fictionandfixation

[fictionandfixation]

I love explicit fanfic. I love smutty shipping. I love horny one shots. I love filthy erotic nasty longfics.

I love character or plot driven fic that uses sex as a tool for characterization, conflict and catharsis, and I love fic that exists solely to be hot and sexy.

[fictionandfixation]

MORE Older Bachelor Headcanons (spicy edition)

The residents of tumbr dot com were biiiig fans of these last time. Decided I was going to slut it up just for you guys and serve you some more Stardew Dilf Content. Love these three so much tbh. I might also branch out in the future and write some for my chosen wlw marriage candidates Leah and Haley and the other bachelorettes (?) because the demographics I am a fan of include a) dilfs and b) every femme ever to exist, ever, in the world, in the universe, ever. Amen.

Anyway. Enjoy your SDV Older Bachelors. The following IS slutty. MDNI. Gender neutral reader. Lowkey some of my favourite writing of late.

Harvey ☕️🔬📚

Slow. Methodical. And soooo gentle. He's taking his time with you. Slow, however, does not mean boring. Harvey loves fine details. And everything about you is a fine detail.

World's switchiest switch. Looks up at you like you're God when you ask it of him. Like he's under a spell. And, at other times, holds you down and coaxes you directly into oblivion.

Genuinely almost loses his shit altogether when you wear his clothes. Wear his button-downs. Wear his boxers. Fuck. If he's got anything to say about it, you won't be wearing them for long.

Wants absolutely nothing more than to be close to you, skin on skin, for as long as is physically possible. Rubs your neck and shoulders. Buries his head in your hair. Pushes in deep, deep, deep, holds you encased in his arms. Fucks like he wants to touch your soul.

Occasionally, jealous. The only time he gets a little rough, a little messy, tearing at clothes, biting at neck, hands at throat. You like to poke the bear for fun sometimes. You don't regret it. You're always his. He knows.

Head game is absolutely immense. Legs over shoulders, kneeling in front of you holding your thighs, he doesn't care.

Low groans direct into your ear. You lucky thing.

Elliott 📜🖋️🐚

Sensual in the most literal sense of the word. Deprivation is the name of the game, and blindfolds, ties, wax, incense and a fairly sizeable number of appliances are the rules.

Gentle but ruthless. One foot in the door of pleasure dom. Won't stop until you're just about ready to collapse, and watches you like you're a prey animal all the while. Not dominating in the traditional sense of the word - but he puts you in your place all right. A choice word or two. A select amount of pain. And suddenly, you’ll do whatever he asks.

Talks you through it. Soft, authoritative. Read a few too many books not to have picked up a trick of the tongue or two. Or ten. He never runs out of things to say to turn your brain to mush.

Gorgeous, slender hands. Firm hands. Hands that get to places you weren't even sure existed. Hands that have you trembling at the legs and begging and sweating.

Loves it when you break out the dominance. Has an attitude about it, too. You could knock it out of him with a couple of ropes and a silk tie in the mouth if you so chose. What a treat.

Whimpers when he gives in. Whines. Squeezes his eyes shut and tips his head back and begs and pants and lets your name tumble out his mouth. He's good. He knows it. Sometimes, you're better. He knows it.

Shane 🍺🍕🐓

He’s rough. Punishing. He drinks sometimes, but not often any more. He has a new favourite place to put all that hate - a place that loves it, that snaps it up and keeps on coming back for more. You’re more enticing than any other high he’s ever chased.

Wants you hard and messy and often. He can’t get enough. There are days when it’s all he thinks about, how he needs it, needs it, needs it so bad. Those are some of your favourite days.

Strong as a bull. He knows it. Holds you down and lifts you and pins you against walls like it’s nobody’s business. He’s wide, has thick everything, and has muscle to boot. Big rough hands. Around your neck, gripping your hips with force. He wants to touch every inch, wants to sink his fingers so deep and bruising that you become one person.

Not loud, but fuck if he doesn’t grunt. Sounds like an animal. Fucks a lot like one too.

Mean. Rude. Insulting, sometimes. You love it. He’s authoritative, commanding. You do as he asks, and he rewards you well.

And sometimes, he’s gentle. Sometimes, he’s sleepy and sore and lays behind you in bed and makes love to you lazily, naturally. Still strong, holding your legs apart, hands over your skin, but so, so loving and close, whispering to you how much he adores you, how good you make him feel.

Lives in terror that he’s going to hurt you one day. He never does.

[fictionandfixation]

worlds slowest fanfic author tries really really hard

[fictionandfixation]

DOCTOR'S ORDERS #2

Play Stupid Games

Stardew Valley: Harvey x Shane x AFAB!Reader

Part I

You ask and you shall receive. Sorry it's been a while but I am back on top of this fic like I want to be on top of the Stardew older bachelors. Might even post the smut you know is coming tomorrow. Fuck knows at this point. Also, I want it known that all of my headcanons about the Bachelors still apply to this fic. Yeehaw Shane is REAL. That mf is from Tennessee or some shit.

The sluttiness ramps up properly in the chapter after this. Pinky promise. Now, listen. I have never in my life posted anything as filthy as the chapter after this one, so if it's shit you have to tell me lest I bring shame upon my bloodline. I've not really ever posted anything quite as suggestive as this chapter or the last one. I'm a smut novice. A smut noob, one might assert. Bear with me here.

Summary: Your friends at the saloon play a stupid game. You have a heart to heart with Shane. You and Harvey air out your problems, but not to the outcome you anticipate. Shane proposes a temporary fix.

Warnings: Suggestive chatter. Heavy allusions to sex. Embarrassment. Deep, deep, slutty obsessive jealousy. Age Gap(s). Shane not being a dick (shock horror). TW for alcohol and cigarettes. Pining. General stupidity. Farmer is hot AND bothered. Rating: Mature.

MDNI. Chapter under the cut. Ts long asf again. Bear with.

“Man. You look uptight, farm girl. Stressful day on the job?” Sam asked you, taking a sip of his drink.

“You could say,” you replied. Harvey’s foot was still next to yours. You sat a little further back in the chair, shifting your weight, moving away from the covert touch. Every day was hard since the beach. You felt like you couldn’t eat or sleep or work properly, like there was this ache in your chest you just couldn’t get away from. You caught Harvey’s gaze for a moment. Intense, wine-dark eyes. You wanted him so badly this evening.

“Sounds like you need a night out,” Shane smiled coyly. “Y’know. Unwind, relax a little. Don’t go home so early this evening.”

“What you saying, Shane? She should come back to yours instead?” Sam grinned boyishly, and Shane chuckled with the raise of one eyebrow, shifting his arm from the back of your chair to your waist to tug you closer for a friendly hug. Now that you’d broken through Shane’s thick layer of ice, you’d started coaxing him into talking to the other residents of the valley, sugar coated with the promise of a laugh and a couple of drinks. You could tell he was playfully gearing up to make himself the butt of the joke - for all the hard emotional work he’d done since you’d started becoming friends, he couldn’t quite let go of making fun of himself. You acquiesced. Seeing him talking to the others was enough for you; you wouldn’t deprive him of at least using all that self-hatred to be funny, since he wasn’t planning on giving it up altogether any time soon. You could see Harvey bristling out of the corner of your eye.

Your brain had been teetering between two lines of thinking for some time now: one part of you wanted to lean into it, to see if you could make him jealous enough to snap. And the other part? The other part said if he won’t do it, what gives him the right to look at you that way? Strange path to walk. Funny how quickly the sharp stab of desire could turn to resentment. At least if you stopped liking Harvey altogether, you could stop fucking thinking about him all the time. Maybe eat properly. Sleep well. Stop daydreaming like a hormonal teenager. Move on.

