, but maybe you’ve said worse. You simply shake your head and the man tilts his head the same way he had earlier.

“No poison in you, then?”

Poison. That’s how he chooses to phrase it. It’s a completely normal thing to call it you suppose, but the fact that this weird dude is talking to you like this just sits with you wrong.

“No…no poison.”

He nods, and then you receive the pack, pay, and make your way to the door. Before you push them open though you can’t help but look over your shoulder at the man and the cashier. Maybe he’s going to pull out a gun and ask for cash, or maybe he’s going to reach through the hole and the glass and-

But he simply pulls out some cash and pays for the waffles as normally as anyone else would.

Yeah. Definitely a celebrity.

“Her name is Penny.”

“Because she’s orange?”

“Smart one aren’t you?”

The kitten paws at your hair and you scratch her chin. She purrs loudly in your arms as Miss Zhao smiles at the scene, sipping her tea.

“I wish I had balls like you, Miss Zhao.”

“Ai!” She lightly whacks you in the back of the head. “Watch your mouth around the cats, boy.”

You laugh and are about to apologize when your phone rings in your pocket, making both you and Penny jump. You groan internally before pulling it out to look at the screen.

“Dang. I gotta go, I have to edit a few reports.” You stand with the kitten and are about to place her back in the woman’s lap before she holds up a hand to stop you.

“Take her for the night, she seems to like you.”

The kitty meows and you look down at her, unsure.

“Really? I don’t-“

“Just put her out in the hall if she needs to go potty, I’ll keep my door open.”

“Alright. Sure, then. I could use the company.”

The cat has no problem lounging on your feet at you sit at your desk. Every once in a while she’ll meow and you’ll reach down to pat her head, but you accept the fact that she’s fairly calm for such a young kitten.

“Ugh…wrong date? You’ve worked there for three years…” Shaking your head as you correct the error, Penny paws at your legs. “What? You just had a snack, kitty.” She meows loudly and you sigh in defeat, scooping her up and standing.

“Alright I get it. Potty break- I could use one too.”

You open your door and set her down in the hall, peeking out to make sure Miss Zhaos was open as she said she would have it. Sure enough, it is- so you turn and make your way to the bathroom as the back of your apartment.

Your bathroom shares a wall with Miss Zhaos bedroom so it isn’t strange to here her television playing her shows, or to hear one of her cats knock something over- followed by cursing in chinese. In fact these things are so normal that it becomes strange when you don’t hear them, knowing the woman should be in her apartment at the time. She naps around noon and doesn’t sleep until a few hours from now so her apartment being totally silent has you scrubbing your hands a bit quicker.

“Miss Zhao?” You peer into her open doorway and lightly knock on the frame. No one answers aside from a couple meows of her cats, so assume she simply is sitting somewhere further inside- absorbed in a book or something. Satisfied with that conclusion, you turn to make your way back to your own room. Well you would have done that, if you hadn’t seen something that made you pause in your tracks.

Penny meows happily as the man from the gas station rubs her head. His gloved hand scratches her chin before he turns to face you.

The stories on the news of houses and apartments being broken into by a man in a blue mask always made you turn your tv to a different channel. You’d rather watch a kids show or something than hearing about people being killed. Maybe that’s why you haven’t turned tail to run to the lobby yet, or maybe it was the weapon strapped to his thigh.

“Cute cat. Yours?”

You startle as the man speaks. Same voice, very similar clothes. It has to be the same guy. It is, of course- but part of you absolutely refuses to acknowledge it. You shake your head. “No. Neighbors.”

Again, why were you talking to him? If you tried anything else, would he just hold up his gun and shoot you in the chest, or maybe the face? A closed-casket funereal is not something you want to think about.

He nods. “Met her. Nice lady.”

A glance over at the open doorway makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You look back over at the man who’s simply standing there casually.

“Yeah?” You say. “Where is she?”

A subtle (or what you thought was subtle) step back toward your door makes the man tilt his head. The gesture is so similar to what you saw earlier that it makes your stomach lurch and your feet cement themselves to the floor.

