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munson-blurbs · 1 year

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

Summary: You and Eddie finally get some much-needed alone time, and a confrontation at the Hawkins Preschool talent show tests your commitment to each other.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), protected p in v, fingering, oral (m! receiving), lil bit of edging, broken condom, breeding kink, mentions of Eddie's past, bullying, fighting, Jason Carver's mere existence, mostly fluff and smut before the angst of the next two chapters

WC: 9.2k

Chapter 15/20

Divider credit to @saradika Cutie pie Eddie pic credit to @/sunceddie

You wake up to an alarm set a full hour later than it typically is on a Friday morning, and the extra rest has you walking on air. Or maybe this newfound floatiness comes from knowing Eddie will be arriving soon, the two of you playing hooky from work to spend the day together. Your insides ignite with a rebellious fire, like you’re skipping class to smoke cigarettes underneath the bleachers, rather than taking a paid sick day that you’ve rightfully accrued.

Sunlight streams through the window, just a bit brighter than the usual smears of pink and orange that you normally see when you awaken. And while you still have to drag your yet-to-be-caffeinated body out of bed, the walk to the bathroom seems slightly less daunting.

You can’t let Eddie in fast enough when the intercom buzzes thirty minutes later. You were never naïve to the fact that dating a parent would mean having less privacy; what you didn’t know was how strongly you’d crave him.

Your hands are all over him the moment he steps through the door, simultaneously too much and not enough. Fingers lazily drape across the nape of his neck, and you can feel that his hair is already frizzy from the early April rain. Your breath hitches when you catch a glimpse of the burgeoning outline along the seam of his gray sweatpants.

His lips find yours easily, aiming to meet in the middle, but you press on your toes and bring your core to his. Your pajama top is thin; not sheer, but flimsy enough that he can feel the way you react to the chill of his leather jacket.

“Hello to you, too,” he murmurs with a laugh, muffled by a kiss that catches him off-guard. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to grab breakfast first, but—”

You shake your head, grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards the bedroom. “Sex first, food later.”

“Yes ma’am.” He uses his free hand to apply a quick smack to your ass, mesmerized at the way the supple flesh ripples underneath the flannel pants. Jesus, you’ve got him half-hard and you’re still in your pajamas.

He sits on the side of the bed, and you climb to straddle him, your inner thighs nudging his outer. “Been thinking about you,” you say, tugging his earlobe between your teeth.

Eddie pulls you even closer, one hand snaking up your shirt to cup your breast. He’s still cold from the rain and early morning frost, and his touch has your nipple pebbling. “What about me?”

“Well,” you trill, starting to slowly grind against the tented fabric of his pants. He exhales, a shiver of anticipation coursing through his veins. “I believe I promised my rockstar a reward for his amazing gig.” Your thoughts flit back to the night of Will’s party, when you’d snuck backstage and gotten a glimpse of him, his body pulsating with nerves that had almost immediately quelled at your touch. Another sensation had swept over him then, but that was an entirely different type of flutter.

Eddie nudges his nose against yours, a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. “Your rockstar?” He adores the phrasing. Yours. Belonging to you. And you belong to him; he won’t ever allow you to forget it. “What kind of reward did my favorite groupie have in mind?”

You slide off of him, giggling at the pout he gives you as your body loses contact with his. “Patience, Rockstar,” you warn him, though it’s difficult to contain yourself when you’re salivating just being eye-level with his erection. Your fingers dig into his waistband, and for the second time today, you’re glad for his choice of clothing. You don’t think you could handle buttons and zippers and belt buckles. Not today.

He hisses when your palm brushes along his hardened length, stiffening even while covered by his boxer briefs. A small wet patch marks his tip, leaking precum, and you press a chaste kiss to it. Almost instantly, you feel the tendrils of his thigh hair against your bare arms as his legs reflexively snap shut like a Venus flytrap catching its prey.

“Too much?” you mumble against his happy trail. While you relish in the thought of overstimulating him, you want to keep him on edge as long as you can.

Eddie shakes his head, curls scratching against his shoulders. “Jus’ wasn’t expecting it. ‘Cause you were using your hands, but then I felt your…never mind, I’m gonna shut up now.” He settles back into the mattress and eagerly awaits your next move.

You don’t make him wait long, lips drawn to his shaft with a magnetic force. You only stop to shimmy his underwear down his legs, tossing them to the corner of the room. His cock is flush against his tummy; you catch yourself staring at the dusting of wispy curls that trail from his upper groin down to his heavy sack.

Your dominant hand wraps around the base while the other leans on his thigh for balance. You lean in and spit, letting your saliva dribble down his length before flattening your tongue to lick up the pearly bead forming at the tip. Eddie’s abdominal muscles contract and his fists clench, never taking his eyes off of the beautiful woman on her knees for him.

He lets out a soft moan as you hollow out your cheeks to take more of him into your mouth. A string of syllables that barely resemble words escapes him. “Mmm, yes, oh, sh–fucking hell–thas’ it…” He twists the bedsheets between his fingers, inhaling sharply as your tongue glides up and down his cock. “S’pretty, fuck, gorgeous girl.” He watches intently, staving off blinks so he doesn’t miss a moment of him disappearing between your lips.

He’d once thought that he could never want more than sloppy post-gig hook-ups in dive bar bathrooms with girls whose names he’d never learned, though he wouldn’t have made an effort to remember them anyway. Girls who had only offered their mouths so they could lay claim to his body; the opportunity to brag that they’d blown Eddie Munson before he got famous.

That was before you, before you’d shown him the intoxicating mixture of longing and belonging, of lust and…

You continue drawing him closer and closer to his orgasm, nose grazing his thatch of pubic hair. His hips buck slightly, but your mouth is so full of him that it threatens to evoke your gag reflex.

“Shit, ‘m sorry,” Eddie blurts out, unfurling a hand from the sheets to cup your cheek. He pulls out, allowing you to take a deep breath.

You shake your head. “I liked it,” you tease with a wicked grin, wasting no time assuming your previous position.

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie throws his head back. “You like gagging on my dick? Fucking hell, babe.”

“Mhm.” The gentle vibration has him twitching, and you know he can’t last much longer. You bring your attention to his tip, sucking and giving soft kitten licks while your hand takes care of the rest of his length. He’s so painfully hard that you wouldn’t be surprised if he stayed that way long after finishing.

“Jus’…just like that. Oh, fuuuuuck,” he groans, silently calling upon every ounce of willpower in his body to keep his pelvis still so he doesn’t disturb the beautiful rhythm you’ve found. “Gonna cum…shit, baby, if you don’t want it in your mouth, you gotta stop now.”

But you do want it in your mouth, so you don’t stop, feeling warm ropes adorning your tongue just seconds later. He’s panting, chest heaving as though he was the one putting in the effort, but he still notices the way you swallow his thick load without missing a beat.

“Did you just…oh, my God. You’re perfect.” He throws his hands up in mock defeat. “I can’t…nothing I do will ever compare to you, I swear.” He motions for you to lay down next to him, and immediately climbs on top of you, the sweat from his chest transferring to your shirt. “Off,” he mumbles, pulling it over your head before you get the chance to do it yourself.

His lips swoop down to your left breast, tongue flickering over the nipple, and his dominant hand travels into your panties and expertly finds your clit. You let out a tiny whimper, barely audible over Eddie’s own grunts, finding pleasure in making you feel good.

“This body,” he mumbles, mouth still attached to your chest, “has me in a goddamn chokehold. It’s all I think about.” That isn’t quite true; he certainly spends plenty of time daydreaming of you, though it isn’t always in such compromising positions. Sometimes, you’re sleeping next to him in bed as he presses gentle kisses to the nape of your neck. Other times, he’ll be cooking dinner and picture you passing him the salt or handing him a serving spoon to dish out whatever noodle-based concoction he’s conjured up. Whatever he’s doing, he imagines you by his side.

“Can you kiss me?” Your request is timid but dripping with need.

Eddie nods, bringing himself to eye level with you and closing the gap between your faces. You taste of minty toothpaste and of him, and he curses himself for diving in headfirst without remembering to kiss you. “M sorry,” he apologizes for the second time that morning, and you forgive him with a soft bite to his lower lip.

Your arms rest on his shoulders and your legs wrap around his calf muscles, desperate to remain as close as possible at all times. No, you can’t stay like this forever, so you’ve got to make it count. “Need you inside me, Eddie.” Your voice nearly cracks, tears pricking at your lash line as the craving for him grows stronger. “Please.”

Eddie musters up a terse laugh. “Sweetheart, I just came, like, five minutes ago. You gotta give me a second to bounce back.” He lowers himself so he can whisper in your ear, “let me take care of you while we wait, hm?”

As soon as you nod, he’s yanking down your pajama pants and panties in one fluid motion. You can’t miss the way his eyes light up once you’re fully on display for him, taking in every centimeter of your body like his existence depends upon it. He starts to shimmy his way down, but your murmured “mm-mm” captures his attention.

“Still want you kissing me,” you say, gazing adoringly into his deep brown eyes. “Maybe you could just use your fingers?”

His instinct is to protest; he’s been desperate to taste you again ever since his tongue last touched the most intimate part of you, but he can’t deny you what you want. He’ll do just about anything to keep a smile on your face.

Without further hesitation, Eddie’s lips are on yours. He braces himself on his elbows as his hands cradle your cheeks. You can feel the heat of his cock, still spent and flaccid, against the top of your thigh. He shifts slightly so he can press one thick finger into your pussy, dragging in and out so deliciously that you barely notice his tongue slipping into your mouth, deepening the kiss as you moan.

“Y’like that?” It’s a gratuitous question; he can feel how much you like it in the way you’re clenching around him. “Gonna make my girl feel s’good.”

“Call me your girl again,” you whine, punctuating the plea with a gentle buck of your hips.

Eddie grins, ducking his head where your neck meets your collarbone and sucking lightly. It takes every ounce of strength he possesses not to mark you. He studies the moisture left behind by his lips and wishes it was the exquisite shades of blue and indigo that form when someone’s been claimed.

He slides a second finger inside you. “My sweet girl,” he coos, just a hint of patronization laced within his deep voice, “you like being mine? Belonging to me?”

Your stomach flips at his words; a gnawing hunger for Eddie Munson. “Love it. I…I love being your girl.” You allow your mind to clear, absorbing his gaze, his touch, his skin. The graceful arch of your back beckons him to move faster, tongue peeking from between his plush lips as he concentrates on your orgasm.

Each stroke within you inches you closer to euphoria. Eddie’s thumb is pressed to your clit, cementing his determination to tip you over the edge. He hits all the right spots, committing them to memory; his own personal pathway to the heavens.

It’s your turn to grab onto the bed sheets like a lifeline as pleasure surges through you. Your lips coat his in a warm layer of “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” the praise a victory chant to him. He waits until your eyelids flutter back open and your breathing steadies before taking his fingers from your center and into his mouth, licking your release off of his skin like a delicacy.

Your body may be splayed out on the bed, but your mind is adrift; its only focus is the float down from the high Eddie’s brought you to. If it weren’t for the throbbing reminder pressed to your leg, you might float right into the atmosphere.

You summon the willpower to prop yourself up on your elbows, watching intently as he fists himself to temporarily ease the ache.

“Why’re you doing that when ‘m right here?” you mumble, wetting your lower lip with a swipe of your tongue. You can only hope that there’s some semblance of a smile in your intoxicated expression. “Unless you…prefer your hand?”

“Fuck, no,” he grumbles, curls dancing along his shoulder blades as he loosens his grasp to dig through your top drawer. He shoves aside stray prescription bottles and various knickknacks that you’ve been meaning to go through until he finds what he’s been looking for.

He snatches up the teal box and practically tears the cardboard in half trying to open it. The snake of foil packets tumbles out and he scrambles for them, but you’re faster.

Wordlessly, you rip off one packet and carefully tear off the top. Eddie hisses as you roll the condom down his hardened length, more than ready to be inside you.

“Wanna ride you,” you tell him, pressing your palms to his soft pecs. “‘S that okay?”

“Is that—baby, if I ever say no to that offer, there’s something seriously wrong with me,” he laughs, already laying back on the bed. His hair splays across the pillow, brown curls swirling atop the cotton pillowcase like Van Gogh’s Starry Night.

Eddie inhales sharply as you sit above him, sheathed cock pressed to your heat in anticipation. He reaches out and grabs your breasts, one in each hand, kneading them in his palms. His thumbs brush over your nipples, gauging your reaction before giving them a small pinch.

Your moan, coupled with the way you grind against him, confirms your satisfaction, but he still asks, “Y’like when I do that?”

You offer him a little smirk, cocking your brow as you cheekily reply, “You tell me.”

He doesn’t have time to respond before you lift yourself and gradually sink down onto him, soaking in every moment of the delectable stretch. Bracing yourself on his chest, you feel him bottom out so he’s filling you entirely.

“Fuck, Sweetheart.” His hands move from your chest to your hips as he helps you adjust to the newfound fullness. “So tight. Feels‘mazing.”

“Just wanna take care of you, Eds. You’re so good to me; I wanna be good to you.” You bounce up and down, moving your hips so no part of your walls remains untouched by him.

He’s mesmerized at the jiggle of your flesh as it connects with his, momentarily rendering him speechless before he regains some composure. “You are. You’re so, so good for me. Can never get enough of my girl.”

You clench around him at the title ‘my girl’, earning you a smack to your ass. The sting makes you whimper, and he swiftly delivers another.

“You’re gonna make me cum too soon,” he huffs, blown-out pupils drifting from your eyes to where your bodies are joined.

You pause your movements to lean down, allowing him impossibly deep within you. “If it’s too much,” you murmur into his ear, hoping your edge-teetering tremble is hidden enough to effectively tease him, “maybe I should just…stop.” You slide your hips forward until only his tip breaches your hole.

Eddie’s jaw drops in complete disbelief. “You…you can’t fuckin’ do that to me.” You expect him to push the rest of his cock inside you and thrust until he’s completely spent, so you’re caught off-guard when he pulls out entirely. “All fours. Now.” He emphasizes his request with another spank, this one harder than the rest.

You oblige, palms pressed into the mattress and toes curled as you await him. He taps his shaft against your bottom once, twice, three times, and then plunges into your warmth.

“Ah—fuck—Eddie!” you cry, feeling the telltale twitch that informs you he’s close. Really fucking close. And then another sensation—a soft pop.

He realizes what it is before you do. “Fuckin’ condom broke!” he grumbles, pulling out again—even more begrudgingly than before—and tossing the split rubber to the floor. He opens a new one and rolls it on with lightning speed, eager to be enveloped in you once again.

“Wish we didn’t have to use those,” you mumble, willing yourself to stay steady despite the push from his pistoning hips. “Be so much easier without them.”

Picturing you taking him raw—you wanting to take him raw—is the last straw. “Yeah? You wanna feel all of me, baby?” he growls, nearly inaudible over the sound of his pelvis colliding with your ass. “Want me blowing my load so fuckin’ deep inside you?”

“Y-Yes,” you stammer, feeling that delicate wave approaching the shoreline, desperate to crest. “That’s exactly what I want, Eddie.”

“Keep saying my name,” he orders, wrapping one arm around you so his middle finger lays on your clit. Every part he touches makes you weaker for him, scavenging for the relief of release.

“Eddie, feels s’good,” you moan, legs threatening to crumple beneath you. “No one makes me feel like this ‘cept you, fuck, Eddie!”

You finish around him, squeezing him until he’s spilling into the condom with a primal groan of your name. He stays draped over you for a beat before flopping back onto the bed.

“You are…” he turns to you and grins as he searches for the right word, “spectacular.” He gingerly removes the barrier from his dick, tying it in a knot and tossing it into the trash can next to your nightstand. “C’mere.”

You lay on his chest, the sweat cooling as it hits your cheek. “Did you work up an appetite?” you tease, kissing just below his tattoo of a demonic head, “I can grab us some cereal, or we might have some frozen Eggos I could throw in the toaster.”

Eddie smiles so wide it threatens to escape the confines of his cheeks. “Sex and breakfast? You spoil me, Sweetheart.”

“Yeah, well; we need energy to power us through round two.” You scoot upwards to nuzzle into the crook of his neck, the salt of his perspiration tangy on your lips. “Give me a few minutes, okay? Do you like syrup on your waffles?”

“And butter?” he asks with a hopeful smile, peering at you through long eyelashes that would have had you darting to Bradley’s Big Buy if you didn’t already have a stick of Land O’ Lakes in the fridge.

You roll your eyes playfully. “Yes, Your Majesty,” you say, giving his bare thigh a small tap. “Would you also care for some freshly-squeezed orange juice? I can have the chef whip some up right away.”

Eddie throws his head back and laughs, slowly pushing himself up so he can help you in the kitchen. It dawns on him that he hasn’t felt this kind of peace after sex before; his mind has always been clouded with fears of getting too attached, of saying the wrong thing, of deluding someone into thinking he’s enough.

“God, I love you.” The words tumble out before he can stop them, and he freezes in place, one leg through his underwear. “Fuck, I mean–”

“It’s okay,” you rush to reassure him, noting the red tinge forming on the tips of his ears. “I’d say that to anyone who offered me breakfast foods, too.” You give him room to accept the out, to brush off his confession as a slip of the tongue. There’s no use in awarding merit to an accidental comment, regardless of what your skipped heartbeat tells you.

He considers it, every synapse and neuron firing at warpspeed. Maybe he could convince himself that it was an accident if it was the first time he’d felt this, the way your sunshine radiates through him and warms him from within. But that was far from the truth.

“No,” he finds himself saying, grasping onto every morsel of confidence he can find, “it’s not because of the food. I love you.”

Your voice catches in your throat. You want to believe that he’s reciprocating your feelings, but something nags at you. “Are you sure it’s not because we just had sex? Because sometimes that—”

“No,” Eddie repeats himself, unfolding the waistband of his boxer briefs and walking to you. “Because it wasn’t about sex when you calmed me down after the parent-teacher conference. It wasn’t about sex when you taught Harris how to read and bowl and be a better person than I’ll ever be. It wasn’t about sex when you cheered me on during our last gig, and it wasn’t about sex when I saw you holding Ettie.” He takes a deep breath and holds your hands as he gazes into your eyes. “And even after having sex, it isn’t about sex. It’s about you being the one for me. I love you, I love you, I love you.” He kisses your forehead, then your cheek, and finally your lips.

“I love you, too, Eddie.”

Just five words, six syllables, and he’s a goner. Seriousness melts into a sappy smile as he cradles your cheeks and presses the tip of his nose to yours. “Holy shit, we’re in love.”

You kiss him, tongue nudging his as your torsos meld together. If your stomach wasn’t gnawing for something to eat, you’d start round two right then and there.

Throwing on just a shirt and panties, you lead him into the kitchen before either of you can crawl back into bed. His hands never leave your body, snaking around your waist as you rifle through the freezer for the familiar yellow box. His head rests on your shoulder as you drop the waffles into the toaster and press the lever down.

“Eds?”

“Yes, my love?” he murmurs, pecking a soft kiss behind your ear. You both could have sworn that there was nothing better than him calling you ‘my girl,’ but you’re unashamed to stand corrected.

“Could you make yourself useful and grab some plates? Maybe get the syrup or butter?” you tease, noting the dramatic pout developing on his face. “What?”

“I’m keepin’ you warm,” he protests, sliding his hands over the cotton fabric of your faded t-shirt and grabbing your breasts. “And you’re not wearing a bra, so I gotta hold ‘em for you.”

He eventually obliges, setting two Chinette plates on the countertop and padding over to the refrigerator. He plucks the condiments from the side door and places them in the center of the table.

“Cups, too,” you remind him with a cheeky grin, pointing to a cabinet to your right. “No drinking out of the carton in my house.”

“Bossy this morning, aren’t we?”

The toaster chimes a charismatic ding! as the waffles jump out of their slots, and you carefully drop both onto one plate. “Here ya go,” you chirp, extending your arm so he can take his breakfast.

“Where’s yours?” His brows pinch together in confusion, a sly smile stretching his lips. “Don’t tell me I didn’t make you work up more of an appetite back there. Shit, shoulda had you ride me longer–”

Your hip collides with his in a purposeful shove. “I’m getting mine ready now. Go sit and eat, you horndog.”

Eddie drops the plate on the counter so quickly that the Eggos nearly fly off, pulling you from behind for a hug that squeezes all the air from your lungs. You squeal as he bites your neck and barks into it, solidifying that he has indeed earned the new nickname you’ve bestowed upon him.

He takes one of his waffles and places it on your empty plate. “We can eat together.”

You grab the orange juice from the fridge, giving the carton a shake before pouring the contents between the two glasses. It’s not until you sit down that you remember: “Oh, shit—utensils.” You start to get back up, but Eddie puts a hand out in a silent bid for you to stay seated, shuffling back to the kitchen. The drawer rattles as he pulls with just a bit too much strength, and he comes back with two knives and a single fork.

“You only got one—” you start, but he shakes his head.

“Don’t need it.” With that, he cuts off a hunk of butter and slathers it on top of his waffle, knife scraping against the little squares. He slathers every square inch in syrup, folds the waffle in half, and takes an exaggeratedly large bite.

“Eddie Munson!” you lightly chastise, still in shock at what you’ve witnessed. “Did you just eat that like a taco?”

“Sí, señorita.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “Oh, my God, I’m in love with a barbarian.” You reach for the bottle of Aunt Jemima and drizzle the sticky-sweetness onto your waffle. “What else is going on with you?” you ask, cutting the food into strips and spearing it with your fork. “Work’s good?”

“Work’s great, actually.” He starts to bring the waffle to his mouth but pauses just before taking a bite. Syrup drops onto the plate with a plop. “I almost forgot to tell you! The regional manager asked me to go to this thrift market in Indianapolis in a few weeks—all on the company’s dime—and try to snag some vintage records.”

“Eds, that’s amazing!” You leap up from your chair and lean in to kiss his syrupy lips.

He licks a smudge of butter from the side of his thumb. “Oh, but that’s not even the best part,” Eddie grins triumphantly. “The market just so happens to fall during spring break, and I was hoping you could join us?” His bare foot nudges yours under the table. “That is, if you think you can survive an entire weekend running after Harris?”

Your jaw drops in mock-offense. “One of us chases after children–plural–every day. Besides,” you add, taking a swig of juice, “Harris isn’t the one I’m worried about.” You gesture at his partially-demolished breakfast. “At least when he eats like this, he has the excuse of being a child.”

His reply is a flick of his left middle finger, his right hand busy jamming the remaining waffle-taco into his mouth. “And yet,” he retorts with his mouth full, “you can’t seem to get enough.”

He’s got you there: all you’ve ever wanted is sitting in front of you now, the corners of his chocolate-brown eyes crinkling as he stands. You allow your eyes to roam his body; not with lust, but adoration. Love.

Your cheek yearns to be pressed to his chest, your hand resting where the soft pudge of his tummy barely rolls over the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs. Your legs crave the connection of intertwining with his. You need his arms, biceps strong from lugging around music equipment and holding his son, wrapped around your torso and keeping you impossibly close. Keeping you safe.

You want to spend hours asking about the stories behind the tattoos that adorn his chest, whether meaningful or the result of sheer boredom. You want to curl up on the sofa and put on a movie, absorbing none of it as you spend the entire duration lost in his lips.

The brush of his thumb against your knuckles stirs you from your roaming thoughts.

“Can I ask you something?”

Eddie sits up a bit straighter, hand never leaving yours. “Shoot.”

“Is it…” you fumble for the right words, “why are you like this now?”

“I’m sorry?” His brows knit together in obvious confusion. “Why am I like…what?”

“This,” you repeat, gesticulating at the man before you, warm and tender and completely unlike the stranger you’d hooked up with nearly eight months ago. “Why is the guy who once kicked me out of his apartment currently having breakfast with me half-naked and inviting me on a trip with his son?” Your tone is inquisitive, curious, and Eddie heaves a silent sigh of relief when he doesn’t detect a hint of judgment.

He doesn’t answer your question outright; instead, he poses his own: “Do you not believe that I love you?” He bites his lower lip, mind churning with the early memories you’d made together, the ones he wishes he could lock away and never remember.

Your heart lurches at your accidental implication. “I do! Shit, Eddie, I know you love me. And I love you, too.” You pause to lift his hand to your mouth, leaving the gentlest of kisses along his fuzzy knuckles. “I guess I just wanna know why you even let yourself love me. Why you didn’t stick to the Cat-and-Mouse. Why…why you chose me.”

He exhales, an incredulous huff of laughter passing through his lips. “You wanna know why I started only having one-night stands? Or why I stopped?”

“Both?” you try.

“So, um,” his eyes look everywhere but at you, “I never really got attention until I moved to Chicago and started playing with that band. All of a sudden, women wanna sleep with me, and I don’t have to, like, beg them.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “But they didn’t really want to fuck Eddie Munson; they just wanted to fuck the lead singer and guitarist of Hard Knox. Didn’t matter if it was me or some other random guy.

