#a rough idea but with some polishing it could work

[brairslair]

(i debated whether or not to ask this anonymously)

so yknow how eddie has a W.A.S.P pin on his vest? can you plz write an eddieXreader scene inspired by their song

Animal (F*** Like A Beast) ?

😅😊

i absolutely love this reqqq, tysm for letting me run with this! hope you like how it turned out @nerdyhooker

Like an Animal - E.M.

18+ ONLY (minors please dni)

a/n: finally figured out an idea i liked for this, and i think it turned out pretty good! although i may have gotten a bit carried away lmao. not sure if this is as rough as you might have had in mind, but i tried to pull as much from the lyrics as possible! i hope you like what i ended up with <3

wc: 5.8k

cw: eventual smut, fem!reader, bartender!eddie + english teacher!reader, kinda fuckboy eddie vibes?, enemies to lovers vibes, light bondage (handcuffsss), p in v sex, unprotected sex (do not do this), oral (fem receiving), pet names (princess, sweetheart, honey, baby), technically drinking and driving, smoking (cigs + i don’t smoke so idfk what i’m talking about), brat reader but she gets super subby, kinda mean but soft dom eddie?, light dacryphilia, these idiots have been head over heels for each other since high school and neither of them knew it bc they’re stupid and stubborn, extremely vague mention of aftercare, not proof read, lmk if i missed anything!

don’t forget to like, reblog, follow, and comment to support my work! it always makes my day, mwah

“well if it isn’t the little princess”

Just like that, nine months down the drain. You massage your temples as you recall the past few days. The countless arguments between you and your, now ex, boyfriend form a persistent migraine between your eyes.

In hindsight, you really should have seen it coming. Your relationship had been rocky for months, but you were so busy with other obligations that you hadn’t had the time to confront any of it head on. Fortunately for you, he was more than willing to step up to the plate.

You wouldn’t let yourself admit it out loud, but you almost felt relieved with his absence in your small apartment. That was until you remembered the loss of his half of the rent.

Everything happened so fast, it was hard to process any of it. It all felt like it was swirling around and around too quickly for you to pick any one thing out. Your solution? Alchohol.

You grabbed your keys and hopped into your polished, clean, mint green beetle, setting off for the local dive bar. You could only recall one other time you had been to the small bar, having been dragged there by colleagues in the name of “bonding” after a particularly long day at work.

Drinking wasn’t something you did often, reserving a glass of wine for holidays and special events. Tonight, you decided you needed to make an exception.

As you parked and stepped out of your car, you felt nerves twist in your gut. The place was undoubtedly busy, which wasn’t shocking for a Friday night. People were smoking and talking out front, and you couldn’t help but notice how out of place you must’ve looked.

A knee length grey skirt fell loosely over your hips, paired with a rose colored, ruffled blouse, and a pearl necklace with matching earrings to top it off. Not a single tattoo in sight, and certainly no cigarette in hand. Your heels clicked against the pavement, smoothing down your skirt as you made your way inside.

The second you enter, you’re hit with a haze of smoke and the overwhelming smell of alchohol, nicotine, and sweat. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the dim lighting before you head for the bar.

You shuffle your way over to an empty stool at the front and take a seat, plopping your beaded purse on the counter. As you wait for the bartender to make their way to you, you take a better look at your surroundings. The place felt oddly cozy for being in such a frumpy looking building, and a band was playing some sort of aggressive rock song you had never heard before. Despite it being a little too loud, and a little too cluttered, you were already starting to relax a little.

“Hey there, what can I get for ya?”

You whip your head around at the voice, and your stomach instantly falls into your shoes. It would be impossible not to recognize the dark mop of curls that you got so used to seeing bouncing about the halls you shared all those years ago.

Although now it was pulled back into a sloppy bun at the back of his head, loose curls falling around his face. You’d hate to admit it, but he looked really nice.

“Well if it isn’t the little princess.” he laughs, and you feel your fists clench at the old nickname. “Didn’t think this was really your scene.”

“Well that would be a correct assumption, Munson.” you bite, bouncing back from the initial shock, “Unfortunately, it was the closest bar to my apartment, and I wasn’t in the mood to drive across town.”

Your grumbling makes you feel like a petulant child with a grudge, but you can’t help it. Eddie just always has getting on your nerves.

“I didn’t know you worked here, or I would have made the sacrifice.”

Eddie smiles his big, toothy, infuriatingly smug smile, and shakes his head, “You haven’t changed one bit, huh princess?”

“Don’t call me that.” you demand through gritted teeth, holding on to every ounce of restraint you have not to scream at him to just get you a drink.

He leans forward on the counter with a lopsided, goofy sort of expression, invading your space and ignoring your little outburst. “So what brings you in here tonight, princess? Boy troubles?” he mocks with a pouty tone.

You glare daggers into his skull, and he knows he’s hit the nail on the head. “Just a beer will do.”

He gives a small salute before leaving to get you your drink of choice.

The rest of the night is spent drinking, wallowing, and actively avoiding any and all interactions with the familiar bartender. The minimal interaction you did have involved him pushing every button in sight, and you fighting to maintain an ounce of self control.

Any time your eyes made their way over to him, of their own volition, his eyes were already on you. He had this look, like he knew something you didn’t, and it infuriated you. Oh how you hated him.

It had always been this way, ever since high school. He made it his mission to push you to your limit, and you always had to one up him somehow. It became almost like a game. You weren’t surprised to see he hadn’t changed after all this time. It was almost comforting in way, if you thought about it long enough.

As the night went on, the activity slowly started dying down, and the atmosphere got quieter. You were on your second beer of the night, trying to let the cold liquid take the edge off. Even still, you felt your fingers tap against the counter with anxiety.

How could he leave you to fend for yourself at the drop of a hat? After nine months? Did your relationship hold that little of value? How were you supposed to afford next quarter’s rent? There’s no way you could afford to live in your current apartment. You would have to move. How would you find somewhere decent to stay in such a short amount of time? You were screwed.

“Hey sweetheart, we’re gettin’ ready to close up.”

You were pulled out of your thoughts, looking up to see the one person you wanted to see the least right now. His expression was soft. Softer than you’ve ever seen it aimed in your direction. It made you want to dig your nails into his skin.

“You alright?”

The question takes you aback, your brows furrow at the uncharacteristic behavior. “Fine, thanks.” you mumble, taking another gulp of your drink.

He looks at you with what can only be described as sympathy, and you feel your chest tighten. “Wanna step out for a smoke?”

You mull over the words for a moment. The answer should be so simple. You don’t smoke. In fact, you’ve never smoked once in your life. Why would you ever agree to smoke with him of all people?

But then his hand is outstretched across the bar for you to take a cigarette, and his eyes look so… kind? You’ve never thought of that word to describe him before. Maybe it was the alchohol, or maybe he put some sort of curse on you, because suddenly you’re taking the cigarette and following him out front.

You can’t help but watch as his thumb flicks at the lighter, putting it up to your lips before bringing it to his own. You follow his lead inhaling the smoke, and then you’re instantly coughing and spluttering it back out of your lungs.

He laughs lightly as he cooly blows the smoke to the side to avoid getting it in your face. “I take it you’ve never smoked before? If you wanted to talk to me, all you had to do was ask.”

“Shut up, Munson.” you spit out, face heating up with embarrassment as you make another attempt, ignoring the burning in your throat.

It’s silent for a while, before anyone decides to break it.

“So,” he starts, “You a big time writer now?” he asks, staring at the pavement.

He remembered you wanted to be a writer? You didn’t even think he knew that about you. “English teacher, actually. Hawkins High.”

He looks at you then, dropping the butt of his cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his boot. “You stuck around that hell hole? No wonder you’ve still got that stick up your ass.”

You scoff bitterly, “Well I guess some of us are more academically inclined than others.” you glare, “I actually enjoy my job, shocking as that may be to you.”

“I'm sure you do, sweetheart.” Eddie replies smugly, causing you to grit your teeth as he leans against the brick wall of the building. "Gettin' to boss people around all day must be a dream come true for you." The parking lot is almost completely empty at this point.

Of course his civility was just a calm before the storm. You mentally pinch yourself for your momentary lapse of judgement. “God, you are such a-“

“Comedian? Kind soul? Sight for sore eyes?” he offers dramatically, eyes twinkling at your grimace.

“I was going for obnoxious, conceited, prick.” You hiss, stomping out your cigarette, “and I do not have a stick up my ass!” you shout, turning on your heel to leave.

Eddie rushes to catch up to you, laughing boyishly in a way that makes you speed up. “Aw come on, princess, don’t be like that. I was just teasing.”

“I said not to call me that-” You whip around to face him, and suddenly you’re practically chest to chest, craning your neck to meet his eyes. You’re so close you wonder if he can feel your heart racing behind your ribs.

Then he’s looking at you with that look. The one that makes your insides bubble over with fury. The one that makes you feel like he knows some sort of deep secret about you. It makes you want to slap him in his smug face. Yet, for some reason, you can’t seem to look away from his gaze.

Finally, you pull yourself away, and march over to your car. Just as you open your door, you hear a retreating shout of, “Next drink’s on me, princess!” and then you’re out of there faster than you can process your heaving chest and shaky hands.

After that, you somehow end up back in that same bar every Friday. Some sort of force, unbeknownst to you, seemed to draw you in like a magnet. As promised, the next drink was on him… and the next, and the next, no matter how many times you tried to refuse.

No matter how much you tried to talk yourself out of it, you always ended up sitting on the same stool, at the same time, with the same drink in your hand. Every week, without fail, you would leave the bar a fuming, heated mess with only one thing on your mind. Eddie fucking Munson.

This week in particular was different. You were absolutely swamped with assignments that needed to be graded, and you spent all of Thursday night and Friday working on getting them done.

It wasn’t until you woke up the next morning that you noticed the hiccup in your routine, and for some reason it made you sad. It wasn’t like you were obligated to go every weekend, but a part of you had grown to enjoy your Friday nights at the bar. Then some sick, twisted part of you wondered if he had noticed your absence, but you shoved the thought away as soon as it surfaced.

As the day went on, you convinced yourself it wouldn’t hurt to just go tonight instead. After all it was a Saturday night, and you had already cleared your workload for the week, so it’s not like there was any real harm in it.

Alternatively, it was a Saturday night. Eddie’s band performed Saturday nights. You didn’t want him to think you were there to see him, because you most certainly were not. You just didn’t want to miss out on your weekly drink, that’s all. Nothing more.

Still, it was a Saturday night. It would do you some good to look a little nicer, right?

You start to regret it the second you park your car. The shift in the air is blatantly obvious as you enter walk towards the crowded space. Men out front whistle at you as you walk to the door, and you can feel eyes practically digging into your skin as u head for your usual seat at the bar. Your leg bounces with nerves at the attention. You've never worn this dress before. Never had a reason to. You don't allow yourself to wonder why you chose to wear it tonight.

You ask the bartender for a long island iced tea, and catch yourself checking the small stage in the back of the room. You internally scold yourself and glue your eyes to your drink.

It isn’t long before cheers are heard around the bar, pulling your attention up to see Corroded Coffin walking out on stage.

“How’s everybody doing tonight?” Eddie’s voice booms out of the speakers, causing people to whoop and holler in reply. You feel your leg begin to bounce.

He continues talking to the small crowd while his band finishes setting up, and you can’t stop yourself from ogling at him. You desperately want to pull your eyes away, to look at anything else, but you can’t.

He’s wearing an old band t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, showing off his arms, chest, and a sliver of his waist. Your eyes trail across the exposed skin, noticing he has quite a few new tattoos littering it, and your stomach twists. He has leather and chain bracelets decorating his wrists, curls falling wildly around his face, and you notice light bouncing off of his signature rings still adorning his fingers. You definitely don’t remember him looking like this in high school.

As he moves around the stage it’s abundantly clear how confident he is up there. His stage presence is truly impressive, and his voice is really something. It's gotten deeper since the last time you heard it. You subconsciously wet your lips as you watch his fingers move around the neck of his guitar. He’s come a long way since the last time you saw him perform. You can’t help but smile as you watch him in his element.

Then the smile is wiped clean off of your face when he makes direct eye contact with you from across the bar. You freeze, feeling like you suddenly have shards of glass lodged in your throat. Has he known you’ve been sitting here the whole time? If he saw you smiling you might have to run into oncoming traffic.

Then you notice what he’s singing.

“I'm on the prowl and I watch you closely I lie waiting for you I'm the wolf with the sheepskins clothing I lick my chops and you're tastin' good”

Your stomach flips and you can feel your whole body heating up. Something tells you he notices too, which makes it a million times worse. What the hell is wrong with you?

“I do whatever I want to do ya I'll nail your ass to the sheets A pelvic thrust and the sweat starts to sting ya I fuck like a beast”

You shift in your seat, the eye contact becoming far too overwhelming. You opt to look down at your lap for the remainder of the song to prevent yourself from doing something embarrassing.

Soon enough the set is over, and the band starts breaking down their set up. You’re so deep in your own thoughts by the end of it that you fail to notice the man approaching you, until his arms are caging you against the bar.

“Well hello there, pretty lady.” You gasp at the familiar voice speaking directly into your ear, feeling his shirt graze your back. “Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.” He beams down at you, watching you huff and roll your eyes as you turn to face him. Your fingers wriggle with the efforts not to hit him.

“It was an impulsive decision.” You mutter quietly, eyes briefly darting to his toned arm beside you before snapping back to his face, “I didn’t come yesterday.” You concede, unsure of what else to say.

He smiles, seemingly amused. “I know. Your seat was empty all night.” he says lowly, face so close to yours that you can feel his breath against your lips. For a moment you think he’s going to kiss you, and then he’s pushing off of the counter to head back behind the bar and help clean up.

So he did notice. Did he miss you? Was he saving your seat, or is it just a coincidence?

You feel dizzy with a million questions. Why did you let him get so close? Why were you going to let him kiss you? Why does he look so good. Why do you care so much? You should have said something, anything.

You finish your drink in silence, watching Eddie as he flits around tidying up the place, and then the bar is closing. You feel your gut twist at the thought of going home, and you don’t quite understand why, but you blame the alchohol.

As if he could hear your thoughts, Eddie jogs up to you as you grab your purse, arm outstretched and offering a cigarette. His hair falls prettily around his shoulders, and you only now notice that he takes much better care of his curls now than he did in high school.

“Care for a smoke?”

His charm must be cranked up to 100 tonight, because, once again, you agree with less hesitation than you would have liked.

You stand out front, Eddie waving goodnight to Garret as he heads to his car, and you watch as the last car whirs out of the lot. Then you are alone. Just you and Eddie. Your heart hammers in your chest.

“How’d you like the show?” he asks, exhaling a puff of smoke in the process.

You handle the burn better this time, holding back a cough from erupting as you take a drag. “It was… good.” You say hesitantly.

He quirks an eyebrow at you, “Just good? Wow, then we really need to get our shit together if we're gonna-“

“You were amazing.” You blurt out, unsure of why you felt the need to boost his ego. You clear your throat before amending your statement, “It… The show was amazing.”

Eddie hums in satisfaction, smile tugging at the corners of his lips around his cig. “You know, you didn’t have to dress all fancy for lil ol’ me.”

You wore a tight, low-backed, black dress that hugged your curves perfectly, sheer black stockings, black boots, and some dainty silver jewelry. Nothing too crazy, but definitely much different from how you would normally dress. Admittedly, you felt a little self conscious.

“Well good thing I didn’t dress fancy for you.” You huff, starting to feel a little silly for trying so hard to fit in. God, did he always have to be so cocky?

“I mean, I’m not complaining.” He starts, pushing off the wall to step towards you. “You look fucking incredible. Of course, you always look incredible.”

Smug bastard.

“Thank you.” You feel yourself flushing at the words, immediately getting sick to your stomach at how much you care what Eddie Munson thinks about how you look. “Glad I got your seal of approval.” You quip sarcastically, desperately trying to pick a fight. Anything to stop you from feeling whatever it is that you’re feeling right now.

Why did he always find a way to get under your skin? No one else makes you feel as utterly frustrated as he does.

He’s absolutely unbearable.

You force down another inhale of smoke as you watch Eddie slowly make his way closer to you. The way he’s looking at you makes your mouth go dry. You can’t tell what he’s thinking and it’s driving you up the wall.

“You know, you don’t always have to be such a brat.” He exhales casually, pausing in front of you. Your heart stops. “It wouldn’t kill you to be nice to me every once in a while.”

“It might.” You rasp out curtly, just now realizing how out of breath you suddenly feel.

He laughs, and the sound makes your insides flip.

“You have such a big fat crush on me, don’t you sweetheart?” He smiles down at you wolfishly, and it almost makes you shrink under his stare. You suddenly are acutely aware of your surroundings.

You scoff and cross your arms defensively, “I most certainly do not have a crush on you, Munson.” You spit out venomously. How dare he even suggest such a thing? It couldn’t be farther from the truth. You loathe him.

“Oh yeah?” he challenges, taking a stride closer to you, making you step backwards.

“Think I don’t notice how you stare at me? How you sit up a little straighter when you see me?”

Your back hits the wall.

“You aren’t subtle, princess.”

You feel like a fucking deer in headlights.

“Staring and glaring are two very different things.” You pant, desperately searching for oxygen. Anger burns in your throat at his absolute audacity, and your skin feels like it's buzzing.

“Is that so?”

You can feel his chest press into you as the brick digs into your shoulders. He takes a long inhale of smoke, and your head is screaming at you to push him off of you and curse him the whole way home, but you can’t bring yourself to move.

It feels like everything is moving in slow motion as he grabs your chin, and then, unexpectedly, he‘s pulling your jaw down to part your lips. All you can do is stare at him and his cocky fucking smile at your compliance. You feel like you’re in a trance.

Before you can even think, his lips are pressed against yours and pushing smoke past your lips. You gasp at the contact, effectively inhaling the smoke and sighing against his lips. Your brain short circuits and goes completely numb. His lips feel like the cure to a disease you've been plagued with for years.

For a moment, you almost forget who you’re with, until he pulls back to look at you.

“Well if you hate me so much, then why are you squeezing your thighs together?”

You immediately rip your legs apart, not even realizing what you were doing until it was too late. You can feel steam pouring out of your ears at this point.

“You’re insufferable.”

“You love it.”

He’s right. For some reason, you do love it. Something about him makes you crave more, and you’re starting to believe he may be an incubus. It’s making you go insane.

So you finally wave the white flag.

“Just shut up and kiss me, Munson.”

So he does. Again, and again, and again, until somehow you end up back at Eddie’s trailer with your wrists handcuffed to his bed frame and your clothes thrown around his room.

Hard rock music plays faintly in the distance, and the room smells vaguely of incense and weed. You feel like you've been transported to an alternate dimension.

His lips feel like they’re everywhere. Your mouth, your jaw, your neck, and then he’s leaving sweet little kisses on your tits, making you whine and arch your back towards him.

“Gotta teach you how to let loose, yeah?”

He gently tugs on one of your nipples and you gasp, and Eddie can’t help but laugh as he kisses his way further down your body.

“You’re fucking adorable when you’re not being a pain in the ass, you know that?”

You groan as he spreads your legs open, kissing and biting at your thighs. “Shut up, Eddie.”

“Oh I’m Eddie now?”

Your hips buck up in frustration, glaring down at him with a scowl. It feels like he’s been teasing you for forever. “Eddie” you whine out, “Stop teasing.”

He slowly starts kissing closer to where you need him most, but not quite close enough. “You don’t think you deserve it? Why do you think your wrists are locked up then, sweetheart?”

You wiggle and writhe beneath him, but don’t answer. Eddie moves his face closer to your cunt, and you finally think you’re going to get what you want, and then he blows on your clit. You whimper and clench around nothing, flinching away from him. It's absolutely pathetic, getting so worked up when he’s barely even done anything yet.

“I asked you a question.” Eddie tries again, rubbing soothing circles into the back of your thigh while he waits for a response.

“My wrist’s are locked up because…” You take a deep sigh and force yourself to just spit it out so that he’ll touch you already. “because I was being a brat." you grumble. He’s lucky your wrists are locked up right now, you think.

Eddie kisses your thigh in approval, “That’s right, and bratty girls don’t get to call the shots. Right?”

You huff and pull against your restraints once more, before ultimately complying. “Right.”

You figure it won’t do you any good to act out, especially given your current position.

“There you go, that wasn’t so hard was it?” Eddie grins up at you, before finally leaving a gentle kiss right on your clit.

You throw your head back into the pillows, immediately feeling relief at the small touch. He then runs his tongue up your slit, swirling it nice and slow around your little button, making you sigh and melt into the bed. His curls tickle your thighs where he works diligently.

It quickly becomes apparent that he knows exactly what he’s doing, and that makes you wonder how many other women have been in this exact same position. The thought makes you dig your nails into your palms, but the it’s is quickly forgotten when you feel him slide a finger into you.

"See?" He starts, words muffled by your folds, "Just needed someone to put you in your place, huh? To take the reigns?"

You flutter around him, and every fiber of your being wants to say something snippy in response, but all you get out is a blissed out sigh. He hums happily.

His fingers are much thicker than your own, calloused from his years of playing guitar. Looking down you notice he took all his rings off and set them next to you on the bed. He never takes his rings off, ever, you remember that. For some reason the simple act makes your heart leap out of your chest.

He pulls his face back from your slick for a moment just to watch the way you suck in his finger, and he moans at the sight of you. The sound makes your brain feel like static. “Fuck, baby, you needed it bad, huh? You’re fucking dripping all over my sheets and I've barley started.”