“Asleep,” he takes a step forward as if he was about to start a normal conversation with you and not hurt you very badly, “like I thought you would be. So, that makes things a bit more complicated.”

“Sorry about that.” You can’t help but snark. This guy really thinks he’s all that? You’re not as tall as him- not as lean, but maybe you’re faster. Maybe you can get to the fire escape before he-

Before you can finish the thought he’s lunging forward and that’s the moment your feet break through the rock weighing you down and promptly sprint in the opposite direction. Both yours and the man’s pounding footsteps on the carpet sound throughout the hall of the complex. You now it’s stupid to hope that someone would open their door and save you from whatever this monster wanted to do to you. No one in here sticks their nose in anyone’s business- not even those who need help.

A hand grabs your hair and yanks your head back, making you shriek and grab at his wrists.

“Let me go you fucking psycho! Someone’s already called the cops and they’ll bust your ass-“

A kick to your bum and you’re collapsing to the floor with an embarrassing yelp. The air is knocked out of you but you don’t have time to get it back before the masked man is on you and painfully digging a knee into your sternum.

“Didn’t think you would run.”

The bastard doesn’t even sound out of breath despite his sudden cardio. He takes your hands that are currently batting at him pathetically and grips them tight with one of his, reaching into his pocket with the other. You recoil in disgust as the tar substance flowing from the eyes of his mask drip onto your face, slipping across your nose and lips. You groan and twist your head in an attempt to wipe it off on your shoulder before your chin is tightly gripped and you’re forced to face him.

“Don’t move,” he tells you as you finally see what’s in his hand. “Nothing is gonna hurt.” He brings the smelly cloth closer to your face and with a sudden surge of adrenaline, you take advantage of the fact that he’s using only one hand to hold your wrists to twist them out of his grip and hit him in the throat. It’s petty and a bit of embarrassing if you stopped to think about it, but it has him sputtering and backing off enough for you to get to your feet and run back to your room.

You breathe heavily as you back away from the door after bolting it shut. Running your hands through your hair, you hurry over to your kitchen to grab the biggest knife you own. Unfortunately it isn’t very big, and you curse yourself for not being too into meats. That’s when you suddenly remember the bag under your bed you keep in case anything like this would have happened.

‘I have a bat in my room I have a bat in my room I have a bat in my-‘

You want to scream and cry as you turn the corner and see him waiting in the hallway for you.

“You fucking stalker, what the hell do you want?!” There are frustrated tears in your eyes and you wipe them away roughly. No way you were about to cry in front of this guy. But you were going to die. You were going to die for no fucking reason. Because a random dude saw you in the store and wants to fulfill his sick fantasies.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” is all he says. The reply makes you scoff.

“Yeah, because I’m going to believe that?! You killed an old woman!” Your heart aches for poor Miss Zhao and her cats. No one else knows they’re there- if you die, who will take care of them?

“I didn’t kill her.” He pulls the cloth out again and you want to just fall to the floor and give up. What were you supposed to do?

“I promise, I didn’t hurt her. I’m not going to hurt you either,” he repeats, taking steps forward. You know you should be terrified- trembling and light on your feet- but you just stand in place as the man reaches you and places a hand on the back of your neck.

“Just need you asleep.” He murmurs, bringing the soaked cloth up to your mouth.

Your eyes look up to meet his- or, whatever’s in place of them. They’re hollow and continuously spilling the strange gloop that stains his jacket. It’s awful, horrible, terrible-

You close your eyes as they grow heavy, feeling his hands tighten against you. Your body sags against his as you get weaker and if he isn’t going to kill you then you can only hope he catches you if you fall.

If death is this cold, part of you wishes you’ll end up in Hell. But then your leg twitches and hits against something solid and you realizes you aren’t dead at all.

You crack your eyes open and it takes a moment for your vision to clear enough for you to see you’re in your bathroom. The smooth ceramic of your bathtub is under you, but you’re more distracted by the dark figure hunched over your body prodding at something on your stomach.

“Still won’t leave me alone?” You grumble. The man’s mask tilts up and your breath catches at the still chilling sight.

“I’m making sure you’ll live. Which you will.”