“One night, I’m…y’know…with this one girl, and I asked her to say my name.” His cheeks tinge red and he swallows hard. “And she looks at me with these wide eyes, and I realized she didn’t even fucking know it.”

“Did you know hers?” The question comes out before you can stop it, but you already know the answer.

He rubs his eyes with his whole palm. “After that, I realized that the only difference between the Eddie who got laid and the Eddie who didn’t was that no one I slept with really knew me. And if they ever figured out that I’m just this big ol’ nerd who spent high school playing Dungeons & Dragons, they’d…” He flexes his hands to make a poof! motion. “So I decided not to let them get to know me.”

“But then…”

“But then,” he acquiesces, “you show up at the bar, looking like a goddamn dream, and I put up that cocky lead singer persona on instinct. Because that’s the only version of me that women ever wanted to be with.” He sighs. “And then I let my guard down, ask you to spend the night, and I’m thinking, ‘I gotta get her outta here before she sees who I really am. Before she sees that I’m not a rockstar; I’m just a mediocre dad who sells weed to scrape by.’”

You move so quickly that you practically knock over your chair, standing behind him and wrapping your arms around the top of his chest. Your chin rests on his scalp, and he can feel the vibration in your throat as you murmur, “nothing about you is mediocre, Eddie Munson.”

He lays his head on your forearm, kissing it softly before lacing his fingers with yours. “Sometimes, I think I’m just buying time until you get sick of me.”

You shift your position so your lips can brush the side of his neck. “I didn’t fall for the guy on stage that night. I mean, yeah, you looked incredibly hot,” you tease and nip at his collarbone, “but I’m in love with Eddie Munson: the man who gets excited when his son reads a new word, who teases me for liking olives on my pizza, who knows the lyrics to every song ever made–including the ones he claims to hate.”

“Well, Eddie Munson–the real Eddie Munson–is so goddamn lucky to be loved by you.” He turns so he’s facing you, strong hands on your hips as he gazes up with starry eyes.

You cradle his cheeks, stooping down so your noses touch. “You deserve to be loved.”

“Yeah.” The word is more breath than sound. “Yeah, I think I’m finally starting to believe that.”

The remainder of your day is spent having copious amounts of sex; Eddie had insisted on ‘making up for lost time,’ taking breaks only for a quick lunch and a shower.

“Come with me to pick up Harris,” Eddie says as he wraps the bath towel around his waist. Water drips from the ends of his curls down to the dimples on his lower back. “We’re going to Jeff and Viv’s after so he can meet Baby Ettie.”

You raise your eyebrows in amusement, bending over to dry your legs. “I took a sick day today,” you remind him. “I can’t just show up there in your car, like, ‘nothing to see here!’”

“I’ll park far away,” he says with a shrug. “No biggie.” There’s a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. “I mean, I could tell Harris that Ms. Sweetheart was supposed to be with us, but she said no—”

You swat at his chest and he pulls back, feigning pain. “You wouldn’t!”

“Try me.”

That’s how you ended up hunched over in the passenger seat of Eddie’s sedan, hiding from any passersby who could potentially recognize you. It only takes a few minutes before you hear the sound of Harris’s little voice, chewing his dad’s ear off about his day at school.

“...and then me an’ Charlie traded me snacks, an’ no one even sawed us!” He’s cackling like it’s the funniest joke. “He had my pretzels and I had his gummies, and it was so silly!”

“Gummies, huh?” Eddie clicks his tongue, “well, that explains the sugar rush.” Their voices get louder as they approach the car. “By the way, Har Bear, I have a surprise for you.”

As he says it, Harris opens the back door and hops into the car, eyes widening when he sees you sitting up front. “Ms. Sweetheart!” he exclaims, bouncing into his booster seat with pure exhilaration. “What are you doing in Daddy’s car?”

“I figured I could see Baby Ettie with you guys,” you say as nonchalantly as possible, a stark contrast to the little boy practically vibrating from excitement, “if that’s okay with you.”

“Yes, yes, YES!” Harris shouts, his words aimed directly in Eddie’s ear as he tries buckling his son’s seatbelt.

“Jesus H. Christ,” he mutters, wincing as he massages the opening of his ear canal with his forefinger. “Take it down a notch, little man.” He fumbles with the belt until he hears the familiar click. He dons a deep voice to announce, “Keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times,” and Harris draws his limbs inwards with a giggle while Eddie closes his door.

“Daddy? Can we listen to music?”

“Mhm.” Eddie reaches for the radio dial, then stops. “Should we let Ms. Sweetheart choose the tape? Since she’s our special guest?” He shoots you a grin that sends a flip-flopping sensation behind your ribs.

Harris taps his finger to his chin in contemplation. “Hmm…okay! Can she pick Metallica?”

“Not quite sure that’s how it works…” Eddie scrunches up his face and scratches at his jawline.

You turn around to face the boy, whose curly hair is now identically frizzy to his father’s. “Actually, Metallica sounds great to me,” you say, adding a thumbs-up for good measure.

“Metallica it is!” Eddie pops in the cassette, the mechanical wheels whirring for a moment before Fight Fire with Fire blares through the speakers. He rests his palm on the back of your seat as he backs out of the spot, tongue poking from his lips in concentration.

Harris alternates between headbanging to the music and babbling about school throughout the drive to Jeff and Viv’s. His energy seems endless as he hops out of the car and races to their front door.

“Har, remember,” Eddie calls out, “we have to be calm and gentle around the baby. Don’t wanna scare her.”

Harris nods as Jeff opens the door. “Mini Munson!” He gives a tired smile, stifling a yawn. “Ready to meet your new cousin?” He chuckles when Harris jumps up and down and squeals. “I’ll take that as a yes. Go ‘head and sit on the couch, kiddo.”

Harris follows Jeff’s instructions, and you and Eddie trail close behind him. Jess and Robin are also there; the latter woman is currently holding Ettie, lightly rocking the newborn in her arms.

“Do you wanna hold her?” she asks Harris, who looks to you and his dad in a silent plea for permission.

“Up to you, Har,” Eddie says with an encouraging smile. “We’ll help you, if you want.”

Harris nods, shuffling so his back is pressed up against the sofa. He squirms anxiously, kicking his feet as he waits for you and his dad to join him.

Eddie sits on his right side, and you take the empty space to his left. “I’ll help you hold her head,” you promise him. “You can hold your arms out like this,” you demonstrate, resting your forearms on your lap with your palms facing the ceiling, and Harris mimics your actions. “There ya go.”

Robin carefully walks over and places Ettie in Harris’s outstretched arms, ensuring that you’re supporting the baby’s head before she fully lets go. For a few moments, Harris just stares at the little girl, seemingly unsure how to react. Finally, he softly murmurs, “she’s so little!”

“Sure is,” Eddie laughs, poking at one of her tiny toes in amazement. “Would you believe that you were even more little when you were a baby?” His grin deepens when Harris’s jaw drops in disbelief. “It’s true! You were the tiniest little thing I’ve ever seen.” As he says it, a lump forms in his throat, and he swallows it before anyone notices the catch in his voice. You don’t need to hear it, though, and you use your free hand to discreetly rub his back in silent reassurance.

Harris purses his lips as he stares at his new cousin, clearly unaffected by the anecdote. “Does she do any tricks?”

His question has the entire group stifling laughter, and Eddie turns pink with embarrassment as he quickly explains, “she’s not a dog, buddy. And she was only born a few weeks ago, so she pretty much just eats, sleeps, and poops.”

“Ew,” Harris’s nose wrinkles in disgust at the last activity, though you’re willing to bet a large sum of money that he’s made at least one poop-related joke today. “So when can I teach her how to play Legos?”

“Not for a while,” Viv admits with a kind chuckle, “but when she’s ready, I promise that we’ll let her big cousin Harris show her how it’s done.”

Her answer placates him, at least temporarily, and he cautiously brushes his forefinger against Ettie’s scalp, smoothing down her wisps of hair. You take the moment to glance over at Eddie, only to find him looking right at you.

Hi, he mouths, though there’s so much more he wishes to say. When Harris was Ettie’s age, Eddie was exhausted, overwhelmed, constantly on the brink of breaking down. He’d sworn to himself and anyone else who would listen that he’d never go through the newborn stage again, but he’s mesmerized by the sight of you and Harris cuddling a baby. He wants this, he wants this with you, sleepless nights and spit-up stained clothes no longer strong enough deterrents.

Hi, you mouth back, suppressing words that ache to spill from your lips. Your pulse quickens at the way Eddie watches his son, not with scrutiny, but with admiration and awe, as though he can’t believe he’d created such a wonderful little human. Teaching children never translated over to a desire for motherhood, but you can suddenly picture yourself helping Harris hold your baby, a baby that symbolizes the love between you and Eddie.

“They look like a little family.” Robin’s attempted whisper grabs your attention; a brief scan of the room shows that everyone else is looking at her, too. Her cheeks flush a deep red and she mutters, “sorry,” swooping in to scoop Ettie into her arms.

An awkward silence hangs in the air until Jess clears her throat. “How was work today?” she asks you, and though you don’t have an actual answer to the question, you’re grateful for the subject change.

“I took the day off,” you reply nonchalantly. “Wanted to catch up on rest, y’know…” You trail off, hoping your non-answer suffices.

“What about you, Ed?” Jeff tries.

“Oh, uh,” Eddie stammers, nervously running a hand through his hair, “I also took the day off.”

Jeff’s gaze flits between the two of you until he finally manages an elongated, “…cool.”

Luckily, Harris is oblivious to the adults’ conversation. “Uncle Jeff, are you coming to my talent show next week?”

“Talent show?” Jeff glances at Eddie with an amused smirk.

“Uh, yeah, ‘s this parent-kid thing at his school,” Eddie hurriedly explains, trying not to trip over his words. He’s still stuck on what he’s implied by admitting that he’d also called out of work. “I didn’t know how busy you’d be with Ettie—”

Viv smiles. “I think he can sneak out for an hour to see his favorite nephew.”

“Robs and I can help out here if you need,” Jess offers to her sister, “as long as Jeff brings the camcorder so we have video evidence of this performance.”

“Absolutely not.” Eddie shuts the idea down immediately, but his protest is drowned out by the sound of Harris cheering.

“Daddy and I are gonna—”

Eddie claps a ringed hand over his son’s mouth. “It’s a surprise.” He looks at you for a moment, bashfulness infiltrating his expression with a timid smile and downcast eyes, and you realize that the surprise is for you.

Harris wriggles out of Eddie’s grasp with a discontented sigh, sliding off the couch and onto thr floor. “I didn’t tell Ms. Sweetheart,” he protests, and Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose as he gathers any remaining patience.

Ettie puckers up her face and lets out a wail that seems far too big for her teeny body, but it serves as the perfect reason to leave. You hug everyone goodbye and give the cranky baby’s feet a gentle tickle before you head out the door. Harris gallops ahead, giving Eddie the opportunity to guide you with a soft press of his hand to the small of your back. Before he's fully outside, he leans in to Jeff, whispering “I told her,” ending the statement with a grin.

“My man!” Jeff grabs Eddie’s shoulder and gives it a small shake. “Let me know when to buy my tux for the wedding.”

“Jesus, you sound like Harris.”

Spending time at Hawkins Preschool outside of contracted work hours would normally be a scenario straight out of a nightmare. This afternoon; however, you’re here to see the most adorable little boy and his handsome dad perform some sort of mystery talent, which makes it all worthwhile.

The cafeteria has been transformed into an auditorium of sorts, with neat lines of metal folding chairs replacing the long tables that typically fill the space. An area at the front of the room has been sectioned off for the performances, and the entire place is abuzz with excitement about the adorableness that is about to ensue.

You spot Jeff and Wayne sitting in the third row from the back and you give them a little wave, bounding over to take the empty seat to Jeff’s left. The smile on your lips quickly transforms into a frown when you see him shake his head, placing his palm on the chair.

“I’m under strict orders to make sure you sit in the front row,” he says with a knowing smirk. He shoos you away, and you begrudgingly turn from their familiar faces, but not before catching a twinkle in Wayne’s eyes.

Soon after you find a seat close to the makeshift stage, Principal Sinclair steps up to the microphone.

“Welcome, friends and family, to our annual talent show fundraiser!” There’s a polite smattering of applause before she speaks again. “Our students—and their parents—have quite a show for you all. First up is Miss Abigail Carver and her mom, Chrissy, who will be performing a cheer routine!”

You clap as Abby and Chrissy step out, green and yellow pom-poms in hand. Your student recognizes you immediately, running over to give you a quick hug that elicits a resounding aww from the audience members. She rushes back to her spot as she and her mother cheer on the Hawkins Tigers in unison.

Next is another student of yours, Joshua Harrington. His dad hoists a Fisher Price basketball hoop and places it on the ground so the two of them can show off their “slam dunks.”

After a few more students from other classes, it’s finally the moment you’ve been waiting for.

“Please welcome Harris Munson and his dad, Eddie, who will be singing a song!”

No sooner do you call out, “Yay, Harris!” do you hear it:

“Freak.”

It’s low enough that no one else catches it; you probably wouldn’t have, either, if the culprit wasn’t sitting directly behind you. You turn around to see Jason Carver, camcorder by his side, poorly stifling a snicker.

Your hands clench, balled into fists, so tight that you feel your fingernails digging into your palms. It’s too tempting to smash his camera—no, smash his stupid face—but you inhale and then exhale for three seconds apiece. Today is about Harris and Eddie, and no overgrown bully is going to ruin that.

Still, you have to bite back a smile at the thought of Jason sporting a black eye, courtesy of the Freak’s girlfriend herself.

When Harris and Eddie take to the performance space, your anger evaporates and your heart becomes heavy with emotion. Harris is front and center, body slightly turned as he watches his dad get settled on a wooden stool and gives his acoustic guitar a tune. The boy dons a black suit that’s a size too big for him, his hands barely peeking out of the sleeves. He’s got on a tie that has to have been borrowed from an adult; you can’t imagine Eddie or Wayne wearing one, so maybe Jeff loaned it. The best part is the fedora that rests atop his messy mop of curls.

“Hi, Ms. Sweetheart!” he says with a grin so wide it likely hurts his cheeks, letting out a shriek of delight when you wave. “This song is for you!”

Eddie murmurs a soft, “two, three, four,” and strums a melody that immediately has your eyes welling with tears.

“You make me feel so young,” Harris croons, mouth right up to the mic, “you make me feel so spring has sprung!”

To anyone else, it seems like a silly play on the fact that he is, in fact, young. You know it’s so much more.

“And every time I see you grin, I’m such a happy individual!”

He’s singing Frank Sinatra. He’s dressed as Frank Sinatra. And you know it had to be Eddie’s idea, considering Harris’s musical repertoire teeters between Raffi and Metallica.

He skips a few verses, and when he does, Eddie locks eyes with you and offers a tiny close-mouthed smile.

“And even when I’m old and gray I’m gonna feel the way I do today ‘Cause you make me feel so young!”

You choke down the sob that threatens to escape as they circle back to the chorus. The memory of Grandma’s final Thanksgiving, consisting of singing along to Fly Me to the Moon and sharing store-brand Oreos, soars around your mind. The way she had so easily slipped back into her old self, if only for a moment. The way Eddie had held you and kissed your scalp, protecting you from a force no one could see but everyone could feel.

“You make me feel so young You make me feel so young Ooh, you make me feel so young!”

The song ends and you leap to your feet, cheering just as loudly as you did the other night at the Hideout for Corroded Coffin. You swipe at a stray tear and force yourself to look at your boyfriend, so effortlessly beautiful in a black t-shirt and jeans.

Thank you, you mouth.

I love you, comes his silent reply.

You gaze into each other’s eyes for another beat before you feel a thud against your legs. Harris stands right before you, ignoring the way all of the other kids proceeded out the door after their performances.

“Are those happy tears?” he asks, brows furrowing in concern as he notices your stained cheeks. When you nod, still too overcome with emotion to speak aloud, his face splits into a grin. “Good.” His arms wrap around your waist in a hug that nearly has you toppling over, and you rest your hand on his upper back to steady yourself.

“Easy, Har Bear,” Eddie’s voice is strong but tender, and your entire body relaxes in his presence. You want to pull him in by his belt loops and kiss him, running your fingers through his curls until you’re both smiling too hard to continue. If only you weren’t at your place of work, if only all eyes weren’t on you, if only–

“Looks like the Freak’s got a crush.”

A smattering of the audience members laugh at this, no one more so than the instigator himself. You whirl around reflexively, eyes narrowing at the smug blonde man behind you. Eddie takes a small step forward, quietly telling Harris to go back with his friends as he zeroes in on his longtime nemesis.

He’s going to hit him, you realize, noting the subtle clench of his jaw and twitch of his flexing bicep. I have to stop him before he does something he regrets.

Eddie’s hand shoots out, grabbing Jason’s collar and pulling him in with a jolt. There’s a soft gasp from the crowd followed by silence as everyone waits for Eddie’s next move. You can hear the scraping of metal chairs on the ground as Wayne and Jeff scramble to mitigate the situation before it can escalate further.

To your surprise–and relief–Eddie doesn’t throw any punches; instead, he grits his teeth and hisses, low enough so only you and Jason can hear:

“Don’t ever talk about her again.”

He lets go with a small shove, and Jason stumbles back just as Principal Sinclair arrives to break it up. While time came to a screeching halt, the whole interaction spanned fewer than ten seconds.

Wayne and Jeff reach him first, guiding him out of the cafeteria. The older man keeps his eyes on his nephew, but Jeff shoots Jason a steely glare, insinuating that Jason had better heed Eddie’s warning if he wants to live to see his daughter go to kindergarten. You follow behind and attempt to keep your composure.

“I’m so sorry,” Eddie breathes as soon as the four of you are alone. “I shouldn’t have…I just fuckin’ hate that guy.” His eyes dance with anxiety, not sure whether to look at you, his friend, his uncle, or the ground.

You take his hands in yours, imploring him to focus on you as you reach up to brush his curls off of his face. “It’s okay–”

Eddie shakes his head. “I ruined everything. This was supposed to be about Harris, and about making you happy…” He takes a step back, rubbing his eyes with a low, exasperated, “fuck!”

“Baby–”

“I’m gonna get Harris,” Eddie starts to walk away, speaking to himself as though you hadn’t said a word, but he stops in his tracks when Wayne puts his hand on his shoulder.

“Listen to your girl,” he says simply, motioning for Jeff to come fetch Harris with him.

Eddie doesn’t dare protest, trudging back to face you. He’d fucked up royally, and he knew it. What was he thinking, putting his hands on Jason Carver in the middle of a goddamn preschool talent show?

“Eddie,” you take his hand in yours and give it a squeeze, “it’s okay. I’m not mad; I just wish he didn’t get under your skin like that.” You rub your thumb along his forefinger. “He’s not worth it, I promise.”

“I just…” Eddie mumbles, thoughts too scrambled to find the words he needs. He heaves a long sigh. “I shouldn’t have done it here.”

You can’t really argue with that; out of all of the places Eddie could fight Jason, your job wasn’t your favorite option.

“Can I tell you a secret?” You press onto your toes to whisper in his ear. “I almost did the same thing earlier today.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” you confirm, nudging the toe of your shoe against his scuffed sneaker. “And I have a feeling most people in this town would agree with me.” The notion makes Eddie smile, and you continue. “Let me take you and Ol’ Brown Eyes out for ice cream to celebrate your amazing performance. Please?” You throw a puppy-dog look his way, though he needs little convincing.

Still, a nagging thought tugs at him that he has to resolve before can allow himself to relax. “There might be people there. People we know.” People like Jason Carver and Carol Perkins, he silently adds. “It’s okay if you don’t want to…we can just grab a half-gallon from Bradley’s and bring it home.”

You shake your head, effectively turning down his offer. “I’m taking my boyfriend and his adorable son to Scoops Ahoy, and the three of us are gonna split a fudge sundae,” you say matter-of-factly.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Are you sure you’re okay with people knowing about us? Being branded ‘The Freak’s Girlfriend’? Hearing people gossip about whatever the Hawkins rumor mill has churned out?

The sensation of your lips on his tempers the overworked gear shifts in his brain. When you pull back, you’re smiling at him.

“Positive.”

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#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

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venusacrossthestars · 6 months

Text

your hands in mine

Pairings- Charles Leclerc x fem!reader

WC-1k

warnings- fluff, thunderstorm, 1 sexual-ish innuendo

A/N: this is something special for @arieslost and her obsession with hands, especially Charles' hands. I wrote this and am posting in today (3/12) in honor of our 3 years of friendship. I wouldn't be who I am without her. nyoom duo till the end.

f1 masterlist

The roll of thunder is what startles you out of your slumber. Senses clouded by the lingering effects of sleep. For a moment you are unsure as to where you were. This looked nothing like your apartment. Another wave of thunder brought back the realization, I spent the night at Charles’.

You and the Monégasque driver had spent the entire day together, doing everything and nothing. He had a week off between races and was adamant about spending it all with you, not that you were complaining. This night had been no different. The two of you had gone out for a nice dinner, a little local spot near Charles’ flat that had live music. Your walk home was filled with a comfortable silence, which was one of your favorite things about being with Charles. The two of you didn’t need to be in constant conversation with each other, just each other presence was enough.

The peacefulness followed the both of you as you worked through the motions of your nightly routine. Yours ended with reading a few chapters of whatever book you were reading and Charles practicing the piano. Kissing him before you each went off to do your own routine was the last thing you could fully remember. You must’ve fallen asleep out on the balcony and Charles must’ve carried you to bed.

Turing over in Charles’ arms was a task easier said than done. Anytime the two of you spooned his arms would magically become vice grips, impossible to get out of. However, Charles must have been equally, if not more, beat than you. The rain helping lull him to sleep as it had done to you, his arms were lax across your middle, making it easier to roll over to your opposite side.

As the wind picked up, a cool breeze swept through the open windows making you nestle further into Charles’ bare chest. Your hands coming to rest across his chest. Another thing to love about him, he always slept shirtless. It was impossible to deny how handsome Charles was, and contrary to popular belief of the media, you weren’t with Charles only for his looks and fame, though it was a perk. You didn’t care about any of those things. When he was with you he wasn’t Charles Leclerc Prince of Ferrari, he was just Charles and that’s all you needed.

The rain began to pour harder and you couldn’t restrain yourself from staring at Charles’ sleeping figure, it was as if Michelangelo personally carved him out of marble. His sharp features only a tad more relaxed in his slumber. Shamelessly, you move your hand from his chest and lightly begin to trace his face with the backside of your hand, carefully trying not to wake him. Content with your mapping skills you move your hand back to his chest, now mindlessly drawing shapes into his tan skin.

You continued your drawing, listening to the sounds of the storm as it raged on, lost in your own world. You would’ve stayed like that for longer if it wasn’t for a practically bright flash of lightning followed by a wave of thunder that had enough force to shake the room. This startled Charles from his slumber, which in turn startled you.

“We should close the window before the floor gets all wet,” Charles mumbled out, still in the clutches of sleep.

“Too comfy, don’t wanna move,” you mutter into his skin.

Charles slides out from under you, causing you to whine at the loss of contact.

“I’m going to be right back, mon cheri, do not worry.”

With your eyes well adjusted to the darkness of the bedroom, you can make out the outline of Charles’ back, along with the muscles that flex as he closes the window and redraws the curtains that have been blown open. You watch shamelessly. How can a man be that perfect?

“See something you like?” Charles teases, standing at the foot of the bed.

“Best view in the city.” Your answer seems to satisfy Charles as he climbs back into bed, back to your previous position.

Now, instead of your hands tracing Charles’ features it is Charles whose hands soothingly roam your arm. On one particular ticklish pass of his hand, you let out a small giggle and before he can go back to try and tickle you again you grab his hand.

With his hand in yours, you bring it to your lips and press small kisses against each of his knuckles. Happy with the amount of kisses you have given him you bring his hand back down and absent-mindedly play with his fingers. Charles, still awake, says nothing and continues to let you do as you please.

“I love your hands,” you admit.

“I know,” he chuckles out, “I like my hands too, especially when they are wrapped around your throat.”

You gasp at the statement, “you pervert. I’m complimenting you and your head is stuck in the gutter.”

“It always is when you’re around.”

You roll your eyes at his comment and he pinches your side in retaliation, “you can’t even see what I did.”

“I know you, and I know you just rolled your eyes at me.”

Well, he’s got you there. You stop messing around with his fingers and now it is Charles’ turn to fiddle with yours. He copies your motions, bringing your hand to also kiss each knuckle. Instead of stopping as you did with his, he lightly massages the meat of your palm.

You are fighting the feeling of sleep, but it is a losing battle between the massage Charles is giving you and sound of the rain hitting the now closed window. Charles mutters something that your foggy brain is unable to catch.

Laced with sleep you ask, “what did you say?”

“Just that I love your hands too.” Charles says while kissing your ring finger but you are too far gone to hear the last part. “And one day I’ll put a ring on your finger and be able to call you mine forever.”