“Peace and love, Shane, but I’m not sure I want to bruise myself on all the empty beer bottles that are probably hidden in between your mattress and your blankets,” you raised an eyebrow and Shane put his hand to his heart in mock offense before returning it to the small of your back. The table erupted in giggles.

Leah had a hand over her mouth and was tearing up with laughter, Elliott next to her snickering into his drink. Harvey wore a wry smile which looked like it was taking some effort to uphold. You followed his gaze. He was tapping his fingers on the table and looking directly at where Shane’s hand rested on your waist.

Unfortunately, he looked absolutely devastating this evening. Blazer discarded over his chair, shirt sleeves rolled up, a glass of wine or two having put a healthy colour in his cheeks. His curls were a soft, golden brown in the light. His tie was crooked. You thought about leaning across to fix it for him like you would before the beach, and then decided against it. Guilty guilty guilty. The road to Hell was, as they said, paved with good intentions, and simmering just below the urge to fix the red bit of fabric was a very strong ulterior motive to touch his shoulders, something you absolutely should not have been considering. You drank a fairly large glug of beer instead. The way things were going, you’d probably end up strangling him while you were at it anyway.

“Really are looking to let the hair down, ain’tcha?” Shane whistled at the speed of your drinking. “Not that I’m complainin’. Nice-lookin’ hair to let down.”

You glanced at Harvey, who was looking at the table, expression laced with acid.

“You all right, darling?” Elliott asked. You clenched your jaw with a nod at the redhead over the top of your beer.

“Probably just kinda high-brow for this conversation,” Abigail sipped her drink. “City girl and everything. She’s got a degree, you know. I’m not sure our favourite farmer is the type to discuss who she wants to get freaky with. Besides, there are better ways to de-stress than making out with Shane. Making out with me, for example, since I don’t smell like chickens and pizza boxes.” The table erupted in peals of laughter again.

“Oh, come on,” you put your head in your hands and let yourself sigh.

“Hey, let’s take five. You ain’t actin’ yourself.” Shane motioned to stand. “Come let me buy you another drink.” He patted you on the shoulder and manoeuvred you over to the bar. Harvey’s eyes followed you all the way. “Y’alright? You seem… kinda out of it.”

“Yeah, no, I’m… it’s as I said, just stressed.” Harvey was not on the cards. He was not on the cards. You had put him in that position. And yet, that other voice in your head, circling your mind like a vulture. If he doesn’t want it, why is he still making you feel like this?

Shane took you by surprise and put his hand on your waist, pulling you into a hug. His hand stroked your hair, the other on your back again. You could see Harvey’s face reddening as you looked over his shoulder. “You’re a bad liar,” he muttered quietly into your ear.

You sighed and pulled away. “Gus, can I have a whiskey?” The bartender smiled and nodded.

“Been seein’ a certain someone makin’ eyes at ya for weeks. Gotta make a girl, y’know… feel some kinda way, huh?” He raised his eyebrows briefly, suggestively, at you, waiting for a response.

You frowned. “Just don’t know how to feel is all. I, um… we sort of… something happened a while ago. And we’ve not talked about it since. And when it happened he was all ‘this isn’t right’ and then was going to go through with it anyway, and now he’s doing this whole ‘holier than thou’ thing because, you know, I’m his patient. And because he probably doesn’t want a controversial younger girlfriend. Or whatever.”

“Seen the way he stares at ya. Ain’t nothin’ holy about that,” Shane turned towards the bar and rested his forearms on the varnished wood, looking up at the empty wine bottles lining the wall as decoration. “I’m sorry darlin’.” It was genuine. “And just so you know,” he grinned, eyes crinkling at the edges, “I’d be real fuckin’ pissed off if I were you. You ain’t a kid. Anyone with a pair of workin’ eyes can see that,” he sent you another soft wink and you laughed. “I can see how that would make you feel a little…” He poked his tongue into his cheek in thought, assessing the next words. “Hot under the collar. So to speak.”

“You can say that again,” you said through your teeth. “Haven’t so much as been on a date since. Or before. But we don’t need to talk about that.”

“Damn. Got it bad, huh?” He grinned and clapped your shoulder.

You groaned dramatically and put your forehead on the bar. He snorted a laugh, and then was silent for a moment.

“Baby, if you just need a little quick, hard and messy, I’m all yours, y’know,” his voice was lower when he spoke this time. You could see him glancing around to check whether anyone was in earshot.

You felt the blood rush to your cheeks, looking up; Shane was looking absently down at his hands, flicking his lighter. “Come again?”

“You heard.” The corner of his mouth turned up in a charming, tempting smile, and he looked towards you. “Tell ya what. If he ain’t gonna work for it, we’ll just have to show him what he’s missin’.” He put a comforting palm on your knee. “You want me to stop, just let me know. And if you don’t,” he pulled up a bar stool to sit closer to you, leaning in towards your ear, “then we can take this back to yours, and I can show ya just what it’s like to be with a man of his word.” The southern drawl was soft and honest. “Ain’t gotta be any feelings involved. Just a little stress relief.” You looked over his shoulder as Harvey poured himself another wine. Gus put your whiskey on the bar. You slammed it.

He was right. He was so right, actually. You did have a right to be kind of pissed off. So what if you had a massive crush on Harvey? What were you even hoping to accomplish by holding out for him when all he was ever going to do was get jealous and not address whatever had happened on the beach? So what if you wanted to take someone home? Harvey could have had you. He’d had plenty of time, he’d had plenty of courage spare in that stupid cave. If he’d wanted it - really wanted it - he would have taken it. You could feel yourself starting to get pleasantly buzzed from the alcohol, felt heat creeping into your cheeks.

“We’ve decided we’re gonna play a little game,” Abigail announced lightheartedly as you returned to the table, Sam and Sebastian nodding enthusiastically. “We’re gonna go around and share some secrets about each other, and then guess who they’re about.”

“Sounds dangerous,” you replied, sitting a little closer to Shane than last time. His arm returned to the back of your chair, thumb grazing your back.

“All right, I’ll go first,” the purple haired girl folded her arms and leaned back in thought. “Someone at this table is really into older men.” You felt your cheeks turning red. This was an awful idea.

“Has to be Sam, right?” Shane chimed. Laughter erupted.

“Right, suuuure,” Sam looked between you and Shane. “I think there’s an obvious answer. Dilf enthusiast over here.” Sam poked you across the table. More giggles from the table. You hid your face in your hand, giving Abigail a playful shove. Peeking through your fingers, you could see Harvey’s eyes darkening across the table. Shane was chuckling into your ear, arm coming forward to settle gently around your shoulders.

“Not sure I needed to be told,” he said softly, rough voice heavy with charisma. He glanced over at Harvey, who you saw meet his eyes. Your move, said Shane’s steady gaze.

“All right. Sam, you go next.”

“Uhh… Sam furrowed his brow. “Someone at this table… has a secret romantasy collection.”

“Elliott,” Leah blurted, immediately covering her mouth, and Elliott snorted with laughter.

“Inspiration strikes at the oddest of content,” he threw his hands up. “If it’s a princess and a stablehand getting it on in an enchanted rose garden then so be it.” Peals of laughter.

“My turn,” Elliott said. He looked down and stroked his chin as if deliberating. “How personal am I getting?” You suddenly felt a ball of nerves inside your chest. You had an awful gut feeling you knew what was coming.

“Go on, be mean,” Sebastian said, with that quiet, curious tone you knew well.

“I once saw,” Elliott grinned, resting his face innocently in one hand, elbow propped on the table, “two people at this table in an incredibly compromising position in a cave by the beach.”

Your face drained of colour. A chorus of “oooooh” sounded at the table. You tried your best to look natural. You weren’t sure how well it was working.