Finally, your mind clears and you shiver as the cold of the ice bath you’re in sets. “What did you do?” You think you have the right to ask him that, at least. He pulls his hand out of the water and shakes it off.

“I took your right kidney-“

”Jesus.” Your head thunks against the lip of the tub and it swirls with pain for a moment. “The fucks wrong with you?”

His shoulders shake in silent laughter and you swat at him. Asshole. “You wouldn’t want me to explain it to you.” He has the balls to say.

“You’re crazy. I needed that thing.” Your speech slurs as you grow more exhausted, slouching further into the tub. At least there’s ice in it. You think you’d rather die than have your dick out in front of this guy.

“No you didn’t,” he says, but you simply wave a hand at him and accept the fact that your life is in his hands for now. As you slip back into unconsciousness you pray that he knows what to do with it.

#creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x male reader #creepypasta #eyeless jack #eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack x male reader #creepypasta x m!reader #eyeless jack x m!reader #ej x reader #ej x male reader

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spooky-luvur · 9 months

Note

i love you

👬🌈🏳️‍🌈

lmao imagine (i love you too)

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spooky-luvur · 2 years

Text

Oh, Arthur

_______________

“How much we got?”

“Less than a rabbit.”

“The hells that mean?”

“It means, we need somethin’ else or we’ll have to start eatin’ each other!”

Pearson laughs, and (M/n) starts too as well but a sharp look from Miss Grimshaw quickly turns it into a cough.

He clears his throat, “someone ‘otta go out and hunt. I’ll do it.”

A heavy hand lays itself on the man’s shoulder, and he turns his head to meet his husbands disapproving look.

“Naw, you ain’t. There ain’t a rabbit or a deer left in this forest. I’ll go to town and buy somethin’ from the butcher.”

(M/n) snorts and pats Arthurs hand, “Thought you was against wastin’ money.”

“It ain’t wasting if it means we eat.”

“It’s wastin’ if I can just go out a few extra miles and bring back a deer or two, free of charge,” (M/n) waves his hand at the tree line.

“That’ll take days.”

“I’ve been gone longer.”

Arthur sighs and rubs a hand down his face. His husband, bless him, is very stubborn. And very eager to help his family. Even if that means running straight into gunfire to grab a sack of vegetables (yes that actually happened. Arthur wouldn’t even let him go to town for days after that).

But he supposed (M/n) was right. Not that he could have said no to him in the first place, he admits that taking a few days to bring back food that’ll last them weeks would be worth it. Especially if it’s still in this region, and not out in the deserts of New Austin or something else real far away.

He would do the same. He has done the same. Plenty of times.

So, looking into his expectant eyes, Arthur nods. “Okay.”

It’s quiet, showing he doesn’t like the idea of (M/n) going into potentially dangerous territory. He didn’t know what he would do if he lost the love of his life to a rival gang.

By god, Colm would have hell to pay.

“Great. I’ll talk to Dutch about it. Meet me by the horses in a few.” (M/n) pats Arthur’s chest before tipping his hat at Grimshaw and starting off in the direction of Dutch’s tent.

———

“I don’ know, darlin’. What if there’s a bear?”

(M/n) rolls his eyes but smiles as he fastens his horses saddle.

“Then I’ll pretend I’m you. All big and mean and scary.” He moves his hands to the straps over Arthur’s shoulders, lightly tugging at them. The man huffs softly.

“I ain’t that scary.”

“No,” he takes his face in his hands and presses a kiss to his bearded cheek, “you ain’t.” He pulls back and looks into Arthur’s sea-green eyes. He loves those darn eyes.

“I love you, Mr. Morgan. I’ll be back before you know it. Keep the bed warm for me.”

Arthur’s eyes soften as he pulls his husband close. He brings the hand with the gold wedding band up to his lips, kissing the warm metal.

“Of course, Mr. Morgan.”

——

Everyone in the camp is buzzed with excitement; the thought of fresh, warm deer (or other) meat is enough to make them push through a day without eating. The second day is a bit harder, especially on little Jack, but Charles finds some berries for the boy to have.