All you can do is nod your head and hum in response, and your jaw drops open with a soft moan as he slides in a second finger with ease.

“How long have you been wanting me like this, sweetheart? Be honest.” He asks, never faltering in his pace.

You whine at the question, embarrassment flooding your features as you turn your face to hide it in his pillow. He quickly kisses up your body, gently turning your head back to look at him. “You can tell me. No need to be embarrassed.”

You take one good look at his face, and you know that he already knows. He’s giving you that look. He just wants to hear you say it.

“Mm… Since-” you hesitate to finish your sentence, and then a particularly hard thrust of his fingers does it for you. “Since fucking high school! Christ, Eddie-”

A groan erupts from the back of his throat as he kisses you hard, licking and biting at your bottom lip, and then suddenly his mouth is back on your clit and you feel like you’re floating. He picks up the pace, eating you out like a man starved, flicking his tongue in time with the thrusts of his fingers.

You feel your hips start to move against him, and he groans into your pussy making you cry out. “Yeah, that’s it.” He mumbles against your core, “Ride my face, honey.”

You can’t control the plethora of sounds that escape you, and your body seems to have a mind of its own. You writhe on the bed as Eddie devours you, holding your thighs over his shoulders. He searches for your sweet spot with every thrust of his fingers, and he knows he’s found it when your eyebrows pinch up, a high pitched whine reverberating throughout his bedroom.

You can feel him smile against your cunt, continuing his assault against that spot that makes you see stars. He never stops looking up at you to watch your face contort with pleasure. His already dark eyes are now fully eclipsed with lust and need.

“Oh my god-” you gasp out, heaving for air as your legs begin to shake around his head.

He can tell you’re close from the way you’re squeezing his fingers and writhing under him. He doesn’t speed up or change his pace, he keeps doing exactly what he’s doing, moving the flat of his tongue back and forth against your clit and curling his fingers up into you just right.

“Eddie, mm… i’m so close-”

The second the words leave your lips, he pulls off of you. His mouth and fingers are completely gone in an instant, and you feel like you’re about to cry.

“What the fuck?!” You shout at him, voice weak with tears threatening to spill, “Why did you stop?”

Eddie grins from ear to ear, lips and chin glistening with your slick, “We talked about this, remember?” he says cockily, leaning down to lick a bead of sweat from your chest, “Brats don’t get to call the shots. You’ll take what I give you, won’t you sweetheart?”

You grumble and kick your legs out in frustration, but he kisses you to make it better. You slowly let him melt you back into putty in his hands, tasting yourself on his tongue. He presses his knee directly against your puffy cunt, groaning at your wetness against his skin as you sigh into his lips. You go to move your hips against him but he quickly stops you, moving his hand up instead to push down his boxers, his dick already hard and aching to feel you.

“Promise I’ll make you feel so good, just gotta be good for me first alright?”

You nod your head frantically, completely and utterly at his mercy. He looks like sex personified, and you just want to feel him. “Please, Eddie-”

He smiles sweetly at you, kissing your cheek as he slides the tip of his cock through your folds. “Awh, look at you and your manners.” he taunts, but this time you can't seem to care. In fact, you realize, you kind of like it.

You like hearing his voice.

You like it when he’s mean.

He pushes just the tip against your dripping hole, and you’re practically sobbing. “How can I say no when you asked so politely?” and then he’s sliding all the way into you, and you’re already a wreck.

“Holy shit- you feel so fucking good” he groans and huffs as he starts to slowly pump in and out of you, making sure you feel every drag of his cock inside you.

You’re already panting, stretching your hands against the cool metal to try and grasp for anything that can ground you, but you come up empty. He’s so much bigger than you expected him to be, and the stretch is practically making you drool.

“Eddie, fucking- god”

“That’s it, keep screaming my name just like that baby.” He encourages, kissing and biting at your collar bone, sure to leave marks, “You sound so goddamn pretty when you say my name.”

Eddie adjusts your position, pulling your leg over his hip and pushing it against your chest. The new angle has your back arching off the bed, a whimpering mess as you claw at the handcuffs.

Eddie leans his head to rest in the crook of your neck, panting and whining into your ear. “Shit, princess-”

Your cunt squeezes him at the nickname, and the moan that slips past your lips is guttural. “Oh, fuck-” He clamps his eye shut with a deep groan, gripping your thigh so hard it’s sure to leave little bruises.

That’s the first time he’s used that nickname since you started, and he knows it. He did it on purpose.

He lifts his head to look at your blissed out face, a goofy, lopsided, fucked out grin on his lips. “I knew it.” he gloats, thrusts getting harder, “Look at me.”

You muster up the energy to flutter your eyes open and look at him. The pretty smile on his face makes your legs shake.

“You like it when I call you that,” he beamed, “That’s why you hated when I used that name for you in public, huh. Cause’ it made you fuckin’ soak your panties?” he laughed meanly, watching tears fill your waterline. He leans down to brush his lips against yours, voice lowering into something sweeter. “Isn’t that right, princess?”

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you practically scream. He looked so pretty, and he felt so good, and you wanted him closer. It was all too much, you needed to hold something, anything. You needed to pull yourself back down to reality.

“Eds- Eddie, please can I touch you?” your fingers twitch where they’re held above your head, “Wanna feel you- please, i’ve been so good-”

Eddie whines at your sweet pleas, but maintains composure. He wanted to stick to the plan.

“Oh, honey, no” he pouts out at you mockingly, watching the way you strain for anything to grasp and his dick twitches inside you, “No, you gotta give me one first. Can you do that for me, baby?”

Too fucked out to formulate a simple response, you simply sob and nod your head. Your hips start to rock up into his thrusts, but Eddie grabs your hips with one hand and pushes them back down into the sheets. You feel like a live wire.

Then he brings his thumb down to your clit, gently rubbing circles on it, and your eyes clamp shut. He kisses your open mouth and you try your best to kiss him back, but he’s moaning into your mouth, and he’s touching you, and fucking you, and Eddie Munson is fucking you, and it’s all so good that you just can’t.

“Eddie, i’m gonna-” you babble, almost incoherent, feeling the knot getting tighter and tighter, “Please please please don’t stop!”

He puts more pressure on your clit and leaves sweet little kisses on your neck, “I’m not got stop, it’s okay.”

You’re so close you feel like you’re about to explode.

“You can cum for me, princess”

That’s all you needed to see stars, black clouding your vision as he rides out your high, not once stopping or slowing down his pace. You can vaguely hear him talking you down, but nothing registers past your ears ringing.

Then your wrists are released and he’s flipping you over so that you’re on top, straddling him, and your hands and lips are all over him in an instant. In this position he hits your g-spot perfectly, and you can’t help but sob against his chest at the overstimulation.

“Just one more for me, I promise.” he soothes, gently rubbing your hip as his guides your hips back and forth on his cock, making you both cry out. You start to set your own pace riding him, leaning back against his legs to give you the perfect angle.

“You’re so perfect.” He mutters, breathlessly, “My pretty girl- fuck.”

Eddie was now moaning and whining louder and more freely than before, you can tell he’s getting close now too, and you’re already reaching your second climax of the night.

“Wanted you for so long,” Eddie admits, gripping your hip tighter, “can’t believe this is real.”

You whine at the confession, leaning forward to press your lips to the shell of his ear. You make sure to let your pretty noises and praises flow freely, just for him. Your fingers gently brush hairs from his forehead before scratching your way down his chest.

“You fuck me so well, Eds”

“Oh my god- you feel so good”

“Please, Eddie, I wanna feel you cum”

He’s an absolute mess, wrapping both hands around your hips and bending his knees up so that he can fuck you down onto him. “Wanna cum with you sweetheart. Want you to give me another one.” He rambles against your chest, and your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving little red marks behind.

“I’m so close, honey, c’mon. You can give it to me."

You bite and claw at his skin, so close to tipping over the edge.

"Soak me.”

You collapse forward as tears of overstimulation fall onto his inked skin, and he sinks his teeth into your shoulder to ground himself while he paints your walls white. You ride out your highs, clutching each other like a lifeline. When you’re both back on planet earth, he cleans you up nice an gentle, and whispers pretty little praises into your skin as you fall asleep with your limbs intertwined.

“Knew you had a crush on me, princess.”

Let’s just say you no longer have to go apartment hunting!

asks are open!

[pinkroseblooms]

Boy Toy

Sugar baby!Toji Fushiguro x Sugar mama!f!Reader

Summary: You try to break things off with Toji; needless to say, he does not take it well. wc: 5.1 Warnings and tags: this story contains smut, dirty talk, cursing, rough sex, begging, emotional manipulation, toxic behavior/relationships, some soft!dom/bratty!sub elements, a clingyyandere!toji, possessive behavior, obsessive love, some angst, some fluff, all twisted af.

a/n: I see a lot of Sugar daddy!Toji content and wanted to switch things up a bit with some emotional feels. I also ended up listening to Rick Montgomery's "Boy Toy" on repeat and got ideas. Personally I headcanon that if Toji ever did somehow develop genuine love for another person it wouldn't necessarily help him chill out this time around, he'd just become more unhinged.

His things are in a pile, close to the solid red oak door; they’ve been packed away in brand new luggage carriers and on top is the duffle bag Toji had initially used to carry his stuff in for overnight stays.

If it were anyone else, Toji would have expected the various articles of clothing and personal items that had steadily accumulated inside your spacious home to be thrown out carelessly like trash on your equally spacious lawn. That or burning in the firepit. 

If it was anyone else but you, it’s what Toji would have expected, but you weren’t petty that way; even now as you stand before him, arms crossed, gaze almost blank, you radiate a certain measure of dignity. It’s one of those things Toji’s come to admire about you over the past year. It’s effortless, that magnetizing charm you exude; he liked it right away.

“You can keep the bags, sell them if you want.” Your lips form a small but rueful smile. “I sent you a check; call it a severance fee.”

“I thought I didn’t work for you anymore.”

Toji hasn’t considered you a client in months, though really, a mark was more accurate. You were disgustingly wealthy with a cute face and that was all he needed to pounce on the offer to be your bodyguard and occasional companion to the odd social events. Even cleaned up and polished, Toji was able to keep others away in droves, exactly what you were aiming for; you found social obligations tedious and his handsome yet intimidating presence kept everyone around you from lingering too long and insisting on taking up too much of your time and attention. Toji spent the first three or so months in your company essentially as an employee and he was satisfied with the arrangement. It would have been so easy and simple, it should have been, had you not burrowed your way into his head, like a bullet piercing bone. 

Dammit he never should have fucked you. Toji had every intention of keeping things professional. He should have kept his distance, he certainly shouldn’t have let his fingers trace your skin after zipping up your dress, and damn you by the way for looking over your shoulder at him with those pretty doe eyes and not telling him off when the second you caught Toji leaning in, almost like he wasn’t realizing he was doing it, to get a whiff of your scent mixed with the perfume he had said was his favorite. 

“You don’t have to keep the charade up anymore; it’s insulting at this point. I won’t force you to stay here.”

“You’re dumping me.”

“No. That would mean we were actually dating. Toji…Fushiguro-san, I made a mistake.” You’re almost talking to yourself as you look over Toji’s tensed shoulders to the entrance of your home. “I was fooling myself, thinking you could open your heart to me. But, I knew what I signed up for. So, no, I won’t leave you without any job security until you find your next meal ticket.”

“You’re not-”

“I heard you. Please, it’s not like you to back track on your words, so don’t start on my account.”

Toji was bragging over the phone, giving a verbal middle finger to an asshole of a former employer who demanded Toji’s services for a hit. You overheard him refer to you as a “piggy bank” with a pretty face, among other things. Shortly after ending the call, Toji left to work out (he couldn’t get too lazy, got to keep in shape to protect his favorite girl) and grab some food (on your card) only to return to this. You didn't even give Toji a chance to greet you with the usual flurry of kisses and a bear hug before telling him point blank he was leaving and now.

Even as Toji struggles to wrap his mind around your abrupt change in demeanor, with that practiced look of almost serene impassivity, you look so good to him, wearing an oversized sweatshirt and tiny bike shorts. You always dress down at home, in comfy, baggy things. Toji supposes you packed away all the sweatshirts you’ve collected from him with everything else of his. 

“You won’t even let me apologize?” Toji stands stiffly in the foyer, next to the bags; behind him is the front door, still open, as if waiting for him to step outside. “It was all shit talking. I didn’t mean how it sounded.”

“That doesn’t make it better and it’s not just that. You’ve been hot and cold lately. Admit it: you can’t bring yourself to acknowledge me as anything but an obligation.” You exhale slowly, rubbing your temple. “I’ve tried to be understanding; you lost your wife and I realized it would be hard. I knew that, I knew there was a chance that no matter how close we became, I was never going to be enough for you.”

You put up a good front, but Toji can recognize the faint tremble in your voice, see how your jaw locks slightly, as though you’re holding back curses. He’s hurt you. 

“Baby, c’mere?” Toji opens his arms with a pleading half smile. “You’ve been stressed lately, that’s all. You’ve been working hard and I haven’t been showing my appreciation properly, is that it?”

“Oh spare me. Listen, I won’t swear revenge or sick henchmen on your trail.” You go on, calm as can be, not budging an inch. “The check won’t bounce and all your things are there; if I missed anything, I’ll send it to you. You’re free to go.”

Toji stares at you in disbelief, arms dropping to his sides. You could have just as easily said "you're dismissed" with that cutting tone of yours.

“Are you fucking serious?” 

When you fail to respond, he suddenly turns from you, but not to storm off. Instead, Toji slams the front door closed so hard, it’s a wonder the whole structure didn’t come crashing down. You don’t so much as flinch when Toji strides up to get in your face.

“I want my stuff out of these bags.” he snarls. "Now."

“There’s no need to make a scene. It’s not like you’ll be without a benefactor for long; I bet you could find another meal ticket just walking down my driveway. The whole neighborhood is full of lonely rich women, you can have your pick.”

“You’re not a meal ticket. You know that, you know I didn’t mean it dammit!”

“Enough.” You raise a hand up, your voice clipped. “Fushiguro-san, you have your things, plenty of money, and my own promise to leave you in peace. What more could you possibly want? What exactly is it that you’re holding out for? You don’t expect me to fund you indefinitely, I’m sure.”

"Why are you acting like this? Like you don't even give a shit?"

Toji’s hands clenched into fists; he’s radiating power and murderous intent, but you don’t look swayed or even scared. You know he wouldn’t strike you. Just the idea sickens him; no, it’s not you he’s actually angry with. 

“I’m a fucking idiot who wanted to show off, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? Fine. Now we’re gonna talk this out like adults, I’ll put this shit back-"

“No, you will not. I want it gone. I want you gone. Don’t you understand?” You tell him firmly, eyes finally averting to the pile of bags. Toji’s puffed chest deflates at the sadness that finally touches your inflection. “I’m disappointed enough as it is; can’t you do this one thing for my sake? Why are you insisting on dragging this out?”

“I want to put it all back.” Toji blurts out stubbornly, so loud his voice echoes in the high ceilings. “You can’t do this to me, I want to stay.”

“Excuse me?” You snap. “What exactly am I ‘doing to you’?”

“Come on, this is so silly, kicking me out over a misunderstanding.” Toji lowers his voice, a smile coming to his lips as he attempts to charm you once again, hands coming up to gently grasp your shoulders. “You’re breakin’ my heart here. You said it yourself, it’s a been over a year, you know me-”

“Do I?”

“Yes!” Toji steps forward, a strained grin on his lips. “You do. You know me and you know you’re my best girl.”

“Out of all the others?”

“Best and only; I haven’t been with anyone else in months.” Toji rubs his hands over your arms but you only give him a look of derision. “I’m not lying; tell you the truth, ever since we went out to the beach, it’s only been you. Remember that trip?” he grins softly, nuzzles your temple; he knows you want to lean into him, you’re just being stubborn. How adorable. He loves when you get grumpy and need his help relaxing. “I showed you how to make a fire and we fell asleep outside on the hammock. That night was something else...you’ve been the only one ever since. Baby, I swear, there haven't been any other women.” 

Toji inches closer, hands shaking slightly where they grip your shoulders; his love bites are still visible, some more faint than others; his arms ache to hold you. You’re so close, so what’s with this wall you’re putting up? 

"I want to believe that."

"It's the truth."

Toji isn’t sure how or when it began, but before he knew it, you were calling just to talk and ask how he was doing, if he needed anything. You requested he join you not just for meetings as extra muscle or posing as a date, but on walks and meals, having conversations about the weather to debates about the nature of man to whether toast was better with jelly or jam. You’d take Toji out randomly on shopping trips and end up buying him pretty much anything that caught his eye. Anything Toji wanted, he got, and along with it you increasingly showered him with praise and affection. 

When the sex began Toji thought he got you out of his system the first time, only to end up not just repeating these trysts, but staying longer and longer after he fucked your brains out. It was borderline embarrassing, how quickly Toji found himself lulled in by your pillowtalk as you encouraged him to sleep in, promising you’d have breakfast ready for him in the morning. Sometimes, Toji would come over when you weren’t even home with the spare keys you gifted him and promptly burrow himself in your bed until you were due home. The whole room smelled sweet and it was so cozy being wrapped in the down blankets. Toji's eyelids would get heavier as he wallowed in your scented sheets ike a pig rolling in mud until the combined aromas of your perfumes, lotions, and natural scent clung to his nostrils, soothing and oddly familiar; within minutes Toji would be out like a light. After some of the best rest he had ever gotten, Toji would wake up to you stroking his head, petting him like a dog, and asking him what he would like for dinner. 

Eventually, inevitably, came the point of no return. During that beach trip Toji told you about his past; he didn’t go into too much detail, mainly that he had loved someone and he was pretty sure lightning only struck once. You didn’t get jealous or angry; you simply kissed his knuckles and put your hand over his, not saying much of anything while Toji spoke. That night on the beach you held his hand and allowed him to reminisce at his own pace into the early hours of the morning, until he was too exhausted to do anything else but hold you and the two of you stayed that way until noon.

That peaceful, almost unreal night, Toji realized you actually gave a shit about him and he didn’t know what to do with that. Regardless, you made it clear you didn’t expect to own his heart and soul. You only promised to take care of him. 

“I was being stubborn, you know how I get sometimes. You’re my one and only, baby, can’t we just forget about it?”

“I want you to leave.”

“No.”

“It wasn’t a request.”

“No!”

Toji’s hands cup your cheeks and he winces at the disgust in your eyes; why are you looking at him like that? 

“Okay, okay, let me make it up.” Toji’s voice is sweet as pie; he leans in, practically purring in your ear. “Let’s go upstairs. I’ll show you how sorry I am.”

“Get. Off. I knew you were shameless, but this is...”

You might as well have slapped him across the face; Toji’s smile falls as you glare like he’s some repulsive insect, a leech, like the thought of him touching you is making your skin crawl.

Toji’s hands retract from your face, expression blank. “You’re really serious.”

“Don’t give me that kicked puppy look. As if you don’t have women on speed dial to call up. Why don’t you make up with one of your other meal tickets? I’m sure they’ll have forgiven you by now for however you wronged them-”

“I told you there isn’t anyone else. Don’t do this.” Toji mutters, head hanging; his chest throbs, he can feel sweat trickle down his temple. “Don’t make me go.”

It’s doubtful you could forcibly remove Toji from your presence, but that’s beside the point. It doesn’t mean anything if you don’t want him. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.”

“No, I’m really sorry.” Toji falls to his knees. “Don’t make me go.”

“Hey, wait, what are you…?”

Toji wraps his arms around your thighs, face pressed into your waist; you stiffen but he hangs on tighter, fingers digging into your hips almost painfully.

“Please, don’t make me. I wanna go upstairs, back to our bed. Listen, I,” Toji pries himself away from you just enough so he can look at you with glassy eyes. He’s panicking now, babbling and frantic as you try to pry off his arms. “Stop that! Baby, I got all messed up about getting too attached and I-I didn’t mean anything I said, you gotta believe me.”

“Toji, let go!” 

A cold sweat makes Toji’s already tight shirt stick to his tensed back muscles; he feels like he’s being choked. How could you do this to him? All he wants is to stay with you, whether it’s as a bodyguard, a hired companion, a fuck toy, hell, he’ll settle for being your pet if that’s what it takes to get you to take him back. 

"You promised you'd take care of me." he mutters, ignoring your vain attempts at freeing yourself from his unyielding hold. "I don't...want it to be anyone else."

Toji won’t let you go. You’ve made him lazy and spoiled with your pampering; he doesn’t have to work if he doesn’t want to, never has to worry about money or food or rent, and he never has to wake up alone anymore. Whether Toji’s angry, tired, bored, or as of late, happy, you’re the first person he thinks of. You give him everything and now you’re trying to cut him off.

"You let me go right now!" You slap at his shoulders, try to pull back his head from where it's pressed into your midsection. "Are you even listening?!"

With a distressed moan, Toji nuzzles your tummy, kisses the skin peeking out from your sweatshirt riding up under his forearms; his rough hands relax their grasp a fraction to caress your hips. 

“Let me stay. I won’t answer calls from my old bosses, I’ll quit betting. If I look at another woman, gouge my eyes out. All you have to do is tell me how to fix things.” Toji smiles at you, one he knows makes women weak in the knees. “Don’t be mad at me anymore. I’ll make it up, I swear. I’ll do anything you want.” he promises between kisses and nips to your skin. “Why are we wasting time arguing? You know, I can make you feel so good. My poor baby, spending all day working so damn hard; you deserve better. I'll help take the edge off...you’d like that, wouldn’t you? I can help, just-”

“Toji, stop-”

“Just let me dammit!” 