#f1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fluff

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moody-alcoholic · 2 months

Text

Protection

MDNI +18 content

AN: Smut is back baby! It feels like it’s been a while, I stuffed this chapter with smut, like almost every part. I couldn't stop I must be ovulating or something.

I have done the outline for the end of the series it's officially been written out. Here is a sneak peak, it's very unlikely to change but if anything there may be an additional chapter.

Summary: Ghoap x Reader, throuple. 4.1k words. Reader is female (she/her), army nurse, non descript physical features, names used: Ashe.

CW: MDNI +18 content Sex, PIV sex, Oral (M receiving x2), tiniest little bit of Mdom & Msub (I have no self control), threesome, fingering, multiple orgasms.

Previous parts - masterlist - next part

Enjoy ya filthy animals <3

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Johnny asks Simon his head on Simon’s thighs looking up at the ceiling.

“Will it make you feel better?” Simon asked, looking down at him.

“I don’t know,” he says sighing.

“What’s the worse that could happen?” Simon asks.

“She could hurt herself.” Johnny replies, Simon nods running his fingers through Johnny’s hair.

“She could get hurt anyway, worse if she has no way of defending herself.” Simon says. Johnny know’s he’s right but the thought of giving you a gun still made him nervous.

“Do you really think she’s in danger?” Johnny asks thinking back to the intel they sent to Laswell.

“I think if Laswell’s preliminary findings are right we’re going to have bigger things to worry about.” Simon sighs. He looks down at Johnny, he knows Johnny is worried Simon is too but they have a job to do and that means he has to push his feelings aside. His feelings for Johnny for you. There is less to worry about as Ghost, just focusing on the mission that’s all that matters.

“You’re stressed.” Johnny says pulling Simon out his head. Simon sighs, he could really use a cigarette. Johnny sits up taking his head off Simon’s thighs and moves so they’re face to face. Johnny leans in and kisses him his hand working down Simon’s chest to his stomach to his pants. Simon pulls back.

“She’s sleeping.” Simon says, quickly looking back towards the bedroom door. They had left it ajar in case you woke screaming again. Johnny pulls Simon’s face back to him.

“I owe you for Syria, ‘member?” Johnny says planting his lips back on Simon before he can protest. He slips his hand under Simon’s sweatpants, rubbing Simon’s bulge over his boxers. Simon breaks away again.

“You know that’s not how this works?” He says, but he’s already leaning back on the sofa. Johnny smiles, he reaches down pulling Simon’s cock out, Johnny’s mouth is watering, it’s been a while since he’s had the opportunity to pleasure Simon. Johnny’s hands are gentle but firm as he works pressing his thumb into the underside, the way he knows Simon likes it. Johnny is getting more eager as Simon’s hand finds it’s way up the back of Johnny’s shirt. His head tipping back on the sofa closing his eyes, the stress slowly being washed away if only for a few moments.

Johnny doesn’t wait any longer locking his lips round Simon’s cock and thrusting his head all the way down. Simon runs his other hand through Johnny’s mohawk, he really needs a hair cut. Simon moans, Johnny starts slow wanting to take his time. He can already feel Simon’s grip on his hair pushing his head becoming more needy. Johnny is stronger though forcing Simon to accept the fact he want’s to take his time. The longer he can ride this out the less stressed Simon will be. Maybe if he tries hard enough he can get Simon to sleep for more then a few hours at a time.

Simon’s moan’s are making Johnny’s own cock twitch in his pants and before he’s even realised it he’s giving into Simon’s control letting him bob his head up and down. Johnny’s name leaving Simon’s mouth, it’s like music to his ears. Johnny forces his mouth to take Simon all the way, feeling him starting to twitch, he most be close it makes Johnny smile as he blinks away the tears.

Simon is panting gripping Johnny’s hair tighter as he forces him all the way down hitting the back of Johnny’s throat as he cums. He can’t breathe but he waits until Simon’s finished panting and his hand has left his head before sitting up and swallowing. He smiles at Simon then steps up off the sofa.

“C'mon, lets go to bed.” Johnny says reaching his hand out. Simon doesn’t say anything tucking his cock back in his pants and accepting Johnny’s hand.

“Feel better?” Johnny whispers as his arm slips round Simon’s waist.

“Yeah, needed that.” Simon says. Johnny smiles.

“I know ye did.” They slip into the bedroom you’re sleeping on Simon’s side Johnny gets in under the sheets as Simon gently moves you into Johnny’s arms. You murmur something incoherent as Johnny shushes you and kisses you on the top of your head. Simon scoots up behind you his hand stroking Johnny’s cheek.

“I love you Johnny.” Simon says as quiet as possible, he see’s Johnny smiling in the dark.

“I love you too Si.”

——————————

You leave early the next morning, you’re not convinced Simon and Johnny slept. You don’t remember them coming to bed and they were awake before you. At least there were no nightmares. Simon was driving this time, Johnny was in the back with you. It felt strange going onto the base in civilian clothing, you said you wouldn’t mind going home to change but Simon said it wasn’t a big deal. When you get to the shooting range you feel nervous all of a sudden. Simon goes into the back as Johnny leads you inside. The place is empty, guess there was a reason for coming here so early.

“You really haven’t shot a weapon since basic?” Johnny asks as he uses his key-card to open the cage into the shooting pit.

“Okay maybe like a year after basic I did a refresher test, but I’m an army nurse we very rarely see combat.” You explain. You’re mostly stationed in the UK and when you are shipped abroad it’s most likely to a massive functional hospital, where the biggest threat is misunderstanding the staff. You go over to the wall of ear-defenders with Johnny picking up a pair you hope will fit. They do and you let them drop round your neck, as Simon walks in with the gun case. He places it in one of the booths and clicks it open then steps back.

“You already know the basics, lets see what your aims like.” Simon says as he crosses his arms coming up behind you while Johnny slips into the booth next to yours. You put the ear-defenders on and adjust the pulley system so the target is a little closer to you then pick the pistol up. It feels cold in your hand’s, not something you’re used to but you load it and pull chamber back so there is a round in there.

You stand so you’re comfortable feeling Simon close behind you he’s almost breathing down your neck. You try to remember your training. You bring the pistol up to your eye line looking at the target. You take a breath in once you’re happy with your placement you click the safety off. You take a shot. You hit the target but not on the body, the recoil was stronger then you were expecting so you adjust your position and grip a little more and fire again. This time it’s better you hit the chest, that’s exactly what you need. You’re not going for head shots just accurate shots. You fire off a few more rounds, making sure you can keep them on the body at least. You put the safety back on satisfied, and put the weapon down.

“What do you think.” You turn to Simon impressed. He nods.

“Not bad,” he says, you look at him and roll your eyes.

“Not bad that’s the first time I’ve shot in like 2 years, those are some pretty tight shots.” You protest. You hear Johnny laughing as he sticks his head round the booth.

“I reckon, you’ve got Ghost beat there lass.” He says looking up at Simon and winking. Simon huffs. He reaches over and picks up the pistol going into another booth. They’re winding each-other up again. Johnny joins you in your booth as you hear Simon checking the mag then firing off shots.

You can’t see the target from here it’s all the way at the end and Johnny’s hand has found it’s way up the back of your top stroking the small of your back. Simon stops firing and activates the pulley system so his target skids to a halt a few feet from the booth. His shots are perfect of course, you had no doubt in him. Johnny chuckles again and you both leave the booth. Simon hands the pistol to Johnny.

“Same or better, if not I’ll be having words with Price about running you through some extra training.” Johnny’s smile vanishes. Now you can’t help but laugh.

“That’s no fair.” Johnny protests, Simon shrugs going back to cross his arms. You lean up against Simon as Johnny takes his time replacing the target and sending it back. Johnny is muttering under his breath as he changes the mag and stands up ready to shoot. He fires off the shots adjusting his footing every now and then. When hes done he unloads the pistol and steps back, crossing his arms with a cheeky grin on his face.

You smile at him craning your neck to try and get a better look. As Simon brings the target up and you can see the shots are pretty much the same, or at least from what you remember. Simon nods turning to look at him as he picks the pistol up.

“See Soap you’re not entirely useless after all.” Simon chuckles, slapping him on the shoulder.

“Hey what’s that supposed to mean.” Johnny says following after him as he goes to put the pistol away. You smile while you watch them bicker, most of the time Simon just laughs. Whenever Johnny says anything remotely funny he looks back at you and winks.

“C’mon let’s get out of here before someone shows up with a bunch of recruits and we have to put them to shame.” Johnny says wrapping his arm round your shoulders.

——————————

On the way home you’re horny, you don’t know why. It probably had something to do with the fact that you and Simon spent the drive home making out while Johnny tested the breaks. Chuckling every-time you were broken away from the kiss. They really do like to wind each other up.

By the time you make it back to the flat you’ve already decided you want Simon to fuck you. No one complains especially not Simon as you all make it to the bedroom practically falling on top of each other.

You strip naked and lay down in the bed Simon’s stood between your legs, Johnny laid next to you. He’s kissing you his hand running up and down your belly, every now and then his fingers brush your nipples and it sends electricity down your body. Johnny breaks away from the kiss stroking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, you don’t know why that makes you blush but it does. You look up at Simon who’s finally finished striping, and is stood there stroking his cock.

“How do you want to do this?” You ask. Simon thinks for a second looking at Johnny.

“Think you could handle both of us at once?” Simon asks with a cheeky grin on his face. You nod, although you’re not quite sure what that means.

“Johnny sit up against the headboard, you get on your hands and knees.” He says instructing you both around. Johnny shuffles up the bed as you turn over crawling away as Simon also gets on the bed. You think you know where this is going and move so you’re crouched in front of Johnny.

“Yeah, that’s it.” Simon says gripping your hips and moving you in place. You look up at Johnny smiling. He’s got that cheeky grin on his face, he moves down the bed enough that his hips are aliened with your face. Simon’s hand is rubbing your clit in little circles you’re already getting distracted, your hands finding their way to grab Johnny’s cock which is easier said then done since you’re using your elbows to support you.

Simon slips a finger into you and dip your head as you let out a breath. You can’t wait any longer locking your lips round Johnny, who moans in response his head tipping back into the pillows. You hear Simon chuckle as he inserts another finger. You moan round Johnny's cock thrusting your mouth all the way down to the base. He hits the back of your throat and saliva fills your mouth. Good that makes things easier. Simon’s fingers are rubbing round your clit you can’t help but clench round him. It just makes him chuckle again as he takes his fingers out rubbing your entrance. You feel his fingers replaced with the tip of his cock, you hold your breath slowing your movements.

“You okay?” Simon asks. You take your mouth off Johnny despite his wine of protest.

“Yeah,” you say, not realising how out of breath you sound. Simon pushes his tip in before you can say anything making you gasp your hands squeezing Johnnys waist. He doesn't stop as he continues to push in as you involuntarily squeeze around him. You knew he was going to be bigger but you didn’t think it would feel so different. You moan as you reach back over to Johnny’s cock desperate for it to be in your mouth again. You hear Simon moaning behind you as he starts thrusting in and out. His hands gripping your waist you can feel his fingers digging into you. Your eyes start to water and you blink the tears away looking over at Johnny with his head back in the pillows.

“You look good down there Johnny.” Simon says, you can’t help smiling.

“You should see the view from ‘ere.” Johnny replies popping his head up and winking at you. You match your speed with Simon’s thrusts. Now your body is used to him inside you he speeds up, each time it feels like he’s going deeper and deeper. You want to moan, pant but you’re too busy with Johnny you can’t. Each moan you let out makes Johnny twitch in your mouth as his hand finds your head running his fingers through your hair.

“You feel amazing,” Simon says between thrusts getting faster, deeper, you almost can’t keep up. Johnny’s started squirming you grip his hips to try and stop him. A fruitless task he’s way stronger then you.

“Oh love you’re too fucking perfect.” He says, his voice strained, gripping your hair tighter.

“Don’t you fucking dare come till she’s ready Johnny.” Simon says, his voice commanding, it makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

“Aye sir, ‘cause not.” Johnny says gritting his teeth. There’s the sir again, and you can feel Simon likes that. His hand slips round your waist and his fingers brush your clit. You moan hard and Johnny squirms, now you’re close as you clench round Simon. He moans thrusting into you harder hitting you in just the right place, his hand rubbing little circles round your clit. Without even realising it the blowjob has turned into a sloppy mess as you mindlessly take Johnny as deep as you can.

“Si-” Johnny says gripping your hair even tighter, you feel if he grips it more he will pull it off. You want to tell Simon it’s okay that you’re close too. But maybe it’s Simon, maybe he still needs time. You clench again holding back as you moan. His fingers dig into your waist.

“Go on love make him cum. I know you’re close too.” Simon says. That makes you smile and you pull yourself out your head and get back to the steady rhythm you had before. Johnny’s not going to last long, you can tell by the way he’s moaning and writhing. You’re not going to last long either, Simon’s finger’s rubbing you clit hard. Before you can stop yourself you’re coming, you take Johnny as deep as you can as he come’s too gripping your hair, his hips thrusting up. You can’t keep track of what’s going on, there are too many feelings too many hands.

You’re still panting through your orgasm as you feel Simon come too. His cock thrust inside you twitching as you feel him filling you up. You let go of Johnny’s cock swallowing his load as you take in gulps of air. You feel Simon pull out of you and you flop over on the bed pulling your body up to Johnny. Simon crawls over leaning into give you a kiss you pull back instinctively, then you remember this is okay and you lean in kissing him. Simon moans as he tastes the remnants Johnny’s seed still in your mouth. He pulls away looking at Johnny who is still trying to get his breathing to calm, you smile at him.

“Christ Si, you really know how to tease a guy.” He says. You chuckle as Simon crawls over to kiss him, then gets out the bed. You cuddle up to Johnny who wraps his arm around your shoulder, you lay on his chest stroking his stomach.

“I could go again.” You say. Simon chuckles as he leaves the room.

“Jesus, lass you really are fecking perfect.” He moves and you slide of his chest laying on your back as he lays on his side. He looks over you, his eyes soaking in each part of your body. His hand squeeze’s one of your breasts, then travels down your stomach. You spread your legs for him your heart racing in your chest. He looks down as his fingers slides over your clit to your entrance, your body shivers.

“Fuck, still so sensitive.” He smiles at you as he slowly pushes two fingers inside. Your pussy is making the the most beautiful noises with a mix of your juices and Simon’s cum. Johnny doesn’t start slow, curing his fingers to hit your g-spot as your back arches and your head gets buried in the pillows.

“Is this what you needed lass?” Johnny asks his breathing picks up to match his speed.

“Yes, yes it is.” You say between moans Johnny chuckles slipping another finger in. He’s thrusting deeper, harder and you grip the bedding panting as you get closer to the edge. He’s right you are sensitive, it’s not going to take you long to cum you’re already grinding your hips on his fingers. He’s whispering sweet things in your ears telling you how good you’re being. You don’t even have time to warn him you just cum, his name leaving your lips as you clench down hard on his fingers.

He chuckles riding you through the orgasm as you pull your head out from the pillows. He looks up at you smiling taking his fingers out your pussy and pushing them into your mouth. You suck on them hard cleaning then with your mouth and tongue. Simon walks back into the room chuckling with two glasses of water as Johnny takes his fingers out your mouth. He accepts the drink from Simon.

“I need to clean up first, maybe get some new bedding.” You chuckle as you scoot off the bed very much aware of the liquid now dripping down your thighs as you stand up. Simon comes over to you anyway forcing you to take gulps of water before you pass him to the bathroom.

You hear Simon getting Johnny off the bed and the sheets being stripped. You sit down on the toilet and clean yourself up, almost wanting to tell them you’ll do it, since you made all the mess. You finish and go to wash your hands. Johnny passes the doorway carrying the sheets to the wash, you go into the bedroom throwing on a clean pair of pants and a shirt then help Simon make the bed.

“Tired?” Simon asks as you yawn. You nod.

“It’s been a long day.” You say. Simon pulls the covers back and gets into bed, he’s only wearing his boxers and you climb in next to him. He pulls you into his arms kissing the top of your head.

“That was a lot of fun.” You say as you stroke his chest.

“Yeah it was,” he replies as you hear Johnny come in the room. He waists no time almost jumping in behind you pressing his chest up against your back. You feel his arms reach over you to rest on Simon’s waist as he pulls the duvet over the 3 of you.

“Perfect,” you say as you let out a sigh relaxing into their arms. Johnny kisses the back of your head. Humming in your ear. Simon’s hand stroking your hair. This really is perfect.

——————————

You wake to Johnny shaking you. There are lights on in the room you blink rubbing your eyes. You look over to the clock its 2am. Johnny hands you some jeans and socks. You can tell something is wrong Simon is not in the bed.

“What’s going on?” You ask sitting up and swinging your legs out the bed.

“We need to move, it’s not safe here.” Johnny says, as he takes his wedding ring off and hooks it on his dog-tag chain. You swallow hard it’s that serious. You don’t need to wait to be told again pulling your jeans and socks on as Simon comes into the room.

“Get the bags and take her downstairs Price will be here soon.” Simon says, your eyes meet his but they're cold, it’s making you panic even more. Your heart starts racing as you leave the room heading to get some shoes on. Simon’s running round the apartment, you’re trying to think what could have happened. What did Johnny mean buy ‘it’s not safe here.’ Johnny comes round the corner dropping two duffle bags by your feet and pulling some shoes on. You follow him in silence as you take the short lift down to the lobby.

“Johnny what happened?” You ask, starting to shiver.

“We’ll explain everything just trust us okay?” Johnny says. You nod as car pulls up. The driver side window opens and you see Price. You follow Johnny out the door you get in the back as Johnny opens the boot throwing the bags in.

“Nice to see you again.” Price says as you slide in.

“Really it kind of feels like a bad time?” You say. Gaz is here too in the front seat you smile at him. Johnny gets in next to you as you pull your seat belt on.

“Where’s LT?” Price asks.

“Finishing off inside.” Johnny says. His hand squeezes your thigh, it reassures you a little but you want answers. You’re about to ask Price when the building door slamming makes you jump. You see Simon walking out he has his mask on now. This must be serious. He gets in the can next to you. Price starts to drive before Simon even has chance to put his seat belt on.

“We sure they don’t know about this place?” Simon asks.

“We can’t be sure about anything, but it’s safer then your place.” Price says.

“What’s happening?” You ask out loud. Price looks at you through the rear view mirror.

“Turns out the Masons run a nice little family business selling weapons and secrets to the enemy.” Price says. The Masons. Chloe’s family.

“Anyway, they’re not too happy we found out about it, they seem to be under the impression it’s your fault.” Price explains looking at you again. You swallow hard feeling your heart racing in your chest. It was your fault, but your not the bad guy here they are.

“Is that why they killed Chloe?” You ask.

“We don’t know,” Johnny says squeezing your leg.

“What’s important right now is we keep you safe so we can do our job.” Simon says.

“What are you going to do?” You ask.

“We’re going to stop them.” Price says.

“You make it sound so easy.” You say, leaning back in the seat.

“Hopefully it will be.” Johnny says. You look round the car. Price is focused on driving you to who knows were in the dead of night. You can’t help but think this is your fault. What if you had never seen those documents in the office. What if you had never provoked Jack in Syria. You had a feeling there was more to this then you’re being told. Maybe that’s for the best. The less you know the better. You close your eyes leaning on Johnny as you let out a sigh. Hopefully this is just another bad dream. One you really want to wake up from soon.

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springsylph · 8 months

Text

WITCHING HOUR, CH. 1/3 — [18+]

(18+) - MARKED FOR EVENTUAL SMUT, MINORS DNI!

fem!reader x arthur morgan

summary: most people in the area had issues with coyotes. yours wore a cowboy hat, but you let him in anyways. tags: marked 18+ for smut in later chapters, reader has a backstory kinda (but also not kinda), referred to as lady/ma’am/etc, arthur doesn’t know how chickens work, i really don’t know my farm lore

word count: 5.5k

a/n: setting this pre-chapter 2 ish and post chapter 1, except it’s winter for realsies, Because I Can. and please no questions about chicken logistics or I Will Cry.

you can find a link to the playlist here!

read on ao3 here | masterlist

The fictitious “stranger,” by all accounts, was possessed.

Possessed by an air so overwhelming, so sure, that it incited perversity in even the most upright.

He was an outlaw, by the cut of the whispers. The story went that he’d rolled in like a heavy fog, altogether quiet and unassuming, though still carrying the foreboding quality that preceded the raising of hackles. Mothers kept watchful eyes over their daughters, and more notably, the fathers brandished their guns.

And yet—that maddening yet—the mothers seemed to care little for their own warnings, and even the fathers were envious of a man dripping with exploits they didn’t have the luxury of entertaining.

Luxuries and lack thereof aside, the fickleness of those who spoke of him had not gone entirely unnoticed; it lent no plausibility, no substance to the dream-like tales they’d crafted in their drunken stupors. The most substance you’d seen had been spewed into the shadowy corners of Valentine, pissed into not-quite pristine patches of snow, foul stench leaking out onto already foul streets before it followed you back to the farm.

It stunk.

It stunk, and it loitered, and it’d been stealing from you.

Which is exactly why—when he shows up on your rickety porch just as winter has begun to bleed out into spring—you take up the mantle of digging your loaded barrel right into his sternum.

—

The front door tremors behind you.

The stranger shifts on his feet.

You shift with him, and gloved hands inch toward the stars in surrender not long after.

Amorphous mass comes to your mind first, rather than man. You can only discern the more essential points of his appearance: the gloves, the satchel, the rifle slung over his back. Knives are stashed somewhere you can’t see—if he’s worth his salt—but everything else blends into the dark line of trees behind him. You swallow a rather painful yawn.

His hat, evidently beaten to hell and back several times over, sits low enough on his forehead to cast shadows over his features—though not low enough to completely obscure the faint outline of a face from your view. The rest of him only falls into place once you crane your head to find his eyes.

As is customary in situations concerning your immediate safety, your throat constricts, and the second yawn you feel crawling up your throat nearly succeeds in asphyxiating you.

Petty crimes would have granted him a slighter frame, but no petty crime you can think of could have afforded him the sturdy chest, the buckling of the air around him, the crooked line of his nose, clearly less cared for than his battered clothing. He’s still a little blurred—largely from a lack of sleep on your end, and the protection of his hat on his. Even so, the hard set of his gaze offers nothing other than the tale of cruelty lived and the promise of cruelty to come.

There was no doubt. This had to be him.

(You might think him handsome, if not for the fact that it’s a quarter past three in the morning.)

The first breach in his stony composure that you catch is paper thin. Fleeting. And he’s quick to recover; any indication of surprise is sequestered with a blink. The second is an awkward shifting of his stubble-shrouded jaw, and you note with a squint that his bandana still hangs feebly off the jut of his chin.

He admits defeat after a few clumsy seconds. Cracks a wicked smile, bright as the moon peeking out from behind the crown of his hat. But it falls away quickly. Somewhere in the distance a tree branch creaks, tiny shards of ice scattering to the ground and tinkling like bells.

He was calm. Entirely too calm, considering where he stood. His hands haven’t budged, and nothing in his stance hints at an intent to attack. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he looks more annoyed by your presence than you are by his.

You try not to think about his eyes. There’s something else in there, too. Apart from the agitation that radiates from them, that is. It lurks deep beneath the blue and wades through the slight dilation of his pupils; it urges him closer—or, is it you?—like the distance between the two of you isn’t sustained by the twitchy arms of a jittery woman holding a rifle.

But there’s an abrupt wind that fiddles with the cotton threads of your chemise, and you’re suddenly struck with the realization that no, your hunting rifle isn’t loaded, and in your haste to confront him you’d forgotten your boots and shawl.

The nighttime chill, ever the tyrant, lodges itself where the wooden boards scratch eagerly at your bare feet. You were cold, so cold that it ached, and you were tired. But it’d do you no good to show your hand this early. So like the hiss of a rattlesnake, you keep your voice low, and you keep it lethal.

The stranger is named by the venom falling from your tongue.

“You’ve got ten seconds to convince me not to unload this lead into your chest, Morgan.” You track the added prod of the gun to ground yourself, eyelids still heavy with sleep.

It doesn’t do much, as far as threats go. Morgan’s ever steady breathing still accents the now stagnant winter wind, a stark contrast to the throb of your heart striking your ribs. But a small scar, carved into the flesh of his right cheek, has made an almost imperceptible shift. The rest of his features take far more liberties with their movement—

—and he’s scowling.

Your heart strikes louder.

God, the shit you would shovel to be able to read minds. Animals have always been more your speed; people were a hassle—far too unpredictable, and they tended to reap fewer rewards.

In your mind's eye, Arthur lies silently amongst the fallen snow, red unfurling behind him like wings. You’d hate to have to kill him, you really would. But there was nothing more dangerous than indecisiveness: it killed, and often relentlessly.

Only, you’ve been staring too long. It’s long enough to rouse Morgan from whatever state he’d been in before you’d spoken. He’s smart enough to keep his palms facing you, and he dips his head with the same mildness that one might use to soothe a startled mare. The scowl is tamped down, smile returning to him like water running through a scraggly creek.

