#smart led driver

[qrpixel]

Range of smart products!!

QR-Pixel is a global brand that strives to create a smart platform for home automation, lighting and control at most affordable prices. With a wide portfolio of products, we aspire to meet every requirement that is presented to us. With a strong R&D, we are working on creating smart products that are not only futuristic but also affordable read more...

[glitzlighting]

Power your Lighting with Precision and Style Uniq LED Driver for Modern, Efficient Performance⚡️

[vmantras]

MG ZS EV Executive: A Comprehensive Review

₹18.98 Lakh General Overview The MG ZS EV Executive is a modern electric vehicle (EV) that offers a balance of style, practicality, and cutting-edge features. It is available in three colors: Starry Black, Aurora Silver, and Candy White, and is backed by a 3-year warranty with unlimited kilometers, ensuring long-term reliability for owners. This SUV targets individuals seeking an eco-conscious…

[ledcityusa]

How Can Aluminum LED Channels Improve the Efficiency of Your LED Lighting?

Lighting technology has come a long way, moving from old incandescent bulbs to more efficient and long-lasting LED lights. Both businesses and homeowners are now choosing these bulbs because they save energy and perform better. But to get the most out of your LED lights, it’s not just about picking the right bulbs. Aluminum LED channels are essential, too. These channels help spread the light evenly, protect the light from dust and moisture, and keep it cool by managing heat. This not only makes these lights last longer but also makes installation and maintenance easier, saving you time and money. This article will explain how these LED channels can improve your LED lighting and how they help spread light more evenly, making your lighting last longer.

Optimizing Light Distribution

One of the primary advantages of using aluminum LED channels is their ability to optimize light distribution. These channels protect the LEDs and spread light more evenly, which helps to reduce glare and make the lighting look better. This is particularly important in commercial spaces where good lighting is needed for both practical use and comfort. By improving how light is distributed, businesses can make sure their areas are well-lit, which can boost productivity and make customers happier.

Enhancing Durability

Aluminum is known for being strong and resistant to rust and damage. When LED strips are covered in aluminum channels, they are protected from

dust,

moisture,

and physical impact.

This protection is vital in harsher environments or in areas where lights need to withstand regular cleaning. By safeguarding the LEDs, aluminum channels extend the lifespan of the lighting system, which is particularly beneficial for commercial LED lighting applications that require consistent and reliable brightness.

Improving Heat Reduction

LEDs generate heat, and managing this heat is key to maintaining their efficiency and lifespan. Aluminum LED channels assist in reducing heat more effectively. The metal acts as a heat sink, pulling heat away from the LED bulbs and dispersing it more evenly. This cooling effect helps prevent overheating, thereby maintaining the efficiency of the LEDs and preventing premature failure. This feature is crucial in high-power applications such as 480v lighting, where managing thermal output is essential for safety and efficiency.

Streamlining Installation and Maintenance

Another significant benefit of aluminum LED channels is their contribution to easier installation and maintenance. These channels often come with all necessary mounting hardware and can be easily integrated into various architectural styles. For businesses, this means quicker setup times and lower labor costs. Maintenance also becomes simpler, as the channels provide straightforward access to the LEDs for cleaning and replacements, ensuring minimal downtime and disruption. This easy access helps avoid extended outages and keeps your lighting system working well.

Final remarks

Incorporating aluminum LED channels into your commercial lighting setup is not just about aesthetics; it’s about enhancing efficiency, durability, and performance, especially in demanding commercial environments. Whether you are upgrading your office, retail space, or production area, consider how these channels can improve the effectiveness of your lighting solutions. Those searching for high-quality LED products can look at the products offered by businesses such as LED City. They boost your lighting efficiency with solutions that shine brighter and last longer. With better light spread and heat management, you’ll get more reliable and consistent lighting. Also, they help you cut maintenance and energy costs.

[electronalytics]

Constant Current LED Lighting Power Supply Market Report, Growth and Status Explored in a New Research Report 2032

Overview: The Constant Current LED Lighting Power Supply Market refers to the market for power supply devices specifically designed to provide a stable and regulated current to LED lighting systems. LED lighting technology has gained significant popularity due to its energy efficiency, longer lifespan, and versatility. Constant current LED lighting power supplies ensure that LEDs receive a consistent and controlled current, allowing them to operate optimally. Here is an overview, key trends, demand factors, and market segmentation by platform related to the Constant Current LED Lighting Power Supply Market:

Key Trends:

1.            Transition to LED Lighting: The global lighting industry is undergoing a transition from traditional lighting sources to LED lighting technology. LED lighting offers numerous benefits such as energy efficiency, longer lifespan, reduced maintenance costs, and enhanced lighting quality. This transition is driving the demand for constant current LED lighting power supplies.