Toji feels you freeze up; you’re looking back at him with wide eyes. His stomach drops like a rock.

“Sorry…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

No. Now you look scared, maybe a bit concerned; is that for him? Toji can feel some warmth creeping into his chest in spite of everything; you’re so good to him. You went to so much trouble for him and he has no idea why. 

You can’t do this. You can’t treat him like a thing to be cherished and then take it all away. Toji just wants things to go back to how they were that morning, with you feeding him berries and syrup drenched pieces of fluffy pancakes, giving him teasing kisses in between each bite, asking what his plans were for the day as he lounges in your lap, wondering what he did to deserve to be so content and full and happy. You made him so happy.

“Shit.” Toji sniffs; he can feel them coming but can’t stop the tears leaking from his eyes. “Shit.” he curses again, bowing his head until it’s resting against your tummy again. “You can’t…you can’t leave me. I won’t let you. I won’t let you abandon me. I can’t-”

“Toji, calm down.” Your voice softens considerably. “Look, do you understand why I’m upset with you?”

“I know, I know I fucked up okay?” Toji croaks, still clinging to your legs. “So what the fuck am I supposed to do, huh? I already said I would do anything you want, so just tell me!”

“Sh, come on, breathe. I need you to calm down, alright?” You bend at the waist slightly, to card your fingers through his damp hair. “Okay, I believe you. I do. I believe you, Toji.”

“Are you gonna kick me out still?”

“No, I won’t for the time being. We can sit down and talk about-whoa!”

Toji wastes no time; he has you lifted off the ground in his arms. You quickly wrap your arms around his shoulders as he makes a beeline for the stairs.

“Slow down!” You glance backward in disbelief at how easily he bounds up the carpet steps. “How are you so strong? Don’t drop me, okay?”

But Toji doesn’t answer; he practically bolts, finally reaching the next level, races down the hallway until he’s at the door to your-the bedroom he and you share. Toji’s heavy boot easily kicks the door open, somehow without breaking it off the hinges; in record time you’re on the bed, but shockingly, Toji doesn’t start stripping you down.

“Toji?” You ask tentatively; he seems fairly out of it and you can’t help feel worried. “Toji, what are you doing?”

“Baby, I’m tired. Let’s just go to bed, huh?” 

Toji kicks off his boots, gently sits you down in the middle of the mattress among the fluffy pillows and the cheap plush bunny he won for you at a crane machine. Nearly hyperventilating, Toji climbs into bed after you, snatches the sheets and comforter to wrap around the two of you in a soft cocoon. Toji grabs you, cradling you in close as he tries to even out his breathing; for a fleeting second you wonder if this is what stuffed animals felt, if they could become sentient, when children held them tight for comfort. Your attention is brought back by the man rubbing his face into your hair insistently, as if he could tell your mind had briefly wandered.

“Hey, are you-?”

“Don’t make me go.” Toji cuts you off hoarsely. “You love me, right?”

“I do.”

“Say it.”

“I do love you.” You confess sincerely, words muffled slightly due to your face being squished into his chest; his heart is beating a mile and minute. “I was hurt, alright? I want to be good to you, Toji. You have to let me though; you’re not the type to dance around an issue. I just want you to be honest with me and yourself.”

“Yes, yes, I want that. You’re so good to me, baby, thank you.” Toji wraps his legs around yours; if there was a way for you to mold into him he’d make it happen. “Can I move my stuff back in?”

“I…” You hesitate. “Maybe we’re moving too fast.”

“What? No we aren’t. If anything, we're not moving fast enough. Are you still thinking of leaving?” Toji grabs your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him; his eyes look crazed. “You’re not right? You just fucking said you loved me-!”

“Hey, hey.” You put your hands over his gently. “If you really meant what you said before, you have to listen and be good. Can you do that for me?”

Toji nods quickly. You smile for him, finally, and it's a sight for sore eyes. How do you always look so pretty? Toji’s chest throbs and he hugs you, making your ear press against his heart; you can hear it, right? It almost stopped dead when you were glowering at him, Toji still can't believe he was so close to losing this. It's not going to happen again.

“I wanna touch you.”

Toji separates from you as abruptly as he had squeezed you to him; he hovers above you, tugging on the band of your shorts, your panties. He groans pitifully when you still look unsure. Toji hikes your legs up until your ass is pressed to his chest and he’s face to face with your pussy, still covered up. That won’t do: wordlessly, he rips the seams of your shorts apart and pulls your panties to the side. Gently spreading your pussy lips with his fingers, Toji makes sure to look you in the eyes while he lets a long trail of spit trickle from his tongue to your exposed clit. 

“See?” he licks a long strip over your slit, salivating at the taste. “I’m drooling for it, just like a dog….heh, I can be your dog. Is that what you want? I’ll fetch and roll over and beg.” he traces his tongue around your swollen clit. “All you gotta do is ask.”

You can barely form words, forget making requests, as Toji slobbers, licking and sucking until you’re dripping wet. Your hands grip the pillows and your head rolls back and forth; you can hardly speak and you’re more squealing than moaning when Toji starts using his fingers to fuck your soaked pussy.

“I’m loyal too. You’re not ever getting rid of me.” 

Toji pulls back, kisses and nips the inside of your thigh as he watches his fingers disappear inside you over and over again. He’s smiling down at you, dumbly, in a daze as you let out soft cries with every pump of his wrist, every time his thumb rubs a touch too hard on your clit. He’s the only one who gets to see you like this, composure gone, face flushed, eyes wide, hardly able to do more than moan and whine at his touches. Toji’s smile turns devilish; he purposefully pulls his fingers out and shoves them back in to draw out the squelch sounds from how wet he’s made you. He slowly drags his fingers out all the way and you inhale sharply from the sensation.

“It’s my turn to spoil you.”

Toji lowers your hips down on the sheets and quickly shrugs off his sweatpants and underwear; his cock bobs when it’s released and you’re a bit shocked at how hard he is despite not touching himself.

“Let me fuck you.” Toji rocks his hips, cock over the inside of your thigh. “You still want me, right?”

And if you think he’s going to stop at one round, if you think for a second one time is going to be enough and you somehow still plan to have him out on his ass, maybe you don’t know him. Toji’s fingers dig into your ass; he’s rutting now, throbbing and dripping precum all over you and the bedspread. It brings a twisted grin to his face, like he’s marking his territory. After all, this is where he belongs. If you won’t be persuaded by his touch and words alone, Toji has other ways, he just doesn't want to resort to making you afraid of him. 

Because he meant exactly what he said: you're not getting rid of him. If you try to, Toji will just come back. If you run, he'll chase, if you hide, he'll come looking. You've made him into this.

“’M being good, yeah?” Toji lowers his head to your chest to slobber over your nipples next, barely able to speak with his lips sucking and his tongue flicking over them. “I can keep making you feel good, just let me fuck you, let me put in in, let me wreck you-”

“Toji, I want to ride your cock tonight.” You play with his hair and kiss his jaw. “Can I?”

Toji doesn’t hesitate; he throws himself back to lie on your pillows, getting even harder as your scent hits him. He licks his lips in anticipation as you straddle him, stroking him once before lining the tip up with your pussy. Toji’s eyes roll in the back of his head as you slowly sink down, clenching tight; he has to grab at the sheets and force himself to be still, has to keep telling himself this is for you, he’s going to go at your pace and show you how good he can be, obedient and careful. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger and he loves it-

“It almost hurts. You're so hard.” You gasp when you’re fully seated on his cock. “Oh, Toji…are you going to cum soon?”

“Nah, don’t worry about that baby.” Toji grins up at you, face flushed and hands shaking as they cling to the pillowcase. “So good…it feels so fucking good when I’m all the way inside. Go on, use my cock to cum, ride me until your pussy can’t take it.”

You tilt your hips so the tip of Toji’s cock rubs against that spot that makes you see stars and your clit gets rubbed against him with every thrust. At first you have your hands over his chest, but when Toji tries to slide his hands up to grab at your tits, you stop him.

“Huh?”

“No, you don’t get to touch me.” You pant out, gently but firmly holding Toji’’s hands above his head. “Tha-that’s your punishment.”

Toji’s brow furrows; he’s practically pouting. He knows he said "anything", but he wants to touch you so badly. Your tits look good enough to eat, nipples slick and begging to be played with, and your skin feels like silk on his fingers. Toji watches, biting the inside of his cheek, tasting blood when you start bouncing, thighs taut and face contorted in pleasure as you get closer and closer to making a mess on his lap.

“Baby,” Toji groans. “Come on, let me, you’re close right? It’ll feel better.”

“I can cum like this.” You say playfully as you tap his pursed lips with one finger. “You said you'd be good.”

“Just wanna touch you....” Toji’s hands twitch but he doesn’t shake off your grip; he raises his hips and you let out a whine. “Please?"

You stop moving and Toji grits his teeth, staring at you with wide eyes. 

“Hey…why did you stop?” 

“Sorry,” You smile in genuine delight. “You’re really adorable, you know that?”

“Fuck, keep goin’,” Toji nibbles the tip of your finger before you pull it away. “Come on, keep making my dick wet,”

“So cute.” You cup his face and press a long, loving kiss to his forehead. “I love you, Toji, I really do.”

Toji can’t stop himself; he yanks you down, traps you in his arms and thrusts up. 

“Ah!” 

“Sorry, ‘m sorry baby. I gotta,” Toji slurs. “Ah fuck it.”

You shriek as Toji flips you over; he has your legs spread and lowers his face down to suck and kiss and bite at your breasts, slamming his cock as deep inside your pussy as he can go. He briefly touches your hair, patting your head as you scream and writhe, smiling down at you so warmly even as his cock splits you open.

“Can’t help it. Need it, need this so fucking bad.” 

Toji latches onto your neck, sucking so hard you think he might tear the skin; you cry out and your nails accidentally scratch long, red lines down his back and shoulders. You’re clawing and sobbing, completely overwhelmed underneath him. He’s fucking you like an animal with no regard for pacing or rhythm, holding you down and open for him to slam his cock inside your swollen little pussy. Toji straightens up to grind himself into you just the way he knows you like best, gently rubbing away at your clit, smirking at the way you gush around his cock. You’re so pretty like this, flushed and messy for him.

“Tell me again. Tell me you love me and I’ll make you cum so hard your legs shake.”

“Love you,” You gasp, arms wrapping around Toji’s bulging neck, drawing him in closer; you press kisses over his cheeks, nose, chin. “I love you, I-ah!”

Toji is done being patient; he keeps his thumb pressed down on your clit, rubbing it harshly as he grinds his cock right into that spot, deep and hard; you’re never going to forget how his cock feels. Toji kisses you none too gently, lips prying your mouth open as he shoves his tongue down your throat; he really doesn’t even mean to be rough this time. The desire to devour you is overtaking him. 

He’s so close. Your pussy’s soaking, his head’s spinning; just before Toji’s about to cum, you muster up enough energy to hold him back tightly and pet his hair, moaning softly into the kiss, wrapping your legs around his waist. Toji wanted to last longer, but it’s too much. Abruptly, he breaks the kiss and his mouth goes to your jugular; Toji swears he can feel your pulse under his teeth.

“Cum inside me.” You plead, whimpering into his ear. “I want it…want you, Toji, no one else.”

“Shit.” Toji presses his forehead to yours, hiking up your thighs; the bed is creaking and shaking with the force of his thrusts. “I love you so fuckin’ much.”

Toji goes rigid and still as he cums, cock suddenly painfully sensitive; when you smile tiredly and kiss the palm of his hand, actual tears well up in the corners of his eyes. It’s all too much. He didn’t know he could even still feel like this, feel much of anything anymore. You shudder from his hot cum gushing inside you, but Toji doesn’t pull out just yet and you don’t seem in a hurry to move him anyway.

“I think you broke my dick.”

“...pardon me?”

“Pretty sure your pussy drained me dry…fuck.” Toji chuckles tiredly, very slowly pulling himself out, smiling in satisfaction as his cum seeps out of you and onto the sheets. “Did you like that?”

“I loved it.” You tell him softly, just beginning to catch your own breath as Toji uses his shirt to gently wipe you clean between your legs. “Toji?”

“Yeah?” Toji tosses his shirt somewhere and lays over you. “You want me to get you something? I bet you’re real tired after that.”

You pause; you look very serious all of a sudden, all business once more. “Toji, we really should talk about ‘us’. I don’t think we can just return to what we were.”

“What? But you said you loved me.” Toji raises his head to glare at you. “You’re not seeing other men, so put that idea out of your fucking head.”

“That is not what I meant!” 

“Okay…what is it then?”

“I was going to say, are you sure this is what you want?” You ask carefully, looking into his eyes. “Is this really what you want?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?” Toji can’t believe you even have to ask; he frowns and clicks his tongue impatiently. “Fair warning, I’ll find you if you try to leave before I wake up.”

“I don’t doubt it, you’re an excellent tracker.”

“I mean it.” Toji mumbles into the crook of your neck, his heavy arm over your stomach. “You run, I’m hunting you down.”

“I wasn’t planning on making a grand escape; I was thinking something more along the lines of breakfast in bed.” You suggest and smile at the way Toji’s visibly perks up. “Oh, have you had dinner yet?”

“No, I came straight here from the gym.” he lies, eager to have you fuss over him. "I'm really hungry..."

“I’ll order in something; what do you want?” 

“Anything, just get lots of it.” Toji squeezes you. “But don’t go yet though. Wanna stay like this a little longer.”

“Whatever you want.”

In minutes, Toji is snoring and curled up in your sheets like a tuckered out puppy; his leg even kicks randomly. When he wakes up to the smell of warm food and your nails gently scratching his scalp, Toji yawns with a groggy smile and opens his mouth for you to feed him, licking crumbs off your fingers greedily. You really do spoil him. 

[frudoo]

just saw the anon for reader helping slasher 141 and now im thinking about actually doing the whole thing. like finding someone, kidnapping them and torturing them. she does it as a gift or surprise. maybe its their anniversary and she wants to give them the best gift ever.

I love this idea, but I just can't see reader ever participating in the torture aspect of her boys' work. She's absolutely not above kidnapping, though.

Warnings: Dark!Fic/DDDNE. Y'all this one is gross (just not in a gory way). Kidnapping/drugging.

 “I have to say, little girl, you look absolutely delicious tonight.”

     You giggle, allowing him to twirl you and trying not to suffocate on the smell of his cheap cologne. The man is loaded and he won’t even spend a pretty penny on some quality fragrance? Although, what else could you expect from a conman like him?

     “Not so bad yourself, Mr. Chief,” you purr, yelping softly when he pinches your asscheek teasingly.

     You want to vomit. Really, you could do it right here, all over his pristinely polished shoes, or on his tailored suit jacket and annoyingly bright tie. The fact that you’ve managed to keep this charade up for the past couple of weeks is astonishing, to say the least, especially given the fact that you’ve been hiding it from the boys. It kills you to see their disappointed faces every time you turn down a night in with them, making up poor excuses about how you’re just going to decorate your classroom, or that your friend has been having a rough time and you’re going to her house to support her.

     The truth is that you’re doing it for their benefit. Herschel Shepherd has been on your boys’ radar for years now, long before they ever met you. It’s just been too risky for them to attempt anything, be it a kidnapping or assassination. He’s too public of a figure as head of police, meaning that he’s protected by a multitude of security personnel, and on top of that, can easily defend himself. Even if they tried to befriend him, suspicions would be raised and it would likely fail.

     That’s where you enter. You’re exactly the chief’s type—a pretty young thing with big, soft tits and a charming smile. The only thing you’re missing is the naivety he’s so desperate to corrupt, but you’ve proven yourself a wonderful actress and he’s none the wiser. For someone who used to be a detective, he really is clueless. Someone should have taught the old man not to flirt with strangers on the internet. You’re just grateful that he took the bait so easy, all too eager to get his dick wet. 

     “Since I’ve treated you to such a nice dinner, how about giving me some dessert?” You hear his knees pop when he bends to whisper into your ear.

     “Anything for you,” you murmur back, “Daddy.”

     For the love of all things holy, you cannot wait to get this bullshit over with. Shepherd wraps his arm around your waist and ushers you into his limo—he really wanted to go all out for his ‘girlfriend,’ apparently. The inside smells like cigar smoke and you have to bite back a frown. It makes you think of John and how desperately you’d prefer to be in his arms instead. In all of their arms. With every disgusting, sloppy kiss the sick fuck peppers across your jawline, you have to remind yourself that it’s all for them.

     For them, for you, for every poor family he’s ever screwed over. It’s all too familiar, the coverups, the paying off coworkers and employees so that they keep their mouths shut. You’ve read about countless cases against heinous criminal acts that were suddenly dismissed when a certain slob threw a large sum of money towards the judges. You can’t even begin to imagine how many women alone have been assaulted because this corrupt piece of shit paid to let their abusers go—and for what? To gain favor? To get reelected? God knows he cheats his way through the system anyway.

     You feel your hand being tugged and realize that you’ve arrived at the parking lot where your car still is, some random garage located in the heart of the downtown area—about an equal walk from any little shop or restaurant in the vicinity. Your ‘date’ furrows his eyebrows and looks at you, confused.

     “A little Toyota Corolla is more inconspicuous than a limousine, don’t you think?” you hum as you pull out your keys.

     “Right,” Shepherd nods, opening the driver’s side door for you. “We are still going to the hotel?”

     “Of course.”

     He buckles into the passenger seat while you start the car, messing with the air conditioning like it’s his right. You avoid rolling your eyes as you begin driving, softly humming along to the radio. There’s a tin of mints in your glovebox that you pull out and offer to him. All according to plan, he takes the bait.

     Almost instantly after popping the tainted mint into his bastard mouth, he starts getting woozy, saying odd things and swaying in his seat. Adrenaline rushes through your veins—this is really happening. You’re kidnapping the chief of police, your husbands’ most desired target, driving him back to your home to be tortured and killed. It’s surreal, and there’s guilt eating away at whatever sense of retribution you’d created in your head. Still, there’s no turning back now.

     No turning back from the rattle of his unconscious body as you drive over the gravel path leading to the barn. No turning back from the strain you put on yourself as you haul his deadweight through the random pieces of hay, nor the act of tying his arms behind the metal pole in the stable where horses should be but has only kept victims. This is a decision you made and will have to live with. For the greater good, you ask yourself, or for the praise you know you’ll receive from your boys? In the end, it’s all one and the same to you. 

     As you stand over the comatose-laden sleazebag, you hardly make out the sound of the barn door slamming open and all four of your lovers trailing in with wide eyes.

     “Bloody hell.”

     “No fuckin’ way.”

     “Steamin’ Jesus, hen.”

     “Darlin’, how in the fuck did you manage this?”

     There’s a beat of silence before you turn around to look at them, your face maddeningly neutral.

     “Happy anniversary, guys.”

[sallowsarchives]

Beneath the Battles (Final)

Part I | Part II | Part III

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Summary: You and Arthur finally face your true feelings and past grievances, breaking down the barriers that have kept you apart. Word Count: 8.8k  Warnings/Tags: EXPLICIT (18+ ONLY) MINORS DNI. No use of y/n, explicit language, angst with fluff, size difference (Arthur is a big guy), oral (female receiving), fingering, orgasm denial, dirty talk, unprotected p in v, Arthur pulls out, a little roughness, aftercare, SMUT with plot A/N: AHHH, here’s the final part!! I’d like to formally apologize for taking so long to update, I actually ended up scrapping and rewriting it, which took longer than expected. I hope this makes up for it. Once again, thank you to those who read this story and for all your lovely comments!

Read on AO3

The mansion loomed in the distance, its imposing structure partially obscured by the dense trees and underbrush that surrounded it, its windows glimmering faintly under the moonlight, casting a soft glow on the well-kept grounds. 

The night was unnervingly quiet, the kind of stillness that breeds caution. After days of scouting, the mansion was finally dark and silent, just as expected. Its owners were away traveling, leaving only a few guards to patrol the surrounding grounds.

The plan was straightforward: sneak into the mansion, locate the concealed safe, and disappear with the loot before anyone was the wiser. It seemed like a simple enough task—at least, that’s what you told yourself.

You’re crouched behind the mansion's back door, fingers deftly working through the lock. With a final click, the lock gave way, and you quickly slipped inside, closing the door behind you with practiced ease. 

The air inside the mansion was heavy, filled with the scent of polished wood and aged stone. Once your eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering through the curtained windows, you moved swiftly through the shadowed corridors, your footsteps barely making a sound on the ornate rugs that lined the floors.

Just as you rounded the corner, you find yourself coming to a sudden halt.

A man stood before the very door leading to your prize. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and had an air of confidence that immediately put you on edge. He hadn’t noticed you yet, too busy trying to jimmy open the lock. 

You cursed under your breath. Who the hell was this guy? And why was he here?

This man was no bumbling thief; his movements were too precise, too deliberate. Whoever he was, he knew what he was doing, and that realization sent a wave of frustration through you. If he got to the safe first, all your planning, all your risk, would be for nothing.

You stayed hidden behind a wall as you considered your options. Confronting him could blow your cover, but waiting too long could mean losing the item. 

Deciding to take the upper hand, you crept closer, making sure to keep to the shadows with calculated movements to avoid detection.

Once you were close enough, you cleared your throat, the sound slicing through the stillness like a knife just as he managed to break the lock. 

The sudden noise startled him, and he froze, his head snapping toward the source of the disturbance. The look of surprise and irritation on his face was fleeting, quickly replaced by a calculating stare as he took in your presence.

You took a moment to assess him. A rugged, handsome face with piercing blue-green eyes that locked onto yours, their intensity making it clear that he was not easily intimidated. 