Arthur sits on his cot as he thumbs through his journal. His fingers brush over the newest page, from yesterday.

(M/n) has gone several miles out to hunt. I do not like him being out in a foreign forest for that long. But, being the stubborn fool he is, did not let anyone have second thoughts on the matter. He would not have listened to them anyway

In the corner of the page is a soft doodle of the man’s hat. Arthur brushes over it, and the edges smudge just a bit. He sighs and stands, shutting the book.

“Arthur,”

the man pauses in his tracks.

“if you are coming to tell me how worried you are once again, son, I must ask you to bring your worries to someone like Hosea.”

“Dutch, I just-“ Arthur wipes his hand on his arm, though it’s clean. “I just-“

Dutch sighs and sets down the antique he was examining. He approaches Arthur and sets a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Arthur. Your husband, my brother, is a very capable man.”

“I know that, Dutch.”

“So you must have faith in him that he will return soon and safe. (M/n) wouldn’t let anything happen to himself.”

But Arthur knows Dutch. He sees the creases in the man’s forehead, the pinch in his face. He’s worried too.

“It’s only been a day and a half, Arthur. Give him some more time. He would ask it of you as well, I’m sure.”

He’s right. (M/n) would.

He nods. “Alright. Couple more days.”

Dutch pats him on the back. “Good man.”

———

They gave it a couple more days. And then a few more. And when it reached four days of (M/n) being gone, Dutch was the one to come to Arthur and tell him he had sent Charles out to see if he could find him.

“Just let me-“

Dutch holds his hands up before he can finish.

“Arthur, I know you want to go out and look for him but right now I need you here. Charles is the best tracker we’ve got. If (M/n) is in the area, he will be found- I can promise you that.”

Javier tugs on Arthur’s arm.

“C’mon compadre, come sit by the fire.”

Arthur relents and follows him, taking his hat off as he sits on the log and runs a hand through his hair. It’s silent for a few moments before Bills scoffs, a scowl on his face.

“There ain’t no way the man’s gotten himself in trouble. I’ve seen him wrestle a cougar!”

“You sure it wasn’t just a really big cat?” Javier snickers, getting a mean look from Bill.

“Ain’t that what a cougar is?” Arthur raises a brow.

“I reckon he’s in a ditch with a hole in his head.”

The chatter stops and all attention turns to the man whittling a hunk of wood at the end of the log. Micah glances up at Arthur and smirks, spreading his arms wide.

“Might want to get on your horse and go get some food, cowpoke.”

Arthur’s jaw clenches, but he can’t hardly do anything about Micah at the moment.

But Grimshaw can, given she grabs the blond man by the back of the coat and drags him away from the fire, spitting curses at him all the while.

Arthur sighs and Javier sends him a sympathetic nod.

“He’ll be back. He always comes back.”

———

Javier’s words run through Arthur’s head even three months later as he stands in the forest a long ways away from camp, rifle clutched in his trembling hands.

His husbands sweet golden horse, Lasso, lays dead at his feet. The once shiny coat is matted and almost brown with dirt and mud.

And caked in dry blood. It covers the entire side of the horse, along with some of its rear. There’s a smear on its neck that Arthur can make out as a hand.

Charles slowly stands from his crouched position by the poor creature. He rubs his face after wiping his hands off.

“Arthur-“

“It his?”

Charles stands as still as possible, keeping his eyes on the rifle in the other man’s hands.

“The horse starved, Arthur. The blood is (M/n)‘s.”

Arthur can’t even nod. His shoulders shake after a moment, and his grip loosens enough for Charles to carefully take the gun from him, hanging it over his own shoulder.

Arthur heaves, bending over and bracing himself against a nearby tree.

Charles shakes his head before taking a step away to search the nearby area for a body.

Arthur sags against the tree, hand covering his eyes, heavy breaths making his chest hurt.

The presence of the horse covered in his husbands blood is heavy, and even thinking about it drains him so much that he stumbles when he straightens back up.

Arthur doesn’t know how long he stands there against the tree, but eventually Charles returns. He’s silent, standing there a moment before meeting Arthur’s wet eyes.