2.            Growing Demand for Energy Efficiency: Energy efficiency is a key driver in the adoption of LED lighting solutions. Constant current LED lighting power supplies are designed to maximize the energy efficiency of LED lighting systems by providing an optimized current output, minimizing energy wastage.

3.            Integration of Smart Lighting Solutions: The integration of smart lighting systems and IoT (Internet of Things) technology is a significant trend in the lighting industry. Constant current LED lighting power supplies are increasingly being equipped with smart features such as dimming capabilities, color control, and wireless connectivity to enable advanced lighting control and automation.

4.            Demand for Compact and High-Efficiency Power Supplies: With the increasing miniaturization of LED lighting fixtures and the need for space-saving solutions, there is a growing demand for compact and high-efficiency constant current LED lighting power supplies. Manufacturers are focusing on developing power supplies with smaller form factors, high power density, and improved heat dissipation.

Demand Factors:

1.            LED Lighting Adoption: The increasing adoption of LED lighting across residential, commercial, and industrial sectors is driving the demand for constant current LED lighting power supplies. The need for reliable power supply devices to ensure the optimal performance of LED lighting systems is a significant demand factor.

2.            Retrofitting and Upgrades: Retrofitting existing lighting installations with LED lighting technology is a common practice to enhance energy efficiency and lighting quality. As a result, there is a demand for constant current LED lighting power supplies for retrofit projects and upgrades of traditional lighting systems.

3.            Energy Efficiency Requirements: Energy efficiency regulations and sustainability goals set by governments and organizations are fueling the demand for energy-efficient lighting solutions. Constant current LED lighting power supplies play a crucial role in achieving high energy efficiency and meeting regulatory requirements.

Market Segmentation by Platform:

The Constant Current LED Lighting Power Supply Market can be segmented based on the platform or application where the power supplies are deployed. Some common platform segments include:

•             Residential LED Lighting Power Supplies

•             Commercial LED Lighting Power Supplies

•             Industrial LED Lighting Power Supplies

•             Outdoor LED Lighting Power Supplies

•             Architectural and Decorative LED Lighting Power Supplies

•             Automotive LED Lighting Power Supplies

•             Horticultural LED Lighting Power Supplies

•             Signage and Display LED Lighting Power Supplies

Each platform segment may have specific requirements and considerations, such as power capacity, form factor, environmental ruggedness, and compatibility with lighting control systems.

We recommend referring our Stringent datalytics firm, industry publications, and websites that specialize in providing market reports. These sources often offer comprehensive analysis, market trends, growth forecasts, competitive landscape, and other valuable insights into this market.

By visiting our website or contacting us directly, you can explore the availability of specific reports related to this market. These reports often require a purchase or subscription, but we provide comprehensive and in-depth information that can be valuable for businesses, investors, and individuals interested in this market.

“Remember to look for recent reports to ensure you have the most current and relevant information.”

Click Here, To Get Free Sample Report: https://stringentdatalytics.com/sample-request/constant-current-led-lighting-power-supply-market/6947/  

Market Segmentations:

Type:

a. Constant Current LED Drivers: These power supplies are specifically designed to provide a steady and regulated current output to LED lighting systems. They ensure that LEDs receive a consistent current level, allowing for optimal performance and longevity.

Application:

a. Residential LED Lighting Power Supplies: Power supplies tailored for LED lighting applications in residential settings, such as homes and apartments.

b. Commercial LED Lighting Power Supplies: Power supplies designed for LED lighting installations in commercial spaces, including offices, retail stores, hotels, and restaurants.

c. Industrial LED Lighting Power Supplies: Power supplies optimized for LED lighting in industrial environments, such as factories, warehouses, and manufacturing facilities.

d. Outdoor LED Lighting Power Supplies: Power supplies built to withstand outdoor conditions and provide reliable power for LED lighting in applications like street lighting, parking lots, and sports stadiums.

e. Architectural and Decorative LED Lighting Power Supplies: Power supplies specifically for architectural and decorative lighting applications, including lighting for buildings, monuments, and art installations.

f. Automotive LED Lighting Power Supplies: Power supplies designed for LED lighting systems in automotive applications, such as headlights, taillights, and interior lighting.

g. Horticultural LED Lighting Power Supplies: Power supplies optimized for LED lighting used in indoor farming, greenhouse cultivation, and horticultural applications.

h. Signage and Display LED Lighting Power Supplies: Power supplies tailored for LED lighting in signage, billboards, electronic displays, and digital screens.