“Well, well,” you said, your voice laced with a mix of amusement and irritation. “Looks like we both had the same idea. Didn’t think I'd run into competition tonight. What’s your game, stranger?”

You kept your voice light but there was an edge to it. You had scouted this place for weeks, and you weren’t about to let some stranger steal it out from under you.

He chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm before replying with a low Southern drawl that sent a chill down your spine.

"I reckon I oughta be askin' you that too, miss. Ain't seen you around here when I was scoutin' the place, so I guess you're after the same prize."

“Perhaps. Too bad there’s only one prize in that safe,” you said, eyeing the opened safe behind him. 

He raised an eyebrow, a small, cocky smile playing on his lips. “Guess we’ll see who gets it first.”

You didn’t wait for him to make the first move. 

In a flash, you darted forward, aiming to dodge him and get to the safe. But he was quick—quicker than you expected. He sidestepped your advance, grabbing your arm as you tried to slip past him.

“Not so fast, darlin’,” he said, his grip firm but not painful.

You twisted out of his hold, a breathless laugh escaping you as you spun around to face him again, eyes flashing with determination. “You’re going to have to do better than that.” 

Without warning, both of you drew your weapons in a swift motion, yours a knife and his a pistol. You knew you were at a disadvantage, the cold steel of his gun giving him the upper hand. But you weren’t about to back down.

A game of cat and mouse ensued, each of you circling the other, quips exchanged with a tension neither acknowledged. 

You racked your thoughts for every trick you knew to try and outsmart him but in a moment of distraction, you seized your opportunity as a noise from outside drew both your attention. 

He briefly looked away and you grabbed the nearest object—a heavy, decorative vase—and hurled it in his direction, your sudden movement catching his attention once more.

“Goddammit!” he swore as the vase sailed through the air. 

The unexpected move caught him off guard, and he instinctively raised his arm to shield himself as the vase struck his arm, causing his pistol to slip from his grip and clatter onto the floor. The shattering noise echoed, no doubt alerting the guards outside.

You wasted no time and sprinted towards him, kicking the gun to the other side of the room. Ducking under his arm with practiced agility, you bolted toward the safe, your nimble fingers swiftly retrieving the necklace inside—a beautiful, intricate piece that promised a hefty pay.

The gleaming jewelry caught your eye, but you didn’t let your guard down. You knew he was still behind you, and the potential for danger was ever-present.

Turning around, you found him standing in place, watching you with an unreadable expression. You eyed him warily, adjusting your stance in case he made any sudden moves. 

To your surprise, he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head in a gesture that seemed almost admiring.

"I'll give you that one," he said with a chuckle. "But don’t go thinkin' I’ll let ya off that easy next time."

You met his gaze steadily, with the tone in his voice, you couldn't help a smirk of your own.

“Next time?” you replied, your tone carrying a hint of challenge. “You might want to reconsider how you pick your battles.”

He tilted his head slightly, raising a brow. “Maybe,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “But where’s the fun in that?”

You smirk before taking a step back, keeping your eyes on him as you begin to make your exit. 

“Until we meet again, stranger,” you said, voice cool and confident.

His smirk remained, making no move to stop you or follow as you slipped toward the shadows. Once you were sure he wasn’t making any sudden moves, you turned and made your way out. 

The cool night air hits your face as you slip away into the darkness, the necklace secure in your pocket.

Weeks later, you stand before the Van Der Linde gang, newly recruited and eager to prove your worth. As Dutch wraps up your introduction with the gang members, a familiar face catches your eye amidst the crowd—leaning on a wagon, arms crossed, watching you with that same unreadable expression from the night at the mansion.

Arthur Morgan, you’ve come to know from Dutch as he introduced him as one of his most trusted men. You could see the recognition in Arthur’s eyes, and you couldn’t help the smirk that crept onto your face. 

“We’ve met,” you said casually, holding his gaze, making his lips twitch, but he remains silent.

And so it was, a few months into your time with the gang, Dutch pairs the two of you together for a job. From the start, things don’t go smoothly. Arthur’s stubbornness clashes with your determination, turning every decision into a heated argument.

"You're too damn cautious," you snap as you crouch behind a rock, waiting to ambush a carriage.

"And you're too damn reckless," he retorts, his voice low but heated.

The frustration between you simmering, neither willing to back down. 

Though the job was a success, it was clear that your relationship had shifted to something far more complex. 

A rivalry that would become full of sharp words, stolen glances, and the kind of tension that made your heart race whenever Arthur Morgan was near. 

The burning in your lungs is the first sensation that pierces through the fog. 

It feels like your chest is on fire, each breath a painful struggle as your body fights to expel the water that had been forced into your lungs. You cough weakly, the sound raw and strained.

The presence of another person over you is the next thing you sense. Their hand cradling your back as the other presses gently on your cheek, their voice a low, comforting murmur that reaches through the haze of pain.

“C’mon, easy now,” a deep voice rang out, soothing but urgent. “Breathe slow. Just breathe.”

As the pain in your chest begins to ease, you slowly become more aware of your surroundings. The rough ground beneath you feels gritty, the chill in the air seeps through your wet clothes, which cling uncomfortably to your damp skin. A persistent throbbing in your temple adds to the disorienting discomfort.

As your sight finally focuses, you see Arthur standing over you, his rugged features marked by concern and relief. His hair was wet and tousled, with a few strands clinging to his forehead, and his face was streaked with water and mud.

“You alright?” His voice is softer now, though it still carries a note of urgency. 

You try to speak, but your voice comes out as a faint, hoarse whisper. Attempting to sit up, you slump back into his arms, completely drained.

Arthur’s hand remains steady, his hand continuing to support you from your back.“Just take it easy, darlin’,” he insists. “We gotta get that nasty cut of yours fixed up.” 

After a moment, he speaks up again. "You scared the hell outta me, you know that?" he says, his tone softer than you expected. Confusion flickers in your eyes as you try to make sense of his reaction.

Arthur quickly brushes it off with a shrug and a quick, dismissive smile. "You good to stand? We need to find a place to camp."

Though slightly dazed, you nod and he begins helping you to your feet, his grip firm but gentle and begins to lead the way.

You take a chance to glance over at the river, your heart sinking. "There goes everything," you mutter, as you thought of all the loot from the stagecoach robbery now lost in those dark waters, swept away without a trace.

Arthur’s eyes follow your gaze. “Yeah, things went south real quick. Can’t say I’m surprised, though. Ain’t never gone smooth with us.”

A weary sigh escapes you. Arthur gives your shoulder a small squeeze, his voice softening. 

“We’ll figure out another way to make it up so we don’t come back empty-handed.”

As you and Arthur push through the thick underbrush, the sun has long set, leaving the sky almost entirely dark and providing scant light. The air is growing colder, and the fatigue from the ordeal is beginning to weigh heavily. 

After a while, Arthur spots a faint outline against the darkening sky. "There," he says, pointing toward the silhouette of a structure hidden among the trees.

You squint and make out the shape of an old, dilapidated cabin. Its roof is partially caved in, and the wooden walls weathered. Still, it seems like a decent refuge for the night.

Arthur leads the both of you towards it, his steps careful as he surveys the area for any signs of danger. He pushes open the creaky door with a grunt, revealing a dusty, cobweb-covered interior. The air inside is stale, but it’s dry and shielded from the elements.

"Looks like this’ll do for tonight," Arthur says, stepping inside and looking around. 

The main room contains a few pieces of furniture: a worn-out sofa, a small wooden table, and a couple of chairs. There’s a door on the left, which you assume leads to a bedroom. 

A stone fireplace stands against one wall, its hearth empty but still looking functional. To the right, you notice a small kitchen area with cabinets lining the wall, hinting at a space used for simple meals.

Arthur moves with practiced caution, his eyes scanning the room as he checks for any signs of danger. He pauses, pulling his pistol from its holster. It seems he managed to keep hold of his weapon and satchel during your fall into the water—an unexpected stroke of luck. 

Once he’s satisfied that the area is clear and no immediate threat is apparent, he nods and holsters the gun.

“Alright, let’s settle in,” he says, guiding you to a nearby chair. “I’ll get a fire going and check for any supplies. You just sit tight and rest.”

You nod, gratefully sinking into the chair. As Arthur moves around the house, you take a moment to let the exhaustion wash over you. 

You hadn’t noticed the several minutes that had passed by where Arthur managed to set up a fire with the dried wood he had found stacked by the fireplace, the flickering flames casting a warm glow over the room. 

He turns his attention back to you, a determined look on his face and retrieves a cloth from his satchel, pouring a generous amount of whiskey over it that he must have found when rummaging through the cabinets.

He takes a seat across from you, gaze steady and focused as he carefully examines the gash near your temple. 

“This might sting a bit,” he says softly, his voice carrying a reassuring calm. Gently, he dabs the cloth against the cut, the wound stinging from the contact.

Arthur’s movements are careful and deliberate, his brow furrowed in concentration. As he works, his eyes occasionally meet yours, a mix of concern and resolve evident in his expression. 

You watch him closely, the intensity in his expression a stark contrast to the usual deflective bravado he shows, a rare glimpse of the softer side of him that you don’t often see. 

After finishing with your wound, Arthur sets the cloth aside and glances at the both of you, noting the dampness of your clothes. 

“We’d best find us some dry clothes; ain't no good in keepin' us warm when we're soaked to the bone.”

You respond with a nod, feeling slightly uncomfortable from the wet garments clinging tightly to your skin. 

He stands up and motions you to follow, moving towards the door on the left you saw earlier. Inside, the room is dimly lit by the fading light seeping through the grime-streaked windows. Old, moth-eaten drapes hang limply from their rods, and the floorboards creak with each step.

There was a rickety, sagging bed with a threadbare quilt, and a lone wooden chest pushed against the wall. You follow behind him, noticing the layer of dust that covers everything, marking the years of abandonment. 

He heads to a chest, prying it open with a groan as the hinges protest, and begins rummaging through the contents.

As he searches for dry clothes, you start to remove some of your damp garments feeling the need to get more comfortable and ease the weight. 

You’re in the process of slipping off your soaked shirt when Arthur turns around, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of you in your soaked white chemise, and he quickly averts his gaze, his face flushing a deep red.

“Uh—here,” he stammers, his voice suddenly unsteady as he holds out a faded long brown skirt and a low-necked cotton blouse. “Found these. They should fit.” He glances away, clearly flustered.

Seizing the opportunity, you smirk and tease. “What’s the matter, Arthur? Never seen a woman in her underclothes before? I thought you were used to all sorts of rough and tumble.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, his face turning redder, and he clears his throat, clearly struggling to maintain his composure. “Even after gettin' yourself all banged up, you still can’t help but run that smart mouth of yours,” he retorts, trying to mask his embarrassment with a touch of irritation. 

You chuckle at his flustered response, enjoying the rare sight of him so off-balance before taking the clothes from him.

Arthur shifts uncomfortably, casting furtive glances as he takes a change of clothes for himself. He clears his throat again, his usual confidence momentarily eclipsed by awkwardness.

“I’ll, uh, just be outside if you need anything,” he mutters, leaving the room with a hasty step to give you your privacy. 

The door creaks as he pulls it shut, and you can hear him mumbling to himself as he closes it behind him. His grumbling is low and unintelligible, but it brings a faint, amused smile to your lips. You chuckle silently before turning your attention to the garments.

Moments later, you find Arthur standing by the window, now dressed in a fresh set of clothes—worn jeans and a plain gray button up. His silhouette is outlined against the darkness outside. The fire crackles softly in the hearth, its warmth beginning to chase away the chill.

Arthur turns to you, his expression more relaxed now that he's shed his previous discomfort. “Feeling a bit better?” 

You nod. “Yeah, much better. You?”

Arthur gives a small, awkward smile. “I’ll be just fine. Just need to take it easy and let the warmth do its work.” He gestures toward the fire. “Might as well make ourselves comfortable while we can.”

You nod and make your way to sit at the worn out sofa to warm up by the fireplace. After a comfortable silence you finally speak up, your voice soft with gratitude. 

“Thanks for everything, Arthur. I know it’s been a rough day, but I really appreciate you taking care of me.”

Arthur turns to you and nods, his usual gruffness softened by the warmth of the fire and the genuine moment between you. “Don’t mention it. Just doing what needs to be done.”

As the silence settles again, Arthur clears his throat and shifts slightly, his expression thoughtful. “Speaking of rough days… reckon I oughta say somethin’ about that night at the, uh, well, what happened at the Mayor’s party,” he begins, his tone a bit hesitant.

You fold your arms, feeling uncomfortable about bringing it up again, but you know you’ve both put off addressing the issue long enough. You nod, signaling for him to continue.

Arthur looks away for a moment, clearly struggling with how to frame his words. 

“I didn’t mean to make it seem like what happened between us didn’t matter. I guess I thought it’d be better to just… keep things simple and avoid complicatin’ things.”

Your eyes narrow and you let out a sigh. “You already said that but I still don’t know what you mean. If you don’t have anything new to add, then yes, I guess that’s all it was—just a fleeting moment to pass the time while we were stuck in that situation.”

“Godammit, it ain’t like that,” he says, his voice firm but tinged with a hint of vulnerability.

You glare at him, standing up as your  anger and frustration begin to boil over. “Then what, Arthur? I’m done with the guessing games. If you can’t be honest with me, then at least stop pretending you care.”

“Oh, is that so? What do you want me to say, huh? That I’ve been usin’ you? That I don’t give a damn? You think that’s gonna make things better?”

“I’m not askin’ you to lay it all out. I’m askin’ you to quit actin’ like none of this means a damn thing. You’re scared to face the truth, and it’s obvious. If you’ve got something to say, then say it.”

Arthur steps closer, his voice dropping to a low growl. “You don’t know a damn thing about what’s goin’ on with me.”

You meet his gaze, your anger unwavering despite the intensity of his look. “Then why don’t you stop hiding behind your excuses and show me what’s real for once? Or are you too scared to face it yourself?” 

His jaw tightens, eyes narrowing as the silence grows heavy between the two of you. You take a deep breath before continuing, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady. “Everything that happened at that party… it wasn’t just part of the act, was it?”

He looks away, eyes fixed on the ground as his expression hardens. “I was doin’ what we had to,” he says, his voice gruff. “We were pretendin’—had to make it look real.”

“That’s a goddamn lie and you know it,” you retorted. “Everything you did that night, kissing me like it meant something just to suddenly pull away and act like I was something you regretted. Do you have any idea how that felt, Arthur? How it made me feel?”

He flinched at your words, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “You don’t understand—”

“Then help me understand! You shut me out, you push me away, and I’m done pretending like it doesn’t hurt.”

Arthur looked at you then, really looked at you, and you saw the pain in his eyes, the conflict warring within him. 

Your words hang in the air, and for a moment, you thought he might continue ignoring you, that he’d keep his distance just as he always did. But when his eyes met yours again, there was something raw and unguarded in them that made your heart twist before he spoke, voice filled with a vulnerability you had never seen in him before. 

“That night at the party, when I told you it meant nothing and pushed you away—it wasn’t because I didn’t care, but because I did. I didn’t want you seein’ me as more than just part of this damned life I’ve led.”

“Have you not thought that I’m already a part of this life too? I’m not some innocent bystander in this, Arthur. I’m in it just as much as you are, fighting beside you, continuing to risk everything for the gang. Every time you push me away, it feels like you’re saying I don’t belong, that I’m not worthy of being part of this.”

Arthur’s face softened with regret. “I’m sorry if it came across that way. I’ve just been tryin’ to protect you in my own messed-up way. I don’t want you feelin’ like you’re not part of this, ‘cause you are. More than you know.”

You looked at him, searching for honesty in his eyes. “Then be honest with me, Arthur. Don’t shut me out. I need to know where we stand.”

“I ain’t good enough for you,” he confessed, the words coming out like a reluctant admission. “I’ve done things—bad things. And I know you’ve seen some of it, but you don’t know the half of it. You deserve better than some outlaw who’s spent his life takin’ more than he’s given.”

The silence that followed was thick with emotion, as you both tried to come to terms with the weight of his confession. The barriers between you seemed to dissolve, leaving only the truth of your feelings and the painful realities of the life you both led. 

You stared at him, the anger long dissipated from you as his words sank in. This was it—this was what had been driving him to keep you at arm’s length, to push you away whenever you got too close. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel the same way you did; it was that he didn’t think he was worthy of it.

“Arthur,” you said quietly, stepping closer until there was barely any space between you, “I don’t care about what you’ve done, or who you think you are. I care about you. The man who saved me today, who risked everything to make sure I was safe. The man who gives more to the gang than he ever takes for himself—that’s the man I see.”

He shook his head, his expression tortured. “You ain’t seen the worst of me yet.”

“And I don’t care if I do,” you shot back, your voice trembling with emotion. “You don’t get to decide how I feel about you, or what I’m willing to accept. I’ve made my choice, Arthur. I’m not turning back.”

He stared at you, his defenses crumbling as the truth of your words hit him. He’d spent so long believing he didn’t deserve anything good, that any softness or kindness was something he had to push away before it could be taken from him. Hell, that’s why it never worked out with Mary, too.

But here you were, standing in front of him, refusing to let him go, even after everything he’d done to keep you at a distance.

He leaned in closer, his free hand brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch lingering as if he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. 

“I don’t know if I can be the man you deserve,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You crack a small smile, your voice laced with a sarcastic edge but softened by the warmth in your eyes. 

“Come on, Arthur. Since when did you become an expert in what I deserve? I’ve been putting up with your brooding for far too long to be picky about the details.”

Arthur’s lips curled into a wry smile as he listened to your response. Despite the gravity of the moment, there was a glimmer of amusement and admiration in his eyes. 

“You know,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of his old charm, “you’ve been a right pain in my ass since day one. Guess that’s why it’s so damn complicated with us. But, damn it, you’re still the only one who can make me see the bright side of this mess.”

You raised an eyebrow, giving him a challenging look. 

“Oh, is that your way of saying I’m the best you’ve got? How flattering.”

Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. “Maybe more than you know. You’ve got a knack for makin’ everything seem less bleak, even when you’re makin’ my life hell.”

After a silent moment, Arthur reaches out, his thumb gently tracing the line of your jaw which sends shivers down your spine.

“I’ve been a damn fool,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, “for fightin’ this… for fightin’ you.”

Your heart ached at his words, at the honesty you had never expected from him. 

You had always seen him as a man of few words, someone who hid his true self behind a wall of sarcasm and indifference. But now, as he stood in front of you, you saw the truth in his eyes—the feelings he had tried so hard to deny.

Before you could respond, Arthur closed the distance between you, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both fierce and tender. 

The kiss was a heady mix of passion and urgency, a kiss full of the unresolved tension and undeniable attraction that had been building between you. 

As the kiss deepens, you feel Arthur’s hand move to tangle in your hair, his fingers gently gripping the strands as he kisses you harder, his body pressing hard against yours.

You respond with equal fervor, your hands fisting in his shirt and pulling him closer before you both pull away for air, breaths labored with his chest rising and falling against yours.

Arthur nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. He begins to trail soft kisses along your neck, his lips barely grazing your skin as his voice drops to a whisper, full of longing and relief.

“Been powerless against you since the moment you joined the gang. Reckon it all started that night at the mansion when we were both after the same prize.”

A low hum escapes him as your fingers thread through his hair, your touch sending shivers down his spine. He nuzzles further into your neck as he continues to mumble against your skin. 

“Wanted you so bad, and damn if that don’t scare the absolute life out of me.”

Arthur continues to kiss your neck, his lips moving down to your shoulder as his hands tighten their grip on your hips. The intensity of his touch grows as he pulls you even closer, the heat of his body pressing against yours, enveloping you in a wave of warmth and desire. 

You lean in closer, your lips grazing the shell of his ear as you whisper, your voice trembling with the same urgency that you hear in his. “Then stop holding back, Arthur. I want you.”

Your words seem to break whatever last bit of restraint he was clinging to. He lets out a low growl, and before you can even take another breath, his lips crash against yours once more, all fire and desperation. It’s a kiss that sears through you leaving no room for doubt.

Without breaking the kiss, he nudges you back until you feel the edge of the table pressing against the backs of your thighs. In one fluid motion, Arthur’s hands slip from your hips to your waist, lifting you just enough to set you down on the table's surface.

He steps closer, sliding between your legs as his hands grip your hips possessively. You felt his hips pressing insistently against your core, the contact electrifying and intense. 

He was achingly hard, a burning pressure that felt almost unbearable through the fabric of your clothes. The heat radiating from him was overwhelming, every shift of his body against yours sending waves of sensation coursing through you.

His hands, rough and calloused from years of hard living, left your waist and slipped under your shirt to savor the softness of your skin. His skilled fingers traced over your ribs before reaching your breasts. 

You've never been so glad to not be wearing your chemise underneath your clothes.

You inhaled sharply as he took one of your nipples between his fingers and pinched. "So responsive." Arthur murmurs against your mouth before pulling away and breaking the kiss. You chance a glance at his face, his eyes dark with hunger. 

With deliberate slowness, his hands begin their descent, gliding down to your calves, his fingers tracing the curve of your legs. 

He caresses your skin, almost reverently, before sliding up to the hem of your skirt. You shiver at the sensation as he pushes the fabric higher, gathering it around your waist, leaving you completely exposed to him.

Arthur’s eyes drink in the sight of you, his gaze heavy with desire. His hands, still lingering on the edge of your skirt, begin to trail slowly up your thighs, his touch careful and teasing. 

He pauses just as his fingers brush against the most sensitive part of your skin, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, dark and questioning. 