“Has to be Sam and Sebastian, right?” Abigail smirked. Laughter again.

“I’ll be damned if I ever fuck in a cave.” Sebastian spoke flatly, eliciting more titters.

“I’ll be damned if I ever fuck Sebastian,” Sam retorted.

“Hm. Well, two suspects eliminated. By the skin of their teeth,” Abigail said lightly. “I’m not really a cave dwelling type myself, at least not in a romantic sense. Can’t be Harvey, surely?” she wondered aloud. “I imagine you like to keep it sterile, huh, Doc?” Harvey swallowed nervously and said nothing, just sipped his wine. “Oh my God, it’s soooo Shane. You’re not above caves, are you? And I’m sure Little Miss Minecart over here wouldn’t mind it either,” she raised her eyebrows.

“As much as I like our darlin’ farmer,” Shane smiled slightly, “I’ll have to say it wasn’t me.” He returned his hand to the small of your back, giving your hip a small squeeze. Harvey’s hair was practically standing on end at this. He was looking at you like a wolf looks at a piece of meat.

“So farmer and… someone. Doesn’t really narrow it down frankly. Could be any one of us. Not me though. Obviously.”

“Harvey? You wanna go next?” Shane asked jovially. A challenge. The doctor drew in a long breath, deep in thought for a moment.

“I suspect that someone at this table,” Harvey spoke up, never looking at you, “gets off on calling me ‘Doctor’.” Stunned silence followed.

“Fuck,” Sebastian’s jaw was on the floor. Silence for a few seconds. “That really is kinda hot honestly.”

“Mystery solved,” Leah giggled. Harvey’s eyes pierced into yours as Sebastian argued with the table.

“Didn’t know you were into those sortsa things,” Shane purred into your ear, and your stomach tied itself into knots. “I know it’s you. Dirty girl.” His thumb stroked at your upper thigh next to your hip. You couldn’t help it. You hadn’t meant to say it that day at the beach but it had just come tumbling out.

“‘Scuse me, just going to run out for some air,” Harvey announced.

“Yeah, I’ll come for a smoke,” you said quickly. “You got a cigarette, Shane?”

“Anything for you, sweet cheeks,” he dug in his pockets and handed you a packet of Camels and a lighter, and followed Harvey to the door.

Outside in the quiet, Harvey lit up his own smoke. He didn’t look at you.

“Harvey?” you tried. He didn’t say anything, just took another drag. “Harvey,” you walked towards him, “Talk to me, what the hell is going on? Why the fuck did you say th-”

He pushed you back against the wall, holding your shoulders against the brick of the saloon. You fell silent, his breath heavy with cigarette smoke and wine. You thought that he might kiss you then, that it might have worked, that he might pick you up and whisk you back to the clinic, that he might lock his door behind him and prove that you were all his, that only he could make you feel like this.

“Is he fucking you?” It was a soft sentence from deep in the back of his throat, almost a whisper. You felt your chest tighten. It wasn’t husky. It wasn’t the kind of low, tempting question which could be a prelude to something good and hot and dangerous. It was the kind of soft, quiet rage only Harvey could possibly muster.

“You’re drunk.” You spoke the realisation out loud. Your heart sank. This was about as honest as you were going to get him.

“Answer me.” He was almost shaking, ash falling from his smoking cigarette.

You opened your mouth for a second to try to form an answer, blood rushing to your cheeks as he held you tight against the wall. “I- well, y-you’re not fucking me. So I can’t see how it’s your problem.”

“It’s my problem because he’s a piece of shit,” Harvey spat, the end of his cigarette lighting his furious face.

“Harvey,” you said, incredulous. “What the fuck are you on about? He’s your patient too. Don’t be so fucking cruel.” You pushed him off. “You don’t know him. Certainly not like I do.”

“I know him well enough to know he isn’t good for you.” He tapped ash from the end of the Marlboro. “I doubt most people know him as well as you do,” he said with no small amount of snark, cigarette back between his teeth.

“You jealous fucking ass,” you hissed through your teeth. “‘What’s good for me’? You’ve had every chance on the fucking planet to take me home and that’s all you can manage. As if it’s any of your goddamn business.”

“Oh, right, every chance. Every chance is pretty fucking rich when every time I see you you’re practically sitting on his lap.” He smoked again.

“You wait up all night to come and fetch me from the desert,” you snarled at him. He stopped in his tracks and looked at you. “I’m not fucking stupid, Harv, I know you do. You know where I live, you know when I work, you know when I sleep, you know when I come to the bar. I come into your office at least twice a week, every week. So yeah, you have had every chance.”

He pursed his lips and turned away to smoke again.

“You could have dragged me out of here at any point tonight and taken me home,” you hissed at him, stepping closer. “You live alone above the clinic, for God’s sake, you could have taken me upstairs after work for a goddamn hour or six any time you wanted. You could have dropped by some evening, or some morning, or I don’t know, any fucking time. You could have had me against this wall in the time we’ve had this conversation. But you won’t, will you, you total idiot?”

“No. I won’t. Because what kind of asshole would I be to take advantage of someone who’s - what, ten years younger than me?”

“The same kind of asshole who would have fucked me until I couldn’t walk at the beach if Elliott hadn’t arrived,” you snapped. He brought his cigarette to his mouth again, hand trembling. “So. There it is. You know I want it. You know you want it. I don’t think moral high ground has anything to do with it. You’d have got what you wanted by now if you weren’t such an insecure fucking coward.” You looked through the window to see Shane walking towards the door, and stepped closer to the tall doctor. “If you won’t, I’ll go home tonight with someone who will.”

Harvey glowered down at you for a moment, and then brushed past you, throwing his cigarette butt on the damp ground, and opened the saloon door, trembling, stared down Shane for a moment before entering the building and slammed the door behind him. Shane took the cigarette out of your hands and took a drag, backing you up slowly, methodically, against the wall and putting his hands either side of your head. He blew smoke to the side of you.

“Bad news?” he leaned forward, a good couple of inches taller than you, to press his lips against that little area behind your ear. You sighed.

“You guessed it. He fucking hates you, dude.”

“Too bad, baby,” Shane stroked your cheek roughly and offered a smile. “Ah, that’s okay. I ain’t exactly the most likeable guy.” He winked softly and put the cigarette to his mouth, taking another drag and then returning it to your own lips with two fingers, hands coming to rest rough on your hips, thumbs squeezing your waist. “I’d love you to tell me all about that time in the cave. I knew it was you and him by the way his ears got all red. Sounds hot. Maybe you could talk me through it tonight, work out some of those town doctor-related frustrations, huh, sweet cheeks?” You laughed lightly, desire burning you up. You’d prefer it was Harvey tonight, and Shane knew it and he didn’t care, and he was still attractive, all big hands and Southern charm and broad shoulders. You liked him. You needed something, and he was glad to be whatever you wanted him to be for a while. “C’mon, let’s finish that drink.”

*****

I absolutely loved writing this. Hope you likey. More of our favourite chunky and hunky JojaMart minimum wage employee next time, folks (a good few inches more, in fact), so make sure you're tuned in and ready to use Tumblr dot com with one hand only.

Love from Fic&Fix xxxx

[fictionandfixation]

[fictionandfixation]

okay guys. doctor’s orders chapter 2 dropping today or tomorrow. You’ve waited for Shane content long enough

[fictionandfixation]

Hello! For a Silco sketch request, what about him leaning in a doorway all sassy? Idk I just love full body sketches of that lanky man.

OH NOOO you got stuck while running away from Firelights. 😔 Luckily ur boss is here to help!

[fictionandfixation]

See this is what I’ve been SAYIN

fully convinced that shane listens to midwest emo. that mf has been waiting for modern baseball and title fight to get back together for years. natty ice by dear maryanne is the most shane coded song istfg

[fictionandfixation]

It's sales time on INPRNT!!!