Power Capacity:

a. Low Power Constant Current LED Power Supplies: Power supplies with lower power ratings suitable for small-scale LED lighting installations or applications with lower power requirements.

b. Medium Power Constant Current LED Power Supplies: Power supplies with moderate power ratings suitable for a wide range of LED lighting applications in various settings.

c. High Power Constant Current LED Power Supplies: Power supplies with higher power ratings designed for demanding LED lighting installations or applications with higher power requirements.

Dimming and Control:

a. Non-Dimmable Constant Current LED Power Supplies: Power supplies without dimming capabilities, providing a fixed and steady current output to LED lighting systems.

b. Dimmable Constant Current LED Power Supplies: Power supplies equipped with dimming features, allowing for adjustable brightness and control of LED lighting intensity.

Connectivity and Smart Features:

a. Standard Constant Current LED Power Supplies: Power supplies without additional connectivity or smart features.

b. Smart Constant Current LED Power Supplies: Power supplies with integrated smart technology, enabling wireless connectivity, remote control, and advanced lighting control features.

Global Constant Current LED Lighting Power Supply Market: Regional Analysis

All the regional segmentation has been studied based on recent and future trends, and the market is forecasted throughout the prediction period. The countries covered in the regional analysis of the Global Constant Current LED Lighting Power Supply market report are U.S., Canada, and Mexico in North America, Germany, France, U.K., Russia, Italy, Spain, Turkey, Netherlands, Switzerland, Belgium, and Rest of Europe in Europe, Singapore, Malaysia, Australia, Thailand, Indonesia, Philippines, China, Japan, India, South Korea, Rest of Asia-Pacific (APAC) in the Asia-Pacific (APAC), Saudi Arabia, U.A.E, South Africa, Egypt, Israel, Rest of Middle East and Africa (MEA) as a part of Middle East and Africa (MEA), and Argentina, Brazil, and Rest of South America as part of South America.

Visit Report Page for More Details: https://stringentdatalytics.com/reports/constant-current-led-lighting-power-supply-market/6947/  

Reasons to Purchase Constant Current LED Lighting Power Supply Market Report:

• To obtain insights into industry trends and dynamics, including market size, growth rates, and important factors and difficulties. This study offers insightful information on these topics.

• To identify important participants and rivals: This research studies can assist companies in identifying key participants and rivals in their sector, along with their market share, business plans, and strengths and weaknesses.

• To comprehend consumer behaviour: these research studies can offer insightful information about customer behaviour, including preferences, spending patterns, and demographics.

• To assess market opportunities: These research studies can aid companies in assessing market chances, such as prospective new goods or services, fresh markets, and new trends.

• To make well-informed business decisions: These research reports give companies data-driven insights that they may use to plan their strategy, develop new products, and devise marketing and advertising plans.

In general, market research studies offer companies and organisations useful data that can aid in making decisions and maintaining competitiveness in their industry. They can offer a strong basis for decision-making, strategy formulation, and company planning.

About US:

Stringent Datalytics offers both custom and syndicated market research reports. Custom market research reports are tailored to a specific client's needs and requirements. These reports provide unique insights into a particular industry or market segment and can help businesses make informed decisions about their strategies and operations.

Syndicated market research reports, on the other hand, are pre-existing reports that are available for purchase by multiple clients. These reports are often produced on a regular basis, such as annually or quarterly, and cover a broad range of industries and market segments. Syndicated reports provide clients with insights into industry trends, market sizes, and competitive landscapes. By offering both custom and syndicated reports, Stringent Datalytics can provide clients with a range of market research solutions that can be customized to their specific needs

Contact US:

Stringent Datalytics

Contact No -  +1 346 666 6655

Email Id -  sales@stringentdatalytics.com  

Web - https://stringentdatalytics.com/

[no-144444]

hey girl! I LOVEEED your last lando story and i was just wondering if you could do a smut with lewis and franco and reader where lewis is married to reader and franco is into her so lewis makes him watch while he's fucking her? just thought it could be hot.

thank you ml!!!

know it- l.hamilton & f.colapinto

summary: lewis is possessive. franco is a flirt. makes for one wild night. (18+)

pairing: lewis hamilton x fem! wife reader x franco colapinto

warnings: shockingly SMUT. 18+ also, slightly filthy smut, so yeah.

a/n: i'll just leave this here... (why am i only writing smut this week wtf?)