“Evenin’, Miss.” He drawls.

And it works. You hate that it works. There’s a dull heat that seizes your lungs at the low timbre of his voice, something akin to fire.

No. No, nothing like it. It was more like the cheap whiskey you’d downed that first night working as a farmhand, all those months ago. It’d numbed your tongue, tumbled down your throat like sun-warmed stone, and simmered in your stomach. You hadn’t dared take another swig after that. Too dangerous. But it’s easy enough, passing your shudder off as a trick of the cold and cocking your head incredulously.

“Showing up uninvited, and you can’t do me the courtesy of knowing my name?” One push of the rifle sends him back with surprising ease—away from the cabin, and away from that damned moonlight. “Ma’am will do you just fine,” you spit.

His smile fractures. Not enough to truly frighten, but enough to make your fingers clench. “You talk to all your guests like that, Ma’am?”

You steel yourself. “Only the sneaks.”

At this, Morgan stills. Shuts his eyes.

Did he really think you wouldn’t notice?

The farm had more issues with coyotes than crooks; that’s what you’d been hired to take care of, more or less. Your employers—the Campbells—were getting on in their years, and were in desperate need of someone to help keep watch during the nights. So imagine the surprise when you’d found not a coyote, but a wanted man sliding through the shadows.

It’d angered you, that first time he’d gotten away. You’d only recognized him long after he’d left. But after that night, you’d made a show of firing off rounds into the nearby woods and roaming the perimeter of the grounds under the guise of a late-night hunt.

From what you knew, he hadn’t come back to steal, but you knew you’d seen him lingering. Felt him watching. Waiting for something—but you’d made sure that every pop of your rifle drove him further and further from whatever it was that he’d been aiming for. And now Arthur Morgan is here.

He furrows his eyebrows, purses his lips, and they disappear for a moment when he goes to wet them before he speaks again, a little less amused. “Now you know I mean no offense—”

“No offense? Well, I’d kill to see what you and your ilk consider offensive.”

The wind slams the front door shut.

“My ilk?”

You wonder if it’d been your goal all along, trying to rile him up like this. Accusations slide out of your mouth and into the night air far too easily for it not to be. But the thought of anything other than catching him red-handed occupying your head unnerves you, sending you another two steps forward and into the powdery snow.

“Jesus, woman! Alright, alright.” Morgan’s eyes finally leave you, darting between where your feet dig into the cold ground and the muzzle of the gun pressed to his chest. He slumps his shoulders and looks up to the sky, still an ugly grey-black from the thin dusting of snow the night before.

“Look,” he starts, hands fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, “I don’t mean no harm. I swear it. I’m—just give me a minute to explain, will you? One minute, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

There’s a please somewhere in there, left unsaid yet still ever so loud. You think it might have left him in the puff of breath that still hangs above your heads; hot and heavy in his mouth, but turned to nothing but vapors once it misses its chance to solidify.

You eye him warily. This could be over and done with in a matter of seconds, and you might be able to knock that godawful mustache clean off of Sheriff Malloy’s face. You kill him—or turn him in so long as he didn’t bleed out, whichever came first—and get whatever bounty was nailed to his head. Use the money to get out. Get your freedom. Stop biding your time, and get revenge.

And yet.

“…You lying to me, Morgan?”

His shoulders straighten out, suddenly very tense. “‘Course not. You think me the lyin’ sort?”

Your voice flattens. “I figured that much was obvious.”

“Ouch, lady. Not willing to pull your punches for little old me?”

“You’d rather the lady use the gun?”

“Neither, thank you. And, speaking of which–” His chest deflates a bit, putting space between the two of you without having to step back. “—quit swingin’ that thing around. You’ll take someone’s eye out.”

Exhaustion mounting, you lower your rifle slowly. You keep your eyes trained on a pebble that’s escaped the snowfall relatively unscathed, not trusting yourself to look anywhere else. Conceding with a sniff, you toss your head toward the front door. It’s quiet, now.

“Get in, before I change my mind—and no funny business, neither. Guns, knives, whatever else you’re hiding, drop ‘em. Right here.”

Too groggy to note the stalling of movement, you wait for the clinking of metal to stop. His boots retreat from your peripheral far more reluctantly than you expect. There’s a telltale groaning of wood, and you turn to find Morgan gazing down at you with an outstretched hand from where he’s hopped onto the porch. He murmurs with a reverence that you’re sure is misplaced, so quiet that you have to watch his lips to catch even a smidgen of what he says.

“Yes, ma’am.”

This was a game to him. You knew games. And so when you go to place your hand in his it’s to eye him down, back him into whatever corner would hold him and keep him there till you knew why he’d spent the last month haunting your lodgings like a ghost.

Calloused fingers wrap around your hand like a vice, and when he’s guiding you and your icy feet up the stairs it strikes you that maybe—just maybe—your assessment of your situation had been far too impetuous. Arthur’s touch is surprisingly clinical, but even through the leather of his gloves, it was warm. Too warm.

Ghosts weren’t warm. Or, at least you didn’t think they were. And Morgan, looking like the very paragon of the West, all bright eyes and honeyed words, had given you a glimpse of something far too beguiling not to investigate. It’s when he presses the back of his free hand to your wind-bitten cheeks that you wonder what your father might think.

“Chilled, right to the bone.” It isn’t so much a mutter as it is a rumble, reverberating somewhere deep in his throat and traveling up to where the two of you have made contact. You’re avoiding his eyes again, but you’re close enough now to be able to see his muscles working his neck.

His smell overtakes you much like the cold has. The freshness of the pine needles still stuck to his coat makes up most of what you’re able to distinguish. A little bit of horse, too—he’d ridden here. Where exactly he’d hitched his horse was a mystery. But with the proximity of his sleeve to your nose, you can make out the faintest hints of a potent musk. It’s everywhere: in your nose, your mouth, under your skin. Every inhale turns your muscles into piteous liquid. There’s no hiding your shudder, this time.

Morgan suddenly yanks his hand back as if scorched, and schools whatever expression he’d been wearing prior into one of indifference. He hums. Frowns.

“Let’s…uh, get you inside.”

You offer a tight nod and turn away, but Morgan is quick to the draw; he whispers a quick “pardon me,” and goes to retrieve the weapons he’d dropped in your stead.

Oh. You’d forgotten. It seems he’d forgotten too, brushing the mixture of dirt and snow away and mumbling something about keeping his guns warm. You’re left standing dazed on the porch, skin still blistering from where his fingers had met your skin.

Morgan has the decency to look at least a little troubled when he returns. He places what he’s collected into your arms before opening the front door, and gestures for you to enter. You offer one last look to the moon before following him inside.

Your judgment on Morgan—Arthur, now—was still up for debate. But your punishment for rushing to catch him had been doled out almost immediately.

For your feet, a numbness that the fireplace had been bullied into chipping away at. Your hands are still tight from the cold, and they sit tucked underneath your thighs with the added protection of a few blankets that’d been placed over your shoulders. Your eyes flick over from the fire to Arthur, and your chest tightens.

He’s found his seat across from you: coat and satchel on the back of a chair he’s pulled from the dining table, big hands tapping away absentmindedly at his knees. With the coat set aside, there’s nothing to hide the first few buttons of his shirt that hang open, pitch black and rolled up to his forearms to account for the warmth of the fireplace. His hat remains, hair still tucked away and settled at the nape of his neck.

You’d both been sitting in silence for the last half hour, despite Arthur’s insistence on “one minute,” letting the cold of the outdoors thaw out before saying anything that might get the rifle pulled again. You did gain a bit of satisfaction at the slight tinge of red in Arthur’s ears; it seemed the cold had gotten to him, too.

You watch as his eyes wander over the furnishings of your cabin. Thankfully, the door to your bedroom is only slightly ajar, and the knot in your chest lessens. It wasn’t often (or ever) that you had visitors over, which meant that most of your things were tucked haphazardly into corners or set on kitchen counters.

The Campbells—generous as they already were—had insisted you take up residence in a cabin on their property that once belonged to a daughter of theirs. She’d long since moved out, but the light in their eyes at the thought of it being occupied again was undeniable. It wasn’t much, but it was yours. And Arthur was seeing all of it.

“Don’t get too comfy.” You frown. “…Arthur.” He beams, and suddenly there’s something incredibly interesting lingering right by your foot.

His name still feels foreign when it leaves you. At first, you’d taken it as a show of good faith; he’d sworn to keep his mud-caked boots off of your rug in exchange for keeping his feet from becoming bullet-ridden by the time the sun came up. Arthur, feeling like he’d gotten the shitty end of the stick, had joked that you may as well call him by his first name. The last person with the guts to threaten him with a shotgun had, so what was one more?

It was a weak threat, if one at all. You knew, and he knew, that you were just about the only person this side of the Grizzlies who was vaguely aware of who he was. You’d seen it in his face when you’d called him by name. It’d be an insult to call it fear; an expectation of an inconvenience would be more accurate.

Luckily for him, you didn’t care. Not right now, at least. Imposing as he was, you refused to be cowed into going along with whatever it was that he'd planned.

Your heel messes with the leg of your chair. “Don’t you go forgetting why I brought you here in the first place.”

“Not quite sure if I’d use that wording—“

“Can it, Morgan.”

His jaw clicks shut this time, but he’s still got that goofy grin smeared onto his face when you chance a peek at him. You’ll let it slide, for now. You’ve stalled long enough.

“So. My eggs. You gonna tell me, or do I need to start pulling teeth?”

“No need,” Arthur assures, “shouldn’t be stickin’ your pretty little fingers in just anybody’s mouth, Ma’am.”

An outlaw and a flirt, to boot. Wonderful. You’re wondering how long it might take to chuck the nearest inanimate object at him when he pipes up again.

“You piss in somebody’s cigarette box, lady?��

“Did I piss—Morgan, quit it!”

This seems to reign him in a bit, and his smile dips.

“I’ll be frank, since you asked so kindly.” Arthur leans back in his chair, flexes his palms. “You had people tailin’ you.”

You quirk a brow. Ah, that’s right. He didn’t know, couldn’t have. But just as you attempt to explain, Arthur holds out a hand to stop you and shakes his head.

“Killers.”

The hand fussing with the material of your blanket falters.

“...I beg your pardon?”

“Hired guns, Ma’am. Out for you. You’re real…fortunate, I’d been passing by when I was.” A rueful look clouds his face. “Not much to hire once I was through with ‘em, though.”

The quiet that follows isn’t entirely unfamiliar. He’s an outlaw, you muse. Things like this are to be expected. But it doesn’t occur to you to ask who they were, what they looked like, what they wanted. Because Arthur didn’t know, didn’t need to know, and you aren’t sure if you want him here when you wrap your mind around the sobering fact that your long-held suspicions now bear fruit. So, you settle for the obvious.

“You kill ‘em?”

His jaw twitches. “Nothin’ gets past you, Ma’am.”

“...‘Suppose I should be thanking you, then.”

“Got my thanks when I checked their pockets.”

“But—”

Arthur gives a grunt of protest.

Jackass.

Though your concerns about theft were long gone, it doesn’t seem like he wants to talk about this any more than you do, so you do your best to set the conversation back on track.

“Well, uh…the eggs, then?”

The tension in his jaw lessens. Arthur unfurls a long leg, digs the heel of his boot out in front of him, and rocks his foot back and forth.

“You know these winters. I can tell you do—despite all the…” he trails off, nods the brim of his hat toward your newly cultivated relationship with the fireplace, and you flush. “So, I uh, started out sneaking a few off, along with some other things for my people back at camp. Snagged some extra rations. Kept an eye on you. Two birds, one stone.”

“So it wasn’t just the eggs you’d been stealing, then?”

“It’d behoove me to tell the truth and shame the devil, Ma’am. Not that he and I are unacquainted.”

So that was a yes.

The part about “keeping an eye” on you is tacked on rather reluctantly, but at the mention of camp, your brows raise. It was true, then. The tales you’d heard during your trips to Valentine, the new faces you’d noticed in corners and back alleys, they were all real.

There was a time when you thought you might be able to find your place sleeping under the stars, free to do as you wished and go where you pleased, so long as the law kept their greasy mitts to themselves. But circumstances had seen to it that your dream went unfulfilled.

You muster up what you hope is a sympathetic smile, and Arthur takes it stiffly.

Even so, something else with his phrasing catches your attention.

“Hold on now, you said ‘started.’ There something else you’re not telling me?”

A hand, previously settled on his knee, finds its way to the back of his neck and rubs.

“Uh, y’see,” he starts, looking damn near ready to wring his own neck, and you have to laugh, because what on God’s green earth could have Arthur Morgan this bothered? But instead of finishing his sentence, he turns his gaze toward the small sliver of moonlight coming in through the curtains and poses a question:

“You know anything about chickens?”

You blink.

“Arthur Morgan,” your eyes shut, and your mouth hangs open. “I work on a farm.“

“That you do.”

“And you’re asking me if I know about chickens?”

“That I am.”

He’s looking mighty sheepish; his hands return to their places on his knees and begin to tap again, with the added scrunch of a nose. You stifle a snort and oblige him.

“Yes, I’m well versed in chickens. Now tell me what the hell is up.”

And tell he did. Turns out, one of the eggs he’d snatched had somehow been fertilized, and hatched. Arthur, of all people, had been far too mortified to go and ask one of his own for help, so he’d spent the last two months slinking around to find out if his luck might earn him another to keep the one he already had some company.

He’d named it and everything, so eating it (Marlene, he corrects gruffly) was completely off the table. By the time he’s finished his story, you’ve spent an exorbitant amount of energy fighting off several fits of laughter, and you’re fighting off your ninth when Arthur interrupts.

He leans forward, as if to confirm something, then settles himself back into his chair once he finds what he’s looking for. “You ain’t from around here, are you.” It’s a statement when it leaves Arthur’s mouth, not a question.

Observant. Observant, and deflective.

Chewing at the inside of your cheek, you pocket the uneasy feeling in your chest for later.

“Long story,” you offer. And a difficult one, at that. It wasn’t one you liked to revisit.

Arthur replies almost instantly. “Shoot.” For a moment his face pinches, like he’s dropped his last cent down a splinter-ridden nook he can’t reach. He deliberates, for a bit. But the money is long gone now. “Got a full audience right here,” he continues, a tad slower. “I’ve got…time. Why the hell not?”

There’s no smile, but there’s a genuine curiosity that creeps into his voice. It wafts over the crackling of the fire, blows fresh wind underneath wings long forgotten.

This wasn’t good. Not one bit.

You cast a skeptical glance toward the bottle of whiskey on the table. It’d been set out on instinct when you’d let him in, a habit formed from a time long gone. Would Arthur want some, maybe? He seemed like the type. And you weren’t too pissed about the eggs now, anyways. So you wrap a blanket around yourself, stand, and turn to the cupboards to find a glass. But something stops you from making it over, and you instead choose to wrap a hand around the bottle and offer it to him.

If Arthur is as confused as you are, he doesn’t show it. He mutters a word of thanks as he takes the proffered bottle. But you don’t miss the way his eyes rake over your bare legs like hot coals. Or the slight twitch of his fingers—now free of their gloves—at the light brushing of your hand over his as you pass the bottle to him.

You follow the bobbing of his throat for what feels like a lifetime as he takes down gulp after gulp. Amber liquid slips from the corner of his mouth; it catches the firelight on its trek down, and steals your air along with it when Arthur moves to wipe it away with the back of his hand.

It startles you, how quickly you’ve become accustomed to cataloging his movements. You’ve met him before, you’re almost certain of it now. If not in the fields here, then maybe somewhere in Valentine, or the woods. But somewhere. He felt too familiar to be new, too invigorating. A part of you wants to pinch yourself for giving in so easily. Maybe…maybe the folks in town had been right? Maybe Arthur Morgan was possessed? It was either that, or you were an idiot. You sincerely hoped it was the former.

The sound of the glass bottle hitting the table is what snaps you out of your trance. Blinking rapidly, you chance a peek at his eyes again, only to find them peeking right back. You do your best not to turn away. That thing you’d seen lurking out on the front porch is still there, submerged in the depths of his pupils. Still waiting.

You pull the top off of the bottle, take a quick swig, and return to your chair with an inhale and newfound resolve in tow.

Blabbering seems to come unfortunately easy with Arthur. He sits, silent and attentive throughout the entire retelling—save for the occasional grunt of approval, disapproval, whichever was appropriate. You tell him of your mother, young and hungry, and how she’d made herself available to the highest bidder—your father. Some wealthy businessman from God knows where. Twenty years your mother’s senior, it’d been no secret what exactly he’d gotten out of their short-lived union: a wild young thing to look after his progeny and keep his bed warm.

He was nice enough, for a time. Or at least nice enough for your mother to be able to tolerate. But something had sent her fleeing from that big, big house. She’d kept you in her arms and her heart till you’d found somewhat of a safe haven in the Grizzly Mountains.

“Safe” had been a bit of a stretch, though. Anyone with half a brain knew exactly what the Grizzlies were like. Arthur agreed. But your mother had been raised there, just as you would be, if only for a little while. You’re only able to remember a short split of time—just before your mother passed, and before your father had come to take you away from her.

By then your mother had already taught you most of what you’d needed to survive: reading, writing, hunting, flattery, the works. The only thing she’d left out was how to survive without her.

Your father had come to find you only a few days after, bearing news of his intentions to turn you into a “proper lady.” He made no mention of your mother or where she’d been buried.

Polite society hadn’t taken too kindly to a daughter hailing from unsavory origins, and it was safe to say that you hadn’t taken too kindly to polite society either. So, you’d spent the last decade or so making your father’s life a living hell and warding off any potential suitors.

But it became clear stunt after outrageous stunt that he had no intention of cutting ties. Rather than cutting you off, he’d settled for the next best thing: manual labor. Your father was old friends (though “friends” was a bit dubious) with the Campbells, and deemed it an appropriate enough punishment for your wrongdoings. He’d relied on your aptitude for hunting to pawn you off on them, and with the help of some expertly feigned resistance, you’d gotten him to plant you exactly where you’d wanted to be.

Away, and alone.

“Threw a wrench in my plans, but…life here has been peaceful, I reckon.” You pick at the beds of your fingernails, head bowed.

Peaceful.

Peaceful and quiet, save for the occasional moo.

Though, now that you thought about it, you’d have to tally it up to several wrenches if you counted the hitmen. But you could open that barrel of horse shit later.

The creaking of wood alerts you to a shift in Arthur’s positioning, and his voice barrels down at you from the ceiling; he must be looking up.

“You don’t seem all too ‘at peace,’ if you ask me.”

“I ain’t ask you.”

“Tuh.”

The two of you fall into yet another bubble of silence. It’s comfortable enough, though still laced with the slightest bit of awkwardness.

You couldn’t get a read on Arthur. Just about every decision he’d made tonight—or told you he’d made—had been a contradiction. It didn’t make a lick of sense. But now that you’ve had more time to ruminate, it didn’t seem like it made much sense to him, either. His body language divulges as much.

The quiet agitates you, now. Itches. You need to know more. Understand more. But you can’t do that without retracting your fangs and reigning in your apprehension. Finger beds picked raw, you test the waters.

“Not at peace, hm?” You mutter. “…How you figure?”

You hear him shrug. “Dunno.”

Silence.

You wait for him to continue, but it’s not until you look up at him that you realize he’s been waiting for you to look back. Arthur’s voice cuts through the silence once you can meet his eyes without squirming.

“Met enough people to know who’s livin’, and who ain’t.” He crosses an ankle over his knee, and gives an exhale when he puts his hands behind his head. “I’m in no place to be dealing out life advice, but you seem awfully dead, Miss.”

“Ma’am,” you correct.

Arthur makes a face, and you bark out a laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all. Some stranger he was, telling you off like this.

Your eyes crinkle, smile working its way from the inside out. “Takes one to know one, I assume?”

He blinks at you. “Yeah. Yeah, somethin’ like that, I suppose.”

More silence.

“Do you think—”

“I ought to be heading out, now.” The dream is cut short. Arthur is standing suddenly, intercepting before you have the chance to say something incredibly, incredibly stupid. He tugs on his coat, fingers closing the buttons with frightening efficiency before he gathers up his gun and whatever else he’s brought with him and heads for the door.

You're scrambling up out of your chair before your brain has a chance to process.“Arthur,” you say, half to him and half to the floor, “Arthur, wait a damn minute!”

The spurs on his boots cease in their clinking. He’s got one hand wrapped around the doorknob, squeaky and now half-turned.

“…Got business to take care of.”

“At three in the morning?”

He glances at the small pocket watch you’d left open on the table. “Half past four, actually.”

“Didn’t realize you could tell time.”

He hums.

And Arthur stares at you for a moment, unabashedly. It’s unreadable at first. But then scars are shifting, and he’s leveling you with a look so bitter that it nearly has you reaching for your rifle again.

“Goodbye, Ma’am.” Arthur waves a noncommittal hand at your feet as he turns the knob. “And…go and see about those feet of yours, will you?”

He sweeps out the door.

He’s left it open.

It’s only after the faint sound of hoofbeats is nothing more than a whisper that you realize he isn’t in the cabin anymore. But somewhere between the shutting of the door and the hanging of your rifle, the faint impression of his parting words is pressed into your palm.

You look down, a bright sting and the sight of red specks on the floorboards making themselves known rather insistently.

“Oh.”

—

next chapter >>

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #ao3 #archive of our own #fanfiction #I literally put off two essays to write this #plz be kind this wasn’t supposed to be this long #witching hour

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comicaurora · 9 months

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Hi! I finally got the chance to read Aurora a bit ago. It's a wonderful story--all I was expecting and better! I was particularly amazed and delighted by the artwork and visual mechanics used to tell the story, so I wrote a post to yell about how cool it is and break some of it down. (No criticism, just praise.) I'm mostly a hobbyist, so I'm hoping I've done it justice.

That said: zero pressure to read it or respond to this ask. Normally I wouldn't send it since I tagged, but I know Tumblr's notifs are a mess and things get lost very easily. I've been in both the "one (1) word of praise will feed me for a year" and the "oh gods don't talk about my writing/art because anything that seems Off will break my brain" modes before, and I absolutely don't want to push or make you uncomfortable!

If you are comfortable, however, I wanted to ask about your use of what I'm assuming are Screen and blending modes in sound effect words. (I'm only guessing that's the technique, though, so I could be totally wrong about how it's done! I'm mostly experienced in image manipulation in Photoshop.) Making them semi-transparent over the actions is genius :) What inspired you to do that, and are there specific techniques you use to make it work?

Same questions go for using specific colors to distinguish different characters' words and actions. I really noticed it in the cave sequence with Falst and Dainix, since their colors are so vivid in the dark (ex. Falst's little swats and Dainix's swooping kick at 1.20.9). It lends excellent clarity to busy scenes.

Thanks! Have a lovely day, enjoy your break, and happy holidays <3

You're correct about the technique! "Screen" is the blend mode I use most often for sound effects. I stumbled on it mostly through trial and error - I love how sound effects add depth to a comic panel, but it's very easy for them to obscure the art in a way I find counterproductive, so "Screen" lets me put the sound effect directly over the origin of the sound while still letting it be visible through the word. Early chapters didn't have it as much-

Most of the sound effects in early chapters are just solid colors with reduced opacity if I'm feeling fancy. But I started figuring it out around chapter 8 and 9, because Falst is kind of a sound-effect-heavy guy, especially in his fight scenes.

In order to make sure they don't impede the visibility of the action, I'll often soft-erase the top or bottom half of the SFX to reduce its opacity while still leaving it readable.

I'll usually double that up with an outline on the SFX so it's still readable. This is an especially important consideration if the SFX goes over an area of the background that's very bright or glowing.

Color-coding the speed lines and SFX to the character or force causing them isn't a hard and fast rule, but I like using it (in part because it's a habit from the OSP illustrations, where every character has a single pop of color in their lineart) mostly because it sort of codes every sound to make it clear where it's emanating from, or the general feeling of the sound. Since I normally do character-colors for SFX, something like this stands out more jarringly-

Which it's supposed to, but a big lightning strike doesn't register as anything too worrying because it's just Tess up to her usual shenanigans.

It's also very useful for magic effects, because each form of magic has its own associated palette.

And when I had a very complicated fight scene in a dark environment, I used the texture pattern I'd already made for the monster to color its SFX, so when I Screened them onto the panels they didn't obscure too much while still communicating "this is something else."

Changing the weight, lined-vs-not-lined, and opacity of the SFX words also helps to communicate that not every sound has the same feeling. A strong motion is solid and aggressive, but a crackling, unstable sound is more ephemeral and staticky.

It's definitely been a process of learning as I go - looking back at the earlier chapters I can actually see when I first tried various tricks I now use regularly, like doubling and distorting an SFX to produce the effect of a camera-shaking impact. I haven't really seen any other comics that do it like I do, probably because most other comics follow a more traditional production pipeline where text bubbles and sound effects get locked into the composition early, before the inking stage, because traditional physical comics don't have digital-art layers to play with. Adding sound effects to a page is almost the last thing I do before exporting them, and that only works because digital art and layers allow for a ton of flexibility.