From this bad boy...

...to this bad boy...

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Everything is 10% off! It's dangerous outside, take a crimelord home with you!

[fictionandfixation]

NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.

[fictionandfixation]

SILCO X OC: THE HYDRA

Part II. Mirrors | Rating: M | MDNI | previous

Warnings: Allusion to sexual intercourse. Brief mention of oral sex (F receiving). Brief explicit mention of PIV. Canon typical violence. Threat. Physical assault (again lol). Voyeurism if you look really, really hard. Allusion to murder and cover-up. Silco exerts canon-typical villainy. Girlbossing too close to the sun.

Summary: Silco's afternoon reflections are interrupted by Keys' post-dinner fight. Unfortunately for him, what he overhears of the incident forces him to remember what he wishes to forget. Read on under the cut.

Please enjoy. Harvey/Shane/farmer content also coming very soon. Keep those eyes peeled, Stardew enjoyers, and in the meantime enjoy some slightly different obsessive dilf content.

Silco paced his office.

He knew he’d seen it. He knew he had. Blue crackles, bright blue, coming straight out of her fist and into that thug’s head. Like lightning. She didn’t even seem to have noticed that he’d gone flying, flying feet away through the air, not just fallen over. It was like he was paper. Like he’d been hit with a wrecking ball. Like-

Like magic, a voice in his head told him.

“Utter rubbish,” he muttered to himself, picking up a pen and clicking the end in time with his paces. “But…still.”

You must be imagining things.

“But I did see something,” he snapped to nobody, flinging himself rather dramatically down on the plush red sofa at the side of his study. “I must be going mad.” No one replied. No one was there. Further confirmation, he supposed; wasn’t talking to yourself supposed to be a sign something was wrong with you? He sighed heavily and snapped open a powder compact with one hand. Perhaps he’d be more sure if he had two working eyes, he thought, grimacing at the appearance of the ruined side of his face and batting the sponge in the compact against it softly; it was little help, but still. He’d rather little help than no help at all.

It had taken him weeks after the fight at the river to learn how to cover it. He’d had to walk like some kind of injured dog around the Lanes trying to get himself some makeup, and then spent hours leaning against the cracked mirror in his bathroom, redrawing and re-concealing and re-powdering until he finally mastered it. God, he was young then, vain to a fault with thick dark hair before Vander's knife sliced through him, and he’d almost cried at how good it felt to look human again. Not quite normal, but not as hideous as before. The sight of himself still utterly repulsed him, so much so that after one particularly bad day, he had punched the mirror so hard it shattered. He had come away with a long sliver of glass in his hand. He looked down at the scar between his thumb and forefinger, rubbing it with the thumb on his other hand. He had never replaced that mirror. He’d rather go without having to look at himself every day, and he knew that the rest of him looked neat enough, so he kept to his little compact, focused on the eye and only the eye, and on making it look less… well. Less disgusting.

That had been the end of his youthful, stupid self-absorption with his appearance; or at least, it had been until Keys appeared.

God, he must have looked awful when he saw her earlier. He hated that he cared about it even now, but there was no use in pretending. He’d been thinking about what had happened between them ever since it ended.

He wasn’t sure what it was - whether they were just scared and did whatever he wanted (he fucking hoped not) or whether his manner or his power were appealing, for it could not be his face, surely - but he was quite popular with women. And men, now he mentioned it, but he indulged in that sort of fun less. Lessons of his youth. He’d had a few women in his bed between the trouble with Keys' father and now - if anything he’d been more promiscuous than usual, earning an eyebrow-raise from Sevika (“Twice this week?” - “I don’t pay you for your attitude, Sevika.”). For all his effort, it was her keeping him up at night. Sometimes, it had him waking up sweating, and no matter what he did, no matter who he invited back to his rooms, nothing felt as good as her. It was a little better now, so he thought, but seeing her today, catching her as she fell and watching her gaze up at him, as though he wasn’t hideous, as though she wasn’t scared, as though she found him the most normal thing on the gods’ green earth… well. It had certainly not helped.

He snapped the compact shut and pushed himself up, picking one of his cigars from a case on his desk, bringing it closer to his sharp nose and inhaling its scent, good eye closing, and rummaged for a cigar cutter; he held the metal thing between his teeth and lit a long match, toasting the end of the tobacco until it was berry-red and then snipping the other side. He sauntered around the long oak desk, vintage from an antiques dealer he knew on Topside, took a seat in his chair and took a long, languid drag, tossing the cutter into a drawer.

The question of that electric energy sparkling from Keys’ fingers was still waltzing around in his brain, though he found himself distracted. He slid his fingers through his hair, feeling the cool weight of his rings on his scalp, and rested his hand there for a moment before letting it drop back to his side.

Perhaps that’s not the question you should be asking, Silco, he thought. Perhaps the question was not about why it was there, but about how he could use it. He narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t just take her out of the Hydra Program - he wanted whatever this was to be his (wanted her to be his, the voice in his head mocked with no small amount of venom, and he kicked himself internally), and he didn’t want anyone asking questions.

“I want a team,” he told Sevika, gazing out of his green-tinged window. “New initiates. Totally dedicated, completely new, eyes on the prize. Strong, smart, motivated.”

“…what for?” she asked. “Got the doctor and I, haven’t you?”

“And you’re not going anywhere. So don’t worry about that.” He spun on the chair to face her. “I’m not eating up company time and money for nothing, though, Sevika.” He leaned on the desk and prismed his fingers under his chin. “I need a team so strong, so deadly, that Topside not only won’t, but can’t ignore us.”

Yes. That’s what he’d said. A team. Granted, the promise that the one who achieved the top spot would come into his inner circle may have been, in hindsight, slightly over the top. He had not reckoned on the probability that such controversial personalities as Pith, Papp and Eem would join the group, but a group they were - and he had to honour his word now, though he knew he would live to regret it if any of those three became the leader of the bunch. They were headstrong and confident, yes, but Papp was about as thick as two short planks, Eem had an ego stroked by time in Topside, and Pith… well. He was the worst of the lot. It had made Silco seethe when he’d taunted Keys like that; he’d have beaten the man to death if he’d done it himself, so thought it better that Sevika get to it instead. He would have admired Pith for his brutality were it not for his overly fragile, vaguely manic and exceptionally violent ego. Ruthlessness was an advantage. Lack of restraint, however, was anything but.

Silco valued precision. He did things methodically. He walked at a languid, slinking pace, catlike. He spoke with controlled authority. His paperwork done with mind-numbing attention to detail, his clothes chosen and cleaned and pressed with utter care. He wouldn't settle for less. Everything slow and accurate and emphasised, words, habits, actions, and yet deeply calculated, deeply unpredictable to those who couldn't read him; something he remembered Keys liked about him, actually. He was bothered by the idea that someone with the volatility and hot-headedness of Pith was vying for a risky spot as a fairly important lackey.

He gazed over the changes in the leaderboard for today. He had personally seen to it that Keys was moved up several spots - no doubt Julion didn’t need telling, but he just wanted to make sure. Keys knocking out that man had practically left Silco drooling, his ability to sniff out untapped power like a hound after blood polished as ever, and he was not about to let that go unrewarded. He’d sent a message down to the kitchen too, to tell them a certain slight, dark-haired trainee deserved something a little more palatable this evening.