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Lewis was known to be a calm person. 

He was anything but calm as he watched Franco put his hand on your waist. Lewis was under the impression that anyone with half a brain could see that you were his wife. Clearly Franco had less than half a brain. He likes Franco, he was a good kid, a good driver, etc. But clearly he wasn’t smart. 

Lewis stalked over to you, the red flashing lights of the dance floor exenuating every single one of your perfect features. He watched like a hawk as you laughed along to one of Franco’s bad jokes. He understood where Franco was coming from, of course he did. He did marry you, after all. But you were exactly that, his wife. Franco wasn’t going to change that. You stood in the centre of the room, your flowing hair and long dress making you look like a goddess. Too bad he was the only one allowed to worship you. 

He kissed your cheek as you leaned in to listen to whatever Franco was saying. You instinctively wrapped an arm around Lewis’s neck, pulling him closer. Franco frowned when he saw Lewis, but picked it back up in time before you saw. 

So he knew what he was doing. 

Lewis smirked as he snaked a hand around your waist, removing Franco’s hand. 

“What do you say about getting out of here?” He murmured, pressing soft kisses to the side of your neck. You knew what he meant. Franco quickly excused himself, though not before sending Lewis a particularly withering look. 

“This is meant to be your party, Lewis,” you teasingly reminded him. “We��re hosting. We can’t just leave.” 

“Actually, I think we can,” he chuckled, a recognisable danger in his eyes. He leaned in again, his mouth just beside your ear. “We can do whatever the fuck we want.”

“Whatever we want?” You mused, your hands exploring down his arms. 

“Anything baby, anything,” he smirked, taking your hands in his. “And I have a few plans,” he admitted. 

You smirked up at him with those eyes, the ones that made him want to throw caution to the wind and fuck you right there in front of everyone. In front of Franco. 

Now that was an idea. 

“You do?” You swallowed, feeling the wetness pool between your legs. “And what are those plans?” You whispered. 

“I’m going to fuck you,” he whispered back, making eye contact with Franco. Franco stared at the two of you with a scowl. “And I’m going to make Franco watch.”

You gasped. Never in your marriage had Lewis ever remotely been inclined to share. Not that you ever wanted to either, but Lewis was… possessive to say the least. “Lewis-“

“I’m sure he’ll come to our bedroom if you ask him, won’t he sweetheart?” He smirked, his cock pushing up against his slacks. 

“Lewis, are you sure?” You asked. 

“If you’re alright with it,” he whispered. “I want to see his face when he realises you only cum for me.”

The created quite the image in your head. You gulped. 

And walked over to Franco, ready to ask him, just like the slut Lewis knew you were. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

Franco walked into the club bathroom, you pulling him along. He pressed experimental kisses to your shoulder as you led him to the right place. 

Lewis was waiting and he watched as Franco’s face fell. 

“I noticed how you kept looking at me,” you spoke up, turning to face Franco. “We were wondering if you wanted to join us.”

His cock hardened in his pants and he gulped. “Y-yes.”

Lewis smirked. “Sit over there.”

Franco did as he was told, sitting in the corner of the room. Both the men watched as you pulled off your dress pain-stakingly slowly, but they were basically in awe when they saw you naked. 

“No panties?” Lewis chuckled as you sat on his lap. “So dirty.”

Franco thought he was going to explode right then and there if he didn’t get to touch you. 

You shrugged and grinned Lewis’s lip as you kissed him. His hands groped all over your body, and Franco bit his lip to stop himself from moaning. The sight in front of him was so erotic, listening to your little moans as Lewis teased you, watching how you were putty in his hands. 

“Such a pretty pussy,” Lewis whispered as he drew little circles on you clit. “Should we let Franco see?” 

You nodded eagerly. You’d never felt sexier. Two of the most beautiful men in the world begging to fuck you? Yeah, way to boost a girl’s ego. 

“Such a dirty slut,” Lewis shook his head and slapped your ass, making you jolt closer to him. Though he obliged you all the same, signaling for Franco to come over. He knelt in front of the both of you, a perfect view of your dripping pussy, watching as Lewis played with you. “Do you want to touch, Franco?” 

“Please,” He groaned, grinding into his own hand. 

Lewis laughed as your joint desperation. “Play with her all you want,” he smirked, dropping you onto Franco’s face. 

You immediately started riding his nose like your life depended on it, steadying yourself on Lewis’s thighs. Franco was in the seventh fucking heaven as he tongue-fucked you, your thighs on either side of his face, caging him in. Lewis ate pussy like a champion, and while Franco wasn’t as good, he was definitely different. Lewis fucked like he drove, like he already won. Franco fucked like he still had something to prove. 