“I didn’t find him.”

He doesn’t dare reassure Arthur that (M/n) might be alive. He wouldn’t ever forgive himself if he gave his friend that kind of hope if it turned out to be false.

Charles closes his eyes as Arthur begins to sob.

———

He has not had to lay in a cold bed in a long time.

Usually, (M/n) would make sure the blankets are up to their chins on cold nights, and around their ankles on hot ones. Either way, Arthur would still be warm because of him.

But now, although it’s humid, Arthur feels the chilly absence of him. And not just in the bed. It’s apparent around the camp, too.

Arthur had not seen Dutch in anything but simple pants and his union suit in weeks. His hair was hardly slicked back, and instead was tousled from him constantly running his hands through it. He spends most of his time in his tent, now. Never enjoying a moment or two on the edge of the camp enjoying the view.

Arthur isn’t any better. If anything, he’s worse.

He doesn’t eat unless one of the ladies begs him to. Even then, he can’t hardly keep anything down. He’s lost so much weight that he feels ashamed of it. (M/n) loved his belly, and now if he presses lightly he can feel his ribs.

He only “shaves” by chopping a few inches off his hair and beard every several weeks. It gets itchy, but he can’t muster up enough energy to actually do anything about it.

He’s awful.

And he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep doing this without him.

———

-nine months later-

“Mornin’ Arthur.”

“Mornin’ John.”

John yawns, the scars on his face stretching with the movement, and pours himself a cup of coffee.

“Dutch call you over yet?”

Arthur rubs his chin. “Naw. What’s he want?”

“Somethin’ about a map Javier found,” he takes a swig of the bitter drink, “was too damn tired to listen to much of anything else.”

After a few more minutes of standing there by the pot, Dutch calls Arthur over to his tent. The man is bent over the table, a dirty parchment spread out on it.

“Map?” Arthur asks.

Dutch nods, making another mark on it with an ink pen.

“Damn O’Driscoll’s slipped and left it behind. It marks their hideouts, Arthur. Their safe houses. Do you understand the edge this could give us?”

Arthur nods smoothly. “Sure. We goin’ to take a look?”

“Yes. You and John will go to this one,” he taps a place on the map as Arthur leans over to look, “outside of Strawberry.”

Dutch, as most of the rest of the gang, had eventually kind of recovered from the death of (M/n).

Kind of, because he had gotten harder on everyone. More tired, and less willing to deal with things he would have put up with before his brother had disappeared. But he still loves the gang, even if he doesn’t express it as much as he used to.

It had been a year, after all.

The two men ride silently beside one another. They had been riding all day, and there was nothing else to talk about at the moment, so they somehow settled with silence.

Arthur wasn’t too fond of it.

He’s looking down at his hands which are loosely holding onto the horses reigns. His thumb rubs over the bare spot on his ring finger.

After a while, it had become far too painful to look down at his hands so many times a day for so many things and see the golden band. He had wrapped it in a soft cloth and tucked it into a small pocket in his satchel. He hasn’t even looked at it since.

They’re coming up to the shack as the sun is coming down, taking its glow with it. John lights a torch after he gets down off his horse, since the moon was covered by the tall trees and provided little to no light. He holds it a ways in front of him, and if the two men squint, they can make out a couple guards casually sitting on crates in the front yard. Rifles are propped up against the sides.

“Alright. I’ll go up, distract ‘em. Then you can come in and take ‘em out quick.”

Arthur snorts quietly. “Distract ‘em how? With your naturally good looks?”

“Please,” John scoffs. “I’m not (M/n).”

Arthur had time to heal, of course. Had time to warm the bed by himself again, to relearn how to wrap his hands after he messes them up too bad, to stop grabbing two cups instead of one out of habit.

But it stings when he still thinks about it. About him. Brings tears to his eyes more often then not, but he can see the regret on Johns face quicker than they can spring up and begin blurring his vision. Neither of the two say anything for a moment before John nods and straightens up. He heads into the clearing without another word.

Arthur rubs the back of his neck, sighing deeply. Then he grabs his gun and follows him.