Silco did not, he would admit, eat simply. He had come from nothing, and wishing to put all of that behind him, he ate only the best. Fresh fruit, seafood. Lots of meat. Meat was a privilege here, and he relished every bite. He had his trainees eat a little of it too, just to give them a lick of the good life - there had been a time, back when he was trying to become someone else, after the incident where he let that young, vain man die, when he ate exactly what they were eating, and it had brought out muscles, defined the wiry planes of his chest and arms, had fuelled him and made him stronger. One day, a few of them would eat like him, like a king. But first they had to suffer. He felt a little bad about subjecting Keys to this, but she had said she would do anything. She was robust in personality. Knowing Keys, a couple of plates of sludge weren’t going to have her backing out of their little arrangement.

He leaned back in his chair and heard a crackle from the wall. He shot up to stand next to a shiny iron box on the wall. The clunky metal thing, which had an on and off switch and a small gramophone speaker in the front, was apparently the best money could buy (not that he cared too much what it cost). Crystal clear sound from hundreds of feet away if installed properly, the engineer who had fitted it had told him. To his credit, he’d been right. To his misfortune, however, he knew about the complex below the Last Drop, so after he'd istalled the thing, he had to die. Silco had compensated his family well - an accident, he'd said convincingly. Truly a tragedy, he had soothed when he went to see them - personally, of course. Thankfully, this was Zaun. Anyone down here could be plied to his will, silenced by an offering from his heavy pockets. No one even dared name a price. They took what he gave them, and he'd never heard from any of them since.

Worth it, he thought, as he listened to his most interesting trainee coming back to her room.

He’d heard footsteps earlier and assumed it might be her, but they were long, slow, unlike the almost jittery, usually very caffeinated pace of Keys. He had thought little of it. Some of the others came this way too. Yet, he did think it odd that the long steps stopped right next to the innocent looking hole in the wall where he’d had that poor engineer put in the microphone, and as he heard a sudden scuffle, he realised why.

It was that stupid boy, waiting for her outside her room. He was half tempted to call Sevika, but a larger part of him than he liked wanted to just see what happened.

He heard the chime of something against a wall. What on earth had he taken? A knife? Surely not the blunt butter knives from dinner. Silco had made sure nothing was deadly down there, except when allowed to be for training purposes. Nothing sharp, nothing pronged, nothing dangerous. He must have been crafty, he’d hand the boy that. Silco turned up the volume, and took another drag from his cigar, blowing the smoke into a satisfying ring in the air.

The sound of Pith’s scratchy, uptight voice, strained with rage, made him almost drop the cigar on the floor.

“Why did he do that? I saw how he looked at you, don’t pretend to me that he would have done that for anyone else.”

Silco heard an unpleasant crash and Keys’s voice, a cry of pain. “Fuck,” he muttered, and took another drag to take the edge off. “Sevika!” The burly woman rushed through the doors. “Get downstairs. Now. Keys is in danger - but keep your distance. I want you to tell me everything.” She looked at him for a moment. “Go!” he barked, and she nodded and disappeared. He sighed; even if she didn’t end up intervening, he’d feel much better with Sevika lurking around the corner in the shadows.

“Where’s that fucking bravery now? Huh? Fucking bitch.” Silco’s brow furrowed, the slow, dangerous sort of anger he was known for making its way onto his face.

“Dirty little gutter rat. What did you do for him, hm?” It caught him off guard. He certainly didn’t think he was being that obvious, and this idiot knowing about his history with Keys was a liability. He brought his fingers to his mouth and smoked again.

“Watch that fucking mouth or I’ll knock your teeth out.”

“Atta girl,��� murmured Silco with a slight smile. Always defiant, always witty. It had been one of his favourite things about her, back when-

“Come on then. Get up. Pathetic animal.” The rage returned as soon as it had given way to thoughts of Keys.

“Sit on his lap and ask nicely, did you? No? More than that?” Silco’s breath hitched in his throat. So this is what that rat thought of her? Of him? A whore and her employer. His face creased with disgust, the slightest downwards turn of his cruel mouth, but he couldn’t tear himself away. Pith would pay for this, when the time was right. Not now. But he would pay. Perhaps, indeed, Keys would simply carry out the act herself.

“I have not done anything for that man.” The retort was exactly what he expected of her, but the venom in it still ached. He supposed it was his fault. Of course it was his fault. They wouldn’t be here if it he hadn’t been so stupid. He felt a sudden pang of regret at his own lack of foresight cut through the fury. He should have killed her father. He should have gone through with it, or at least cut them off. No. That wouldn’t have been enough. She reminded him of himself of a few years ago - a revolutionary spirit. She would have made an enemy of him. He should have killed her too, knife buried in the cavity underneath her ribs. He could have held her and whispered his sorry and then left her dead on the floor with her father. He could have forgotten, and then everything would have returned to normal.

That was what he should have done. That was the only way he could have removed her from his life, stopped her from being a distraction; the only way for him now to stop her from keeping him up at night. He was becoming weak. He was allowing her to get in the way.

“Oh, touchy, touchy. What can I say? I’m unconvinced. Let him fuck you, I’ll bet. In his office, was it? In that lovely big chair of his? Or maybe on his desk.” He fought himself not to bring a hand to his mouth to cover the sharp inhale.

“-Bet you let him put his head between your legs. You must have a strong stomach, I’ll give you that, to let him and that fucking eye of his anywhere near you, let alone his cock. Do wonder… Do wonder if the eye stays open when he has his tongue in someone’s mouth. Or does it close with the other one? Care to tell me?”

Silco let out a slow, heavy breath from his cigar and sat down, still listening. He felt like every emotion at once was running through him, though he would never betray it. Trembling anger frothed within him at this insolent boy, barely old enough to tie his shoelaces yet possessing the gall to speak of the most powerful man in Zaun this way. Yet, there was another thing. The soft trail of the fingertips of want glided over his shoulders, down his stomach. He recalled, for a moment, nose buried in neck, hands tangled in hair, thumbs digging into the divot of hips. He grimaced and shook it off. Guilt and lust. They always went hand in hand, hating each other, making the other so much worse.

There was a scuffle, a cry of anger and the dense sound of a punch, followed by the crash of someone falling in a heap to the floor. Silco held his breath and waited, and sighed heavily as he heard Keys breathing heavily near the receptor. He’d recognise the sound anywhere - it had, of course, once been right into his ear in a Zaunite alleyway as he’d gone at her skin with lips and teeth.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up. Fuck." He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment to clear his head. The memory sent him to his drinks cabinet for a bourbon, which he poured neat and sipped, almost shaky (almost), as he sat back down, crossed one leg over the other and picked his cigar back up for another drag. The drink burned, and made him feel no calmer.

“Oh, there you are - thought you’d gone back to… I - shit, man - what happened?” Boots. Silco generally hated teenagers, but this one was remarkably smart. He didn’t hear the next part; he imagined someone was standing right in front of the receptor, someone big - Claris, he supposed by the gruff voice (it reminded him of Sevika - perhaps a little gentler), but it was muffled and uncertain. Silco took a deep breath and poured another bourbon, after knocking back the last with practised ease.

“Sit and rot and feel sorry for yourself for a few hours. Cunt.” The next sentence took him by surprise, and yet he found himself smiling. That’s my girl. But she wasn’t his. Idiot. What a stupid fucking mess he’d got himself into.

“There’s plenty more where that came from, so I reckon from now on, it’d be a great idea for you to shut your mouth or I’ll stick that bit of cup so far up your arse it’ll cut your tongue. Get it?” He breathed a short chuckle. Battered or not, she was still Keys.

“And don’t ever suggest to me again that I’d fuck someone for anything other than my own pleasure. You don’t know anything about Silco and you know even less about me, so put a fucking sock in it.” Silco sat back, tossed his head back and drained his second drink. Fucking stop it, that voice in his head told him, but that didn’t stop the sharp-nailed fingers of want from slicing down his stomach. His name in her mouth. He was going to be thinking about that for a long, long time. There was another thud.