He’s waiting, holding back, as if needing your permission to go further. He doesn't move, his touch achingly close yet frustratingly distant.

"Arthur…" you plead, your voice edged with frustration.

He meets your gaze, lips twitch up in a slight smirk as his eyes gleamed with a mix of amusement and challenge. "You can do better than that, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice low and teasing.

You scowl, making him smirk wider, the pressure making your frustration boil over. "Arthur, just—"

His fingers remain tantalizingly still, his eyes locked onto yours with a challenging gleam. The irritation fuels your desperation, and you let out a shaky breath, finally conceding.

"Arthur... please, I need you. I can’t stand it anymore," you say, your voice softened by surrender, the depth of your need evident.

Arthur’s lips curl into a satisfied grin as he hears your plea. He hums with approval and without another word, you watch as he leans down, his mouth finding your core with a fervent intensity, enveloping you in a warm, consuming embrace.

You gasped out as pleasure rippled through you, his name tumbling from your lips. Your fingers fly down to his hair, clenching at the strands and pull him closer as you surrender to the waves of sensation that crash over you.

He groans against you, his lips teasing the sensitive bud before his tongue moves with deliberate, savoring strokes, licking up your wetness. The taste of you lingers, smearing over his lips and dripping down his chin.

You feel his hand move between your thighs, his touch igniting another wave of pleasure as his thumb gently grazes your clit. The added sensation heightens your arousal, making your breath come in short, gasping bursts.

Without warning, he slips one of his fingers inside you, the sensation sending a jolt of intense pleasure through you. 

He moves with practiced ease, curling and thrusting as he builds a rhythm that makes you gasp and moan. Each movement is designed to amplify the pleasure he's already delivering, his touch skillfully coaxing you closer to the edge.

“Oh God—Arthur!”

His hands pick up the pace, moving faster and with more pressure, targeting that one sensitive spot inside you while his mouth continues to work on your delicate bud. You tighten around his fingers, feeling your legs start to tremble.

You were at the height of your pleasure, your climax so near it felt like you might explode at any moment. Arthur seems to sense it too, his movements expertly bringing you to the brink. 

But just as you're about to come, he abruptly pulls away, smirking down at you. You let out a frustrated whine, your body still trembling from the near climax. 

"Why—" you gasp, eyes pleading as you look up at him, your voice a mix of annoyance and need. The sudden halt only intensifies your frustration, making your desire for release even more unbearable.

Arthur leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Don’t worry, darlin’, I ain’t finished yet," he murmurs, his voice a low, gritty whisper. "Wanna feel you wrapped around me when you come."

With a firm, decisive moment, his hands wrap beneath your bum, lifting you effortlessly. He carries you toward the worn couch, his strength palpable as he places you gently but firmly onto the cushions before positioning himself above you, his gaze never leaving yours.

Arthur’s hands move to unbutton his jeans with a practiced ease before shedding them, revealing his lengthy member, its impressive size immediately drawing your wide-eyed attention.

You can’t help but stare, your eyes widening with a mix of awe and anticipation as you take in the full extent of his arousal. The sight of him, so well-endowed and commanding, sends a thrill of excitement through you, and your breath catches in your throat. 

Arthur notices your reaction, a grin curling on his lips. He moves closer, his hands firmly cupping your face as he tilts your chin up to meet his gaze, capturing your lips in a deep, urgent kiss. 

While his mouth claims yours, his hands move with purpose, deftly working to remove your blouse. You respond eagerly, your hands sliding over his chest and working at the buttons of his shirt until it falls away. 

The two of you move with a synchrony of urgency and passion, shedding the rest of your clothes with a desperate need. Each article of clothing is discarded in a flurry of movement, leaving you both bare. 

Arthur pauses, his eyes dark and intense as they roam over your bare form with a feral hunger. A low growl escapes his throat, his eyes gleaming with a primal desire. 

“Shit,” he rasps, his voice rough and throaty. “Can’t believe I held myself back for so long.” His gaze lingers on you, filled with a raw, unrestrained hunger, as he savors the sight of you completely bare before him. 

He wraps your legs around his hips, drawing you closer as he positions himself between you. With one hand gripping himself and the other steadying your leg, he lines himself up, his breath coming in ragged bursts as he looks down at you.

“You ready for this?” 

You nod, your eyes locked onto his, filled with a mix of eagerness and anticipation. “Please, Arthur,” you reply, your voice trembling slightly. “I want you.”

Arthur’s lips curl into a fierce, satisfied smile before pressing himself against you and slowly begins to enter you, his gaze never leaving your face as a gasp escapes your lips, your body tensing with the intense sensation. 

You arch against him, your hands gripping his shoulders as you adjust to his size. The stretch and pressure of him inside you sends a wave of pleasure through you, your eyes fluttering closed momentarily as you moan out his name. 

He growls in response, his face contorted with both pleasure and concentration. “Goddamn you’re so tight.” 

His hands tighten on your hips, grip firm and possessive as waits for you to adjust around him. After a moment, you grip his shoulders tighter, your nails digging in as you try to steady yourself.

“Arthur,” you murmur, struggling to control your breath. “I need you to move.”

“You sure, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice dripping with raw desire. His eyes search yours for a sign of hesitation but find only eager need.

“Yes,” you breathe, your voice trembling with urgency. “Please.”

With a satisfied nod, Arthur begins to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, each one bringing a wave of pleasure that makes your body tremble. 

As he finds a rhythm, his movements become more intense and fervent, his eyes never leaving your face. His breathing grows heavier, matching the pace of his thrusts as he drives deeper into you.

“Arthur, please…faster.”

He meets your gaze and with a firm grip, he pushes your leg further back against you, angling himself deeper. 

You gasp at the shift, your body arching and gripping him tighter as waves of pleasure crash over you. Each thrust sends a jolt of ecstasy through you, your breaths coming in quick, sharp bursts as you lose yourself in the mounting sensation.

His thrusts become more urgent, each movement sending a jolt of ecstasy through you. “That’s it,” he murmurs between breaths, “let me hear you, sweetheart.”

You moan in response, the sound escaping in a breathless gasp as his relentless pace overwhelms you, crying out his name as your voice trembles with pleasure. 

Arthur’s eyes darken with desire, and he groans deeply. He takes your face in his hand, his thumb tracing the outline of your lips. his gaze intently fixed on you, taking in every reaction, every flush of pleasure, driving him wild.

He can’t help but be captivated by the way you look at him, your gaze locking onto his with a mix of urgency and raw longing.

He’s not going to last long. Not when you look at him like that.

Arthur pushes your leg further back, nearly folding you in half as his thrusts become rougher and more intense, driving into you with a forceful rhythm. Each thrust relentlessly hits the spot inside you, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. 

You feel yourself tighten around him, eliciting a deep groan from him. 

His hand slips between your bodies, his fingers finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at your core and begins to apply a firm, rhythmic pressure, his touch syncing with the hard, relentless pace of his thrusts.

“Arthur,” you moan, your voice a mixture of desperation and bliss.

Arthur grits his teeth, the effort to maintain control clear on his face. “Come on, sweetheart, let go for me… Wanna feel ya,” he growls, his voice thick with desire and urgency. 

The combined stimulation of his touch and his relentless thrusting pushes you toward the edge, your body quaking as the waves of pleasure crest and crash over you. His words, laced with raw need, tip you over that edge, breaking the last of your control. 

You let go completely, surrendering to the overwhelming pleasure as you tremble and gasp in his grasp, your body responding to his every command.

“That’s it,” Arthur growls, his voice rough with pleasure. “Good girl. Feels so good squeezing around me… there we go.”

He moves his hands to your hips, his own breathing ragged as he feels you tighten and convulse around him. He continues to drive into you through the waves of pleasure, his thrusts becoming even more urgent and relentless. You cry out, the sensation overwhelming.

Finally, with a groan of his own, he thrusts deep one last time before pulling out, taking his length into his hand. His body shudders, breath coming in rough, uneven gasps as he finds his release, spilling onto your stomach as the tension finally breaks.

He collapses onto you, his breath ragged and heavy, both of you trying to catch your breaths. After a while, you gently pat him, feeling the weight of him pressing down on you, and he lets out a breathy chuckle, his eyes half-lidded with contentment.

Arthur stands up and grabs the shirt he was wearing, using it to wipe the evidence of his release from your stomach and his. His touch is tender despite the intensity of the moment.

Once he’s finished, he lays back down beside you, pulling you into his arms. With a gentle but firm motion, he adjusts to create enough room for both of you on the worn couch. 

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you settle against him, the warmth of his body providing a soothing contrast to the earlier intensity.

“You alright there?” he asks, his voice soft and slightly teasing as he runs a hand soothingly along your arm.

You nod, your head resting against his shoulder, feeling a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you reply, your voice a bit breathless. “Just needed a moment.”

Arthur chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Can’t say I’m sorry we didn’t do this sooner,” he murmurs, his tone filled with genuine warmth. 

You smile, your eyes closing as you let yourself relax into his embrace. “Me neither,” you whisper, feeling the comfort of his presence. “Guess it’s a good thing we finally did.”

A comfortable silence envelops you both, the warmth of the fire crackling softly in the background. As you settle into the quiet, the room is filled with a tranquil intimacy. 

The gentle heat from the fire and the flickering light cast a soft glow over your resting forms, guiding you both into a peaceful rest.

The next morning, the sunlight filtering through the cracks in the curtains gently warms your face, coaxing you awake from your slumber. 

You blink, slightly disoriented, and notice a quilt draped over you—a cozy, unexpected comfort that you don’t remember covering yourself with. 

You stretch out and sit up, searching for Arthur, but find that he’s no longer beside you. The space next to you is empty, leaving only the lingering warmth of his presence and the faint scent of him in the air.

You wrap the quilt around you before making your way to the bedroom, where you begin to get dressed in your now-dry clothes. 

As you finish getting dressed, you head outside, still wondering where Arthur could be. Opening the front door, you’re startled to find him now dressed in his own clothes and standing with both your horses.

He’s feeding his horse calmly, the sight of the horses safe and sound, along with Arthur’s relaxed demeanor, fills you with a mix of relief and surprise. 

He looks up, catching your gaze with a casual, knowing smile, clearly at ease despite the unexpected circumstances.

“Mornin’, sorry I didn’t want to wake ya,” he says, his voice warm and relaxed.

You blink, still processing the sight before you. “Wait, how did you find the horses? They ran off during that chase,” you ask, your voice filled with surprise and confusion.

Arthur grins, a touch of pride in his eyes. “Managed to track ’em down this mornin’. They’d wandered off a ways but were easy enough to follow. Took a bit of patience, but I got ’em back here safe and sound.” He pats one of the horses affectionately.

You let out a relieved laugh, shaking your head in amazement. “Well, I’m definitely grateful. I wasn’t sure how we’d get them back.

Arthur gives you a casual nod, his eyes still carrying a hint of satisfaction. “We should probably think about getting back to camp soon. Can’t say Dutch’ll be too happy about us comin’ back empty-handed.”

You frown slightly, your mind starting to turn over the implications. “Yeah, he might not be too pleased about that.”

Suddenly, something clicks in your mind, your expression brightening with realization. You make your way to your horse, patting her affectionately as you reach her.

You move to the saddlebag and start fishing around inside before pulling out a small pouch. Arthur watches you with curiosity as you open it, revealing the jewelry you had remembered stuffing inside. With a proud smile, you show it to Arthur, the glint of the gems catching the light.

Arthur raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Well… that’s a nice surprise. Turns out we’re not comin’ back empty-handed after all.” 

He glances at the jewelry, then back at you. “Good thinking.”

You tuck the pouch back into the saddlebag, feeling a surge of relief. “At least we’ve got something to make up for the trouble.”

Arthur shifts, his expression turning serious. “Listen, uh… everything I said last night—I meant it. I care about you, you know.”

You look at him, a soft smile forming on your lips. “I know.”

He pulls you close, and you share a tender kiss, the warmth and reassurance evident in the moment. When you pull away, you give him a playful nudge. “Now, let’s get back to camp.”

Arthur grins, nodding as he mounts his horse. “Lead the way.”

After a few hours of steady travel, you finally crest through the dense woods and emerge into the open area of Shady Belle. 

As you draw closer, you hear John’s voice call out from his post. “Who’s there?”

Arthur raises a hand in greeting, his tone slightly exasperated. “It’s just us two, you idiot.”

John approaches with a grin, clearly relieved to see familiar faces. “Well, well, look who’s back! Didn’t think you’d make it this time.”

His gaze shifts to you, and he notices the cut on your forehead. “What happened there?” he asks, his tone shifting to one of concern. 

“It’s nothing, just a little mishap,” you reply with a shrug and a small reassuring smile. 

John nods, still eyeing the cut with a concerned look. Before he can respond, the sound of Dutch’s voice cuts through the air. 

“There they are!” Dutch strides forward with Hosea, catching the attention of the other gang members. The atmosphere shifts to one of eager anticipation as they approach to welcome you both back.

Arthur and you quickly hitch your horses, and Dutch’s eyes light up with a mix of relief and curiosity. 

“You two look like you’ve had quite the adventure,” he says with a grin. “Let’s hear what you’ve got for us.”

You and Arthur follow Dutch and Hosea inside the house, nodding to the other members who offer warm welcomes at your arrival. 

Once inside, the four of you make your way outside to the terrace to discuss the details. The afternoon sun casts a warm glow over the camp, and you all settle into a comfortable spot.

Hosea’s eyes shift to the cut on your forehead. “You alright?” he asks, his tone filled with concern.

You give a small nod, trying to brush off the worry. “I’ll be alright. Can’t say about the coach, though.”

Hosea raises an eyebrow, his expression turning thoughtful. “The coach, huh? Did something go wrong?”

“The job went well initially. Arthur and I got what we needed, but then things went sideways on the way back.”

Arthur picks up the story, his voice steady. “We ran into trouble. More guards came in hot on our heels, forcing us into some rough terrain. Lost the coach, and then we ended up falling into a river with it.”

You chime in, “The river swept the coach away, taking all the loot with it. We couldn’t salvage anything.”

Dutch’s expression falls. “So, you lost it all?”

Arthur nods, looking apologetic. “Yeah. We couldn’t recover the goods.”

Dutch’s face reflects a mix of disappointment and frustration. “Well, that’s a shame. We coulda used that haul. Least you two are alright, though.”

Hosea tries to lighten the mood. “We’ll bounce back from this. The important thing is that you made it back safely. We’ll sort out the rest.”

Arthur reaches into his satchel and pulls out the small pouch of jewelry from you and a few clipped bundles of cash. He holds them up with a faint, reassuring smile.

“Well, we didn’t lose everything. Reckon this might help make up for it.” 

Arthur hands Hosea the pouch, and Hosea inspects its contents. “With this and the cash we got, I’d say we’re lookin’ at around 800. That should help us get back on our feet.”

Dutch’s eyes light up with relief as he takes in the sight of the recovered items. “Well, that’s a right bit of luck in the middle of all this mess. Better than nothin’.”

Arthur nods, looking somewhat relieved. “Didn’t want to come back here and leave y’all thinkin’ we came up empty.”

Dutch claps Arthur on the shoulder, his mood lifting a bit. “Appreciate that. Let’s get this sorted and move on. We’ve got plenty of work ahead of us.”

Hosea looks over at you and Arthur with a nod of approval. “I gotta hand it to you both. Despite the rough patch, you came through. Good work out there.”

With that, Dutch and Hosea start discussing plans to distribute the recovered items and strategize the next steps.

Over the next few days, the gang once again begins to notice something distinctly different about you and Arthur. 

It’s not just the absence of shouting and tension, but a new, subtle intimacy that marks a significant shift in how you interact. While the first change was notable, this time it's even more pronounced.

Although you and Arthur have kept your more intimate moments away from the prying eyes of the gang, there’s a palpable difference in the way you connect. 

You’re often seen sharing quiet conversations, laughing together, and engaging in playful banter, with soft touches and exchanged smiles now part of your interactions. The closeness between you is evident, and it piques the gang’s curiosity once more.

Speculation runs rife among the camp members about the nature of your evolving relationship. They observe the affectionate gestures and tender glances, each theory more imaginative than the last. 

Despite the growing curiosity, you and Arthur continue to maintain your privacy. When questioned or approached, you both respond with a mix of amused indifference and casual deflection. 

You shrug off the gossip with lighthearted comments or evasive answers, enjoying the newfound closeness while keeping the details of your relationship to yourselves.

On this particular day, while you were engaged in a chore, you overheard Arthur speaking to Dutch, asking why he kept pairing the two of you together despite your apparent dislike for each other. 

You glance over from your place, noting how Dutch seems genuinely puzzled by the question.

“It wasn’t really my call,” Dutch says with a shrug. “That was all Hosea’s idea. I didn’t rightly agree with him and don’t know why the hell he was so insistent or thought it was a good idea, but I just went along with it.”

Arthur’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Both your attention shifts to Hosea, who is currently sitting nearby, absorbed in reading a newspaper. 

Despite his apparent focus on the paper, you notice a subtle smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He doesn’t look up or acknowledge you both, but his expression clearly suggests he’s pleased with the outcome of his decision.

The revelation leaves you and Arthur with a mix of emotions, but the smirk on Hosea’s face makes it clear that he knew exactly what he was doing.

[cowgirlcherrie]

STARTEAM ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ volleyball! loser! ellie drabble

a/n: there is no plot for this it’s just a thought I haven’t been able to shake since seeing the amazing volleyball! ellie art by @caspervi ♡♡

volleyball! ellie art. support their work here!

update: also just realized @elliespeach has a wonderful volleyball! ellie fic and basically kickstarted the idea so support their work here too !!

content: 18+ MDNI, sexual themes, lowk saliva play if u squint bro, fem! water girl! reader

— song(s): STARTEAM by lastclass & byelilfly

Ellie was in timeout. 

Well not literally, but being benched felt like she was. Suddenly she was 5 again and her teacher was moving her card to red, for her indecent behavior. Ellie wanted to whine, she wanted to fight back – bitch and moan. She had been putting in the work! Up in the gymnasium at the crevice of the glowing somber night to practice her bumping and setting; perfecting her spikes and it seemed as if she would never get to reach tranquility. She couldn’t be an ace, she couldn’t beat her opponents. 

She was drenched in sweat head-to-toe —  the fabric of her jersey sticking to her chest like glue. Beads of fresh sweat dripped down her forehead as she licked her dehydrated lips. She needed to breathe. But Ellie didn’t know breath control. She didn’t know stopping either, her routine was damaged, she was jaded and her brain was fuzzy the plays didn’t even make sense to her. Her brain was insanely flawed.  Nothing but incoherent doodles as her coach yelled in her face to take 5. 

All she knew was routine:

Wake up at 5 am. Go for a run at 7 am. Nutritious breakfast at 9 am. Practice 10-4 pm. A quick nap and muscle soak before a game.

All her hard work burned into ashes; eventually to dust and crumbs as it became nothing but a false sense of dedication. Sleepless nights and aching muscles just to be benched. Ellie was incandescent. Her eyebrows furrowed, cheeks a pulsing red – like clown makeup from the intensity. Her blood cells flowed healthily and her heartbeat was in the root of her ears like the pulsing of the music that kept her going.  While some may say a body is a temple; her’s was a ticking time bomb ready to go off in any second. 

Ellie couldn’t keep her eyes open, the sound of sneakers against the freshly polished floors made her eardrums bleed, similar to scraping a metal ruler against a school board. 

Dropping her head as she looked down at her legs. Her thighs were drenched in sweat the shin guards cutting off any circulation, making her thighs look wonderfully plump and 10x more muscular. Ellie was becoming hyper-aware until a sudden tap on her back and a sweet toothache-inducing smell filled her nostrils. 

It was you.

The water girl, her hero. Just the right person to fix her cravings. A thin white ridged paper cup in your hand with water filled to the brim as you held it out in front of you with a gentle smile. Ellie always thought your sweetness was ravishing. She thought her teammates were undeserving of such pleasure and authenticity from you. The other girls would dim your light – and by dimming it she meant flirting with you. Calling you sweetheart and asking to take you out to dinner which was followed by your rich voice telling them, “It’s unprofessional!” but she was too bashful to admit it; she wanted to do it too. 

The word baby could not escape her lips without being immediately flustered by it, Ellie was too smitten and starstruck by you. Quiet and lightly spoken, hell she was called ‘Bitchless 7 Williams’ for a reason. Stuttering over her words, hands shakier than ever, her affection becoming aggression she wanted nothing more than to drag herself out. She wishes she could be more flirty, more outspoken; then just maybe she would have been lucky to snag you, her water girl. 

You knew she could get down, she palpably could get rough with the right motivation. It was the way her anger transcended on the court, you were sure it would manifest in other places too. But part of you loved it, it turned you on, when you were alone at night, entangled in your duvet as you wondered what she would look like calling out your name. She was a fucking loser, a pathetic whiney player that still took the fall.

Initially, you thought you were sweeter; more gentle but Ellie was more bashful than you. She wasn’t like her teammates. Ellie didn’t make eye contact with you at all or call you names. She did, however, stare at your boobs for too long through your tightly fitting workout jacket that hugged every crevice of your body just right. Giving your boobs an extra push. It was perverted, but you caught her every time. Coincidentally that’s what got you hooked on her. You weren’t going to stop her. 

Like a hound dog you could smell what she wanted, you never failed to see the drool finally dripping from her tongue that she masked by bringing up her cup with great speed as the stretchy saliva dripped down the edge of her fingers and her cup. You did notice how she would leave a sticky residue; her clear fluids all over the cup before handing it back to you. Running off right before you can get a word in.