“You like riding his face baby?” Lewis cooed, unbuttoning his trousers. 

You moaned out some sort of agreement, your eyes unfocused and glassy. 

“You gonna suck my cock like a good girl?” He cooed again. 

He watched in delight as your eyes went wide. You tentatively wrapped a hand around his heavy cock, stroking him softly. You pressed kitten licks to his head between moans, before he grabbed you by the hair and sunk you down on his cock. You nearly screamed. The mixture of pleasure and pain becoming practically unbearable, but you still couldn’t cum. 

You sucked on his cock like you were trying to milk him dry, and he enjoyed every single moment of it. He listened to your little moans and Franco groans of desperation between your legs, and came down your throat. You swallowed without even having to be asked.

“Please let me cum!” You begged as he pulled you off his cock. “Lewis, I need you to make me cum, please make me cum baby, please.”

Lewis chuckled. “Franco isn’t making you cum?” 

You shook your head, eyes filling with tears. “Only you, Lew, please.”

Who was he to deny his girl? He lifted you off Franco’s face and pulled you onto his cock. Franco groaned at the loss of contact, while you practically screamed at Lewis’s size. No matter how many times, you still weren’t used to it. 

Lewis looked down at Franco, wet patch on his trousers, your wetness covering the lower half of his face, and a satisfied but pained smile on his lips. He watched you two in the mirror, completely transfixed on the sight in front of him. 

“You doing alright Franco?” Lewis laughed as you bounced up and down on his cock, his own voice straining. 

“Great,” he answered, his voice weak. 

“Y’gonna fuck her in the ass while I fuck her tight pussy?” He smirked. Franco stood right up and pulled his trousers down. He looked at your ass, noticing the butt plug he’d missed before. He could’ve moaned out loud. He slowly pulled it out, pulling a high-pitched moan from you, and he replaced it with his own cock, already hard again. 

“Y’gonna let Franco fuck you baby?” Lewis asked as you tensed, feeling Franco enter you. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You shouted, digging your head into his shoulder. “I need to cum!”

“You cum baby, Franco and I aren’t done yet,” Lewis cooed, feeling you squirt on his cock. He looked up at Franco as he fucked you through your orgasm. His pupils were blown out as he fucked your asshole, practically drooling all over you. Lewis smirked. 

“She’s cumming on my cock,” he gritted out, fucking you harder. “She wears my ring on his finger. She sleeps in my bed,” Lewis pushed Franco back, just as he was about to cum. Franco came all over himself, a groaning mess. “She’s my wife. Don’t fucking forget it.”

Franco watched as Lewis came deep inside you, triggering your second orgasm of the night. The jealousy he harboured only grew, while Lewis’s pride soared. 

You were his.

Franco knew that now.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

navigation for my blog :)

ferrari masterlist

alpine masterlist

[rafesbows]

older!policeofficer!rafe and partygirl!reader where he comes to break up a house party and she’s there. rafe has arrested her multiple times before and she always flirts with rafe when he arrests her (he tries to remain professional but she can always see the way he’s lowkey into it). tn she’s in a bad mood so instead of flirting w him she’s just being a smart-mouthed brat and giving rafe attitude. once he handcuffs her and puts her in the back of his car he takes them somewhere and he fucks the attitude out of her in the handcuffs please i’m on my hands and knees begging

"real professional, officer," you snarked, rolling your eyes as rafe clicked the cuffs around your wrists, his grip firm as he guided you toward the squad car. "what, you get off on arresting me or something?"

his jaw tensed, a muscle ticking as he ignored you, shoving the back door open and pushing you inside.

"thought you loved when i arrested you," he muttered, shutting the door behind you.

normally, you'd flirt, pout, bat your lashes and tease him just to watch him squirm, but tonight, you were pissed. your mood was sour, your usual act nowhere to be found.

"yeah, well, tonight i think it’s fucking boring," you shot back, shifting in the seat as the cuffs dug into your skin.

rafe only let out a slow, deep breath, slipping into the driver's seat without another word. you expected him to take you to the station, same old routine. but instead, he drove in the opposite direction, turning down a back road that led nowhere.

you narrowed your eyes. "uh, where are we going?"

rafe didn’t answer, just pulled into an empty lot, threw the car into park, and turned to you, expression dark.

"you wanna act like a brat, huh?" he murmured, voice lower now, rough around the edges.

your stomach flipped.