#asks #aurora #art stuff

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fic-over-cannon · 3 months

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Part 3: The Invitation

part 2 | part 4 | series masterlist | ao3 link

jason todd x f!reader

summary: an invitation to jason doesn’t go as planned, but you find other ways to spend time together

tags: mostly fluff, some minor angst

rated explicit (mdni) | wc: 2.3k

a/n: this update is still fairly fluffy for this fic, but fair warning it is going to get darker in tone and content as the story continues. my chapter count just keeps increasing from my original outline (💀) so it’s taking longer to reach the darker elements but they will be coming.

The first week of term passes, and life resolves into a series of patterns. Jason slots neatly into your social circles with the confused grace of a man that’s not quite sure how he managed to find himself in his position but is grateful for it anyway. Walking to classes together turns into hanging out with your friends after. Invitations to grab a meal with the group get accepted more often than not. He’s only gone out with the group once, a Friday night that had started out in Danika’s apartment and ended with takeout shawarma from your favourite shop on Gilman Avenue. Snapshots of the evening remain in your memory, the casualties of letting Rei make the drinks.

Between your classes and internship picking up, there hasn’t been any time for going out since. Your days revolve around campus and promises to yourself to visit art exhibitions, to pick up groceries from the farmers’ market, to take advantage of the public library’s programs dissipate unfulfilled. It’s easier somehow, to let those promises to yourself slip away than it is to break a promise to your friends. Monday lunches and Wednesday study afternoons, the occasional movie night organized spontaneously. These commitments are easier to keep because they’re with someone else.

It becomes a weekly thing, then, sharing Jason’s lunch on Mondays. Went a bit overboard meal prepping on the weekends, he always offers, a sheepish hand running through his curls. You notice you’re the only recipient of his overzealousness though, and quietly you wonder. There’s a kind of warmth under your skin every time he pulls out a too large Tupperware container and turns to you, asking for your assistance. You’re not totally altruistic — the food’s too good for you to turn down — but the kind gesture makes you chafe a little bit after a while. All that kindness directed at you, nothing asked for in return, it doesn’t sit right, not with the way you were raised. Kindness was a commodity in the Alley, respected and well-received, but always returned. So you start returning the gesture. Snacks between classes and during study sessions appear out of your bag, pressed into Jason’s hands but never mentioned outright. Your grocery list gets the slightest bit longer but it’s worth it. The gesture soothes that itch in the back of your brain and every time you discover what makes the corners of his eyes crinkle up with pleasure you take careful note of it.

You’d thought, first, about returning his gesture in kind. A first text message with a pasta recipe you’ve never been able to replicate quite so perfectly never really materializes into the connection you’d hoped it would.

You: Dr Okafor said the quiz’s only on week 1-3 right?

You: sidenote I can’t quite get the pasta sauce right, you sure there’s nothing missing from the recipe you sent me?

Jason: weeks 1-4

Jason: shouldn’t be

Jason: you’re only adding the fresh herbs after you deglaze the pan right?

You: Yeah every time

Biting your bottom lip, you hesitate before finally pressing send. The cold light of your screen stares back up at you, unfeeling.

You: You could show me?

You: I’ve been meaning to host more at my place, maybe you can teach me and then I could feed you for once?

A typing bubble pops up on his end, then disappears just as abruptly. Nerves have you still chewing at your lip, the pit of your stomach tight with anticipation as it reappears.

Jason: maybe not this time, yeah?

Jason: my bad, it’s on weeks 1-3, week 4’s the next quiz

Taking a deep breath, you scrunch your eyes up. You want to kick yourself for getting your hopes up. The invitation was too personal, too much. It’s one thing to hangout in an apartment in the nicer side of town with friends and a completely different thing to invite him over to your apartment in the notorious Crime Alley to spend time alone. Even if the area is seeing better days under its new management, reputations don’t get shed as easily as snake skin.

You: Sure! No worries :)

You: oh you had me so stressed for a minute there

And it’s true, though you weren’t so much worried about the quiz as you were his response. But he’ll take what he wants from your answer, and you’ll get away with the truth. The truth is, you’ve become unreasonably greedy when it comes to Jason.

Spending time with Jason is easy. He’s got a sharp sense of humour, one that matches your own enough that you joke it’s the only gift Crime Alley gives to all her former residents. He doesn’t laugh often but when he does, you’re the cause of it more often than not.

“I can’t believe you think Nightwing’s best look was Discowing.”

“Wait— so hear me out Jason. Assuming Nightwing’s not, you know, immortal, he’s gonna get old. And when he’s old and in a nursing home he’s gonna tell his grandkids, “well back in my day” and then he’s gonna be able to whip out the Discowing photos. I’m talking intergenerational trauma when the kids realize “Oh no, grandad was hot AND insane.” It’s probably not your best work, but it turns his snorts into full belly laughter. Quite possibly it’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve seen.

So it might not be the immediate close connection you were hoping for on that first day of class, but it’s a friendship. One that’s all the more precious for the ways it's been unexpected. The anticipation of seeing him next carries you through the knowing looks you get from your friends. You’re a little more careful now, extending invitations only to places you’re sure won’t make him uncomfortable.

It’s a little hard to describe what exactly it is about Jason that draws you in, besides the obvious. He’s a deeply attractive person, all broad shoulders and sharp angles, though most of the time he seems uncomfortable with the effect his looks have on others. No matter how many times Lina calls him ‘pretty’, the answering red tinge of his ear tips never goes away. Probably, you decide, it has something to do with the enigma of him. The air of loneliness you’d noticed about him on that first day never quite dissipates. Even in the midst of a crowd there’s a sense that he’s still separate somehow. Despite the distance wrapped around him like his leather jacket, he never stops being kind.

Being around Jason is different than being around your other friends. You’ve known Danika since high school and her first cheerful insistence that we’re going to be best friends, I just know it. Lina, Rei, and Will had followed over the span of university, over long hours in the library and pulling out your hair over last minute assignments. They were good friends, good people, but you never lose the feeling that they expect a specific version of you. The version that got out of the Alley and made something of herself, with the uncertainties of where her next meal would come from or if the lights would still be on next week far behind her. Jason doesn’t have that same weight of expectation built on experience. There’s a sense that he’ll accept whatever version you present to him, even the one that still has a complicated relationship to the past and present. It’s been a scarce handful of weeks and yet he’s already seen you at your highs and lows.

The first time you’d shown up to one of your hangouts, just the two of you, bags the size of coins under your eyes hastily covered with concealer and caffeine jitters making your hands twitch like a marionette’s, he’d gently uncurled your fingers from where they’d clutched at your travel mug and simply listened.

“Sorry, sorry,” you’d tried to explain. “I didn’t mean to be late but I slept through my first two alarms and missed the bus I was going to take. Duvall’s midterm is later this week and that class has been killing me. It’s like he’s forgotten what it’s like being a student, and, you know, having more than one class to worry about.”

“D’you need to be off studying then?” He offers the out mildly, like he doesn’t know just how badly your sanity has been hanging on to the thin hope of seeing him before your exam. He doesn’t, so you can’t really fault him for it.

“No! No, it’s fine. I probably need a break from studying before my brain starts melting out of my ears. Or at least that’s what Will tells me.” You purse your lips together in remembered frustration at your friend’s thoughtless comment.

“But you don’t think so?” He prods.

“No, well— I don’t exactly disagree? Just that everyone else already finished their midterms and they don’t exactly have the same pressure of maintaining a scholarship like I do.”

“‘Kay then, let’s study. What’s Duvall got you doing?”

And you’re torn, really you are. This wasn’t supposed to be how your morning went. There was supposed to be coffee, maybe a shared lunch out on the quad in the last of the good (for Gotham) weather and some shared bitching about how truly terrible midterms are. Maybe a meandering discussion of how the pop culture status of the Justice League was diluting their mission, a point of contention you’d found Jason had surprisingly articulate opinions on. But you really need to do well on this exam, the lurking pressures of tight finances and the fear of failure of proving them right a constant soundtrack to your thoughts.

“I— are you sure? This was supposed to be us celebrating you finishing your exams, not studying for mine.”

“Look, you go grab a refill — something not caffeinated — and I’ll find us a spot to sit. We’ll do some practice questions, you’ll feel better about it, and then I won’t have to be mad at Will for bein’ an unthinkin’ ass. Really, you’d be helpin’ me out.” He grins, then stands up from the bench and dusts specks of imaginary dirt off his pants. “Go get your drink, I’ll be waitin’ on you.”

Jason’s pulled a blanket out of some infinite pocket of the universe and settled it right at the base of the big oak in the middle of the quad by the time you return, apple cider in hand. He looks over your course materials as you lean against the tree and sip on your drink, the stress that’s consumed you for the last two weeks starting to ebb. He’s got one knee propped up so he can balance a book on it and the other stretched out, the full length of it only a hair’s breadth from yours. You could swear you could feel the phantom heat of it anyway even through the morning chill. He nudges you with an elbow to get your attention, shows you the cover of the one short story that you’d struggled with the most but Duvall seemed to have the biggest love affair with. You groan, then start trying to break down the text.

“—so if we aren’t meant to be interpreting the main theme as ‘love of beauty’ then it’s got to be ‘love of life’ right?” You think out loud, frustrated with how the meaning of this text has eluded you.

“I don’t think it’s gotta be that specific. If we just assume the narrator’s motivations all start with love, the big capital L kind, then even all the crazy shit at the end makes sense too. Subject doesn’t matter ‘cause it's just there as the object of love.” And Jason’s good, really good at this. Breaking things down and seeing things from just left of centre. Makes you revisit your own ideas, trying to see that grey area where both of your ideas intersect.

“No but she clearly doesn’t love the woman in the first chapter. The narrator admires her and calls her beautiful, but she never interacts with the woman like she does with anyone or anything else in the rest of the text. If she doesn’t love the first woman doesn’t it disprove the idea of generalized love?”

“Maybe,” he breathes out consideringly. “Maybe it's not a generalized love, but I think the narrator does love the first woman. The narrator knows she’s descending into madness — maybe for her, the love was in the absence. ‘Cause if the narrator didn’t let on, then her most loved one wouldn’t be infected with the same rot. And all the other people an’ things were collateral damage, the scales balancin’ themselves with the narrator’s most unselfish act.”

“Okay, but isn’t that the most selfish part though? The narrator makes sure that there’s no one else around to hold her accountable for her own mistakes. And part of it’s madness, I’ll buy that, but I don’t think it’s really love if the narrator can bear to force the woman to a distance. The narrator is fully aware as she gives in to her paranoia and forces the woman into the distance between them. ”

Jason hums thoughtfully, but you can tell by the tone that he doesn’t fully agree with you. “I don’t think we’re gonna agree on this, but if you lay out all your thoughts just like that on paper you’ll ace the exam. Why don’t we do this one too?” He pulls out another short story from the pile on the blanket, and you grin, because this one, this one you could talk about for hours.

Being with Jason is easy. When you’re close enough to reach out and run your fingers through his curls if only you were brave enough. When you’re close enough to get a whisper of his cologne as he reaches past you for something and you can hear the creak of leather as it stretches over his bicep. Yes, being with Jason is easy. Just as long as it’s on his terms and by his invitation.

Part 4

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd fic #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #jason todd x fem!reader #ydcmb (uibyt) series #sunnie writes🌻

107 notes · View notes

honeykyeom · 2 years

Text

white noise / track 1: st. patrick

pairing: lee seokmin x afab! reader

series summary: your best friend seokmin has always been there for you. after a particularly rough heartbreak, you find out he's there for you in more ways than just one.

series notes: uni!au, best friends to lovers, friends with benefits, kpop 97 line antics and shenanigans (specifically seventeen & loona), 18+ (smut is outlined/warned beforehand)

chapter notes: alcohol mention and consumption, house party setting, smut!!! (oral sex [afab receiving], protected sex, small insecurity mention), mingyu being pouty, yves being a terrible wingwoman, minghao being the king he is, to my jaehyun lovers i'm so sorry, this is for the orbits for the pain that we've been through

wc: 7.2k (still can't believe i wrote this much)

a/n: i've teased bringing this back a lot and this series still means so much to me, even though it still sits unfinished lol. this first track especially. and if it weren't the support (& excitement) of @onlyseokmins, idk if i ever would've reposted it. so this is for you bb <3 please let me know what you think in the tags or send in asks, i'd love to hear your thoughts! <33

“What do you think about this?”

You look over at your friend, her figure adorning a velvet tube top with loose white cloth pants, an outfit that’s comfortable and light for a steamy college party and yet accentuates her curves enough to show off. Any sane person would tell Yves that she would be the center of attention as soon as she walks through the door, having everyone question if they wanted to be her or be with her.

“It looks good,” you respond with a nonchalant shrug, going back to aimlessly scrolling on your phone, surrounded by a multi-chrome array of clothes.

You were clearly not the sane person in that scenario.

Yves turns to you, exasperated at your attitude. “Dude, you’ve been so boring since you got your heart broken by Jaehyun.”

“I did not get my heart broken.”

“Really? Because you’re acting like the second lead who just got dumped in a drama.”

“Your outfit and you are hot, like always! Is that what you wanted to hear,” a small chuckle leaves your lips as you stand up from the bed. “Anyways, I’m not heartbroken, just upset.”

You look over your outfit in the floor-length mirror of the room, your black booties standing out against your mid-wash jean shorts. As you play with your cardigan, your mind wanders to Jaehyun and the ghost of a fling, fleeting and indescribable to anyone not close to you. You begin to wonder how he describes you to his close confidantes, if the small cafe dates and late night study sessions in the library were described with care or if all that mattered were the rushed bedroom antics, leaving you with just a memory and an “I think we should see other people” text message.

“Take this off. I know you and you’re going to get hot,” Yves wakes you from your daze, pulling your cardigan off your body, revealing your black cropped tank, “This is a better outfit anyway. We’re going to a party, not one of Haseul’s opera recitals.” She joins you in the mirror, a small smile gracing her face as she assesses your outfit. “Much better. Plus, this,” she gestures to your figure, “will help you get laid.”

You roll your eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what they say! To get over someone, you have to get under someone new.”

Looking at Yves, her pride evident in her stance and a mischievous gleam in her smile, you were sure of one thing. “You’re absolutely mental.”

“You know I’m right,” Yves insists. “One way to quickly get over someone is to have sex with someone else. I’ve done it.” Her shameless approach on the topic bleeds through her demeanor, her shoulder sitting low on her upper body as she sits on her bed and one of her legs drapes across the other. Just as you were about to respond to her, your phone buzzes in your back pocket, distracting you and Yves from the current conversation.

LADS ‼️💯‼️

seokmin: ya’ll going to the party tn?

haseul: can’t :/ have the late night shift at the library

mingyu: booooo tomato tomato

minghao: and what happened to fuck capitalism?

haseul: try telling our landlord that

minghao: fair enough

yn: yves and i are going!

seokmin: jinsoul?

jinsoul: social battery is pretty low, so i’m probably going to stay home

mingyu: BOOOOO tomato tomato 🍅🍅🍅 i'm throwing tomatoes!

yves: leave her alone gyu!

jinsoul: i’m not getting you coffee before class anymore for that

minghao: lmao good job gyu

yn: he will be his own downfall

mingyu: :(

seokmin: anyways the boys and i will see yall there!

seokmin: do you need a ride?

yves: we’re taking an uber!

minghao: good. stay safe!

Yves looks up from her phone and looks at you with a playful smirk pulling at her lips. “You know what I just thought was a great idea.”

With her track record, it’s probably not a good idea.

“You should hook up with Seokmin.”

It definitely wasn’t a good idea. “Okay, now I know you’ve lost your mind.”

“You can’t tell me that you haven’t thought about it.”

You can’t deny that you haven’t thought about how your best friend would treat you in the bedroom. You would get lost in your head, thinking about how his arms had gotten toned after his recent workout sessions and how those same arms would hold you down as he made you reach cloud nine. Many would cringe at the mere thought, but with how close you and Seokmin were and how much time you two spent together, people thinking you were at least hooking up wasn’t uncommon, your cheeks getting hot any time it’s brought up. His eyes would get wide with that same sweet smile, the red flush on his ears disappearing quickly. You’d never cross that boundary just to get over a silly boy; your friendship means much more to you than a quickie.

“Just because I might’ve thought about it, doesn’t make it something that needs to happen. I’m not that desperate,” you double down on your stance, grabbing your phone to check the status of your Uber, finding any excuse to escape this conversation. The thin black line stating your driver was more than 5 minutes away, you mentally curse at whoever was upstairs who enjoys watching you suffer at the hands of Yves.

“Please, have you seen how buff he’s getting! Those arms?” a sly grin blooming on her face, she looks over at you expectantly as if you would agree with her. You do, but you’d never let her know that. Instead of entertaining her antics, you grab your personal bag, ready to leave for the night.

“Okay, you’re done. Let’s go,” you say, pulling Yves from the bed, “the Uber is almost here.”

Walking through the door of the frat house, the humidity in the air makes your shirt stick to your chest like a second skin. The packed bodies only add to the warmth inside the cramped house, you silently thank Yves for making you take off your cardigan, the couple years of your friendship proving that she knows you better than you think. She hugs your backside, keeping you close as you move through the mass of people, looking for your group of friends.

“Do you know if they’re here yet?” you hear Yves’ voice, yelling above the crowd from behind you and almost blending into the music.

You respond, bringing your face close to her ear, “Yeah, Seokmin texted me saying they were!” She nods in acknowledgment, eyes scanning the immediate area. It’s hard to miss a man towering over the crowd, his signature black hair striking against his tan skin making him stand out as he takes a sip from his red solo cup near the kitchen. Two other men stand close to him, donning similar red plastic cups, one with a bright smile that easily lights up the room, shining with the fluorescent blues and purples of the house, and the other boy making his mark with a messy mullet and trademark style that defines his frame. Even if you hadn’t recognized the trio as your best friends, you would’ve instantly taken notice, the boys immediately attracting your attention.

“I found them!” you announce to Yves, who’s still close behind you, clinging to your arm as if her life depended on it. Grabbing her hand, you move through the crowd, not caring whose toes you stepped on or if people didn’t hear your ‘excuse us!’. It wasn’t long before you met with the trio of men, their faces lighting up as soon as they took notice of your presence and Mingyu pulling you in for a suffocating hug.

“You finally made it!” Mingyu’s breath is hot against you as he yells over the noise, still keeping you close even after the hug was long done, his arms tucking you underneath him. His chin decides to rest on your head and naturally finding its place as his arms wrap around your figure. At first glance, people may think that the two of you were an item, but Mingyu was just close with anyone he knew, finding any reason to hug his close friends.

“You’re lucky we made it all, hell, with how many people are here!”

“We were talking about moving to the backyard once you got here. Did you guys want a drink first?” Minghao is the one to speak up, looking at you and Yves through his bangs, bringing his red solo cup to his lips.

A groan breaks through the air, Yves grabbing his hand as she responds, “Yes, please. I definitely need it.”

Surprisingly, the kitchen is less crowded than the common areas of the house, bodies not congregating in the area once they make their drinks. You feel instant relief, the air conditioning hitting your skin, even a nice breeze from the back door giving you much needed fresh air. The group makes their way to the kitchen island, an array of liquor, beer, and mixers lining the surface, making the workspace nonexistent. Mingyu works with what he has though, his hands moving with diligence and ease as he acts as the group’s personal bartender for the night - just like every group gathering before.

“Hey!”

Turning towards the voice, you’re met with Seokmin, his dark hair falling against his tan skin and a smile so big that the skin near his eyes smile along with him, still sparkling with the bright party lights. Your heart grows warm seeing your best friend, the energy around him bursting with sunshine and love that anyone can feel when they enter his presence. You return his smile and saddle up to his side. Your shoulders touch as the two of you watch Mingyu mix drinks for you and Yves, who joins you and Seokmin, sitting on the kitchen counter next to him.

“I haven’t gotten to ask you, how are you doing since…” Seokmin’s words trail off and you look at him, concern etched in his face.

“Since Jaehyun? I’m not made of glass, you know. We can talk about him.”

Yves chimes in, “Don’t act like you weren’t crying about how unloveable you were just two days ago,” her snark ever prevalent in her tone.

“Anyways!” you retort, moving your attention back to Seokmin, “I’m fine. It was just a little fling, not a big deal.”

“It’s ok to be sad. You really liked him.” Seokmin flashes you a sincere smile, so pure, so full of light, the party seems to be worth it all from this little interaction. It’d been a while since you left your cave, only earthing to join the weekly movie night with everyone. Every time you wanted to hide away underneath your sheets, when you wanted your world to be blackness, when you wanted the world to swallow you whole, Seokmin was always there, the light at the end of your tunnel, pulling you out.

“Well, we’re not being sad tonight,” Mingyu interrupts your daze, handing you a miniature plastic cup, the same shot-sized reusable cups that were on the counter for reckless decisions like this one. “We’re here to forget about Jaehyun and enjoy our friends. Ones we know won’t leave us high and dry.” He holds his cup up to the ceiling, everyone following suit. “To our friendship!”

The clear liquid burns in your throat and you can feel it travel down your body, a chill tingling up your spine. Your nights that usually start with vodka shots don’t end too well, you think.

Cheers to you finding out what this night has in store.

A breeze wafts into the air, tripping you up and the ball you just threw blowing away with it.

“That’s not fair! The wind affected the throw!”

“Doesn’t matter! We discussed the rules before we started!”

A pout forming on your face, you stand back, giving Seokmin room for his turn. He turns to you, giving you a small pat on your lower back, muttering a soft ’it’s okay’ before his concentration is back on the five red cups laid in front of him on the table. His eyes are focused, his face still as he brings his hand up to aim, lining up his shot. The air was silent, the group paying close attention to his actions, watching him take his shot. The world seems to stop as he lets go of the plastic ball, everyone quiet until it reaches the rim of a plastic cup, toying with your emotions until it finally dips into the cup with a resounding plop.

You scream and wrap your arms around Seokmin, giddy with excitement as giggles fill the air. You don’t even care that there were still 3 cups to a victory and neither did Seokmin as he lifted you in the air, making your world dizzy. He held you tight, keeping you tucked into him even after he set your two feet back on the ground, his arms hugging you and taking place on your shoulders.

“I don’t know why Y/N is celebrating, they’ve missed every one of their shots!” Mingyu taunts, clearly trying to get under your skin.

Before you can respond, Seokmin speaks up, “Hey! We’re closer to winning than you! And that’s bold coming from you when Yves is clearly carrying your team.”

Mingyu gets quiet at that, Yves not even able to defend her teammate, just turns to him with a sympathetic pat on his arm before lining up to take her shot. Minghao, who’s leaning comfortably on the back wall of the house, chuckles, only staying quiet once Mingyu shoots him a death glare.

Looking up at Seokmin, you pout with a small whisper, “Am I that bad?”

“What? No! Also, who cares? It’s just beer pong.” He leaves the comfort of your touch to grab the ping pong balls from the grass, both missed by Yves and Mingyu.

“I care! For my ego.” You know he’s trying to make you feel better, trying to make sure you don’t take Mingyu’s competitive nature to heart like you tend to do. It is just beer pong. But the phrase “The more you drink, the better you are at beer pong” has exceptions and you may be one of them, the alcohol coursing through your system not helping whatsoever.

A playful smirk appears on Seokmin’s face as he says, “Would it hurt your ego if I helped you out with your form?”

You look at Seokmin through your lashes, your pout turning into a coy smile and a flirtatious lilt coming out of your tone. “No, I don’t think so.”

When Seokmin hands you the ping pong ball, he takes position behind you, lifting your hand with his, the other holding to your waist tightly. His breath was hot against your face, his voice soft and nurturing, tickling your ears, “You want to keep your wrist loose and have it high to start. It’s easier to aim from high above.”

It could be the alcohol talking, but having Seokmin this close, this intimate, had you thinking that maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to have him tangled in your sheets. The same caramel voice that was coaching you through your terrible beer pong skills, the same voice that calls you late at night to make sure you’ve made it home safely, that same voice would be coaxing you to your high, having you come apart from his words alone.

It’s definitely just the alcohol talking, you think. You hope that’s the case, anyway.

“Once you get an aim, you’ll want to let go and follow through with your throw.” Seokmin leads you in the motion he described, still keeping you close. With your confidence now elevated, the air still, and everyone quietly watching, you let go of the ball and follow its arc as it sinks into a center cup.

Pride lights your smile aglow, your first instinct to reach Seokmin for a hug in a small celebration. His grip on you is tight as he hugs you back, his eyes showering you with admiration.

“I knew you could do it.”

“I only made that shot because of you.”

You glance over at the other side of the table. With a knowing smirk on Yves’ face, she keeps her eyesight towards the ground, preparing for her next turn.

You won’t be hearing the end of it from her.

You lean against the folding chair you’ve taken refuge in, a sweet breeze coming in, slightly lifting the jacket that’s draped across your shoulders. Smoke from the small fire in front of you makes your eyes sting, tears filling the corners. Bringing the cup you have to your lips, a clear line of separation from the ice that has melted and the alcoholic coke visible, you shudder at the taste and hand the cup back to Mingyu. “This party is kinda boring.”