“Hope you’re thirsty It took me hooours to pour this” you teased, holding out the cup towards Ellie with a smile. That soft grin of yours that easily made anyone swoon on you. Ellie caught herself doing it again. In a room with so many people, her team, friends, and family, she sent a quick look at your boobs before looking back at the sparkles in your eyes. Like diamonds and pearls; vibrant and warm. Lewd thoughts raced in her brain like gnats. 

She was giving you teeth, as she took her shirt up; again, to wipe her forehead clear of the everflowing liquid. 

“Oh yeah,” Ellie taunted back, with a smirk on her face. She wasn’t sure where this confidence was coming from, so she reached out to take the cup from you. Bringing the cup up to her lips as she tilted her head back, taking large gulps of the water not breaking eye contact with you. You saw the string of saliva again as she dropped the cup from her lips, taking a soft breath. 

“More . . .” Her voice was breathy as if she ran a mile. 

“More what?”

“More water…please?” Ellie pleaded, she spoke fast and in a whisper shaking the empty cup as she handed it back to you.

“Sure thing Els,” You confirmed taking the cup from her hands feeling the sudden dampness of her drool around the cup. Almost damaging to the deteriorating paper. “You got something here”

You pointed to your own chin with your pointer finger, as Ellie quickly rushed a hand up to wipe off any excess liquid with the back of her hands, fingertips covered in bandaids. 

“Sorry,” it was a quiet whisper. 

You turned to the back this time giving Ellie a full view of the way you looked in the short shorts — that were almost as tight as your top. Ellie had to look away. Almost as if she were being under surveillance, she had to behave; control her wandering eyes that betrayed her more than often.

Just as you were about to give Ellie the cup again, a shout from her coach filled the spacey gymnasium. With that simple shout, Ellie became a machine. Lifting her legs up forgetting about her water request and rushed back onto the court. If she was so lucky to have the chance, she’ll fetch the water from you later. Hopefully with a reward on her back. 

Williams! Back on the court! Let’s try it again #7 Hustle! 

[blkgirl-writing]

hi!! i just read your massive headcanon list for gale (loved it btw) and i desperately need one astarion as well!! ❤️

Astarions Massive list of SFW and NSFW headcanons (Part 1?)

Literally of course!! I wasn’t sure the people wanted this so I was waiting for a request. I’m bundling a lot of my astarion requests in this one too so if you see an ask you did it’s probably inspired!

TW: Acended Astarion section, details on physical and mental abuse there. I will put a warning for where it starts and ends. Some headcanons are more illuded to "female" anatomy, not all headcanons will reveal much

Astarion is somehow so soft with his touch yet rough and almost feral when he really desires you

He will trace every inch of your body with such light, soft fingers, but grab onto your hips tight and nearly thrust you into him. Gently kiss you neck before sinking his teeth into your skin

Because honestly his true desires, wants, and needs, are unfiltered and less calculated than his normal affair

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

TW START

I do have to include acended astarion here because I don’t want to write him fully, so here’s that section. I feel like too many people want acended Astarion to be loving and caring. That unfortunately isn't the truth of the cycle of abuse

It doesn’t last, his love for you. It extinguishes fast, like water to a flame. He becomes cold and controlling

The only was I can see a happy future for tav and Astarion ascended is a Durge, where you rule the land together, ignoring the heart you once had together. It’s lots of bickering. If chaos is your turn on, this is it

Lots of hate sex and screaming matches. At least one per month where you both loose your voice before the argument ends and red marks across eachothers bodies

And honestly, I think one of you kills the other, in a fit of rage. But still whoever dies would get a grave stone. Small, unlabeled, a sort of revenge for the people who wanted it all. Forced in a common place with no success flaunted and easily forgotten

TW ENDED

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion holds hand in his sleep, rather than cuddling

A hand is all he needs to feel like he’s in the safest place in the world

Full spooning is just too intimate and personal until much later In your relationship. He wasn’t ready for something so real yet

There's a lot of pushing and pulling til he gets comfortable, but he will always make sure you know that he loves you and wants your touch, there's a lot of learning along the way

He just hasn't experienced the seriousness of true love and compassion for someone he truly feels he can't lose. It's scary, loving so much that your death would lead to his emotional one, if not physically as well

Astarion would never admit it but he would do just about anything for you

he becomes somewhat soft, which, initially annoys him, but he finally accepts it after a few weeks

He realized when you looked at him, with brightness in your eyes, asking him something important, he really wasn't listening

All he could think was to never make those eyes cry again, he'd do anything to stop you from feeling like that again

Your first date isn't very planned

After a fun but quick night on the beach, you get clothed and Astarion stares at you, taking all of your skin in, as it slowly gets hidden by clothing. A bit of a shame, he couldn't see you bare all the time

There was a blanket and you both lay on it for some time, in silence. Slowly, you feel his pinky finger graise yours. You hook them together, and simply watch the moon in the sky, fading in and out of sleep. Astarion doesn't get any closer or further, but he does sigh a few times

And for the first time, when you wake up, he's still there

Your second date was much more of a traditional date, at least for you two

Astarion had the bright idea to sneak as much alcohol as possible from the inn

feet dipped in the cold water of the docks, four bottles of quality whiskey polished off, and working on a fifth, you were positively hammered

Astarions head was leaning on your shoulder, arm slumped around your waist

the laughing and mumbled words only get louder and louder with each sip, and at some point, Astarion looks up at you, a small glint of his sharp teeth peering out of a smirk, and he leans into you further, pressing his lips against yours doe a deep kiss

it was almost aromatic. A charm whispered in your ear that made his lips taste like roses and sugar, with a hint of copper, you feel your own tongue lick his bottom lip, needing more of whatever that taste was

the night was a blur, after that. Too drunk to really remember much the next day, but you both knew there wasn't going back after that. There was a bond, now, with feelings more than just lust and need

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion fucking you feels like getting close to a campfire, warm, hot, even, like getting any closer may kill you, pounding and scraping, biting and bleeding, breath thick and hot

When you fuck Astarion, everything feels light, it flows like water over a riverbed, he lets you ravish him in a gentle, caring sense

His attention is all over you, but your neck clearly has his attention-grabbing the back of your neck, kisses down it, bite marks, hickeys, licks, even cum, sometimes, purposefully dripped on your face, but mostly on your neck and collarbone

It definitely also is just a very obvious placement, it can show that you fuck, he fucks you, and you love it. It gets to the point where there are faded bruises, bite marks, and scratches littering across your whole neck, it almost looks like tattoos, and a few passersby comment on it.

Astarion had a very smug smile on his face that day, and that night he ravished you with more passion than ever before

What else can I say, Astarion fucks, but I do think once you really start your relationship, there's a lot of re-learning of what he really wants

so sex starts off fairly vanilla, adding stuff in, changing it out, uses of safe words and communication being key, a safe, loving space between you and him where he is never used and he never uses you, it's just pleasure and ecstasy

I believe he'd be open to a closed relationship as well, at least for a while, especially if you choose the path of the underdark for your future

Literally not even once do you wear protection either lol

It's messed up so TW, I have a feeling Cazador made sure Astarion could never procreate, giving him an attachment to anyone is dangerous, and something to fight for even more so. Having his own offspring would never be an option for him

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

There would never be normalcy in your relationship, that's kind of the beauty of it

Every single day is different, there is never a moment that passes with Astarion that isn't unique

Especially when Astarion is adjusting to a life where he has to think and care for another, a routine isn't comforting to him, spontaneity is important in your early relationship

Astarion is still very romantic in his own ways, kissing your fingers hugs from behind, small, light touches across your whole body

The first time you nearly die? my god. He's incredibly distant for a few days

and when you ask what's up he would definitely blow up

like what were you thinking? Going in like that, you could have died! You could have left him alone again

He cries softly in your arms, then, repeats how you could have died. It seems like forever, that he stays there, tears dripping down your skin, cold

From then on he always looks back at you, in battle, before striking, to make sure you're ok, accounted for

------

hey! What other HCs would ya'll like me to add in the next part! I haven't romanced Astarion more than twice so I may need a little help there, haha. But thank you for reading!!

@shyminnie07 @makers-breath @claryvoyantfray @black-sapphic @fapqueen

(Consider supporting me on Ko-fi)

[xanwyn]

animation for THE NEON VOIDD BABYYYY

this post is for @sugarpasteltmnt

‼️‼️MEGA YAPPING AHEAD PLEASE BEWARE‼️‼️

this might end up being really long and rambly and sappy but maybe not who knows.( it was) (and also featuring numerous spelling errors i am way too tired to fix and i am not re reading what i just wrote) SO. yknow how when chap idek..25(?) came out and i was all like “yeah so i made this animation for TNV and ill drop it when the fic ends” in your ask box? so. I FINISHED IT RAHHH. technically it has been finished since i sent that ask but ohhh my goodness did it need polishing. i haven’t animated in 4 years before that and omg it felt so good getting back into it but IDFK SOMETHING IS STILL NOT UP TO MY STANDARDS. i feel like i could have done so much more with it and i deffo wanted to but as soon as i told myself “oh yeah this is basically done” art block literally sucker punched me in the gut out of NOWHERE. I COULD NOT PICK UP MY I PAD. I COULD NOT DRAW. I WOULD STARE AT THE WIP ANIMATION AND BE UPSET BC I DDINT WANNA WORK ON IT AHH. that goes with saying. i kept having this thought in the back of my head “you need to finish it. you have a wip sitting. finish it. go do it. what are you doing are you STARTING ANOTHER PROJECT??? anddd yeah i got super distracted with other stuff and other projects and then i started spending my free time rewatching 2012 turtles and omg this summer has been a mess. i have all the free time in the world and i choose to be the least productive as possible with it even though i have a job that lets me literally sit on my phone and do whatever i want if no one is there. (i’ve brought my switch to work numerous times ☠️) what i was trying to get at is the fact that TNV has inspired a lot of the old me to come back and i lowk missed her. i really missed the point in all those words up there but im here now so whatever. BUT. TNV made me make a tumblr account, i got back in to animation AND digital art in general, got back into longfics that are ongoing, AND it also helped kickstart ideas for writing. i’ve got so many stories now!! you are such an inspirational person pastels i just- every time i read a new chapter of yours it made me wanna go get up and do something. i wanted to create something. because at the end of each chapter, i would think- “woah. a person out there just wrote this. they just sat down one day and committed. i wanna do that” so i did that. just huge thank you and shoutout to you pastel. like damn. idk no words from me here. just a bunch of platonic hugs and kisses and thankyouthankyouthsnkuou for this lovely heart wrenching but also sweet story. i love this fandom (tmnt) so SO much and i think it’s so awesome how interactive you are with your own personal NV fans. crazy how we’re all here because of a bunch of turtles. 

STUFF ABOUT THE ANIMATION:

okay i really like to talk and if you let me, i will run my mouth. this is the internet so im gonna do just that. so more words for you to read 😁. AHEM. so like i stated before in the genuinely scary mess of words up there, i haven’t touched animation in a while, like, 4 years a while. yes i’ve done digital art here and there along the years, i haven’t been doing it nearly as much as i need to to use some programs to their full potential. layers are still confusing, and don’t even get me started on multiply and all that jazz. shading never comes out right on digital for me, i gotta work that one out. so, for this animation, i decided to go with a very rough style. nothing needed to be perfect, i just wanted to live my little life of trying to experiment with a bunch of different things all at once in one short animatic. I wanted to do that little ball bounce thing all animation artists start with (i kinda included that with the key). i also wanted to have a go at lip sync (no hate it was my first time) and also timing the animation with the music. i wanted to see how smoothly i could move a figure in and out of and out of the screen as well, which honestly, i think that part might be my favorite. i think i did a good job, and thats what matters. the animation itself lost a bunch of quality on importing it- no clue how it happened but now the ending is grainy af. ignore that pls lol- but it was sitting in my flipaclip for god, i dont even know, 3 months now? i kept going back and forth on if i wanted to share it or not, so im throwing it to the wolves and i guess whatrver happrns happens and im good with that. yay. im actually rrwlly tired now sooo *leaves this absolute pile of words with a video attached at your feet and stumbles away quickly*

also i’ve genuinely never posted anything so i’m learning how to use tumblr too ☠️

[hookhausenschips]

Prequel: The Decision To Go

Main Menu

Summary: If you received an invite to Singapore for the Grand Prix, not as a regular fan but VIP do you accept?

WC: 1,051

Warnings: none

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

next

The streets of Bridgetown at night were like a second skin to me—familiar, rough, unpredictable. The air was thick with salt from the sea, and the warm breeze carried the scent of asphalt and exhaust. This was my world. The dim glow of streetlights, the low hum of engines waiting to roar to life, and the tight-knit circle of racers who treated every corner like a battlefield. I’d spent the last five years living for this—late nights, fast cars, and the constant chase for that rush.

Tonight was no different. I leaned against my car, a 1996 Nissan 240SX that I’d rebuilt from the ground up, its engine purring low and steady. My fingers traced the door’s smooth metal absentmindedly. This car had seen more than its fair share of races, its engine a beast, and its body a warrior. This car was my pride. My life. My street racing world was exactly where I wanted to be.

Zane, my long-time friend and racing partner, strolled up beside me, a grin on his face. “You ready for tonight, Y/N? Lookin’ like a good crowd tonight.” He motioned toward the small group of racers gathering at the far end of the street.

I glanced at him and shrugged, a smirk playing at my lips. “Ready? Always. You know that.”

Zane chuckled. “You sound bored, though. Same streets, same people, same game?”

“Nah,” I said, rolling my eyes. “You know me, Zane. I love these streets. Ain’t nothing out there for me but this.”

He nodded but didn’t say anything else. He knew better than to question me when I got that look in my eye. The truth was, street racing was more than a hobby, more than a thrill—it was my life. I’d built a reputation here, earned my respect, and there wasn’t a damn thing about professional racing that appealed to me. Sure, F1 was glamorous, but it lacked the soul, the grit of the streets. I had no desire to give up the freedom, the rush, or the independence that came with running my own game out here.

Then my phone buzzed. I pulled it out of my pocket and saw a message from Naia, a friend I’d met a few years back during a trip to London. She was connected in motorsports, always keeping me in the loop about the professional world. I scanned the message quickly:

"Singapore F1 Grand Prix coming up. Got a VIP pass with your name on it if you’re interested. Let me know—this could be your way in."

I raised an eyebrow. Zara knew me well enough to understand I wasn’t looking for a way into professional racing. But I could sense there was more to the invite than just a flashy weekend at the Grand Prix.

Zane peered over my shoulder. “What’s up?”

“Zara,” I said, holding up my phone. “She’s offering me a VIP pass for the Singapore Grand Prix.”

His eyes widened. “F1? Ain’t that the big leagues?”

“Yeah, but you know I’m not looking for that.” I shrugged. “It’s just an invite to check it out. Not like I’m jumping ship to the pros.”

Zane smirked, leaning against my car. “I wasn’t sayin’ that. Just surprised. You gonna go?”

I was quiet for a second, turning the idea over in my head. I wasn’t interested in F1 as a career, but the idea of watching the race up close, seeing what all the fuss was about, and getting a taste of that world for a few days? That could be fun. “I don’t know. Maybe. Could be cool to see it, get inside the garages, meet some drivers.”

Zane nodded thoughtfully. “Could be an adventure. Not like you’re signin’ up for the circuit. Ain’t nobody pulling you outta these streets.”

“Exactly,” I agreed, meeting his gaze. “This is my life. Street racing is what I live for. But there’s no harm in checkin’ out what F1’s all about, right? It’s not like they could tempt me to trade in the streets for their clean, polished tracks.”

He let out a low laugh. “Yeah, that’s true. They ain’t got what we got.”

I slipped my phone back into my pocket, feeling the weight of the decision settle into my chest. "I’ll think about it," I said. "But for now, we’ve got a race tonight."

Zane’s grin widened. “That’s what I like to hear.” He stepped back as I opened the door to my car and slid into the driver’s seat, the leather familiar against my skin. “You’re a street racer, through and through, Y/N. Don’t let nobody forget that.”

I smiled, firing up the engine. The 240SX roared to life, the sound reverberating in my chest, grounding me in the present. F1 might be glamorous, might be the pinnacle of motorsport to some, but to me, it was just another spectacle. The streets were real. The thrill of racing under the radar, with no rules but your own, couldn’t be replicated anywhere else.

As the flag dropped and I launched forward, the tires squealing against the asphalt, the thought of F1 slipped to the back of my mind. This was where I belonged—in the heat of the streets, pushing my limits with every turn.

---

Later that night, after I left Zane and the others celebrating another win, I found myself alone at home. The quiet was a stark contrast to the noise of the streets, but it gave me time to think. My phone buzzed again, and Zara’s message glowed on the screen. I stared at it for a moment, chewing on my lip. I wasn’t going to trade street racing for F1 or any other professional circuit. That wasn’t the life I wanted. But maybe seeing it up close, getting inside the world of Formula 1 without any strings attached, wouldn’t be so bad.

I typed out my response, keeping it simple:

"I’m in. Just for the weekend, though."

As soon as I hit send, I felt a flicker of excitement. I wasn’t leaving the streets behind, but I was ready to see what F1 was all about—on my own terms, no compromises. Street racing was in my blood, and nothing could change that.

[vixensbrainrotts]

Healing slowly — Manjiro <Mikey> Sano

Content: undefined fluff

Warnings: none

Vixen‘s two cents: This has been on my mind for a while now. If you enjoy my content, don’t be afraid to let me know and remember that my requests are open if you have an idea (im having a little bit of writers block atm).

Draken has noticed that Mikey has gotten so much better ever since you came around, how much livelier he looks and sounds and how much less he feels he has to visit to make sure Mikey’s alive. Because he has you now, and Draken knows that it’s time for him to take a step back from Mikey and let him learn to love you right.

Draken has started noticing it a while ago. How much brighter Mikey‘s skin looked, how much more genuinely he smiled, how much more enthusiastic he was about most of anything, really, hell, he even smelled better now! It took him by genuine surprise when Mikey started mentioning you, speaking shyly of how the two of you met and how Mikey seems a bit fonder of you than most. Ken thought it was just a temporary crush, nothing too important, nothing too major.

How wrong he was though, seeing that it came to the point that Mikey would come late to his own gang meetings, spend his monthly allowance on things like chocolates, flowers, cards and trinkets to gift you. It was the way that Mikey seemed to suddenly care for his appearance, ditching the overgrown hair and opting for something a little shorter, more wolffish (you mentioned you liked the cut once upon a time, he remembered). It was the way that he would care that his clothes weren’t creased, that his shoes weren’t stained, that his face was in-tact and all such casualties. It’s the way that Mikey started polishing his bike even more obsessively than before, nearly burning a hole into the rag he used with how vigorously he was rubbing it.

The first time Ken met you, he was in disbelief. Mikey, Majiro Sano, that fucking dumbass bagged YOU? How. There was no way. The disbelief led to many a questions about payment and bribery, even considering intimation and threats to be the base of your relationship. But once he talked to you, got to know you, Ken fully understood. You cared for Manjiro, made sure he was on top of his tasks, made sure that he was more aware of his own needs and fulfilled those too. Mikey cared for you too, encouraged you to take breaks, to be aware of your surroundings and making you losen up a little sometimes, making your day-to-day life just a little more exiting.

You two together were like birds of a feather. A perfectly balanced scale, your relationship was tangent to perfection. This unexpected but wonderful revelation allowed Draken to spend some of his new-found free time alone. Completely alone, nobody bothering him type of alone. There was nothing in his way, no second opinion of what he wanted to do, no nagging about the weather, and no plunderingwallet for snacks and othersuch trivial things.

Draken, whilst astounded by your dynamic, was still a little skeptic. Sure you’ve stuck with Mikey for a bit now, but how would you handle the real struggles? Mikey was a piece of work, a real lot of effort, Draken had the first hand experience to back it up. Surely you would be scared off, surely you’d try your best but eventually fall flat at the overwhelming, almost overbearing nature that Mikey surrounded occasionally. But just like in terms of the first impression, Ken was wrong. You stuck with Manjiro through the depressive episodes, through the bursts of aggression, through the phases of silent treatment, and even when he pushed you away completely, claiming that he couldn’t handle being in a relationship anymore.

Whilst the two of you had rough patches, you never broke. You bother were dedicated to each other and resilient to your relationship. It was complete mutualism with you two, no amount of strain could break the bond you two built. Ken found himself admiring your relationship, silently thankful of the security that you gave one another, and of the transformation Manjiro had gone through. He was capable of his own now. Not that he wasn’t before you, but you had encouraged him to target his weaker spots, foddering growth and comprehension of mind, emotions and expression of such.

Ken was eternally thankful of you, and has recognized that he was no longer a vital part of Mikey’s survival. Manjiro had you now.

[darlingshane]

Summary: Karen has sworn to never date anyone in the workplace ever again, but it's a rule that she might need to break when she starts her new job at Castle Motors as a marketing consultant.

CW: au - romantic comedy, fluff, crack, slow burn, friendship, drinking, workplace relationships, eventual romance, happy ending, frank and maria are divorced but have a good relationship. (and marketing, a lot of marketing.)

Word Count: 12,1k (first 10 chapters only)

A/N: This is based on a drabble I wrote a few years ago of the same title here (it was kind of a mess so don't check it out, just read this one instead). I always wanted to turn it into a longer fic. I'm working on the last couple of chapters, and it'll be done soon. You won't have to wait long to see those posted.

— Links: AO3 // Kastle Masterlist.