“Oh. And his bad eye doesn’t close at all, just so you fucking know. Pervert.” It was quiet. Silco pursed his lips and swallowed stiffly, a lick of confusion setting in. She had ample cause to hate him. But perhaps, she would not deny that there was a time when she did not. He bit down hard on his bottom lip as he heard the slam of the door to her rooms, signalling that he would hear no more of her. And - oh, how absolutely idiotic of her to say that. If anyone had heard her, if Pith was still conscious… people would talk. Sevika would never dream of it, though she was hearing all of this much better than Silco could, but the other trainees would. It would paint a target on Keys’ back. Silco’s favourite little plaything, he could imagine Pith mocking. Well. No use in holding her at arm’s length now. If everyone believed it anyway, it might as well be true.

He picked up the bourbon again, and swigged straight from the bottle. Sometimes, things called for him to abandon his coveted manners and return dutifully to an iteration of himself which had never held a crystal glass in his life. He heard the latch on the door go, and slipped the bottle back into the globe-shaped cabinet, slamming the lid with a loud, metallic snap and returning to his chair. He picked his cigar back up from the steel ashtray. The bourbon was hitting his head a little now - and thank fuck that it was, he thought, as Sevika entered and closed the door behind her.

“I need to speak to her,” Silco said matter-of-factly.

“No shit,” replied Sevika, and crashed down on the sofa. “Sorry for telling you the light thing was stupid. Saw it myself. Pretty dim down there, got a great view of it.”

Silco had forgotten all about this factor in his reminiscing, and his eyes snapped up the second it was brought back to his attention. “And…just as I thought?”

“Yup. Bright blue. Piltie arcane techno-whiz kinda blue. Couldn’t be anything else.” She took a snuff-box out of her back pocket, produced a filter and paper, and began to roll a cigarette. “Want me to get her now?” she asked, and licked the edge of the paper, not meeting his gaze.

He stroked his chin with one hand and swivelled his chair to face the window. The light, filtering through the polluted evening air of his city illuminated his face, the makeup on his left cheek looking almost ghostlike. ‘Let her rest. It can wait until tomorrow.” He stood, cigar in hand, and blew smoke at the window. “As soon as her training’s finished. Bring her directly to me. Speak to no one, see no one. If anyone knows… well. Things will be… a lot worse for her.” He sucked at the cigar again.

“Got a light?” his second in command asked him. He tossed his lighter over his shoulder and it sailed over the top of his chair; she caught it between two fingers. He heard the flick, flick, flick of the flint behind him, and then a slight crackle and Sevika inhaling deeply. “Listen. Uh. I kind of know…what happened between you. Obviously.” She leaned forward, knees apart, and leaned on her thighs. “Didn’t exactly keep your secret girlfriend a secret too well. At least not from me.”

Silco kept smoking. His cigar was nearing its end. “I feel no need to hide my personal affects and affairs from you, Sevika.”

“I know you meant to, at least back then. You should be more careful. I don’t know exactly how it went down. And I don’t care so I’m not gonna ask. But I want you to know,” Sevika said, and he heard her walk forward and lean on the edge of his desk, “I think you’re playing a real dangerous game this time around, boss.”

“You’ve seen her,” Silco said quietly. “What she can do. You told me yourself. She’s determined, too. Smart. All the makings of a leader. She will become an enemy if I don’t mould her into something else.” He laid the cigar to smoke out on the ash tray. “I need her here within arm’s reach. She doesn’t need to like me to play her part.”

Sevika nodded, bade him a gruff goodnight and swept out of the room.

Silco put his forehead in his hands as soon as she’d closed the door. Those few months - that moronic risk, acting on desire's every whim like an idiotic teenager - had hung, a low cloud, in his head, ever present since it ended. Like when you’d dipped your fingers in honey, and however many times you tried to wash it off, it was still sticky somewhere. But he would speak to her tomorrow, and he would have to keep it together, keep a lid on the fact that he loved that she had, once, made him feel human. Needed. Perfect. For now, he would quiet his more sensual desires in favour of something else he wanted from her.

Power.

For now, he would push it from his mind, ignore the grip of craving which had been closing its hand around his throat since he’d seen her again. For now, he just needed sleep. And, he thought, that rumbling feeling of I want dragging its fingers down his chest again, I am going to need a very cold shower.

*

Bit sluttier this chapter. Hope you guys enjoy. Crackling tension planned for next time y'all. And you know how well I do that.

Ciao for now xo - Fic&Fix

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Quick Sevika drawing because OH MY GOD

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envision this as him gesturing for a kiss on the cheek

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the only ‘we saw you from across the bar’ i would ever fall for imo (arcane is the bisexual agenda)

Tumblr, I am back to continue spreading the Melco agenda. They had to kill Silco because the concept of a canon Silco + Mel interaction was too much for riot to fathom.

Yet again, inspired by @lullabyes22-blog’s fantastic writing

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Steb doodles but he just woke up or something so his hair is kind of messy

[fictionandfixation]

DOCTOR'S ORDERS #1

Beach Day Blues

Stardew Valley: Harvey x Shane x AFAB!Reader

Part II

Monkey ask, monkey get. Here is Part I. Hope you guys like angst and pining and obsession and shit because there's loads of it. yall who replied in my notes, have fun: @mongoosingisme @voideggs @chickensinrainboots @7reya

Shane x reader is coming too for all u grumpy chicken man enjoyers. Allow the buildup baby. It WILL get sluttier. Much. Much. Sluttier. This is only like a fifth of the parts of the fic that are written so i can release more if you guys likey!

Summary: Harvey gets jealous and goes on a rescue mission. A memory of a very hot day at the beach threatens to ruin the tranquility of your life in the valley. An unfortunate moral problem gets in the way of you and your devastating crush: that you happen to be his patient, and that he happens to be a total professional.

Warnings: Intent to have semi-public sex (you didn't think i was gonna give it to you this early, did you?). Power dynamics. Slutty use of the title 'doctor'. Jealous!Harvey. Unconscious!Reader but no somno (maybe squinting reeeally hard). Age gap. Harvey is a total weirdo at the start of this fic. You guys will enjoy that though no doubt. Rating: Mature.

MDNI. Chapter under the cut. This shi long asf.

Part I. Beach Day Blues

Harvey pulled up at the side of the road. The desert was no small place, but he knew exactly where she’d gone - as he had done a million times before, he locked his little green vintage car and strode through the sand towards the caves. He had absolutely no idea how she’d even found this place, but the second she had, no one in town had heard the end of it. More time spent up at the adventurers’ guild, more bringing bagfuls of geodes for cracking open over to Clint’s. He huffed a sigh, and his eyes softened with sympathy as he saw her, snoozing almost peacefully right by the entrance to the caverns. He checked her over; she was battered, cuts and bruises littering her limbs and face. He scooped her up into his arms, and she brought her hands to her stomach, resting her head against his chest. There was no denying that now she’d opened these mines she had somehow, rumour had it, become fantastically wealthy. It didn’t matter to him. She was killing herself in the process.

“Safe now,” he whispered, carrying her back across the sand and laying her gently down in the passenger seat. He leaned across her seat to buckle her seatbelt and felt her soft breath on his neck. She made a small noise as she turned her head, and Harvey felt his stomach lurch, allowing himself a glance sideways at her as he fastened the belt across her waist. “Hope that’s comfortable, sweetheart,” he whispered again, the speech carried away with the desert wind. Probably for the best. He lifted her chin with one finger to untuck her hair from the seatbelt, cringing as the seatbelt made a screeching noise against the leather seat. She leaned into his hand, lips brushing against it, and he quickly retracted his touch, closing the car door with a soft click and heading around to the driver’s side. He flexed his fingers where she’d touched them, and just in case she was awake, pressed them to his mouth whilst she was still outside the car. He removed the hand and sidled into the car, resting his forehead for a moment against his steering wheel. “Fucking idiot,” he muttered under his breath, and, checking she was still out of it, reached into his pocket. He pulled out a box of Marlboro Golds, put one between his lips, dug in his cup holders for a metal lighter and flicked it to life, lighting up the cigarette and rolling down the window as he started the car. Don’t smoke, you’re supposed to be a doctor. He could almost hear her saying it. He blew a stream of smoke out of the window. The car was old and small, and she was sat almost too close for comfort; a turn out of the desert sent her sideways, and her head rested against his shoulder. Harvey almost shuddered, tapping the brake lightly, an ache deep in his chest causing him to take a long drag of the cigarette. Please. Please stay there. Please. Please.