"what, you gonna add an extra charge to my record?" you shot back, playing it cool.

but rafe just smirked. slow. dangerous.

"nah," he drawled, reaching back and yanking you forward, your cuffed wrists pinned between you. "m’gonna fuck it out of you."

before you could respond, his mouth was on yours, hot and demanding, hands gripping your hips and pulling you onto his lap. the cold metal of the cuffs pressed into your lower stomach as he shifted you, dragging you over the bulge in his uniform pants.

"so fuckin' mouthy," he muttered against your lips, his grip tightening. "lemme see if you’re still talkin’ after i’m done with you."

your breath hitched, thighs squeezing around him as his hands moved under your dress, fingers hooking into your panties and yanking them to the side.

"been waitin’ for this," he groaned, voice strained as he freed himself, the head of his cock brushing against your dripping core. "you love pushing me, don’t you?"

your head fell back with a gasp as he pushed inside, stretching you open with one slow, deep thrust.

"fuck, officer," you whimpered, arms straining against the cuffs as you tried to grip him.

rafe chuckled darkly, his hands moving to your hips, holding you still.

"show some respect."

rafe punctuated his words with a deep, brutal thrust, forcing a strangled moan from your lips. your bound wrists pressed against his chest as you tried to brace yourself, but he was relentless, slamming up into you like he had something to prove.

"this what you needed, huh?" he gritted out, his fingers digging bruises into your hips as he used you, dragging you up and down his cock. "this why you act like such a fuckin’ brat? just needed me to put you in your place?"

you let out a high-pitched whimper, your head falling back against the car window as his thick length hit every spot inside you, stretching you open in the most delicious way.

"look at you now," he scoffed, his voice dripping with amusement. "not so tough when you’re stuffed full of my cock, huh?"

you tried to glare at him, but the pleasure was too much, his pace unrelenting, his grip firm, forcing you to take every inch of him.

rafe smirked at your fucked-out expression, at the way your lips parted in a silent moan every time he bottomed out.

"thought you didn’t wanna flirt with me tonight," he taunted, his breath hot against your ear. "but now? now you’re begging for it."

you didn’t even realize you were whining, desperate little gasps spilling from your lips as he fucked you deeper, harder, each stroke sending shocks of pleasure straight to your core.

"rafe—oh, fuck—"

"yeah, that’s what i thought," he grunted, his thrusts growing erratic as your walls clenched around him, squeezing him tight. "so fuckin’ wet for me. fuckin’ ruined."

your wrists strained against the cuffs, desperate to touch him, to claw at his shoulders, to ground yourself.

but rafe wasn’t letting you have control, not even a little bit.

"gonna fill you up so good, you’ll be drippin’ with me for days."

your eyes fluttered shut, your body tensing as your orgasm crashed over you, waves of white-hot pleasure making your legs shake.

rafe wasn’t far behind. his grip turning bruising, his thrusts growing sloppy, desperate, until he was spilling inside you, a deep growl tearing from his throat as he buried himself to the hilt.

you stayed like that for a moment, panting, your bodies tangled together in the backseat of his squad car.

rafe finally pulled back, his lips curling into a smirk as he looked down at the mess between your thighs.

"yeah," he murmured, dragging his thumb along your jaw. "think you finally learned your lesson."

but the glint in his eye told you this wouldn’t be the last time you found yourself in his handcuffs.

@ rafesbows

[butchshevik]

Yeah so as recent news from LA illustrates perfectly: a lot of orgs are going to be organizing protests, because it's visible and attracts turnout, particularly among young folks who want to be engaged but may not have deep organizing chops. These orgs are generally not used to countering direct resistance from the emboldened police state, and because of the prevalence of "horizontal" org structures, they may not have strong leadership making snap (let alone good) strategic decisions on the ground. If youre going to protest, know what the fuck a kettle is, and do not enter one. Unfortunately, from the middle of a large group, a kettle might be impossible to identify until it's too late - so you have to know who youre organizing with, and know when to cut and get out of dodge.

Just in general, an org that organizes a protest under the repressive militarized American regime, asks you to expose yourself to that violence as a consequence of attending, and then designs a protest route that gets them kettled - or that allows itself to be led off-route into a kettle - is not adequately protecting its members or looking out for your safety. An org that has a protest route without a vehicle brigade between you and the cops whenever possible is not adequately protecting its members or looking out for your safety. An org that demonstrates without a black block contingent in sight is not even vaguely serious about contending with police violence. And even orgs that plan smart routes, enlist drivers, and encourage block still might not be at all prepared if the state decides to show out in force. Protests are necessary and promote the visibility of dissent but they are one of the least effective means of organizing a genuine resistance to fascism. Don't do something that feels off, or that doesnt have a clear and direct aim that outweighs the very real threat, just to feel like you did something at all. Be smart. Be safe. And don't get fucking ganked for so little as carrying a cardboard sign.