Excerpt from my favorite chapter (7):

When Karen had pitched the idea of putting Frank in front of the camera, she knew it was a gamble. Frank was the kind of CEO who preferred to stay behind the scenes, letting his work and the company speak for itself. But Karen was convinced that showcasing Frank as the face of the company would resonate with the public, making Castle Motors not just a brand, but a brand with a story and a leader people could trust.

Frank, however, had been less than enthusiastic. “Karen, my face isn’t exactly camera-friendly,” he had said with a wry smile. “Broken nose, giant head, satellite ears…”

“Stop it, you look like a young De Niro.” Karen chuckled but persisted, knowing that his rough-around-the-edges appearance and straightforward personality were precisely what would make him relatable and authentic. People didn’t need another polished, cookie-cutter CEO—they needed someone real.

Now, as she watched Frank fidget with the collar of his suit, Karen could tell he was out of his element. He’d been through makeup, his hair was slicked back, and the tailored suit, while well-fitted, seemed to restrict him. He looked like a man wearing someone else’s skin.

She approached him, her eyes scanning the nervous energy in his posture. “You okay?” she asked softly.

Frank sighed, glancing around at the crew bustling about. “This just isn’t me, Karen. I don’t feel right in this get-up.”

Karen smiled, understanding his discomfort. “You don’t have to be someone else, Frank. That’s not what this is about. We want people to see you—the real Frank Castle. Not some polished version.”

She reached out, tugging gently at the lapels of his suit jacket. “What if we lose the jacket and tie? Maybe unbutton a couple of buttons, get you back to feeling like yourself?”

Frank hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, that might help.”

He slipped off the jacket, draping it over a nearby chair, and loosened his tie before pulling it off completely. Karen stepped closer, reaching up to unbutton the top two buttons of his dress shirt. As she did, she noticed how his broad chest and strong shoulders seemed to relax with the simple act.

— You can read the rest on AO3.

[swarvey]

paper rings | harvey x f!reader

summary -> Harvey gets drunk with the boys; you have a realization. warnings -> none! wc -> 3818

a/n: calm before the storm <3

ch. 6 | ch. 7 | ch. 8

paper rings masterlist

chapter seven: i think he knows -> "it's like i'm seventeen, nobody understands."

“Done!” 

Triumphantly placing the last piece of the bundle in the box, you watched happily as a blue Junimo picked it up and took it away. As you continuously brought goods to the Community Center in hopes of restoring it — per Mayor Lewis’s request — you noticed this particular Junimo seemed to have taking a liking to you, as it kept following you to random places. Not only was it mainly the one who would take your completed bundles, but once in a while, it would show up at the farm or in the mines, usually looking at you with curious eyes before disappearing. You weren’t complaining, of course. It was harmlessly adorable, and after seeing it a couple of times, you fittingly named it Blueberry. It seemed as determined to bring the building back to its prime as you were.

You could hardly believe anyone in town would shop at the Joja Mart over Pierre’s. Sure, the guy could be a bit stuck-up, but at least his goods weren’t processed to hell like Joja’s. You shivered at the thought of working for the cursed company again, not comprehending how Sam and Shane could tolerate being in that place regularly. 

Well, Sam less so, as he always seemed to figure out how to entertain himself. It seemed like Shane just liked being in a place where no one would bother him, which made you all the more confused as to why he hung around Harvey and, of all people, Elliott, who seemed to be his polar opposite. 

You sighed contently as Blueberry wound around your feet once before walking away with the bundle, proudly looking at the two rooms you had completed so far. Although the effort was taking you a bit longer than you liked, seeing the rooms steadily come together was enough for you. You chose not to question how the Community Center was repairing itself, or where the Junimos came from — you’d learned long ago that many things in the Valley were unexplainable, and you were okay with that. 

You smiled as you waved goodbye to your little blue friend, swearing you saw it wave back.

I wonder what Harvey would think of this little guy.

-

“What in the everloving fuck am I looking at right now.”

For once, Harvey completely agreed with Shane’s words. Maybe it was the alcohol coursing through his bloodstream, but whatever Elliott was holding up on his phone screen was not making an ounce of sense to him.

“It’s a visualization of my novel!” the writer exclaimed, his usually precise tone slurred due to the three empty glasses in front of him. “I decided to expand my creative mind and turn to another output. This will allow me to make full use of my thought process.”

Shane snorted, grabbing the phone out of his hands and squinting at the poorly drawn stick figures. “Dude, I don’t know how to break it to you,” he started, laughter already bubbling in his voice, “but this looks like shit .”

Harvey shook his head and smiled as Shane cackled. Elliott snatched his phone back in retaliation, visibly offended. “It’s a rough draft, it’s not meant to look polished! You agree, don’t you, my good doctor?”

“. . . It kind of looks like shit,” he admitted, his rare use of profanity slipping off his tongue easily. Harvey took a long swig of his drink, avoiding Elliott’s utterly betrayed gaze.

Meanwhile, Shane continued to crack up, holding his stomach as he doubled over. “If this is the rough draft, the real thing might just pass off as a kindergartener’s drawing. Hey, why don’t I ask Jas to give you some tips? She’s not half bad, that kid.”

“I absolutely will not — actually,” Elliott paused, cutting off his own sentence, “that may not be a terrible idea. Then, I could obtain a glimpse of how she views my work, and incorporate it into the final product!”

As Shane groaned, tuning out the rest of the other man’s rambling, Harvey felt his phone buzz, looking down to see a text from you lighting up his screen.

Y/N : hey, you at the saloon?

In the midst of his drunken haze, he allowed a lovestruck smile to stretch his lips. He didn’t even notice Shane and Elliott momentarily pausing their bickering to glance at him, both of them raising their brows. 

Harvey : Am I that predictable?

Y/N : like clockwork. drunk off your ass yet?

Harvey : I never get drunk off my ass, Y/N.

Y/N : really? 

should i send the video?

Harvey : DO NOT!!

I asked you to delete it years ago. :(

Y/N : LOL you’re totally drunk

i’ll ask emily to take some funny photos

i’ve been meaning to update your contact pic anyway

Harvey : You are impossible.

Harvey felt like a teenager again, hiding his grin and tinted cheeks behind his hand. 

Harvey : Are you at home?

Y/N : yeah, i’m beat, probably gonna head to bed

still down for the festival on tuesday?

His posture straightened as he suddenly remembered the invitation he’d given you to the Stardew Valley Fair. After checking the date and seeing that it was Saturday, he realized he had less than a week to mentally prepare himself for the event. 

“Shit,” he swore quietly, once again not noticing the appalled look on Elliott’s face at his swear. Shane snickered, no doubt finding it amusing to see the doctor so intoxicated — it was largely his fault, after all, since he’d been determined to partake in as many rounds as humanely possible.

Harvey : Of course! Why don’t I meet you at the clinic?

I’ll have to close up in the morning, so you can come in and wait for me.

Y/N : wow, inviting me over to your clinic? 

does this mean i get a free check-up? 

A free . . . check-up?

Harvey could only imagine this was what short-circuiting felt like.

Apparently, alcohol caused his thoughts to run even more wild. Images of you propped up on his examination table and smiling at him innocently flashed through his mind, his fingers frozen and unable to type out a response.

“Talking to Y/N, I’m guessing?” Harvey quickly closed his phone at the sound of Gus’s voice, realizing Shane must have ordered yet another round of drinks for everyone. His friends looked away, though he could still make out their amused smirks. “How’s that goin’ for ya?”

Right. After his first dinner with you in town, Harvey had confessed to Gus the situation he was in, his head bowed in guilt as he lectured him about treating you properly. Despite his protectiveness over you, Gus was still supportive of his feelings, giving him as much advice as he could.

“It’s, uh, going well,” Harvey replied, thinking that was the best word to describe your relations with him as of late. “We’re just as close as we were before.”

The older man nodded, grabbing the empty glasses to stow them away. “Well, you better take care of her, son. It’s not every day people have a connection like the two of you do, and I’d hate to see either of ya get hurt.” With that, Gus worked his way over to the next table, leaving Harvey to sit with his words.

“He’s right,” Shane said, pushing over another glass to him. “You two are somethin’ else for sure. Kinda makes me sick.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Elliott countered. Upon seeing half his new drink was already gone, Harvey questioned how his speech was still comprehensible. “As I have been insisting since our dear Harvey first brought up the farmer, these two are a clear example of fate .”

“Oh, enough with that bullshit. Fate this, fate that — if fate’s real, why can’t it get me a new fuckin’ job, huh? That place makes me feel like I’m losing whatever brain cells I have left.”

Buzz!

“What does she want, anyway?” Shane asked, attempting to read Harvey’s screen. He quickly picked up his phone, looking away sheepishly as he hid your conversation. His friend huffed an unamused laugh, shrugging. “This is some damn middle school shit,” he grumbled, and Elliott laughed into his glass as he sipped his drink.

Y/N : relax harvs, i can practically see you having a heart attack through the screen

it was a joke btw, i’ll make sure to properly pay and schedule an appointment whenever i need one :salute:

Great. Now you thought he was being stingy. 

Harvey : Sorry, I got distracted. You know you can come in whenever you’d like.

Y/N : i know, thanks dr. harvey 

anyways, have fun, i’m off to bed

goodnight!

Harvey : Goodnight, Y/N.

When Harvey awoke the next morning, blinking past the dull ache in his head, he saw an unread text from you sent an hour before. His eyes widened as he opened it, realizing Emily must have listened to your request and snuck a picture of him when he wasn’t paying attention.

Of course, she had caught him while he was texting you, his face and ears burning red and his hidden smile completely up for show in the photo. He groaned in embarrassment, certain you would notice his expression and question him for it.

Instead, your text focused on a completely different aspect of the image.

Y/N : what the hell are those two idiots doing??

Confused, Harvey looked back at the picture and zoomed in, stifling a laugh at the sight of his two friends in the middle of a heated argument. Shane’s lips were pulled back in an aggressive snark while Elliott raised his phone to his face, his eyes lit with an honest passion.

Harvey : Lovers’ quarrel. Happens every day.

-

Memories hit you like a truck as you and your horse slowly headed towards town. You could practically smell the buttered popcorn and hear the ringing sound of festival games already filling the air. The Stardew Valley festival used to be the perfect way to end your summers as a kid, especially when your grandfather would tag along with you. He would always take your hand and smile at you warmly, sometimes even giving you a pouch of coins to spend on your own. You smiled to yourself at the thought. Although he wasn’t walking beside you anymore, you swore you could still feel his familiar energy around you.

Or maybe Emily’s starting to get to me. 

Either way, your excitement only grew at the sight of the booths and games coming together, making sure to stop by your stand and drop off the goods you brought to show off. You were sure each of the items was of top quality and glanced at the other displays to see your competition, though you already knew who you had to beat. You glared at Pierre’s abundant stand, scoffing as you made your way toward Harvey’s clinic. Surely, you would win against the overconfident store owner — you were growing your own crops, after all. 

You poked your head into the clinic, eyes brightening at the sight of your childhood friend. Harvey, too consumed in tidying up, didn’t notice you right away, continuing to rearrange some items in the cabinet and humming to himself. You were suddenly reminded of the image Emily sent you the night before, recalling how, for a split second, you’d thought Harvey looked a bit cute with his flushed cheeks and ears. He’d always gotten a bit pink when he drank, but something about that particular angle of him caught your eye. Maybe it was the fact that he was looking at his phone, no doubt in the middle of texting you? Or maybe it was the dumb smile on his face?

Not that you would ever mention any of that, though. Why would you? They were simply quick thoughts you were having, nothing more.

No, you opted to instead highlight the incredibly stupid looks on his friends’ faces, laughing when he called them lovers. Although you didn’t nearly talk to the other two men as much as he did, you could tell they were all good friends. You were glad Harvey had a circle of support around him — knowing him, he constantly had something to stress over, and you knew you couldn’t always be there for him.

You walked up behind Harvey, giving him an exasperated look when he still didn’t turn around. Half-smiling, you extended your hands toward him, slowly inching closer before poking his sides.

“ Boo! ”

“ Huh —?”

Harvey jumped as he yelped in surprise, dropping several rolls of bandages onto the floor. He bent forward and rested his hands on his knees to catch his breath, all while you died of laughter beside him.

“You know I scare easily!” he complained, standing straight to adjust his glasses. 

“Of course I know,” you replied, wiping a fake tear off your cheek. “That’s why I did it.”

“You will never stop tormenting me, will you?”

“Nope. Not ‘til I drop dead.”

“Great,” he deadpanned, shaking his head. “Were you able to finish all your farmwork this morning?”

You nodded, lips still stretched into a lingering smile. “Pet bowls filled, animals fed, and crops watered — all done.” You glanced around the room, noticing he was alone. “Where’s Maru?”

That’s an innocent question, right? Of course it was. She worked under him, after all, it only made sense to ask why she wasn’t there to help. One thought led to another in your head, and suddenly, you were thinking about the Flower Dance; about how pink Maru’s face had been while talking to Harvey; about the soft shyness covering his face, an expression you didn’t know how to read and would bet your farmland it was because he reserved it for her and her only—

“Oh, I told her to sleep in,” he replied easily, putting the bandages in their proper place. “There wasn’t much to do, so I figured I would just get it out of the way.”

Of course. Of course, he told her to sleep in, because Harvey was and always would be thoughtful, more than you’d ever understand.

“Not much to do, huh?” you repeated, and he nodded.

Without warning, you grabbed Harvey’s arm and began to drag him out of the clinic, ignoring his protests about his unfinished work. 

“You can finish when you get back, Harvey, the clinic isn’t going anywhere,” you said, anticipation filling you as Lewis had just finished looking at all the displays. “Mayor Lewis, hey!” You waved him down, and he greeted both of you with a big smile.

“It’s good to see you two.” He sighed, a wistful look taking over him. “I can’t believe how much you’ve grown up. Ah, before I forget,” he started, reaching into his pocket. “Y/N, congratulations! You won first place with a rating of a hundred.” You whooped, nearly knocking Harvey over with your excitement as you happily accepted the small bag Lewis gave you. “Here, your prize is a thousand star tokens — use them wisely!”

“A thousand? ” Harvey questioned, peering into the bag. “We used to spend the entire day getting this many tokens.”

“And now, we have a head start,” you said, an old sense of competitiveness creeping its way back into your senses. “Let’s go win some prizes!”

As the plaza began to fill with more and more people, you and Harvey fell back onto your old rhythm — while you took care of all the games requiring strength and technique, he took care of the trickier, mind-twisting ones. Your jaw remained dropped as he stared at the wheel for the seventh time in a row, a finger touching his lips as he thought.

“Green,” Harvey said, to which the man running the game scowled. 

“You sure, bud? You seem awful confident, but your luck might just run out,” he reasoned, though you could tell he was trying to trick him.

Harvey narrowed his eyes. “I’m sure.” 

You laughed giddily as the two of you walked away from the wheel with a heavy sack of tokens, Harvey flaunting a proud look on his face.

“I still don’t get it — how do you do that?” you asked, in awe at his winning streak that had remained unbroken since you first played with him. “You make us tons more compared to that slingshot game!”

He shrugged, putting his hands in his coat pockets. “I mean, after stopping by every year, I started to recognize the pattern. I suppose it’s more statistics, since there’s a much higher chance that—”

“Look who it is!” 

You felt a light punch land on your shoulder as Alex and Haley approached you, watching amusedly as Haley scolded him for hitting you.

“Geez, it wasn’t even that hard,” he mumbled, but lightened up at the sight of your pouch. “You guys won those already?”

“Honestly, it was mostly Harvey,” you admitted, nudging his arm. “Ever since we were kids, he’s always been scarily good at that wheel game. What were you saying, Harvs? Something about statistics, or something?”

No response. 

You looked at him, noticing he was suddenly spacing out and staring at the space in between the two in front of you.

“Harvey? You okay?”

“What?” he questioned, blinking. “Yes, uh, it’s just some simple math, that’s all. Nothing much to it.”

Haley huffed. “Well, can you teach this guy how to do it? ‘Cause whenever I play with him, we never seem to win anything.” Alex opened his mouth to respond, but she paid no mind, opting to walk toward the game Leah was playing instead.

“Wait up!” Just as he was about to turn, Alex looked back at you, grinning. “I’ll see you around, Y/N! Hey, if I have any leftover tokens, I’ll get you something from the prize booth, okay?”

“Deal!” 

After he ran to catch up with the blonde, you turned back to Harvey, cocking your head at the serious look that had hooded over his eyes.

“Um, you sure you’re okay?” you asked, but before you could question him further, he took your arm and led you to the prize booth, gently taking the tokens from your hand. You had never seen him look so determined before, as if he was trying to prove something.

“Here you go, ma’am,” he said, sliding them over to the lady behind the counter. “I believe this should be enough for one of everything you have.”

“One of—? Harvey, what are you doing?!”

That’s how the two of you ended up leaving the Stardew Valley Festival early, Harvey helping you carry home the copious amount of prizes you received.

“You’re sure you don’t want any of this? Come on, Harvs, you practically won all of this yourself,” you said, opening the door to your house. 

Harvey shook his head, smiling as he placed everything in a neat pile at the foot of your bed. You had never seen so many stuffed animals in your life.

“Please, I have no space for any of this in my apartment, anyway.” He looked fondly at the matching bear they’d given the two of you — although yours was obviously more worn down, the design on the new one was the exact same as its counterpart.

You shook your head, pressing the bear back into his arms. “I’ve already got mine, this one can be yours. I can’t have two of the same thing.” You definitely could. Part of you just liked the idea of matching with him.

“If you insist.” He smiled at the stuffed animal in his arms, though it quickly wiped from his face as he turned to leave. “Is that . . .?” You followed his gaze, stomach dropping at what had caught his eye.

He was staring directly at the bouquet you’d hung by your bedside the first morning you had moved in.

Fuck, fuck. He can’t know, I had no idea what those stupid flowers meant back then! You wanted to punch your past self in the jaw for her stupidity. After the Spring season had past, you’d learned the true meaning behind the bouquets Pierre sold, cursing him for not telling you back then. There was no way Harvey could know you bought it with him in mind, not when neither of you saw each other in that way.

Not when he had Maru in mind, supposedly the girl he felt he was constantly gravitating towards.

“Oh, that?” you laughed awkwardly, a cold sweat brewing on your neck. “I bought it for myself!”

He blinked, and for a second, you thought you saw relief flash in his eyes. “Ah, for . . . yourself?”

“Hey, don’t judge,” you responded, crossing your arms. “I just thought they looked nice, so I decided to dry the whole thing to make it last. That’s all.”

“But you do know what a bouquet symbolizes, correct?”

“I do, in fact, know what they mean, Dr. Judgey,” you shot back, feigning offense. “What happened to being a supportive friend?��

“Alright, enough with the dramatism,” he laughed lightly, adjusting his hold on the bear. “I had fun today, Y/N. Um . . . thank you, for spending time with me.”

The tension left your shoulders as you smiled at him. “It’s the least I can do, especially after you got me all this stuff.” You held the door open for him as he left. “Same time next year?” you asked playfully. He managed to salute in agreement with one of his hands, peeking around the stuffed animal’s body to make sure he wasn’t running into anything. 

You spent the rest of the night staring at the flowers on the wall, wondering why your heart clenched whenever you thought back to Harvey seeing them. There was no way he could figure it out, right? As smart as he was, you highly doubted he would think the bouquet was meant for him. You used to visibly gag in front of him whenever people mentioned the idea of you dating him.

So, why were you now having the same reaction at the thought of him dating someone else?

You groaned in frustration into your pillow, lifting your head to look at the pestering flowers once more. You knew it wasn’t fair — it wasn’t fair you were just starting to like him when you’d quite literally had years to do so, and it especially wasn’t fair that he was, in fact, in love with someone else. You couldn’t blame him, though, of course you couldn’t. Maru was smart, pretty, and kind; she lined up with Harvey perfectly.

And yet, there was a part of you screaming there was no one more fitting for him than you. It didn’t matter, though. None of your thoughts mattered if Harvey didn’t see you in that light, if all he saw when he looked at you was his childhood friend who he was able to reconnect with.

You closed your eyes.

It never hurt to pretend, though.

[fanfic-obsessed]

We thought you knew

So this idea is both undeniably crack, and an AU of the Rako Hardeen arc. 

The first thing to be aware of is that not a single member of the Jedi council is taking the threat against the Chancellor seriously.  The analysts of the Jedi Shadows, the intelligence portion of the Jedi, all agree. The only way that this attack against the Chancellor is actually a viable threat is if the Chancellor is a Sith, and the mastermind behind the attempt. And nobody believes that the Chancellor is a Sith.  

The council does decide to fake Obi Wan’s death to send him under cover, but it is only because the Chancellor seemed so proud to be contributing a plan. However they do not change Obi Wan’s face, they do not change his voice, they do not even make him give up the Jedi robes.  The only attempt to change his appearance is that his hair and his beard were shaved. 

They do not tell anyone that they are faking his death because they all thought it would be exceedingly obvious. Like the entire council thought that there was no way that Cad Bane or anyone else would fall for this, so they figured Obi Wan would be brought to the jail and then have to beat up a room full of criminals when he failed to convince them he was Rako Hardeen. Then they could all go back to figuring out how to win a war and try to get Obi Wan to take an actual vacation. 

Note: To be fair, it was exceedingly obvious to 99% of the people who knew Obi Wan. Unfortunately Anakin fell into the 1%. So did the mercenaries Obi Wan needed to break out of prison with, and seemingly Count Dooku (Dooku knew who was there the whole time, but was under orders from Palpatine that this plan had to work). Ahsoka and the clones on the other hand, realized even before the funeral-due in part to the extended death scene that happened after Obi Wan was shot that had been written and directed by Mace Windu. 