They spent the rest of the drive home like that. Finally, Harvey pulled up to the medical centre and burst through the door, throwing his possessions asunder and digging through his drawers until he found a vial of green life elixir. He tossed his cigarette butt in the trash, then ran back out to the car. He put a drop of the sweet elixir on her tongue, his breath catching in his throat as his finger and her tongue met briefly, and then applied it to her wounds, gentle. He slid back into the car and kicked it into gear to drive her back to her farmhouse. It was such a quaint little spot, he always thought; very roomy, he had considered when she’d invited him in for coffee a few months ago. Room enough for two, a little voice in his head had said, and he’d kicked himself, glancing sideways over the brim of the mug she’d given him at the door of her bedroom.

He plucked her like a leaf out of the car, strong, practised arms no match for her. Still asleep, exhausted, she nestled into his chest. Harvey felt a pang of something cold and unpleasant down his spine. Guilty, guilty, guilty. Just tell her. Just tell her how she gets home. She has to wonder. What is wrong with you, you sick fuck? It raced through his mind every time he saw her, every time they shared a bottle of wine and some fruit from the farm with Elliot and Leah at the bar. She had this awful, sweet, teasing habit of fixing his tie when she’d had a few drinks - it was always a little crooked, and she would flip up his collar, pull it from him and retie it for him, hands around his neck and chest. Every time she did it, his hands shook, his neat, moustached face blushed red and he all but turned into a half-set custard.

Crippling jealousy would creep up on him as he saw her buy Shane a slice of pizza or a beer, really the only one in the town who made an effort with him. It paid off, too - she brushed it off, but Shane shamelessly flirted with her, flashing her a wry, bad-boy grin and shrugging off his hoodie to reveal broad shoulders, thick, strong arms from working on Marnie’s farm and a smattering of hair at the collar of his shirt whenever she came into the saloon. And Alex, who constantly complained of going too hard on arm day, was often rewarded with the sweet farmer’s thumbs digging into his shoulders, causing him to groan dramatically and pretend to collapse onto the table, to the laughter of all of his peers. Leah, fresh-faced and beautiful, would often receive fresh goat’s cheese from her, and would pepper her cheek with kisses in thanks. Haley would bite her lip and squish the farmer into a tight hug when she brought her sunflowers. Maru would squeak in delight when she brought gizmos and spare parts and bushels of strawberries to the clinic, while Harvey seethed in the office, staring down the jar of pickles she’d handed him at the door. And Elliot. Elliot was who Harvey felt the worst about. They were such good friends, talked and laughed with each other, and yet, on evenings when he saw Elliot interact with the farmer, all he felt was a burning, intense jealousy that made him want to hit something. Elliot was a wordsmith, charming, dashing, silver-tongued. He always had something to say, some coy, sly joke to throw into the conversation, and he could coax a giggle out of the farmer even on the worst of days. She was obsessed with his hair, and treated him sort of like a glorified doll, braiding and running her fingers through it, much to the redhead’s delight. He knew it wasn’t like that. Some deep primal part of him was just convinced otherwise.

Harvey, in comparison, was just some guy - meek, bookish and uninteresting. Besides, he was older. He wasn’t sure how much older than her he was - never ask a lady her age, of course - but it was probably in the region of about ten years, if not more. Harvey himself was just shy of thirty-six, salt and pepper grey already streaking his brown hair and his moustache, the maturity and quiet of a lonely sort approaching middle-aged dousing his personality. She had a fiery spirit, beautiful blind positivity about everyone and everything, an energy to her that he could never hope to keep up with. Astonishingly pretty. Funny and courageous.

No. No chance.

He dug in her bag and found her keys, unlocking her door and settling her gently on the couch. He observed her, sweet face illuminated by the embers of the fire she must have lit before she left, and stroked her hair a moment.

“See you tomorrow,” he murmured as he left, locked the door and posted the key through the letterbox attached to the front door, shoving the usual note into her mailbox as he left.

“Come on, come on. Come and sit with us.” You were laughing, trying to coax Shane into coming to sit with you, Harvey, Elliott, Leah, Sebastian, Sam and Abigail. “C’mon, three of them are emo as fuck, you’ll like them, sad man.”

“That ain’t earnin’ you any brownie points,” Shane replied with the twitch of a smile, and allowed himself to be dragged by the front of his shirt. “Ain’t all of y’all people about ten years old? Or is it twelve?”

“Old enough to get another beer,” Sam snorted. “You guys want anything?” He stood to go to the bar, and there was a chorus of ‘no thanks’. Shane made himself comfortable at the table and draped his arm over the back of your chair. You weren’t too interested in Shane - a conversation you’d had with him already - but you were both the same brand of talkative, hands-on drunk, so you casually flirted with him sometimes, and could see why the idea might have made its way through the town. Abigail had straight-up cornered you outside the mines and asked you if you were sleeping with him.

“Oh, my God, Abbie. No.”

“Dude. He’s all over you like a rash,” she’d laughed.

“That’s kind of gross, man. I can see where you’re coming from though. Nah, don’t worry. We’ve had the chat. It’s chill.”

“Didn’t know you were into older guys,” Abigail teased and nudged you as she accompanied you to the adventurers’ guild.

“Whatever. I’m just not obsessed with Shane, dummy,” you pushed her back. “However partial to an older gentleman I might be. And I mean, I’m not going to complain about a little pudge. I like ‘em kinda cuddly. But yeah. Not a serious kinda guy, is he, anyway?”

“Oh, so you are into older guys.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

The tavern was getting crowded, Harvey sitting right across from you, smiling quietly at your jokes with Abigail. Sam slid a beer over to you. “Just to say thanks for the help with the band.”

“Oh! Thanks honey, you didn’t need to.” Sam was a sweetheart, but he was a little young to be interested in you, and you were glad of it. Now, if we were talking about someone a bit older, like Abigail had been saying… there was an obvious choice here. Elliott was a real sweet talker, but he could be a little much at times, and besides your friendship was a little too strong to be thinking about him in that sort of way. Shane was off the cards, you reckoned. He was a charmer for sure underneath the icy, gruff exterior, but it was just as you’d said to Abigail - he wasn’t really a long-term sort of guy. And so, of course, that left Harvey. Oh, Harvey. You’d wondered how you got home from the desert after it happened the first few times. You wondered if you’d somehow not remembered staggering back onto the bus, but every time you were back home you woke up smelling of coffee and cigarettes and a very familiar smoky cologne that you couldn’t quite place. One morning, you had walked past Harvey early, right after both of you got up, and caught him in his private occasional smoking habit; then, everything fell into place as a breeze ruffled his hair and that familiar cologne wafted pleasantly under your nose. Oh, yes. It was him all right.