“Oh, is beating us at beer pong not enough fun for you?”

“You’re starting to sound like a sore loser, Gyu,” Minghao chimes in, nursing his own screwdriver next to you. He keeps his puff jacket unzipped, letting the heat from the fire warm him up from the chill of the night air.

“So what if I am? Yves didn’t do all that work for nothing.”

“Speaking of Yves, where is she?” You never saw her slip away from the group, the atmosphere missing her snark and light attitude, but you’re only met with shrugs from the two men in front of you.

“She mentioned meeting with ViVi, don’t know if she ever found her.” The voice comes from behind you with a hand meeting your shoulder, the touch not unwelcomed, recognizing it to be Seokmin. “I’m assuming she has because she’s been gone for awhile.”

Just as Seokmin rejoins the group, a fresh drink in hand, your phone buzzes on your lap with the screen illuminating your face, looking at the text.

yves: leaving with vivi, don’t wait up <3

yves: also, don’t think we won’t be talking about seokmin later

yves: 😉

yn: we won’t be talking about him bcs nothing is nor will happen

yves: keep telling yourself that

You tune yourself out of your conversation with Yves, exhausted from the few text messages and her persistence. Turning your attention back to the group, leaning your head against Seokmin’s arm. “Yves just texted me. She left with ViVi.”

“Of course she did. I’m surprised it took her this long to make a move,” Minghao comments. The fire was now burning stronger, embers flying through the space only to land softly on the concrete. “How long has she been talking to her, anyway?”

“About 3 months now,” Mingyu answers.

“Damn… She must really like her.”

“Yeah, she never waits that long if it’s just a hookup. Even if I wanted to take someone out, I don’t think I’d wait that long.”

Minghao's eyes flicker to Seokmin, something on the edge of understanding and comfort, almost like he was sympathizing with him. Something you might have noticed if you weren’t resting on Seokmin’s hips, eyes closed as he rubs small circles on your shoulder. Something you would ask Seokmin about if you had seen. The look leaves as quickly as it came, Minghao’s face leans downcast, lips pursed as if he was holding his thoughts in.

Seokmin’s face leans close to your ear, soft and inviting as he speaks, “You getting tired?”

“Not really. Just bored,” sighing, you look up at Seokmin, meeting his eyes. “Kind of want to go home.”

“Let me take you back, make sure you get home safe. I’ll get us an Uber.”

“You just got your drink! I don’t want to end your night early.” You give Seokmin a gentle smile, a small appreciative gesture at his care. He was always taking care of you, always by your side, always giving himself to you. You wanted him to enjoy his night not worrying about you, at the very least.

Suddenly, Seokmin is walking to Mingyu, handing his cup over to the man sitting on the concrete, engulfed in conversation with Minghao. He announces his departure, telling the boys to make sure to get to their shared apartment safely and let him know when they do. Then, he’s walking back to you, grabbing your hand with such kindness, such care, before he’s looking at you expectantly.

“Let’s go.”

Your keys clinking fill the dead space as you enter your apartment, making sure to hold the door open, inviting Seokmin to follow you. He’s been here many times, whether it was alone or with your group of friends. The apartments shared between the seven of you had an open-door policy, welcoming heartbreaks, laughs, boredom, and overall debauchery with wide arms and open cabinets. Seokmin didn’t ask any questions when he walked into your apartment last week and saw you left alone in the darkness, nursing a bowl of your comfort instant ramen, your body hidden underneath an oversized blanket. You didn’t ask any questions when he joined you in your reality tv show marathon, grabbing a blanket from your ottoman, letting the fabric swallow him whole when he settled on your couch. Neither of you said anything, sitting in a comfortable silence, your brains turned off from the stress of the week.

He knew he didn’t need to ask anything; he knew you would come to him eventually, when you were ready.

He secretly hoped your heart would do the same.

“Did you want a drink?” your voice brings Seokmin back to reality. You were at your fridge, pulling out transparent green glass bottles. “I know you didn't get to finish yours earlier.”

“I thought you were tired,” Seokmin ignores the question, instead looking at you incredulously.

After you open the bottles, you bring the cold bubbly liquid to your lips, walking across your kitchen island to bring Seokmin the other. “I said I was bored, not tired. There was nothing to do, just a lot of loud drunk kids.”

“That’s most frat parties, you know.”

“Yeah. I don’t know why I keep letting Yves drag me to them,” you sigh, staring past Seokmin but not focusing on anything in particular.

“How about we play a game or something? Never have I ever?”

“You already know most everything about me! What fun would that be?”

“I bet there’s some things I don’t know about you!” While you and Seokmin had known each other since freshman year, spending most of your time together, you kept yourself guarded. Only letting Seokmin in when you were comfortable, prepared for the onslaught of judgment - which never came. Seokmin had been nothing but understanding, a warm breeze in an otherwise cold world. “How about we play 20 questions?”

You purse your lips, letting the beer bottle settle on your countertop as you think over Seokmin’s proposition. “Fine.”

“What was your first impression of me?”

You giggle to yourself, settling on your rug in the living room, thinking back to when you first met Seokmin during freshman orientation. Your knees touch his, bumping into each other as you reminisce. “What was my first impression of the goofball who followed me around like a lost puppy?”

Seokmin laughs, lighting up the room, making happiness bubble to the surface of your skin. You join in his laughter as he says, “Hey! Two lost people is better than one! Would you have not wanted me to follow you around because look at us now!”

“You’re right. Who knew that little goofball would end up being one of the best people in my life?”

“Remember during the social, Mingyu busted his ass trying to show up Minghao at b-boying?”

“Yeah and we had to help him nurse his ego in the dorm hallway?”

You and Seokmin had been inseparable that weekend, from his first awkward “Do you know where the Admin building is?” to your last “I guess I’ll be seeing you around campus”, you two finding your way back to each other come the first semester. With you two living in adjacent dorm buildings, it was easy to catch up for lunch, walk each other to class and meet in the communal study rooms. Mingyu happened to live in the same building as Seokmin and Jinsoul was your freshman year roommate. Soon, your group during the lunch break grew to include Haseul, Minghao, and Yves and solidified during sophomore year. They all held a special place in your heart, but none like Seokmin and they all knew it. Life was easier with Seokmin; midterms never seemed as difficult with his guiding light, heartbreaks never felt as lonely with his warmth and bad decisions never were so irreversible with his love.

Seokmin was and will always be your home — your light at the end of the tunnel.

The laughter between you two dies down, an easy silence falling in the air. It isn’t until you calm down that you ask the next question, “Okay my turn.” You bring a serious expression to your face, shifting the tone from the previous lighthearted atmosphere. “Is it better to love & lose or never love at all?”

“Oh, you’re getting philosophical on me now?”

“No better time than at 1 am on a Friday night, tipsy with my best friend.”

You see Seokmin slightly wince, something that happens in a blink of an eye before it’s replaced with a pensive expression, his lips jutting out in thought. You don’t have time to point it out before he’s answering, “Isn’t it better to love & lose? I mean, what’s a world without love?” You think on his words, albeit too long as he voices, “Why? Do you feel different?”

“Personally… yeah,” you mutter. You speak a little louder, confiding to Seokmin, “It might be everything that happened with Jaehyun but I can’t see how I can be thankful for giving him my love.”

“You… loved him?” Seokmin murmurs quietly, unable to mask his surprise.

“Not exactly, but is it embarrassing how fast I fell for him?”

No…” Seokmin trails off, his lips in a thin line, almost like he’s trying to keep himself from saying something he wants to. It’s faint, but you notice.

“What do you want to say?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re hiding something.”

“No I’m not,” he repeats, adamant.

“Yes you are!” you smile before continuing, “C’mon, just tell me!” You begin to poke Seokmin’s side, a prominent offensive move in your arsenal. Seokmin giggles, trying to move away from the stimulation of your jabs, but is unsuccessful as you reach over and begin your attacks on his left side.

“Y/N stop!” His demand comes out broken as he tries to catch his breath, unable to break his fits of laughter.

“Not until you tell me what you’re hiding!”

Your assault continues, your giggles getting louder, probably annoying your neighbors. Neither of you are able to catch your breath, until Seokmin suddenly grabs hold of your wrists, bringing your back to the cushion of your rug, effectively pinning you to the ground.

Your laughter dies, the room becoming dead silent, only your ragged breaths filling the air. Your chest is heaving, your lungs trying to catch the precious air around you. With Seokmin straddling your waist, it isn’t until your breathing finally slows do you realize that his face is inches away from yours. His breath is audible, face red from the commotion.

You’ve never really looked at Seokmin this close, his mole standing out on his cheek. You notice every pore, every freckle and every line, all of it accumulating into the beauty of his face. His eyes are soft as he looks at you. The tension is unmistakably palpable, making your skin hot underneath his touch. You glance down at his lips, the curves and various shades of pink accentuating against his tan skin.

Before you can think much about it, you’re suddenly kissing him.

And just as quick, he’s pulling away from you, eyes wide. He looks at you as if you might break, like fragile glass ready to crack at any moment.

“Are you sure you want this?” Seokmin is sincere, voice woven with care, loosening your own heart strings. “I don’t want you to do something you’re going to regret in the morning,” he whispers, speaking softly, trying not to overstep his boundaries. His thought to put you first was the last undoing of the tangled mess of woven string in your heart, unraveled and exposing yourself to him.

“I’m sure, Seokmin. I want you.”

You don’t get to finish your sentence before Seokmin’s lips are back on yours, swallowing your last breath.

His lips are softer than you imagine and taste of mint and whiskey, combining to create something that was uniquely Seokmin. The hairs stand up along your body, your senses being invigorated by Seokmin’s attention to your lips. Shivers run down your body from his kisses alone and once he starts trailing along your jaw and neck, your skin lights fire, igniting the burning desire within you.

His hands leave your wrists, bringing them to your torso, keeping you close against him as your hands immediately cling to his neck, breathing heavily. He runs small circles along your skin, making you go dizzy.

Panting, you manage to whisper through your short breaths, “Should we take this somewhere that, you know, isn’t my living room floor?”

Seokmin keeps his attention on your neck as he responds between kisses, “I don’t know. I was ready to take you right here.”

“Do you want me to blow my back out?”

“Oh, you’ll be getting your back blown out no matter where you are.. so it’s really up to you.” You can feel him smile against your neck with a small nip. You moan at his words, his confidence making you quiver. This kind of arrogance isn’t something you’re used to seeing on Seokmin, but you can’t deny that it looks good on him, easily molding you like clay under his fingers.

You play it cool, though, or you hope, at least. “I’d rather not have sex with you on my living room rug.”

“Fair enough.”

SMUT WARNING !

As soon as you shut the door, Seokmin finds his hands all over you, bringing you back to his mouth. One of his hands lands on your waist, kneading at your skin underneath your crop top, slightly lifting the fabric. He held on tight, not wanting to let you go, afraid of you disappearing from his grasp. He can’t help but think this is all a dream — his ears ringing with your whines, his fingers grazing your goosebumps, it was everything he’d fantasized about.

“Seokmin…” Your voice sounds sweet in his ears, blissful, a desire dripping from it that he’s never heard from you before.

“What is it?”

Your breath on him is hot, heavy against his skin. “Can we hurry this up because I need you,” you sigh, a small teasing smile playing against your lips. Your hands were grabbing at his clothes desperately, the tug and pull making Seokmin’s head spin. He lets out an airy chuckle, pulling you closer.

Seokmin leads you to your bed, your back hitting the mattress as he runs his hands along your thighs, still leaving kisses along your neck. He trails along the length of your body, down your neck, your clothed chest, your stomach, leaving languid kisses. He was in no rush, wanting this night to last as long as possible, even if it was already two in the morning. He could have you underneath him for hours, your hands pulling at the strands on his head.

He reaches the bottom of your shirt, playing with the hem, leaving open mouthed kisses along your stomach. “Can I?” He asks, referring to your crop as he looks at you, eyes meeting yours. He didn’t want to do anything out of comfort zone, feeling lucky enough to be in this position. As much as the flirty banter made both of your positions clear, he wanted to give you any opportunity to back out if you were ever uncomfortable with crossing the imaginary boundary of your friendship.

You nod and slowly, Seokmin begins to lift your top, revealing your torso. It took everything in him to not confess to you right then and there, the alcohol flowing in his system removing the filter in his mind. He wanted to kiss you all over, sing sweet praises, tell you how much he’d always wanted this and more, how he’s been in love with you since that freshman orientation weekend — everything that’s been on his mind these past two years.

But he settles with a “God, you’re so beautiful,” hoping that you’d recognize the whiskey lacing his words instead of the yearning.

“Why are you acting so surprised? You’ve seen me in a bikini before!”

He has seen you in a bikini and Seokmin had to take a cold shower when he rinsed the chlorine off of his body for the day, hoping you hadn’t noticed his lingering eyes.

“Can’t a guy just compliment his best friend’s naked body before he fucks them?”

He’s also hoping that you don’t notice how hard it was for him to say that, disguising his wince with a teasing smile.

You begin to unbutton your jean shorts, your hands dancing around the waistband of the material. “Are you actually going to fuck me or are you just going to talk about it?”

Oh, you were going to be the death of him. He fears that you know that.

“I should’ve known you were going to be a brat,” Seokmin mutters, still loud enough for you to hear as he pulls down your shorts down your legs. He’s met with a visible wet patch on your black underwear, which almost takes him out right at that moment. The damp fabric is stuck to your cunt, like a second skin. “Fuck.”

“What?”

“You’re so wet,” Seokmin responds, getting closer to the gap between your legs, blowing puffs of air from his words, making you shake from the stimulation.

“Is that a bad thing?” He can hear the insecurity in your voice, the confidence from earlier breaking with you slowly pulling your legs together. Seokmin counteracts this action, bringing your legs apart and opening yourself up to him once again. He plants a soft kiss on your inner thigh and he feels the tension release from your body, welcoming his touch.

He looks up at you earnestly. “Of course not. It’s hot.” He toys with your panties, waiting for your approval to continue.

“You can take them off, Seokmin.”

That was all Seokmin needed, peeling your underwear off.

Seokmin thinks he’s died and gone to heaven. Seeing you bare, spread open for him and only him, was something he’d never believed would happen to him in this lifetime. He’s awestruck at your beauty, only able to respond by kissing your thighs repeatedly, your moans only encouraging him.

He lowers himself close to your pussy and licks a slow, long stroke along your bud. You grab at his head instantly, a whine coming out of you. He circles your folds, teasingly slow, savoring every moment he has between your legs. You taste sweet, more enticing than any of Seokmin’s dreams. His hands took purchase on your waist, pulling you closer to him when you’d steer away. Your arousal builds and he’s quick to flit his tongue against your clit.

“Fuck! Have you always been good at this?” you choke out, the question coming out broken and breathy, a moan following.

Seokmin smiles against you, laughing quietly, the vibrations tickling against his lips. His pride was swelling, hearing you, the person he’s been in love with for two years now, cry for him. The feeling is making him insatiable, the desire to make you cum overriding any other thought in his mind. Your fingers that were in his hair started to pull harder, fervid as the pleasure overtook you.

The ache in between his legs, his dick squeezing in between the fabric of his jeans, started to become excruciating. Seokmin slowly grinds against the mattress, searching for any relief for his own hard-on. It proves to be useless, his arousal moving three steps forward and one step back each time you moan his name. His face was covered in you as you jerk against him, riding out the sensations.

He ghosts his fingers to your entrance, hovering over it, teasing you with the prospect of having them inside of you. He keeps his fingers where they are until you wail, begging for them.

“Seokmin, stop teasing…” your voice trails, punctuated with a gasp, from Seokmin slipping his fingers inside of you.

He didn’t need any lubrication, you were dripping enough for him. The sounds that were coming out of your cunt were lewd and it only turned Seokmin on more, blood rushing to his cock and the strain against his jeans becoming even more unbearable to ignore. He can feel you clenching around his fingers; he knows you’re close. Once he reaches the bumpy surface of your g-spot, your muscles tense even more and your breath hitches, your legs squeezing Seokmin.

“Let go for me,” he whispers with a kiss to your clit. A second later, you’re coming undone, back arching off of the mattress. Your walls pulse against his fingers, making his cock twitch. His eyes were transfixed on your figure, watching you fall apart because of him. You were beautiful, this he always knew to be true, but the image of you tensing around him and cumming against his fingers would be engraved in his mind for the rest of his life.

You begin to come down from your high, Seokmin kissing your inner thigh, eyes shining with awe as he continues to slowly pump in and out of you. You look down at him, relaxing your hands that were once gripping his hair with superhuman strength. He didn’t mind, though. He never minded anything when it came to you, especially since he knew that he was the reason for the overwhelming pleasure.

“Oh my god… Seriously, where did you learn to eat pussy like that?” you breathe out, still trying to catch your breath.

“I don’t know,” Seokmin chuckles as he slowly pulls his fingers out of you. “I guess I’m just a natural.”

You sit up, reaching for Seokmin’s chin as you bring his lips to yours, taking his breath away. He's completely intoxicated by you, the alcohol wearing off and being replaced by your allure. It still amazes him how you have him trapped under your spell, wrapped around your finger — and you don’t even know it. Seokmin is so lost in your kiss, he doesn’t realize that he’s now on his back with you straddling him, your hands fumbling with his zipper.

“Let me take care of you,” you coo, your lips still close to his, brushing against them softly.

It pains Seokmin, the thought of your mouth around his length, his body shivers with the image in his mind. “I’m going to be honest, while I’d love to have you sucking me off, I’d cum in 30 seconds,” he confesses. “I need to be inside of you. Now.” You smile so bright, so enchanting, Seokmin is already seeing stars when you kiss him again, only breaking the kiss to take off his pants and underwear and he removes his shirt.

“Do you have a condom?” he asks, lingering on your body as you remove your bra.

“There’s one inside my nightstand.”

Once Seokmin rolls the condom down his length, your body hovering over him, he finally realizes that this is actually happening. This might not be the way he thought it would ever happen, but he doesn’t have much time to think about it before you’re sinking down on him, enveloping his cock in your heat with a curse.

You pause, eyes screwed shut as you mentally curse. Tears threaten to fall, pooling to the side of your eyes. Seokmin sees this and panics, immediately sitting up, rubbing soft circles on your cheek. “Hey, hey, are you okay? What’s wrong?” He speaks softly, comforting, afraid that you would crack.

You shake your head, finally opening your eyes to look at him. “It’s nothing, it’s just…”

“Just what?”

“I just had to adjust. You’re…” you pause, thinking carefully on your words, “much bigger than I anticipated.”

Seokmin can’t help but feel smug. He can feel you clenching around him, squeezing the life out of his cock. He can’t hide his smirk, but he’s quick to give you a tender kiss, feeling you relax on top of him. “Just relax. You set the pace,” he soothes and you nod in response.

He stays sitting up as you slowly start to rock back and forth on his lap and Seokmin is already seeing stars, holding back moans. You start slow and easy, setting a rhythmic pace, building pleasure and you lean your head on his shoulder. “Fuck, Seokmin.”

“What is it, baby?” The pet name slips out before Seokmin can catch it. He mentally curses, hoping you don’t notice. It tastes sweet on his tongue, like it was meant to come out of his mouth.

“You feel so good,” you moan, punctuating the statement with a clamp on his cock.

“I can say the same for you.” It was embarrassing how close Seokmin already was, completely drunk on you. Every squeeze, every whine brought him closer to his dissolve; it took every ounce of Seokmin’s self-control to not let go right there. It took everything in him to not confess, tell you that this was everything he’d ever dreamt of, that he was helplessly and completely in love with you. Seeing you drunk on him, on his cock, was shattering all of his resolve.

“Seokmin, I’m so close,” you whine.

Thank God, Seokmin thinks. His hands that were on your waist guide you, bouncing you up and down on his cock, helping you reach your high. “C’mon, baby, you can do it.” Fuck, I’ve got to stop saying that…

He feels your nails dig into him, creating crescent moons and threatening to break skin as the tension that was building in your body starts to snap, an overwhelming amount of electricity coursing through your veins. Seokmin’s willpower is left on a thread, feeling your velvet walls tense around his cock, he’s close to his own climax. Once he’s looking at you, seeing your pleasure wash over you, your eyebrows furrowed and a symphony of moans releasing from your mouth, he’s done for. His orgasm crashes against him and he grips your waist tightly, keeping your body at a steady pace as he empties inside of you.

You're both left panting, bodies spent and going still. All that’s left in the air is your breath and the humidity as you both come down from your highs. Seokmin doesn’t know what comes over him, but the overwhelming need to kiss you takes over his body. He doesn’t think, just reaches up and pulls you to his lips, kissing you passionately until his thoughts come back to him.

Well, where do we go from here?

#seventeen x reader #seventeen smut #seokmin x reader #dk x reader #seokmin smut #dk smut #dokyeom x reader #dokyeom smut #seventeen scenarios #svt x reader #svt smut #svt scenarios

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infamous-if · 8 months

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Happy 1 year anniversary to this blog!

It was yesterday...though I do find it fitting that I've been focused on writing so much that I forgot lmao

When I first had the idea for Infamous, I didn't work on it right away. The concept was cool, yeah, but was it enough for interactive fiction? A medium I never even tried before?

I let it marinate in my head for a while wondering if it would be a good story or not. I listened to a lot of music, made a lot of idea boards and outlined routes but told myself I wasn't actually writing it. Just playing in a new literary sandbox with no strings! I was very close to not publishing my idea because it felt like it wasn't a story that I could handle. And it was daunting. I've published stories before, but they were completed novels that I could just forget about it and move on from once I was done. This was a commitment! I kept asking myself if I was even a good enough writer for the plans I had haha

But it didn't stop bothering me and I was getting irritable over my own brain creating this whole world without my permission. So I posted the intro post on a whim just to see what would happen! Turns out, I'm really happy I did!

One year later and there's been a whole community of people who have enriched the story and elevated it to a place that I wouldn't have been able to do it on my own. The amazing fanfics, the head canons, fan art and the suggestions, it's been really nice to work on this with the support and encouragement I've gotten. I think the best parts of the story so far have come from the collective, not me, and knowing that there are people who watched me serve my ideas on a platter like "here. take it pls." and accepted it is really nice. I'm grateful :)

thank you guys for reading the story and being kind to me and my ideas and having so many discussions over these characters that were once just in my mind, alone with me to tend to them. and to the if authors who have been here much longer, thank you for welcoming me with open arms. thank you to the group of if authors in particular who took me under their wing and gave me advice on how to handle things and how to move forward. you didn't have to come into my dm's and give me guidance or help me, but you did anyway and im eternally grateful!

I'm excited for 2024 to be the year that we really dive into the story. I still can't believe we're only 2 chapters in. it feels much longer, doesn't it? lololol

thanks!! <3

#one year anniversary #Amy yapping

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mewtwoandme · 7 months

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Well, it's now March. I think it's safe to say I've officially come back from my art hiatus, considering I've been working on Part 3 of the baby arc for the last few days now lol. I've been making decent progress, still far from being completely sketched out, but I'm getting closer to the end. I've been debating on outlining and finishing up Part 2 and some Siv shenanigan wips I've left sitting around before the hiatus, just to move the arc along quicker. I might still do that, but as of now, my main focus is to see how much progress I can make with Part 3.

...I do feel the need to apologize. I know that due to IRL life stuff and other things, my plans to have this arc done have been heavily interfered with. But it's refreshing to know that yall are still hype for it and still ask about it now and then ^^ Though some of it is my fault too, Part 3 is turning out to be very LENGTHY, with currently 13 pages and 75+ panels in total....I did this to myself ^^; It's a bit too late to reconsider my life choices though. I'm already too deep into the thick of it to turn back now XD Due to how long this comic is, I may need to find a place to split it. So instead of the Baby Arc being only 4 chapters like I originally intended, it may end up being 5 but we'll see.

Also, going forward, as far as posting other art like shitposts or ask related works, that stuff still might be far and few in between while I'm working on the arc. Buuuuut, if there are certain days I get tired of sketching for the arc, I may shift my attention to short shitposts/ask art here and there to mix it up a little XD

She's not having a good time :(

#mod speaks #update #wip #comic wip #sneak peek

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sbdskate · 1 year

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Laws Of Attraction (Part 8) - DR x lawyer!fem!reader

Summary: McLaren is in breach of contract, dr3 hires a lawyer to deal with the aftermath. Tropes ensue. Slow burn. Enemies (kind of)-> Friends/colleagues -> Lovers

Pairing: lawyer!fem!reader x Daniel Ricciardo

Warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff, language, slight angst, alcohol consumption, McLaren, bad jokes

Word Count: 4,277

A/N: I tried out some different writing styles this chapter and candidly, I’m not sure it’s my best work. There are more scenes from DR’s perspective and I found out that writing race dialogue is very difficult. I tried to stay true to the actual Abu Dhabi 2022. Please bear with me through this chapter, feedback of any kind is always appreciated. Please, thank you, and enjoy!