The two guards are taken out quickly enough, thanks to John blabbering off a distracting story about losing his gimpy horse. ‘Silver as gold, you see him?’ ‘Um-‘

The ruckus causes the front door to bust open, a few more guards spilling out. John’s hat is shot off his head but that’s as close as either of them get to having an injury.

Sighing, Arthur keeps his pistol in his hand and pushes open the broken door, peering inside. All he can see from this angle is a dirty table with trash on it, so he pushes it open all the way and steps inside. John grabs his hat, grumbling about the hole in it, and takes the torch he had stuck in the ground before the shooting started.

“I’ll check up,” he nods toward the rafters and hands Arthur the torch before grabbing onto the latter, hoisting himself up.

Meanwhile, Arthur examines the room he’s in. It’s single, given that it’s only a small shack, and has nothing but a torn cot in the corner and a table with some chairs. He wipes a finger on the table and it comes back caked in dust which he wipes off on his pants. He takes a step forward to look at the cot when his shoe catches on something.

Looking down, he sees a tiny rug barley covering what is obviously a hatch in the floor. He moves the rug aside with his foot and crouches down. Tugging on the latch, he can see that it’s unlocked and he can pull it right open. He can’t see anything besides a foot or two past his face thanks to the darkness, so he knocks on the wooden floor to get the attention of anyone that might be hiding.

He hears some shuffling, so he frowns and carefully descends down the short latter, keeping a tight grip on his gun with his other hand.

Now that Arthur is in the cellar, he can hear soft noises which he can only describe as someone crying. Hell, did the O’Driscoll’s have some kind of hostage? Bastards. The scar in his shoulder aches with memories.

The light of the torch allows him to make out a pitiful shape of someone huddled in the corner of the cellar, pressed so close to the wall you’d think they’re trying to melt into it. Their side is facing Arthur, and he can see that their head is tucked tightly into their arms which are shackled to the wall.

“Damn-“

As soon as the word leaves his mouth, the person flinches so harshly it makes Arthur jump too.

“Please!”

The voice trembles so badly that the word is barely there.

Arthur looks at them, sees their bare chest and back, their ripped canvas pants stained in old blood, their dirty hands clenched into fists, and he halts.

“No more, please!”

The man sobs, pressing himself tighter into the corner if possible.

The word is heavy in Arthur’s mouth, and it tingles on the tip of his tongue. But he forces himself to utter it. So quietly he can hardly hear it himself.

“(M/n).”

The man doesn’t stop trembling, but his face is now more visible to the point where Arthur can see a cloth tied around his head to cover his eyes. He’s breathing so heavily Arthur fears he might pass out, so he sticks the torch in a pile of rocks and takes slow steps forward.

“Hey- shhh. It’s okay.”

(M/n) pauses, and his breathing hitches, but that might just be a hiccup in his crying. He shakes his head as Arthur comes closer.

“No, don’t touch me!”

He thrashes once he realizes Arthur is in touching distance, and it isn’t until he reaches forward to tear off the blindfold that he freezes, eyes as wide as a does.

He blinks.

Once.

Twice.

Then his face twists into the most painful expression Arthur has ever seen on him and he starts sobbing again.

“Oh, Arthur…”

The man manages to pull (M/n)’s bony wrists from the heavy iron cuffs, and pulls him to his chest as he sits back against the dirt wall of the cellar. He holds his dear husband as close as physically possible while they both cry.

“Arthur, I-“

(M/n) takes a deep breath to steady his voice.

“I was only a few days in when they got me and Lasso. Brought me to one of their safe houses. I tried to escape after a while, but…we didn’t make it very long. My poor girl.” He moans in sorrow, burying his face in Arthur’s chest.

“I know, darlin’, I know. I’m so sorry.”

Arthur’s voice is gruff with emotion as he leans to kiss his hair.

(M/n) sighs shakily. “I missed you, Arthur,” he pulls back enough to look his husband in the eye, smiling for the first time in a long time, “did you miss me?”

Arthur smiles back, smoothing a thumb across a dirt-covered cheek.

“More than you think, darlin.’”

#rdr2 arthur x male reader #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 x male reader

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