[gullemec]

Cowboy Clean

A Red Dead Redemption One-Shot

main masterlist ao3

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

Summary: Arthur Morgan has been a thorn in your side from the moment you met him. Things come to a head when you find out he's decided to treat himself to a deluxe bath in Valentine.

Warnings: rivals to lovers, lots of bickering/banter, reader gets covered in horse shit lol, jealousy/possessiveness, vaginal fingering, brief hand job, unprotected PIV sex, creampie, fluffy fluff

Please let me know if I missed any TWs <3

WC: 7.9k

A/N: So uhhhh I did this! I have a bunch of ideas percolating for an Arthur Morgan x reader series but that's a long way off and and I couldn't get this scene out of my head. Enjoy!

You scoop a handful of cold river water to your chest, the sting of it smarting like a snakebite against your already chilled body. It washes away the last traces of lye soap, though you’re not sure what’s worse, the stink of sweat and horse dung, or the way this damn water has you shaking like a leaf. Gooseflesh blooms a constellation across your skin, a shiver coursing down your spine as the current tugs at your ankles. The sun’s trying its best, but it’s still late April, and the wind cuts through the cotton of your wet chemise like it ain’t even there.

You can just about hear Miss Grimshaw’s voice now, all iron and vinegar, barking from the top of the hill the moment you make your way back up to camp. 

“You fixin’ to catch your death out there?” she’ll snap. “Or are you just plain stupid?” 

Probably both, by her standards. Of course, she'd hollered at you just the same when you came slogging into camp earlier, half-covered in horse shit. You reckon she’s gonna have to choose her battles one of these days.

You’d been out hunting with Charles, trying to put some meat on the table for the rest of them sorry bastards, not that anyone seemed to notice, or care. He'd spotted a wild boar off the ridge, and you’d notched your bow in a heartbeat, drawing for a clean shot. But just as you exhaled and your fingers twitched to release the arrow, a damn squirrel went skittering across the trail, spooking your horse.

Freya’s new. Barely saddle-broke and ornery as all hell. You paid too much for her, and you knew it the moment you led her out of that stable in Valentine. But by the time she bucked you off and sent you flying into a heap of her still warm droppings, you were certain of it.

Charles, bless his soul, bit his tongue and helped you to your feet without so much as a snort. The same cannot be said for the rest of the camp. Especially not him .

Arthur Morgan.

That man’s been a burr under your saddle since the day you met, both trying to rob the same stagecoach. 

You remember it like it was yesterday. Your shotgun drawn, face half-shaded by a wide-brimmed hat and red bandana pulled up over your nose, the hooves of your horse kicking up dust as you charged after the coach on the road to Emerald Ranch.

You were closing in when another rider came up fast from behind, his horse just a touch quicker, his draw just a little surer. You glanced over your shoulder and met his eyes. Cold blue, sharp as a whetted blade. You both hesitated, long enough to share a breath and a heartbeat. And then the coachman, scared stiff, dove from his seat and hit the dirt.

You didn’t think, you just moved. Leapt from your horse and landed hard on the driver’s bench, barely a second before the man vaulted up beside you.

You spent the next half-mile bickering at each other something awful, shouting over the clatter of wheels and hooves.

“I saw it first!”

“Hell you did, I pulled on the coachman!”

“Don’t matter none. I got on first!”

By the time you realized your horses were long gone and the stage had made it halfway to Emerald Ranch, it was too late to figure who won. All you knew was that you hated him then. You hate him only a little less now.

Eventually, the two of you reached a compromise, if you could even call it that. Neither of you walked away pleased. You split the money clip down the middle, argued over every last coin. The bag of jewelry you divvied up piece by piece, squinting at each item like it might whisper its value if stared at long enough. You got the short end of the stick with the ammo, but figured it wasn’t worth drawing steel over. Besides, you had your pride, and pride don’t need reloadin’.

By the time you trudged back to the spot outside Valentine where your horses were meant to be waiting, only his remained.

That goddamn, good-for-nothing, swaybacked old Thoroughbred. You could’ve screamed. Might’ve, if you weren’t so damn winded from the ride and the day and the company.