When you arrived at the paddock, Daniel was still distracting himself by taking pictures of literally everything, including the ground. You let him be though, no matter how silly it seemed. The last thing he needed was to psych himself out before the race. As you approached, the McLaren PR crew was already waiting with cameras to get content for the last Unboxed video of the season which was your cue to peel off.

“How are you feeling?” you asked hesitantly, making sure to keep an appropriate distance from your client.

“Honestly, I’m fine. Maybe I’ll feel different once the suit’s on, but right now I’m good.”

“You’ll let me know if you need anything, right?” He caught the seriousness in your tone and found it endearing you were being so protective of him. It seemed you were more nervous than he was.

“Actually, hold on,” he stopped walking.

“What? Is everything alright? Oh-” *click* “Daniel!” He laughed at your disgruntled expression as he lowered the camera.

“I’m fine, promise. I’ll see you after the race.” He gave you a polite pat on the shoulder as he began to walk away, but you grabbed his arm before he was out of reach and pulled him in for a big hug before you could second guess yourself. He didn’t think twice as he wrapped his arms around you. You quickly released him, reinstating the arm’s length between you.

“Good luck today, you’re going to do great,” you said as you composed yourself. He walked backwards continuing your extended goodbye, unable to look away from you.

“I know,” he said, with a cocky smile plastered on his face. *click*

You snorted, your stoicism overpowered by his charm. You waved one last time as a sendoff before he disappeared into McLaren hospitality.

As usual with race day, it was a lot of hurry up and wait. Daniel exchanged helmets with Lando and Zhou, sat for photos with the team, sat for photos with the grid. He tried to take in every detail. He laughed when he walked in the garage and saw his mechanics donning cowboy hats embroidered with “yee-haw thanks DR” and the outline of him doing a shoey.

Everyone seemed to think he would be walking around as though he were attending his own funeral, but for the moment he felt he didn’t have much to be sad about. He needed a break – from the spotlight, from McLaren, from training, from racing in general, and there was no shame in that. In twelve hours that break would become a reality, and that was something to be very happy about.

When it came time to change into his race suit, he waited with baited breath for the garment to exert some kind of magical force over him. He stood in his drivers room waiting for the tears, or nerves, or something. Everyone told him it would hit him when he put the suit on. But he examined himself in the mirror, widened his stance and put his hands on his hips. Power pose. No, he was still the same Daniel Ricciardo, despite what people tried to tell him. And this was just another race.

It was less than ideal starting P13 due to a three-place grid penalty carried over from the Brazilian Grand Prix after his run-in with Yuki, but Daniel pushed aside all the growing frustrations as he waited eagerly for the lights to change, feeling his pulse sync with the idled roar of the engine. The few seconds before the race played out in slow motion, as they always did. The rest of the pressures of the moment faded away as he focused on what was in front of him, ready to react. He was at peace, and allowed himself to feel the overwhelming therapeutic emptiness. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

And it’s lights out and away we go!

He survived the first lap shuffle and chaos, but lost a position to Lance. There was still plenty of race left though, and his goal first and foremost was a clean race without a DNF. Making it through the first few clustered laps unscathed was step one. Once the pack started to disperse, he began his grueling climb back to the points.

Here comes Daniel Ricciardo on the inside of Schumacker, gaining a place back.

It was lonely for a while. He extended his lead from Mick, but couldn’t seem to fully catch up to Lance. Lance pitted on lap 14, as expected with mediums if going for a two-stop strategy, allowing Daniel to gain a position. It subsequently opened up the floodgates, others shortly following suit bringing Daniel up to P8. He knew he would have to pit eventually, but if he could just nurse this set a bit longer and maintain this position as long as possible, he had a shot to finish in the points.

Lap 18, Daniel Ricciardo still hasn’t pitted yet.

Even in the last race, it shouldn’t have surprised him that McLaren would try to short stick him one last time. Good riddance he would be done with this circus in an hour. George passed him, as he expected in better machinery and on fresher tires.

He finally pitted on lap 20, switching to hards. The team did a great job with a 2.3 second pit stop but he came out in P18. He had a job to do, it was time to get to work.

Daniel Ricciardo, down in 18th place. Making some overtakes and having a bit of fun. Makes a lovely move on Kevin Magnusson going into Turn 9.

In quick succession, he picked off Mick and Bottas, Seb pitted, and somehow Alonso DNF’d. Before he knew it, he was back to where he started in P13.

Fernando Alonso has not had the best of luck, our first retirement of this evening. Mechanical failure. That is a real shame for him, real shame. Meanwhile, here comes Sebastian Vettel! Haven’t said that in a while. Very nice move on Pierre Gasly.

News at Alpine that there’s some water leak, that was why they had to pull Fernando in. He feels the unreliability there has cost him nearly seventy points during the course of this season. Since he came back to Formula One, well, the reunion with Alpine then Renault has ended in retirement. Sad for all parties. And this means that Fernando Alonso has been beaten by his teammate, Esteban Ocon. But I’ll tell you a bit more about that later, as Daniel Ricciardo manages to get past the Alfa Romeo of Zhou Guanou.

He encroached on Alex, smelling blood in the water. Even though Alex nicked the wall, he maintained the position longer than he thought. He had to respect the work the kid was doing in that tractor trailer of a Williams. The track conditions were cooling as the sun set, making it difficult to regulate the temperature of the tires.

Daniel Ricciardo trying down the inside there on Alex Albon. Now you saw what happened in Mexico when he tried that on an unsuspecting Yuki Tsunoda and they came together, but this time around they managed to keep apart. But uh, for McLaren they need to start clearing a few cars here. Norris is seventh. Ricciardo out of the points. Albon now pits.

He wished he could have overtaken Alex properly, but he wasn’t complaining as he gained another position. The second stoppers continued, moving his way up to P9. He could breathe a bit now that he was officially in the points. But it was short lived as his friend, former teammate, and mentor had popped up in his rearview, more than two seconds behind, but quickly closing the gap. There were still fifteen laps requiring him to preserve the tires while defending his position.

Sebastian Vettel is gaining a bit on Daniel Ricciardo in tenth place. Ten laps to go.

He almost missed the second Aston Martin in his rearview as Lance passed both of them. He shared Seb’s frustration that they were the sacrificial lambs of their respective teams testing out the one-stop strategy. He was still in the points for now, but Seb was an admirable adversary and with only seven laps left in the race he would not take the position for granted. With officially one second between them, he had to push. They were both on very old tires, but Seb’s were younger.

The two leavees, Ricciardo and Vettel. Vettel’s closing in on Ricciardo, and he’s going to get him in the next lap or so if the current pace keeps up. Five laps to go in the Formula One season, 2022.

And oh my God, what’s this? Hydraulic problem for Hamilton, as you can see as Carlos Sainz passes Lewis who’s still stuck in seventh gear! This might be curtains for Lewis Hamilton this evening. He’s got it down into fifth gear – oh. Oh no, this is disappointing.

As was the nature of racing, he wasn’t going to question his adversary’s misfortune. With a mechanical failure taking Lewis out, he moved back into P9. He was so close to the finish line he could taste it, but Seb was still less than a second behind.

The final lap. He saw the fireworks go off for Max, but he couldn’t lose focus.

Daniel Ricciardo under immense pressure from Sebastian Vettel. This is going to go all the way to the wire.

There’s twelve million dollars on Sebastian Vettel trying to overtake Daniel Ricciardo here, twelve million dollars if they can get extra points at Aston Martin to see if they can get above Alfa Romeo in the Constructor’s Championship. Is it Ricciardo or Vettel? Nineth or tenth? Both drivers leaving as of the end of this season. Ricciardo potentially to go as a reserve driver at Red Bull. Sebastian Vettel waving goodbye to Formula One and giving us thrills and excitement right to the checkered flag! Is he going to get past Daniel Ricciardo? It’s going to be close!

Ricciardo takes that nineth place, Sebastian Vettel scores tenth in his final race! And well, what did he say? “Remember these times, they might not last forever.” Sebastian, thank you. The memories definitely will.

Daniel's jaw unclenched to let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in that moved his whole chest, shoulders relaxing. He barely had time to process what he had just accomplished when his engineers came on the radio.

“Yes mate, P9. Good job. Finished in the points. Good stuff, good stuff.”

“Cheers guys, that was, uh, that was fun at the end. Think we did well to hold him off, well done. That was good.”

“Great race buddy. Great overtaking, that was a proper Honey Badger show, that was good.”

He bit his tongue. He could only be so pleasant to the people who had diminished his confidence over the last two years. Having officially crossed the finish line of his last race, he would remain polite and cordial but didn’t feel the need to suck up to them more than he needed to.

“Daniel, could I have Purple Default 64X. And if you could go back to Purple C1.”

He did as he was told, unphased by the short radio congratulations. He was pleasantly surprised, however, when a picture of his win at Monza last year popped up with the rest of the team. The memory of that day came flooding back and the feelings that went along with it. The triumph he finally felt. The renewed sense of hope for what may come with the rest of his tenure with McLaren. The Daniel in the picture had no idea he would basically be kicked out of the sport he loved so much in less than a year. He had no idea he would fall out of love with it, even as he was just starting to get his groove back.

“That’s cool,” he chuckled. “That’s really nice, thank you guys.”

“Cheers buddy. It’s been an honor, Daniel. It’s been an honor, really great good two years.” He hated the lump he felt in his throat. “I know we haven’t always had the results we’ve wanted, but we’ve had some pretty good ones along the way. And uh, I think I speak for everyone on the team when I say how much we’ve all enjoyed working with you.” He swallowed thickly, praying no one had eyes on the front facing camera in the car.

“Yeah, appreciate your efforts. Thank you…Alright, it’s nice to finish in the points. Well done guys. Thank you.” He did his best to switch the conversation back to race at hand, taking away the focus of the gravity and finality of the situation. Looking at it in isolation, away from the totality of the last two years, it was a good race. He continued to drive and wave around the track, doing some donuts here and there, but the gestures felt empty.

“Ok, so into the pit lane, and when you turn the engine off then go to P0. Kill the car and switch everything off.” The back of his eyes began to sting. Switch everything off.

“Understood. Uh, alright guys.” There was so much he wanted to say but he was never good with words, especially not at this moment. “Thank you. I think you know…how much I appreciate your efforts over the last two years. So… thank you.” He tried to keep his tone steady, but felt his voice crack. “And thanks for this display, on Purple C64. Cheers.”

“Yeah, 03 we weren’t really able to use I’m afraid.” He knew the engineers were only talking about the mechanical configurations, but the words felt like a gut punch. They were done with him. There was nothing more that needed to be said.

The feelings he had waited for all day, the ones everyone expected, suddenly hit him like an avalanche. He wanted to get out of the car desperately, but couldn’t do so when he was a mess like this. It was probably the last time for the rest of the night that he would have any time to be by himself with just his thoughts. It was done – and he realized again after taking a few moments to compose himself, maybe for now that was a good thing. What was it Seb had said?

“There are a lot more important things than racing in circles.”

He jumped out of the car, feeling the impact of the gravel below his feet. He stretched his limbs, finally free from the confines of the cockpit and was hit by a wave of relief that washed over him. He was free from expectations, restrictive diets, constant jet lag. Free from McLaren. All he had to do was get into his ugly orange team kit one last time for post-race interviews. He knew he would be asked hard questions, about his past and his future, but he was ready. He had nothing to be ashamed of, and if anything, had many things to be proud of. You’re the only driver to have won in that brick of a car in the last ten years you constantly reminded him. He finished the season on a high, including a great race battle with Seb. He was done hiding, done minimizing.

So he went from interview to interview, unafraid to be honest with himself and the world. It’s ok to admit that he’s had a hard time the last two years, that he’s happy to be taking some time away from the sport and to take care of his mental health.

He slowly made his way back to the McLaren garage as he pushed through the crowd, dodging fans trying to get selfies and autographs, politely declining additional interviews and comments from strangers. In a sea of blurred faces, he spotted you. One of the mechanics had gifted you an extra celebratory cowboy hat and you appeared to be in deep conversation with one of them. Your hands moved around animatedly as you spoke, like they always did when you were passionate about something. The mechanic laughed, and he wondered what joke you had told or whether you had said something unintentionally funny. He found himself smiling, excited to get the answer.

The mechanic noticed him first and waved. He touched your shoulder and pointed in Daniel’s direction. You squinted as you searched the crowd with intense focus. Daniel’s heart nearly exploded when your eyes finally landed on him – you waved eagerly with the biggest, brightest smile on your face that put all the track lights and fireworks to shame.

The mechanic gave him a quick hug and pat on the back first, adding a subtle wink for good measure before walking away, seemingly aware of the need for the two of you to have your own space. For the second time that day, you engulfed each other in a warm, firm hug that perhaps lasted a beat too long. He liked how you perched on your tip toes to get your head as close to the crook of his neck as possible. He liked the feeling of your small, delicate hands on his back. He liked that he could smell your hair products, distinct from the scent of your perfume, sweet florals and jasmine contrasting accents of patchouli and bergamot. He liked you.

“Congratulations! I’m so happy for you, you were amazing today,” you gushed.

“Thanks,” he said, knowing that the flush he felt in his cheeks wasn’t from the race.

“How are you feeling now?” you asked sincerely. He took a moment to think on it before answering.

“I’m not sure. Good I think, but tired.”

“That’s valid.”

“How was your day?” It was an innocent question, so he was confused when you laughed. He was just trying to make conversation. “What?”

“You just had your last race of the season and you’re officially getting out of your contract with McLaren tomorrow, and you’re asking me how my day went?” He shrugged.

“I’ve already talked about myself more than enough today. I want to hear about you.” Your laugh lines softened.

“Well, let’s see. I didn’t have to work, I met Usher, and I got to watch my friend’s last F1 race and he kicked so much butt. So I’d say it was pretty great.” His heart skipped a beat. Friend.

“You met Usher?” He glossed over the other stuff, unable to trust himself if you delved any further into the topic.

“Yeah, he was hanging out in the McLaren garage. Did not have that on my 2022 bingo card. But uh…” a sheepish grin grew on your face. “I don’t think he appreciated I kept dropping his lyrics in casual conversation.”

“Oh no,” he laughed, and the smile on your face grew.

“Y’know… just when I thought I said all I could say, he was like…yeah. And he also said -”

“Hold on let me guess,” he said between giggles. “You remind him of a girl he once knew.”

“You know…you would not believe all the things she put him through,” you said, joining him in laughter. He observed you playing with your hands behind your back, your chest puffed slightly, clearly finding great joy in your own corny jokes.

“Maybe if we’re lucky he’ll perform at the McLaren afterparty.” The words rolled off his tongue before he had the chance to think about what he was asking of you. It was one thing to go out with some of the other drivers offsite, but a McLaren sponsored event when you had been their adversary only a short few months ago was less than appropriate.

“You’ll have to let me know.” His heart fell a little, not missing the polite decline of his subtle invitation. He didn’t want to admit how much he truly needed you there. But he was on a roll with this whole honesty thing, so he bore his soul to you.

“I don’t want to go,” he said in a low voice, running an anxious hand through his hair. “I’m tired and I don’t know how I’m supposed to spend the night celebrating with these people. I can barely look half of them in the eye.” He couldn’t remember the last time he had begged for anything. He hoped his plea would be convincing enough, but you only gave him a sympathetic smile.

“You’ll be ok. Lando will be there, and there are plenty of people in your garage that had nothing to do with the decisions Zak or Andrea made. You still have people in your corner. Lots of them. And they want to celebrate with you.” He closed his eyes as you encouragingly rubbed the side of his arm, but finished with a firm pat. “Chin up. You’re almost done.”

Right. The race was only half the battle he would face today. Until the end of the day, he was still an employee of McLaren.

“Will you come pick me up if the kids at school are mean to me?” He always used humor as a defense mechanism, but he hated how much truth there was in the metaphor. You leaned in close to whisper your reassurance, a calm pleasantness in your shadow of a smile. You spoke slowly and deliberately.

“I will commit a felony and make it look like an accident if anyone is mean to you.” He was left grinning from ear to ear when you pulled away, your quiet resolve contagious as he felt his anxiety melt away. “You got this, and I promise I will celebrate with you after everything is signed tomorrow.” You extended your pinky, and he gladly linked his with yours in a solemn vow.

“Fuck ‘em all, yeah?”

“Fuck ‘em all.”

You sat in bed freshly showered, full body shaved, and facemask on. You felt guilty as hell sending your client off to the lion’s den with no support, so you had gone straight back to the hotel once he was out of sight. There was no need to go to the Amber Lounge or anything, not that you would even be able to get in without Daniel. Besides, you had your own personal Super Bowl tomorrow that you needed to be prepared for. You had ordered room service and shot off a few emails when you heard a knock. You checked the time – it was nearly midnight. You wrapped yourself in the cozy hotel robe for modesty before checking the peephole. To your confusion, but not surprise, you saw Daniel standing by himself in the hallway.

“Hi?” He looked up, admiring your frame in the doorway. You were just as beautiful in a robe and slippers as you were in a LBD and Louboutins. He bit his lip for a moment, clearly holding back a smile.

“Hi. Uh, I think you got something-” he trailed off, lightly brushing the tip of his nose with his finger.

“What? Oh! Fuck. Right.” You turned around to quickly rip the nose strip off your face. You winced, feeling the sting of the adhesive. You did your best to hide your discomfort and embarrassment with a smile when you turned back around. “Sorry about that. You’re back earlier than I thought.”

“Yeah. I figure I showed enough face for the evening. Plus big day tomorrow, right?” You nodded, unsure where this exchange was going as he fidgeted in place. “Also…” he looked around cautiously. “I didn’t want to get caught stealing this.” He pulled a bottle of very expensive champagne from behind his back, proudly presenting it to you. Your jaw dropped and morphed into a giant grin in spite of the arguably illegal activities that had transpired.

“You didn’t…For me?” You grabbed the bottle from him, feelings goosebumps form when your fingers brushed. “Wait. If I accept this, does it make me an accomplice or accessory after the fact?” He chuckled.

“I don’t know, you’re the lawyer. You tell me.” He took a step forward.

“Well. I’m not going to say no to a free drink I suppose,” you said, examining the bottle in your hands. He cleared his throat.

“I figured we could enjoy it after tomorrow – or, I mean, you could enjoy it,” he took another step forward. For reasons unknown, he seemed to lose confidence as the gap between you narrowed.

You looked back up at him, inspecting his condition. Perhaps he was a little tipsy, but he was far from being wasted which you were pleasantly surprised about given his apprehensions going into the evening. It either meant he wasn’t leaning on alcohol to handle his emotions, or he was taking tomorrow’s signing very seriously, or both. Whichever one it was, it demonstrated restraint and growth and you were proud of him for it. Admittedly, you had also been nervous leaving him to his own devices for the evening. You had wanted to go with him, to be there for emotional support. You had relied on the rationale that it was a McLaren sponsored event, but at this point the two of you had a consistent track record of blurring the lines of professionalism and friendship whenever you went out together. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him – you didn’t trust yourself.

But the man standing in front of you was composed and mature (relatively speaking, of course). Perhaps a little nervous, as you watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. But nevertheless, even after the emotional, mental, and physical turmoil of the day, he stood before you with respect and poise. Yes, you trusted yourself with him wholeheartedly.

You took a step back, opening the door wider.

“How about we enjoy it now?”

Tags: @ravenqueen27 @leslizzle @zendayabelova @eitak-t @chiliwhore @wewoo1233 @thatchickwiththecamera

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roseghoul26 · 5 months

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Chapter 8: ...Your Ivy Grows...

Synopsis: A fic based off the song “ivy” by Taylor Swift. After a startling introduction to the man, Arthur Morgan became the most important part of your life. Married at a young age to an older, wealthy man to help your family, you were trapped in a loveless marriage, your only sense of escape with the rugged cowboy. Will you be able to keep your affair hidden, or will your husband find out, and destroy the last thing that made you happy? Tags: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Strangers To Lovers, Infidelity, Fem!Reader, She/Her Pronouns Used For Reader, Period Typical Misogyny, Emotional Manipulative Relationship (not with Arthur), Mostly Follows Timeline of Game, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Not Beta Read, Slow Burn, First Kiss, Arthur Is Bad At Emotions, Confessions, First Time Together, Cunnilingus, Missionary, Doggy Style, Tags Updated Per Chapter Author's Note: this chapter is just smut. hope you all enjoy! also, this chapter marks the over half-way point of the series! thank you so much for the continued support! <3 aslo idk if anyone else has had this issue but when you reach 100 pages on a google doc grammar correct stops working? i literally have to break this story up into two docs lmao Taglist: @lokiofasgard12 @ultraporcelainpig @that-one-beannnn @morethantheycansay @nn-hh192 Chapter List

Even though Arthur pledged to take his time with you, you could tell that he was using every bit of restraint in him to keep from taking you right there. His fingers were tight on your thigh, tight enough to leave marks, yet you found that you couldn’t complain. How could you, when all you could say was his name as soft pants and moans?

His lips were unrelenting in their exploration of your neck and shoulders, like he was trying to memorize the shape of your body by just kissing it. One of your hands carded into his dusty brown hair, and if your mind wasn’t so overwhelmed with just the feeling of him, you would’ve marveled at how soft it still was. Yet all that came to your mind was how wonderful his lips felt, and how wonderful they would feel elsewhere. It made your head fall back again, barely noticing the impact of it against the wall, his hand no longer there to protect it.

No, the hand that had once been so reverently holding you had shifted south, lightly brushing over the side of your body. He just skirted the outline of your breasts through your nightgown, where you wanted, needed him to touch you. You must’ve made some noise of complaint when he continued down, because you felt his smirk again, lips pulling against the delicate skin of your neck. That damn smirk, you could picture it now, and that mischievous glint in his cerulean eyes.

You thought you had gotten your wish when you felt him grab a thin strap of your nightgown with his teeth, slowly dragging it down your shoulder. Goosebumps erupted across the skin when you felt the drag of his beard, the dainty strap tickling your skin where it hung loosely. You expected him to slide the other one off, but when his kisses lingered on the newly exposed skin and his hands remained planted on the lower part of your body, you decided to do it instead, your patience from a few moments prior no longer existing.

With one hand still in his hair, you began to try to bring it down, but you were stopped before it could even budge an inch. Arthur had somehow been able to tell what you were doing, despite being fully enraptured with caressing your body, and had pinned your hand to the wall above you. His hand no longer held your thigh, but you still kept a leg hooked around his body, keeping him as close as you could. A started noise had left you, which turned into a light moan, his actions making you crave more.

But even though he had stopped you, you weren’t going to give up that easily. “Arthur,” you whined out, giving him the best pleading eyes you could, hoping that he would take pity on you. “Undress me,” you uttered, for what you now realized to be the first time in your life; you’d never had the desire to do so before.

Arthur paused for a moment before raising his head enough so that his lips were just hovering over yours. Yet no matter how much you strained, no matter how much you reached, you couldn’t connect them. “I did say I was takin’ my time with ya, did I not?”

Damn him and his unwavering resolve to torture you. “You did, but-”

His lips finally connecting with yours silenced you, your words trailing off into a mumble. He pulled away much too quickly for your liking, and you tried to voice your displeasure, but another short kiss stopped you. “I ain’t goin’ back on my word. I’ve waited so damn long to have you like this; I’m savorin’ ya for as long as I can.”

If only he knew that you felt the exact opposite. He ghosted over your lips before landing at your jaw, right below his ear. His voice was low and husky right in your ear, and it was both the feeling and the words he spoke that left you shuddering. “Trust me when I say this ain’t endin’ without that beautiful body of yours completely uncovered.”

You felt your cheeks warm at his compliment. “You ain’t ever seen my body,” you tried to deflect his words.

“I ain’t gotta see it to know.” He bit at your earlobe. “Now, you gonna be patient?” His fingers gently squeezed the wrist he held above your body.

Wordlessly, you nodded. As much as you would’ve loved to have him keep you restrained, the angle was starting to get uncomfortable. When he let go, you chose to rest it on his shoulder, and you could feel the way his muscles flexed as he moved again. Lips returned to your bare right shoulder, and they began to trail down your arm, all the way down to your fingers. It was a strange feeling, but you were loving it. Never before had someone treated your body so carefully, like you were the most precious thing they’ve ever held.

But here Arthur was, kissing your skin like it was made of gold, like you were a gift sent down from the Gods. As much as you longed to hear those three words from his mouth, you certainly felt like he was showing you that he did indeed love you, just like you requested, and you felt your heart soar.

After reaching your fingers, you felt him caress the kiss-adorned skin with a calloused hand, something like awe across his features. When you grew bashful under his gaze, your head turning away, you saw him look up out of the corner of your eye. “What?” He asked, coming out almost like a breathy laugh. “Look at me, darlin’.”

Swallowing, you forced your gaze back onto him, your face burning when he still had that same awestruck expression. “I won’t be able to if you keep lookin’ at me like that.”