So Anakin is hunting down Obi Wan, in the guise of Hardeen, full of rage and grief. He is being followed at a distance by a troop of clones and Ahsoka. No one realizes until his first earnest attempt at murdering Hardeen that he is not acting. Every attempt to tell him what is going on is rebuffed in the most hilarious way possible.  At one point he is fighting ‘Hardeen’ and first Ahsoka, then Cody, then Rex, then an odd assortment of other clones, then  Padme (and inexplicably Yoda, who was not even on that planet at the time), each scream at him that ‘Hardeen’ is really Obi Wan, with Obi Wan agreeing each time, getting progressively more out of breath. Anakin cries dramatically to the heavens that Hardeen is not Obi Wan, he killed Obi Wan and everyone else is in denial.

Obi Wan is following through the rough plan of the Chancellors, which was never polished into an ACTUAL plan, because no one thought it would get this far.  There is also no good way to tell the enemy that you are undercover, but never thought it would get this far.  Also the surreal suspicion that occurs because ‘this should not have worked and this should not be happening’. Both Dooku and Obi Wan spend a fair amount of time pretending this undercover thing worked and the Dooku has not called him Obi Wan the times while not around the mercenaries. 

In the end Obi Wan was there to save the Chancellor, though that this attack happened at all is what clued the Jedi in to the Chancellor being the Sith.  At some point Anakin pouts/is angry that Obi Wan didn’t tell Anakin that Obi Wan was Hardeen. Padme takes a moment to slap Anakin upside the head, because literally everyone told him that Obi Wan was Hardeen.

[bettyfrommars]

v a c a n c y

Eddie x afab!Reader

This is a short snippet of a world I've been thinking about for a while, loosely inspired by the film Equilibrium where feeling is a crime punishable by death, but also by my fascination with abandoned places, wastelands, and the idea that, even though love sets us up for pain and grief, life is not worth living without it. I hope to expand on it eventually. Hint: this might also be interwoven with my nightmare Eddie.

wc: 1.3k

18+MDNI, dystopian au

This is rough, I just spit out this scene because I needed this Eddie to cheer me up.

The sting of the frosty air bit your cheeks when you stepped out of the motel room you shared with your aunt Ramona.  Wiggling the knob to make sure it was locked, you zipped up your coat, and then checked to make sure it was locked one more time for good measure. 

Nearby, someone whistled to get your attention.

You snapped a look across the way to find that the newest resident of the Grove Motel was out in the parking space in front of his room working on his van. He waved a wrench in the air at you.  “She needs tender loving care when it’s cold outside,” he shouted, possibly unaware of the noise ordinance for loud voices on the premises.  

You wondered if perhaps he had mistaken you for someone else, so you adjusted the bag on your shoulder, turned your back on him, and kept going.  

The steel of the wrench clinked to the cement, and then, at a jog, he caught up to you, and extended the spread out fingers of his hand for you to see.  “What do you think?”

He was referring to the new skull ring he wore, and was about to tell you a story about how a Hell’s Angel traded it for a six pack, but you were fixated on something else.  

“You’re not supposed to do that,” you gestured to the chipped, black polish on his short fingernails, not to mention the jewelry adornments he so proudly wore. “If they catch you, you’ll get a fine.” 

“Fuck ‘em,” he put a cigarette to his lips, lit the end with a metal zippo from his pocket, and then clapped the lighter shut, keeping the coffin nail in the corner of his mouth as he spoke.  “They can put me in jail, wouldn’t be the first time.”

You came to a full halt on the pavement then, unnerved by his unique and utterly idiotic nonchalance. His gaudy rings, the flash on his vest over his leather jacket, his long hair, everything.  Hell, you could very well get a fine for just associating with him.  “They banish people too, you know? To the Outer Limits, I bet you wouldn’t be so cocky then?”

He puffed a laugh out his nose and leaned in, his voice a murmur that melted into a purr. “Well, then, you don’t know shit about me, sweetheart.”

You dodged to the side to avoid him, marching ahead with brutal determination.

“Hey, hey, hey, please wait,” he jumped in front of  you, waving his arms. “I’m sorry okay? Just...wait,” and then his hands were up, palms out to mime the invisible wall between you.

Your gaze lingered on the dead tufts of grass around the sidewalk, but then cautiously rose to his brown orbs rimmed in gold.

“My name’s Eddie,” he bobbed forward before bouncing back on the balls of his feet.  “I’ve been seeing you around for a couple weeks and thought maybe I’d introduce myself.”

“I know who you are,” you swallowed.  “You moved into Curtis and Janey’s old place. They were friends of mine.”

“Oh shit, that’s right.  He was taken away, wasn’t he? By those rent-a-cops with the cowboy hats.”

You nodded, working your jaw.  “Curtis and his wife, they were always holding hands and kissing and…” a part of  you worried you’d get in trouble just for speaking the words. “...being really affectionate with each other.”

Eddie gave an exaggerated grimace.  “Yikes, that sound like some hardcore stuff.”

“Don’t make fun,” you inclined your head.  “This is serious.”

He broke into a chuckle, biting his lip.  “I can tell that you think it is.”

You kept walking, only to have him take backwards steps to keep pace with you, wallet chain bouncing with each jolly movement.  “So, what’s your name?”

“You’re not from around here, I can tell,” you let him know, mumbling your name so it was almost inaudible.

“What gave it away?” 

“Do they not have laws against feelings and self-expression where you’re from?”

“No, they do,” he spun on his heel to face the same direction as you.  “I guess I just don’t care about their rules.”

You came to another abrupt stop to gape at his casual smile.  You’d never met anyone like him before, and it made you curious almost as much as it infuriated you.  He appeared to welcome your assessment of him with matched intensity, rolling his bottom lip through his teeth a few times.  

“I have to get to work,” you stepped from the curb, gnashing your teeth.

“Are you taking the bus?” 

“No genius,” you spat over your shoulder.  “I’m waiting for my limousine to pick me up at the curb.”

At that, Eddie guffawed with laughter and sprang up next to you, shuffling in little hop-steps.  “You had me worried there for a second.  I thought maybe you were dead inside like the rest of them.”

“I’m plenty dead inside,” you muttered, thinking it was time to take your pills again, the medication that kept you from feeling anything and sucked any and all joy out of life.

“Do you want a ride?” He exhaled toward the sky, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.  “I know a guy with a van who has some time to kill.”

“No thank you,” was your quick and curt response.  

“Suit yourself,” he flicked the butt into the street just as an old, rusted Plymouth cruised by with a huge dent in the door.  “But if you ever need like, milk or sugar, you know where to find me.”

“I won’t.”

A few yards from the bus stop, he called your name, and you spun around to face him, brow creased with irritation.  

“Was that Led Zeppelin I heard coming from your place the other day or was I dreaming?”  

You froze, panic flushing arctic ice through your veins.  

The enjoyment of music was absolutely forbidden in your territory, and the only thing on the radio were news and religious stations.  You’d kept your dad’s old cassette player and a shoebox full of tapes hidden in the wall behind your dresser for years.  It was a secret you’d kept so long, you were always very careful about when you listened and how loud.

You were shaking your head, moving your jaw, but no words could come out.  He would tell on you, and then the Troopers would come and ransack your room and take the only thing of your father’s you had left.

“Please don’t,” you took cautious steps, searching his face.  “I can’t, I won’t listen anymore, but please don’t tell anyone. I’m begging  you.”

Eddie frowned and grinned at the same time, confused.  “I would never—” and then he realized you were actually freaking out, and his tone got very soft.  “Hey, listen, it’ll be our secret, alright? I like to listen to music too.”

You looked around, worried that the aluminum skeletons in the junkyard next door had ears. You believed him, you had to.  You’d been caught and you were at his mercy. 

“I was just going to say we need to get you some headphones.” He bucked his chin and gave a proud wink, “I know a guy.”

[writingquestionsanswered]

Hello I was wondering if you had advice on how to continue writing a story I start writing books but can't seem to finish them

Starting Stories But Not Finishing Them

There are a few reasons why you might be struggling to finish the stories you start. We'll count them down, because the biggest one is the most important one...

#5 - You're Getting Distracted

Writer brains get very excited by new ideas. Even when we're in the middle of a story we love and are excited about, we can lose all of our focus and motivation when the right idea comes along. But there are other things that can distract us, too... anything you like to do for fun or relaxation, other projects, school and work stuff, social stuff... anything you might be thinking about or spending time on that isn't your story can derail your forward motion. And sometimes it can't be helped, so you have to do some prioritizing and see where your mental energy and effort needs to be going. If there's nothing more important than your story going on, get your mind back on your story. And if new ideas pop up, write them down in a notebook or an "idea" file to save for later. Would Rather Be Doing Other Things

#4 - You're Getting Tripped Up on Quality

The more we write, and the more we read, the more we start to realize that what we're writing isn't quite where we want it to be quality-wise, and that can be really discouraging, especially if you feel like your story has to be perfect in the first draft. But the thing to remember is that quality is the result of two things: polishing and practice. Whatever level your writing is at, no amount of polishing is going to get you above that level. Only practice can do that, and practice means starting and finishing as many stories as you can. But... whatever level you're at, your first draft isn't necessarily going to reflect that level of quality because it's a rough draft. This is why we edit and polish. So, focus on finishing the story, then worry about polishing it up. And don't give yourself a hard time because you're not writing at a higher level than you're at.

Concentrate on Quantity at First, Not Quality #3 - You've Lost Motivation/Inspiration

Sometimes you just lose the spark of inspiration that made you want to write the story in the first place. Maybe you're just bored. Maybe you've forgotten what first excited you about the story. Maybe you're just not in a writing mood. Sometimes, doing exercises to rekindle your interest in the story can help. Try:

Guide: How to Rekindle Your Motivation to Write Getting Unstuck: Motivation Beyond Mood Boards & Playlists #2 - You're stuck on Something That Isn't Working

Stories are like a house of cards in that one misplaced “card” can bring the whole thing crashing down. Sometimes you get stuck because an element or event didn’t quite work, and you can feel in your gut that something’s not right, so the wind completely leaves your sails. It's not that there's a problem with the story, it's just that there's a problem with the path it's on. Try going back through what you've already written and look for the element that isn't pulling its weight. Can you identify the moment where the story loses its fizz? Maybe the addition of a character that's not pulling their weight and is dragging the story down. Maybe a subplot that is cluttering up the story or drawing attention away from the main plot. Or maybe a scene (or several) that don't really add to the story. If you can figure out what's draining your story's energy, you can usually start writing forward again. #1 - You Don't Know Where Your Story is Going

This is the BIG ONE. This is the one that is the culprit 99% of the time for newer writers, and the reason it happens is because newer writers are less familiar with plot and story structure. Your story's plot is the sequence of events that makes up the narrative, and this sequence of events is driven by a conflict. That conflict could be an external conflict (like having to defeat an evil sorceress... aka plot-driven), an internal conflict (like being conflicted between what you want and what someone else wants for you... aka character-driven), or a combination of both. Your story's structure is the order and placement of your story's events.

The type of story you're telling and the way you want to tell it will decide what kind of plot points fill out this framework. The rising action will be kicked off by a catalyst/inciting incident. The climax may be preceded by a dark moment. The denouement may be followed by a final image. It's up to you to plot that out.

Basic Story Structure Plot Driven vs Character Driven Stories Understanding Goals and Conflict Fleshing Out Plot Ideas Creating a Detailed Story Outline

*** However, if you do choose to plot out your story using a known story structure guide, like Save the Cat! or the Snowflake Method, just remember you don't have to stick to it exactly. Always do what works best for your story.

Also: even accomplished writers who long ago mastered plot and story structure can still struggle with knowing where their story is going. That's because stories can change dramatically as you write them, and sometimes you get to the middle of your story and realize it's not going where you thought it was. That can lead to a "back to square one" moment that can be frustrating for any writer, but sitting down to do a little bit of plotting almost always helps you get back on track.

I hope this helps!

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[kitchenisking]

Sterek Fic Rec

Forth Night of Chunnuka

Tis the Season for Some Red Underwear! by Lunabell_Marauder_Knyte - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 3,937, sterek)

((I want to get better and become more comfortable writing smut, so I'm practicing.))

It's Derek's and Stiles' first Christmas as a couple and while everyone seems to know what to get Stiles, Derek doesn't. He feels like a horrible boyfriend. He asks Scott for help, which he does, but Erica has ideas for him to 'spice up' his gift. At first Derek isn't budging, but after a Santa themed Abercrombie model hit on HIS boyfriend and smelling Stiles slightly aroused...well, he drew the line at letting Erica set up a camera but promised her he'd tell her some of the details about how his gift for Stiles went.

It Could Have Been a Cold, Cold Christmas by hazelNuts - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 2,774, sterek)

anonymous asked, "Hey i have a prompt for you. I was wondering if you could please write a Sterek story where Derek's relations are visiting and he panics thinking they won't approve of his mate being a human so he panics and tells Stiles that he wants him to stay away while they are visiting and asks one of the pack to pretend to be his mate. Hurt Stiles tells him he'll stay away alright for good then Stiles agrees to go on a date with who ever. Bring a jealous and possessive Derek to his senses." 

He doesn’t understand why Derek needs his family’s approval so badly. They’re happy, or they were. They’ve been together for almost a year and mates for nearly as long. He thought he was important to Derek, but apparently not important enough that Derek would tell his family about him.

You're Mine by theabominable_snowman - (Rating: Mature, Words: 409, sterek)

Prompt: "Derek's wolf is all STILES STILES STILES STILES STILES STILES STILES STILES STILES STILES STILES .."

Tell Me No Lies by adult_disneyprincess (orphan_account) - (Rating: Mature, Words: 3,932, sterek)

Stiles purposely makes Derek angry to get what he wants.

Grasp All, Lose All by alphablues - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1,845, sterek)

The first one is for his mother. He doesn't tell the pack because it's really none of their business. It his skin, his tattoo, not theirs. The second one is for protection, and the third one-well, that one's for Derek.

I Think I'll Keep You by darkchild - (Rating: Mature, Words: 1,980, sterek)

Derek put his finger over the said hickey and pushes, causing Stiles’ knees to go weak. Derek’s right at his ear, then. Nipping at it for the second time that night before Stiles even realizes what's happening. “I’ll let you come, Stiles. I’ll give you what you came for.”

And just like that, Stiles's world had made a complete 180 because what the actual fuck was Derek Hale, sex god of all sex gods, doing to Stiles?

Tell Me What You Want Until It Hurts by redeyedwrath - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 2,275, sterek)

"They don't do this a lot; when they fuck it's mostly quick and rough. Punishing. Kisses tasting like blood, nails scratching down sides, marking each other, a silent, ‘we're both alive, we're here.’

Sometimes though, on special occasions, Derek lets Stiles take him apart. Lets Stiles pin him against the bed, fit his fingers inside until Derek's crying."

Or, a ficlet where Stiles makes Derek fall apart using his fingers.

I Found A Love by thedevilyousay - (Rating: G, Words: 1,992, sterek)

It was a tradition they’d started not long after they’d begun dating, when Derek had first found out that Stiles spoke Polish fluently. They would play it like a game, usually over dinner, Stiles mostly but sometimes Derek asking questions or making statements in Polish that the other would then repeat back in English, a considerably more fun and immersive way to learn than flashcards or text. But Stiles has never had any trouble keeping Derek on his toes and this particular night comes as no exception.

Work Song by DefNotForWork - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 5,078, sterek)

Derek and Stiles adjust to life with a new baby, their first. She's beautiful and amazing. No wonder Stiles spends all his time spoiling her now. Still, Derek has a hard time sharing the attention.

Through Time and Space by To_fill_the_sea - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 7,545, sterek)

A witch casts a relocation spell that sends Derek back in time 6 years. Stiles and the rest of the pack have to get him back, but how will everyone from 6 years prior handle the situation? And will Derek be able to handle keeping clear of his mate?

[childofsardior]

What are each koopalings fears and how do they react to them

I admit in advance that I was not too sure about this one ^v^' but I thought about this for a while and now I'll try to answer!

I will talk about the *main* or most *iconic* fears that came to my mind!

Ludwig: Talking about irrational fears, Ludwig is scared as heck from Pipe Organs. Not only of their sound, but also being close to one or even see one in the distance. This fear was actually developed by Lud after "The Incident", when, at the age of 15, a huge Pipe Organ actually collapsed on him while fighting the Mario Brothers (yes, an HC version of Pipe Down exist in my AU if you're wondering :P). He didn't touch that instrument even since and will refuse to come too close to one of his own will. He is also secretely afraid of failure related to missions or competitions he really cares about. Being so full of himself and all, he'll always picture himself as the obvious winner of a fight or a race or a contests even before the start, but in the end he will usually accept his defeat if his opponets were *actually* better than him - somethimes even compliment them. But...! If Ludwig was actually following some important orders from Bowser and ended up messing things up, if he could not prove himself as a perfect big brother to his siblings in tricky situations, or even if he could not "reach the podium" in some sort of musical competition he worked so hard for with his orchestra and all... well, in these cases failure will actually matter a lot, even affecting his self-esteem for a while.

Lemmy: This one is easy: Lemmy is afraid of growing up, responsabilities and adulthood in general. He's technically the second oldest, but having Ludwig as the "responsable one" as a big bro allowed Lemmy to spend time with his younger siblings playing and chilling without caring much about "responsabilities". But as he's growing up, his childish vibes started to feel more like a confort-zone for him, while the idea of being forced in a cold future made of burocracy, hard decisions and real responsabilty for his action really do bothers him - he's afraid he won't be able to play around and be silly and do wathever he feels like anymore, basically seeing adulthood as a sort of horrible prison made of boredoom and bags under the eyes.

Roy: Roy looks like he's not afraid of anything - well, he actually is afraid of Wendy when she's angry, but everyone in the family is, so this doesn't count. In reality, Roy has some secret fears nowdays, the biggest one being his fear of loosing his tough and cool mask in front of the others. He literally won't take off his sunglasses because he's ashamed of his heterocromia. He won't let his hair grow again after he found this style because he's afraid he won't look cool enough. Most of all, he will play the "rough guy card" claming that books are dumb and everything refined is for loosers, while he secretely enjoys reading and he can actually knows how to do things such as playing the violin (yes, you read it right). He won't admit in front of his family that he loves bunnies and would want one as a pet. He will mock Wendy's exagerate style while secretly wanting to polish his own claws pink or purple, and so on. He only talks about this with some friend out of the castle, but only in rare occasions and in a "but-I-am-joking-bro!" way.

Iggy: His siblings joke about he must be afraid of herbicide and rabbits, since he looks like a carrot. But in reality, Iggy seem to have no actual fears at all. He will laugh in front of his enemies and find deadly monsters cool as heck, and will probably try to study them at best or adopt them at worse. He can be sometimes annoyed or bothered by things in a "please-stop-doing-that-like-right-now" way, and he is a bit germophobic too, but rarely he'll be truly afraid of things or situations... except made for the times he looses his glasses. If this happens, Iggy will totally panic - he can barely see anything without them, and will lose all his composure if they break. When he was a kid, he often cried aloud or even weeped dramatically while trembling in a corner if he lost his eyeglasses, while now he'll just panic a lot while blindly searching for them in a very nervous way, usually asking Lemmy or Morton for help if near.

Wendy: Only a few things can actually scare the only girl of the group. One thing she's afraid of is her make-up or outfit being ruined during important events - especially if she spent hours choosing her clothing, trying different make-ups and so on. But if someone actually *does* ruin her appearance - usually Roy or Larry - then they are gonna be the ones scared for real as soon as Wendy stops being ashamed for the incident and start getting angry, REAL ANGRY instead. She's a a bit claustrophobic too, and she could get nervous if she suddenly finds herself in a dark and small space. The only exception for this is made for her seashell custom bed that she owns at one of her seaside residences - she feels safe enough inside it, even is she prefers to keep the upper part open a bit while sleeping.

Morton: Morton's biggest fear is hurting his siblings without noticing, or being unable to protect them, especially Junior. Morton wasn't too aware of his own strenght when he was younger, but after the incident of the Malatone Formula:X, when he found himself fighting his own siblings under the BFF' brainwash, he now is quite scared by the possibility of hurting them. Talking about more irrational fears, he is scared of bugs, especially if very colorful or noisy - he likes to observe the ones in Iggy's terrariums, but he could panic if he sees a butterfly or a wasp flying towards him during a trip, or a grasshopper jumping around randomly while he's walking on a field.

Larry: Larry's biggest fears revolve around Bowser's anger - especially, he hates being scolded in a "no please not again!" way and one time he even tried to run away from the Dark Lands to avoid his adoptive's father rage - and the deep fear that he will never reach his big siblings'. He's always trying his best to be noticed or complimented by them or Bowser, but nobody seem to ever notice all the effort he put on things. So Larry's starting to think that he will be always the "mediocre" one, that he'll never be as skilled as Ludwig, as cool as Roy, as carefree as Lemmy, so clever as Iggy, and so on.

Bowser Jr.: Junior is a bold and brave kid... apparently. He likes to think he has no fear exactly like his dad, and that nobody and nothing can stop him. But in reality, Junior is quite scared of the idea of being alone. Especially after the attack of Fawful in the Mushroom Kingdom and Dark Lands, Junior started to learn the importance of team work and all. He is also used to constant company - from his half-siblings, from servants and minion, and most of all, from Kamek - and if left on his own for too much time he'll start to feel gloom at first, and desperatly scared after some while.