You’d always been interested in him, a quiet, reserved type who liked to read in the grass and always diligently patched you up when you came to him with a monster bite, big hands so tender and gentle. He was probably about nine or ten years older than you (fresh and spry at twenty five), and much taller as well, with broad shoulders and thick hair and oh, God, that moustache. You loved how mature and smart he was, how his hair was littered with a little silver, how his forehead had a few frown lines on it. Handsome, for sure, with that hot-dad kind of appearance it was hard to stay away from. But he kept to himself, so you had thought you’d better just soldier through your crush and let him be. But the news that he was going out of his way to make sure you were safe, to make sure you were warm and asleep in your farmhouse every night… it had flared something up in you that you hadn’t felt for months, and that nagging crush was worsening.

There was, admittedly, once you thought something might come of it, however short-lived, and since then you’d really been down bad for him. You’d gone swimming in the shallows of the sea with Harvey, Elliot and Leah in the summer, and suddenly the sky had cracked open like a fat blue walnut and started pouring floods of rain on top of you. You and Harvey had taken shelter in a tiny cave off the coast, Leah and Elliot deciding to race barefoot to Elliott’s hut for some towels and coats. You’d laughed yourselves sore watching them go, Elliott’s salty hair waving in the wind, Leah falling on the sand, Harvey’s hand on your shoulder to guide you into the cave away from the downpour.

“God, it’s freezing. Come on, let’s at least be dry.”

“Colder in here than it is out there,” you shivered, wiping tears of laughter, and he ran his hands up and down your arms to warm you as you squeezed into the cave. You laughed harder, taking his hands. “Oh, fuck, stop, tickles.” It was barely even an alcove, hardly big enough for two. And all of a sudden, Harvey was very, very close to you. So close, in fact, that you could feel the heat coming off his skin. You were silent for a few moments, catching your breath. His chest rose and fell with intensity from laughing, smile fading, and then you could see his lips moving towards yours, and then your hands were on his cheeks and then you were up against the wall and then he had frozen, millimetres away from a kiss, mouth slightly open, breath heavy.

“Shit,” he whispered, and stepped back. “Oh, shit, shit, shit. I’m so sorry, I didn’t - I didn’t mean-” He tried to flatten himself against the opposite wall of the cave.

To no avail - you could feel his breath hot on your neck, shallow and nervous, could see the vein in his neck fighting for dear life to pump blood to his quickening heart. You stole a glance down towards his trunks, dark hair littering his lower stomach. He turned to the side in embarrassment to shield himself from your sharp, apparent gaze.

“Medical emergency, doctor? You look a little faint,” you tried tentatively. You touched the tips of your fingers lightly to his waist. His hands found the wall behind you, enclosing you.

“Don’t.” he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth as your hands drifted up his damp chest. The next words came out as a whisper; he squeezed his eyes shut as though in pain and dipped his head towards your neck, lips inches from your flesh, breath hitching in his throat. “This isn’t right. And I-” he swallowed nervously. “I won’t be able to stop myself.”

“I didn’t take you for the rough type. Doctor,” you murmured back, your hands travelling lower, to his stomach, and he let out a shuddering, shaky breath.

“You don’t know what you’re doing calling me that,” he looked away, jaw clenched, restraint evident on his face. Yet, he did not move. “I can’t. I can’t, I can’t.”

“Why? Do you like it?” You gazed up at him, eyes heavy-lidded. You were utterly fixated on his face, the slight purse of his lips as he fought to keep his hands where they were, the flutter of his gaze as his arms rebelled, leaving the wall behind your head and hovering just shy of the flesh of your hips.

“Please, I’m begging, sweetheart, you have to stop,” he breathed raggedly, and his hands closed on your waist as you pressed closer still, hands finding the sides of his neck, bringing his face away from your neck. Your lips were inches apart, and his gaze flicked between your eyes and your lips. You’d never heard him like this, danger and pleading in his voice at the same time. You were entranced. You closed the distance, and pushed your lips against his. He jolted with shock, and then gave in, kissing you deeper. He pushed his hips against you lightly, groaning low and rough next to your ear, pushing you back against the wall behind you again and running his palms down your sides, settling his fingers on the hem of your swimsuit. “Come on, they’re going to be back any second- I- if we go any further… fuck, fuck, I want to ruin you so bad-“

The mere thought got you worked up. Harvey taking you against the rock like an animal, rough and unsteady, panting in your ear, just as the others discovered what you were doing… the very idea made you feel absolutely wild. Your eyelids drooped, bedroom eyes taking on a life of their own, and you felt your mouth dropping open as your breath became heavier.

“You want to ruin me?” you said, breathless. “Then ruin me.”

He covered his mouth for a moment in panic, and then quickly removed it, knitting his brow, silent for a moment. He pursed his lips and glanced to the entrance of the cave. “Shit. Shit, okay.” He spun you around in what little space you had, bent you over against the wall and entangled a hand in your hair to keep you there, pulling roughly back and leaning in to plant a kiss on your neck-

“Got towels!” There was a call from a way off. The sun was back, and Elliott was at the mouth of the cave in no time, tossing a couple of towels in. Harvey muttered a curse, tore himself from your body before the redhead could discern what they were doing, and turned away, breathing hard, and you quickly stood up before Elliott saw. Harvey caught a towel and wrapped it loosely around his waist to cover up what you’d done to him, and he all but ran out of the cave.

That had been it. Harvey had been almost silent ever since, but you could see him bristling every time you shared a beer and a cigarette with Shane or braided Elliott’s hair, every time Sebastian gave you a socially awkward sideways hug. Every time you headed out to gossip hand in hand with Haley or borrowed Emily’s clothes you could feel the stare boring into you. You’d made a habit of prodding at what was clearly a jealous streak just to see what would happen, dressing up, putting on a little outfit you thought he’d like; this evening, a long sleeved black cotton top, hugging and well fitting, short heels and a fairly tasteful plaid skater skirt which ran to your mid thigh. Only recently had he plucked up the courage to speak to you properly again. He hadn’t mentioned what had happened at the beach, but he was (almost) up to his old self.

The experience in the cave was grinding at your head every moment of the day. I want to ruin you. Oh, god, you wanted him to do it, but you were convinced he hated you now - whether because of what had happened at the beach or over your friendship with the town’s other bachelors. It didn’t matter which. He was a no-nonsense kind of man, mature, professional and to-the-point, and you felt so deeply guilty for teasing him like that, for not giving him space. He was a man with a reputation to upkeep - of course being caught like that wasn’t on the cards for him, so of course he’d resent you for almost talking him into it.

The taste of him had never washed out of your mouth. You had wanted him then, but you needed him now. It had been months since the beach and all you’d felt were pangs of shame and desire and idiocy whenever he met your eyes over his glass of wine whilst you were trying to distract yourself with a drink with Elliott or Shane or Maru, whenever he brushed your shoulder in Pierre’s. It was torture trying to keep away, trying to pretend you didn’t have the most criminal crush on him, that you didn’t want him to march you into his supply cupboard in the medical centre during your check-up and press you into the wall and cover your mouth to keep you quiet and just do whatever he wanted with you. No one had ever reacted to you like that, begging, pleading, threatening, as though you were sin itself. No one had ever made you feel like that in so short a moment, like you were theirs, like they could commit atrocities against you which would make the devil blush and you wouldn’t bat an eye. No one had ever made you want them so badly you would have risked being seen getting railed in a fucking cave by two of your closest friends.

Shane clinked his glass against yours and sent you a wink. Harvey’s foot slid beside yours under the table. You laughed at Shane, trying to shake off the feeling that the shoe beside yours was there on purpose.

*

Okay yall that's it for now. Slutty af, unrequited af, moral dilemma af, yeehaw shane af. Tell me how you like it. As I said - chicken man x reader and more escapades of a lewis and marnie nature to follow between reader + harvey! I have edited this a bit since posting, so feel free to revisit <3

also i am very open to changing bits of this, so let me know what kind of plot points u guys wanna see in the future! Love from Fic&Fix <3