Intrigued, he dragged his hand back up your arm, resting against the side of your neck. As much as you wanted to look away, you forced yourself to keep your attention on him. “Like what?” He didn’t give you a chance to answer. “Like you’re the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen? Like I’m the luckiest bastard, who damn well doesn’t deserve ya, someone as kind and breathtaking and good as you? Like I want to spend every moment with you, holdin’ you, touchin’ you, purely and utterly devoted to you?”

Arthur shook his head, a small laugh leaving him. “Nah, I can’t stop lookin’ at you like that, darlin’. I refuse to stop lookin’ at you like that. So, you,” his hand was now cupping the side of your face, thumb brushing over your lips, “are just gonna have to accept it.”

You had no response to his words, drawing up a blank in your mind, and his touches certainly weren’t helping. God, you fucking loved him so much.

When his mouth crashed into yours, you realized that you had said that out loud, but you didn’t care. Relief coursed through your body when you felt him finally tug the other strap down, a little more forceful than necessary. It was subtle, but the strings of his restraint had begun to fray.

When he pulled away, you felt him begin a similar trail down your left arm, and you let yourself just get lost in the sensations. It differed when he got to your hand, your fingers more specifically. You heard his breath hitch, and you glanced down at him, confused.

“You haven’t put it back on,” he muttered, and it took a few moments for you to realize that he was talking about your ring. You knew it was risky, keeping it off when Hans could be home at literally any time, but you couldn’t bring yourself to put it back on during the past couple of weeks.

“No,” you whispered, “because there’s only one person my heart belongs to, and it certainly ain’t the man who gave me that ring.”

An almost pained noise left Arthur, and you thought something was truly wrong until his eyes bore into yours. The once awestruck, loving look was now replaced with some more primal, more hungry, and you sucked in a gasp. His body was almost instantly pressed into yours, crowding you up against the wall. His mouth was attacking your neck, sucking and biting, leaving marks that would darken by morning. If you had any rational thought left in you, you would’ve made sure he kept his marks somewhere you could easily hide them, but you had none left.

“Say it again,” he groaned into your skin.

“My heart is yours, Arthur.” You don’t think you’ve ever uttered truer words before.

“Mine…” he breathed out, like he was trying to convince himself that it was true.

“I’m yours.”

He moaned at that, his breath fanning across your skin. “Mine,” he repeated with more certainty, unyielding still with his ministrations.

You never thought that you would ever like anyone having a claim to you, even more so when you got married to Hans. But you realized that you didn’t mind because unlike the marriage it was mutual. Arthur was yours as much as you were his.

“Yours.”

It seemed like that was the last thing you needed to say before his restraint snapped.

You were startled when you felt the ground no longer beneath your foot that was still against the ground, Arthur picking you up with ease with two hands beneath your thighs. Your other leg joined in wrapping around his body, your hands grappling for purchase across the broad expanse of his shoulders. He wasted no time, heading straight up the staircase to where he knew your room to be. His footsteps were surprisingly quiet, and you realized that he still remembered your rule of no shoes in the house, and you somehow fell even more in love with him for heeding what you said, no matter how small or insignificant it was.

It was hard to kiss him because of all the jostling of climbing upstairs, but you tried anyway. You almost immediately tore away when you accidentally bit down hard on his bottom lip from all the movement, but it quickly died in your throat at the somehow even hungrier look Arthur shot you. “Darlin’ we ain’t gonna make it to the bed if ya do things like that,” he spoke after his grip on you faltered slightly, but you were clinging on to him too tightly to really tell.

“Is that a promise?” You teased.

Arthur barked out a small laugh at that, his eyes crinkling. “The stairs ain’t gonna be the most comfortable place, but if you insist…” He made a show of bending over slowly, trying to deposit you onto the wooden stairs. You immediately made a noise of protest, and Arthur straightened back up, laughing yet again. “Is that a no, then?”

“It’s a no. But maybe next time,” you giggled.

“Next time,” he echoed, and you could barely detect the small amount of disbelief in his voice.

He had reached the top of the stairs now, passing the first door to Hans’ office. As you passed, a thought filled your mind that got your heart racing even more, biting back a moan. You pictured yourself laying back on the desk, Arthur’s face between your legs, your cries muffled with-

The familiar surroundings of your room tore you from your thoughts, and a shaky breath left you. You missed the look that Arthur gave you, fully aware of the kinds of images that had just flashed through your mind. But he didn’t say anything, merely tucking them away into his mind for a later day. Like you said, there was always a next time.

Arthur set you on the side of the bed, standing in between your legs, You had to strain your neck to look up at him, and you followed him as he sank to his knees before you. If it didn’t look like he was worshiping you earlier, it certainly looked like it now. Awe was back on his features, eye wide, letting out soft, pleased sighs as he took you in. Moonlight spilled in from behind you, casting you in a cool white light, your shadow cast over him.

Even though there was a rug, you knew that how he was sitting was probably not the most comfortable, and you tried to usher him to the bed. Arthur just shook his head, pressing a grateful kiss to the back of your hand. “In a moment, darlin’,” he reassured.

You shivered when you felt his hands on your thighs, skirting up the sides of your body slowly, methodically. It seemed like the small walk had calmed him some, his interest in slowly driving you insane returning. Warm hands grazed the undersides of your breasts, before grazing against your perked nipples that poked through the thin material of the nightgown. It made you jolt, earning a low chuckle from the man.

You gasped when he did it again, your body pressing into his large hands. “Arthur,” you sighed out, and he hummed in response, engrossed in the way you reacted to him touching you. Every brush of his fingers, every gentle squeeze, shot another jolt through your body, arousal coiling in your lower body.

Your body was growing incredibly warm, and even though the material of the gown was light, it still felt like you were wearing a winter jacket in the desert. But you didn’t make a move to take it off yourself. “Undress me?” You tried again, this time phrasing it like a question.

“You sure, darlin’?”

You were touched by his consideration, but you were almost growing desperate at this point. “Please, Arthur.”

Arthur took a second to judge the validity of your response before a soft smile spread on his face. He toyed at the hem of your nightgown, which had ridden up to your upper thighs. “I suppose I can arrange that.” You were barely able to lift your hips before Arthur was tearing your nightgown off over your head, tossing it beside him.

In just your undergarments, you watched as Arthur slowly took in your exposed body, the same look on his face that he had downstairs. “How did I get so damn lucky?” His hands joined in the exploration of your body, pulling out small noises from you. “My beautiful girl.”

His hands felt so much better when there wasn’t a barrier of fabric between them, you realized when he returned to your breasts. Despite the roughness of his skin, he was still gentle with his touches, and the juxtaposition made your head spin. It was hard to remember the fact that this was a rough, grizzled man, who had seen the worst the world had to offer, yet regarded you so carefully.

Your hand reacquainted itself with his hair when his mouth latched onto one of your nipples, his fingers playing with the other. Teeth grazed against the sensitive bud, making your hips jump from where you sat on the bed, a cry of his name leaving your lips. Fingers tightened in his hair, and Arthur groaned. His mouth was still pulling pleasure from your breasts, and the noise he made just added to the stimulation, the low timbre rolling through your body.

After a few moments of lavishing your breasts with attention, he was descending even further, lips barely leaving your body, leaving a trail of hickeys in his wake. When he stopped right above the ribbon that held your undergarments, he brought his gaze up to you, a silent question in his eyes, a stifled gasp leaving you when you realized what he was asking for. You’d heard stories, tales of lovers going down on their partners, bringing them pleasure with their mouths. You’d always just shake your head, not believing that someone would want to do that; it was one-sided satisfaction, in your mind.

But his gaze held nothing but pure want, like he needed to do this, craved it more than any fine liquor. It made you evaluate how one-sided the satisfaction might be. You hadn't realized you’d been silent for an extended period until Arthur’s voice pulled you from your mind. “Please, darlin’.”

Oh, you liked that. Another gasp left you, this one less stifled than the previous, and you felt something throb between your legs. Arthur picked up on your reaction, realization making him grin, eager to see you squirm. “Please, lemme taste ya,” he pitched his voice even lower. “I wanna feel ya cum on my face, darlin’. I wanna feel you soak-”

He was cut off by a sharp pull on his hair, yanking his head back, your other hand covering his mouth. Your cheeks were blazing, embarrassed beyond belief, but you’d be a liar if you said his words weren’t doing something to you. Any more, though, and you would explode. “You have a dirty mouth, Arthur Morgan.” You prayed that your voice didn’t sound too airy.

A light nip at your hand made you pull away, shooting a disingenuous glare at him. “You love it, darlin’.”

How right he was. If his hands inched any further downward, he’d be able to feel the effect he was having on you. You rolled your eyes but didn’t offer any rebuttal. You felt him run his fingers beneath the ribbon, eliciting a shiver through your body. “Can I?” He asked, still waiting for your answer.

You had just gotten out a quiet yes before a hand pushed you down to the bed, gentle yet commanding. Arthur spread your legs, groaning appreciatively at the sight before him. There wasn’t any shock on his features as he took in the darkened patch on your undergarments; he knew exactly what he did to you. He quickly undid the ribbon, then yanked the garment down your legs, letting it dangle precariously off one of your feet.

Neither of you cared, Arthur especially, his eyes locked onto your glistening cunt. Holding the insides of your thighs, he kept your legs open, rubbing soothingly into the skin as he made his way closer. Anticipation made you shake, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest, rising in pace when his breath ghosted over you.

Both of you let out sighs when his mouth made contact, your body jumping at the foreign contact. Sensations you’d never felt before invaded your body, almost too many for you to keep track of. His beard prickled against the highly sensitive skin, a complete difference from the soft glide of his tongue through you. You barely even saw the way his eyes rolled back, completely taken in by the way you tasted.

You whined out his name as he did it again, and his eyes glanced up at you between your legs. It was an even better sight than anything you could've ever imagined, and you couldn’t help the slight mortification when you realized you said it aloud. It was the second time that night something had spilled from you that you hadn’t wished to reveal, and you debated just covering your mouth so that it wouldn’t happen again.

Even though you couldn’t see it, you just knew that he was smirking, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’ve thought of this before, darlin’?” He asked between passes of his tongue, pleasure building slowly in your core. But you could tell that he was very clearly avoiding your clit, his tongue always stopping or passing it, just to rile you up. And it was working.

“Arthur,” you whined, but you knew at this point trying to plead with him was an uphill battle.

“Have you thought of this before?” He asked again, and you realized that he wasn’t going to give what you wanted until you answered him.

“Yes,” you admitted, and even though your response was hardly louder than a whisper, it felt like you shouted it to the world. Of course, you’d imagined Arthur like this before, and so much more. It wasn’t often, either during the one time Hans had been intimate with you recently or during the lonely weeks by yourself. You’d imagine him as you slip a hand between your legs, softer and smaller than Arthur’s, but you always tried to not dwell on that fact.

He rewarded your response by finally making contact where you wanted him, a loud cry tumbling from your lips as he lapped at your clit. You fumbled at the bedsheets, trying to find something to grab onto that wasn’t his hair as he wracked your body with pleasure. “What’d ya think ‘bout?” His words were muffled, and it took you a few moments to form a coherent thought.

Apparently, you took too long, and you felt his attention move away from your clit, choosing to just pass around it instead. You loved and hated the way he was toying with you, leaving you a writhing mess beneath him. “I’ve- I’ve thought ‘bout this,” you vaguely gestured to where he was, and you sighed out when his tongue returned to the sensitive nerves. “I’ve thought ‘bout your fingers…” you had to take a moment, pleasure becoming overwhelming. “Imagined how they’d feel on me, in me…”

On cue, you felt his rough fingers brush against your folds, making you shudder. “I’ve thought ‘bout you bendin’ me over, takin’ me roughly, makin’ me scream.” You felt Arthur groan. But… but I also imagined you takin’ me gently, makin’ love to me, and I can’t… I can’t figure out which one I want more…”

“We’ll just have to try both then, darlin’.”

You opened your mouth, ready to say more, but you stopped. “Anythin’ else?” You heard him ask, and you damned him for having such acute observation skills.

“I’ve…” You couldn’t believe you were about to admit this to him. “Whenever he…” you didn’t even want to say his name, “you know, had me… I imagined it was you instead.”

You watched blue eyes widen. “You have?”

You couldn’t tell if he was disgusted by the fact, having gone still between your legs, but you were too nervous that you’d just royally fucked this all up to care. “I asked ya a question,” he muttered, pulling his head far enough away so you could see him better. Even still, you couldn’t read the expression on his face, and you ducked your head in shame.

“I have,” you whispered out.

“When?”

Of course, he had to ask that. That answer might put him off even more, but as you glanced back down at him, you found that you couldn’t without the truth. “Remember when you came over to the house for the first time? Durin’ the middle of the night?” You laughed bitterly. “I could barely look you in the eye, I felt so guilty.” And you still felt guilty, and it tore at your chest. “I’m sorry, Arthur-”

You tried to close your legs, his grip having gone lax, but as soon as he felt you move it was back. He yanked you closer to him, his mouth meeting you halfway, attacking your clit with precision. Short laps that had created a gradual and steady build of pleasure had been replaced for heavy, intense presses of his tongue, ruthless and unyielding. He was devouring you now, a complete switch up from the casual pace before, and you could do nothing but take it.

He wasn’t talking now, too concentrated on making you finish to do so. His name spilled from your lips, and you desperately gripped at the bedsheets, hips bucking and writhing. It didn’t take long for your orgasm to approach, having been edged on for so long. “Arthur, I’m… please,” you begged him not to cut you off this time, and you could’ve cried in relief when he didn’t.

With a loud final cry of his name that made you glad you lived in the middle of the woods, you came, your cunt clenching around nothing as waves of pleasure spasmed your body. The grip on the sheets turned vice-like as every nerve in your body was set alight, white-hot pleasure taking over all your senses. Arthur continued to pleasure you, the noises growing obscene, and you eventually had to pull him away, as it became too much.

His wish had certainly been fulfilled, his lower face and beard soaked with your release. His eyes were impossibly dark, panting wildly, and he almost looked animalistic. Slowly, you watched as he lowered one last time, eyes never leaving yours as he kissed your clit, a jolt of overstimulation hitting you at the contact.

Arthur stood now, hands bracing on either side of your hips as he stood. The first thing you noticed, besides his disheveled expression, was the substantial tent in the front of his pants, his cock straining against the denim. On shaky knees, you sat up, your arms bracing for support on his broad chest. Two arms wrapped around your body, hands resting on your back, keeping you pressed close to him. Leaning down, he kissed you, and you groaned when his tongue pressed into your mouth, tasting your release on him.

But you couldn’t ignore the way he pressed into you, and you managed to sneak a hand between your bodies, fingers running gently over him. He tore away from the kiss then, an airy noise that almost sounded like a chuckle leaving him. Smiling sweetly at him, you retracted your hand, only to start unbuttoning his shirt with thinly veiled desperation. Your hands were still shaking, which just made getting the little buttons undone an almost impossible task.

You felt him wrap his hands around your wrist, halting you. Gentle kisses were pressed against your hands before he set them beside you. His less-shaky hands quickly unbuttoned his shirt, your eyes greedily taking him in as the first bare expanse of his chest was exposed to you. As his shirt hit the ground, the sound it made barely covered up the noise you made when his upper half was exposed to you for the first time.

You knew he was a large man, but seeing him bare made the fact clear. Another fact that you quickly came to realize was that he was the most stunning man you’ve ever had the privilege to see. It had long been clear that he was a beautiful man, but you were quite literally staring at him with an open mouth, your heart feeling like it was going to burst out of your chest.

Scars littered his body, the most substantial one being on his shoulder. It looked like a freshly healed gunshot wound, which made your heart lurch. Smaller scars trailed down his body, mostly straight lines and a few jagged edges. A dusting of wiry, brown hair covered his entire body, and you didn’t bother to resist the urge to run your hands through it. It was softer than you expected, and you let your hands roam freely, loving the way that Arthur seemed to purr under your touch. It turned into a groan when you brushed over his nipples, finding pleasure in teasing him the way he had done to you.

“You’re so gorgeous, Arthur,” you cooed out, nails scratching lightly over his skin. It was his turn to shudder, to be turned to jelly because of your actions. Your name left his lips as a whine, and you couldn’t deny how incredible it made you feel. His abdominal muscles jumped when your fingers ghosted over them, his breath catching when you began to tug at his gunbelt. “Take this off?” You asked, resting your chin against his chest and looking up at him. “Please?”

He had already started taking it off as soon as you asked, but you knew that he’d love hearing the added please. And he did, his eyes rolling back as he groaned. It didn’t take long before he was setting the belt down on the ground, being gentle to not cause a misfire of the weapon.

He was less considerate with his regular belt, the accessory hitting the ground with a large clattering noise that made you jump. You grinned when you heard the sound of a zipper, and you worked your own hands down to help him ease off his pants, underwear included, down enough to free him. A hiss left his mouth as his cock was exposed to the air, and you dared to look down.

Even with the lack of light, you could tell that he was quite well-endowed. When you took him in hand, you were almost startled to find that you couldn’t wrap your hand around him, but pure desire blocked out those thoughts. You didn’t care if it hurt, you needed him now.

You stroked him a few times, pants of air escaping his lips, and his hips jolted when your thumb brushed over his tip. Precum coated the digit, and you brought it to your mouth. You made a show of cleaning it off, tongue running over the length of it before taking it into your mouth. Hollowing your cheeks, you groaned in approval as the salty tang hit your tastebuds.

Removing it from your mouth with a pop, you sat back on your heels, helping to work his garments down his thighs, before letting it drop and pool at his feet. As he kicked it away, you let your eyes roam unabashedly, finally having a perfect view of his thick legs, also adorned with a light covering of hair. Backing up further on the bed and adjusting so that your head lay against pillows, you raised an amused brow when Arthur just stood there, eyes also roaming your body shamelessly.

“Are you just gonna stand there all night?” You teased.

“If you want me to.” There was an honesty to his words that had you melting, but you just rolled your eyes instead.

“C’mere,” you laughed, holding out a hand. He took it, letting you pull him onto the bed. He was on top of you in seconds, lips attaching to your neck again, a hand running down your body. Your own hands were all over him, every new piece of skin becoming familiar. You could feel his cock brush against your stomach as he leaned above you, leaking onto your skin.

As much as you loved his attention, you were so close to getting what you wanted that you couldn’t wait any longer. “Arthur,” you gasped out, “I need you.”

“You have me, darlin’. It’s just… you sure you’re ready?” You expected to find a hint of arrogance in his voice, but you found none, just genuine concern.

“I’m ready.”

Arthur brushed his lips over yours, then rested his forehead against yours. That awestruck, almost disbelieving look was back as he situated himself between your legs. Before he could, you snuck a hand down, holding him gently at the base to help him ease into you. He nearly faltered right there, not expecting to feel your hand, and you just smiled as sweetly as you could at him.

You whined when you felt him begin to press into you, removing your hand so that you didn’t hurt him on accident. Instead, you gripped onto his shoulders, nails biting into the skin, which seemed to just spur Arthur on more. He was slow, almost tortuously slow as he eased into you, strained breaths hitting your face. He was all you could feel, the delicious stretch of him; you’ve never felt such a wonderful pain.

It felt like hours had passed before you felt Arthur’s hips press flush against yours. Your chest rose and fell rapidly like you’d just run for miles. He felt incredible, and you could tell that he felt similarly by the small groans he tried to stifle. He stayed still inside you for a moment, letting you adjust, which the rational part of your brain was grateful for. But you had long since been ready for him, and you desperately needed him to move.

Petting back his hair, you brought his attention to you. So many emotions flashed in his eyes as he regarded you, a soft smile gracing his lips. You’d think that right now he’d look the most tense, but you’d never seen him so relaxed. The furrow in his brow was long gone, the crinkles in his eyes from smiling, not from squinting worriedly.

“I love you, Arthur,” you found yourself saying again that night, and you swore his ears turned red.

He stammered out something in response, but you just shushed him gently, running a hand back through his hair. “You don’t gotta say it back. I just needed you to know.”

“Oh, I know, darlin’. Don’t you ever think otherwise.”

You just hummed in response, before wiggling your hips slightly. He got the message, slowly pulling himself out of you, leaving only the tip in. His eyes never once left you, gauging your reactions. All you could do was moan, too overwhelmed with the feeling of him to do anything else.

It didn’t take too long for him to build a slow rhythm, the rocking of his hips gentle. Even his touch was light as it danced over your skin, making you shiver. With each thrust in and out, your breasts moved with the motion, and eventually, Arthur just couldn’t resist the temptation. His lips were all over them as he continued to rock into you.

Your legs had locked around his waist, keeping his body as close to you as possible. You felt so full, hitting spots inside of you that you hadn’t even reached before. Every slow drag of his hips was magnificent, and you could feel the slow beginnings of another orgasm begin to form. It was long since reaching its completion, but you knew exactly what you needed to reach it faster.

Carding your fingers into his hair, you pressed your lips against his, this kiss sloppy and uncoordinated, but you did manage to snag his lip between your teeth. It gave you the reaction you wanted, his hips bucking into yours harshly, making you cry out with pleasure. “Arthur…” you tried to speak, but another roll of his hips made you moan, cutting you off.

“Darlin’, you feel so… God.”

“Arthur,” you tried again. “Faster, please.”

He didn’t have to be told twice. Praises tumbled from you as he picked up the pace, and you felt yourself building faster. Yet it wasn’t enough, and you finally just told him what you needed from him.

“I need you to fuck me, Arthur.”

If he was shocked by your words, he did a damn good job hiding it. He said your name, low, cautionary, making you shiver again. He continued the pace he was at, though, and your fingers tugged at his hair in mild frustration. “Darlin’, you-”

“Fuck me, Arthur.” You didn’t care that you sounded like you were whining. When he pulled out of you completely, you were confused, but it was quickly replaced by sheer arousal at the look on his face.

Like you weighed nothing, you were flipped over by Arthur, being manhandled by him turning you on a lot more than you thought it would. Now on your hands and knees, you didn’t even get to glance back at him before he was filling you again. His hands dug into the flesh of your hips as he pounded into you relentlessly, and you’re sure your voice would be hoarse later because of how loudly you were crying out.

With every thrust in, he hit something in you that made you see stars. “Is this what my girl wanted?” You heard him ask, panting lightly from exertion. “Am I fuckin’ you just like ya wanted?”

“God, Arthur, yes!” You could feel your release coming closer, faster than you anticipated.

“Is this what you imagined?” He leaned down close to your ear. “Is this what you imagined I’d do to you, instead of him?” He said the last word with so much venom, so much hatred. Jeasuly, you realized, looked good on him. But he didn’t need to know that Hans had never had you like this; you were enjoying his anger.

“Even better.” You admitted. “So much better.”

You groaned when you felt his hand sneak between your legs, rubbing at your clit with hard, short circles. “You feel even better than I imagined, darlin’.” His words hit you like a freight train, and you glanced back at him, shocked. “What, you thought you’re the only one with dirty thoughts?” His lips grazed your shoulderblades. “Oh, darlin’, I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout this for longer than I care to admit.”

If you weren’t currently about to fall apart beneath him, you would’ve asked him to tell you more. But you couldn’t, and you felt the tension in you begin to shatter. “Arthur, I’m…”

“I’ll be right behind ya,” he groaned into your skin. “C’mon, darlin’, let me feel ya…” With a final thrust of his hips and press of his fingers, you came again, your arms shaking. It only took a few more thrusts for Arthur, especially because of the way your walls fluttered and clenched around him, and he quickly pulled out of you before spilling across your back.

Your arms finally gave out, collapsing face-first into the pillows. Pleasure coursed through your body, making your muscles buzz pleasantly. You felt the bed shift, and you whined at the lack of heart from Arthur. “I’ll be right back, darlin’. I promise,” he chuckled lightly.

True to his word, he was back within moments. You must’ve dozed off for a second, but you were woken up with a start when you felt a damp, warm washrag wipe at your skin. “S’just me,” he reassured, quickly cleaning your skin of his release.

When you heard him set it on the nightstand, you finally rolled over, glancing up at Arthur. After enhancing soft smiles, he leaned down and kissed you, which quickly turned from light grazing of lips to a heated kiss. When his tongue swiped at your bottom lip, you felt arousal begin to creep back into your system. The things this man did to you.

Still, much to his evident disappointment, you pulled him away. You saw the bags under his eyes, still as evident as they were a while ago. “Arthur,” you sighed, “you’re exhausted.”

He just shrugged, clearly not regarding his well-being. “I made ya a promise, darlin’,” he smirked. “Besides, I don’t think I could sleep if I wanted to.”

“But-”

His lips silenced you, and when he pulled away you glared lightly at him. “We’ll just sleep in late tomorrow, no?”

You sighed, but it was hard to remain adamant in your stance with the way he pleaded at you with his eyes. “I suppose-” His lips collided against yours, climbing on top of you, like he couldn’t bear to be away from you any longer. But what made you gasp was the feeling of his almost hard cock pressing against you, ready for another round.

The two of you didn’t go to bed until the light from the sunrise streamed into the room, tangled up in a mess of blankets and limbs.

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