You’d spent the last hour wanting to shove his bandana into his smart mouth and shut him the hell up, but to your surprise, he didn’t ride off and leave you stranded. Could’ve. Should’ve, maybe, if he’d had any sense. But instead, Arthur Morgan looked at you all quiet-like, eyes narrowed against the setting sun, then offered his hand like it weren’t nothing.

"Need a lift?"

You didn’t answer at first. Just stared at him, all suspicious, like maybe this was some elaborate scheme to gloat from a better angle. But he didn’t push. Just waited. Eventually you took his hand, scowling all the while, and he helped you onto the back of the old mount like a gentleman might. You felt ridiculous, perched behind him, clutching his coat like some damsel, your pride hitching in your throat.

“You got someplace to be?” he asked after a while, almost reluctant.

You didn’t. Not really. Not anymore.

“I ride with a gang,” he said. “A group, more like. We move around some. You could stay a day or two, if you wanted. Won’t twist your arm.”

You’d said yes, figuring you’d stay long enough to steal something worth your trouble. Just a few days. A week, tops.

That was months ago.

Arthur Morgan had offered you a lifeline that day. But damn if he wasn’t also a splinter under your nail. 

Maybe it was lingering resentment from your initial meeting, both of you too stubborn to admit who had the better claim. . Maybe it was because Dutch and the others took a liking to you faster than they did him on some days, tossing you jobs that might’ve gone his way. Maybe it was the time you dumped a bucket of freezing creek water on his head after he kept you up all night snoring like a dying grizzly the night before a risky holdup. 

Or maybe it was just the way things always turned to sparks and spitfire when you were in each other’s orbit for more than five minutes.

Dutch called it friendly competition , like that explained anything.

Hosea just shook his head and muttered that y’all were worse than Sadie and Pearson. And considering Sadie once threatened to scalp Pearson with a fish knife, that said plenty.

But the real nail in the coffin came just this morning.

You came riding back into camp, soaked with sweat, your shirt covered in brown stains thanks to Freya bucking you off of her. Your hair was a frizzy mess beneath your hat, and you smelled like the inside of a stable.

You barely had a foot out of the stirrup before you heard him.

Arthur was leaned up against a barrel near the fire, sharpening his knife and grinning like the devil come to dinner.

“Well, I always knew you was full of shit,” he drawled, loud enough to draw half the camp’s attention. “Guess now I know it for sure.”

The laughter that followed echoed like a buckshot.

You were halfway off Freya, shit-streaked and murder-eyed, when Charles stepped in. One arm looped around your middle, lifting you clean off the ground before your knuckles could connect with Arthur’s smug jaw.

“Easy now,” Charles murmured. “Ain’t worth getting blood on your boots.”

You kicked and cursed, and Arthur laughed harder, but you caught the flicker in his eyes when he met yours, something resembling apologetic. Like he knew he’d crossed a line, but couldn’t help stepping over it anyway. Like maybe he liked the look on your face when you were mad, wild-eyed and burning with fire.

You suppose that’s part of the reason you’re down here in this freezing river, scrubbing away the scent of horse and humiliation from your skin, and the memory of his eyes from your mind.

But the water’s cold, the sun’s sinking low, and some things aren’t so easy to scrub out.

Not the dirt.

Not the grudges.

And sure as hell not Arthur Morgan.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“Headin’ into Valentine,” Arthur’s voice booms across camp like a gruff church bell, startling you from the cusp of a cat nap. You jerk upright with a grunt, blinking against the brightness bleeding through the canvas of your tent. “Anyone need anythin’?”

You groan and flop back down, curling in tighter against the bedroll. The sun’s baked the canvas just enough to make the little space feel like a warm cocoon, and for a blissful second, you debate pretending you didn’t hear him.

But then, unfortunately, you catch a whiff of yourself.

You wrinkle your nose.

You’d done what you could yesterday. Scrubbed up in the river, fought a losing battle with lye soap and a patch of muddy shoreline. But nature only gets you so far. And you’re starting to smell like Freya after a long ride in the rain.

Valentine has baths. Warm ones. With those fancy, perfumed soaps Twenty-five cents for the kind of luxury that could make a girl feel halfway civilized again. That ain’t pocket change, not when you’d worked damn hard for every dollar you had. But it’s not a crime to treat yourself once in a while, is it?

At least that’s what you tell yourself as you heave a sigh and roll off your bedroll, string of curses muttered under breath as you shove your boots on.

You squint through the midday sun until you spot him, just across the way, pulling a saddle from the side of the wagon that serves as both a wall for his tent and the gang’s general dumping ground. His hat hangs low over his brow, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth like he was born with it there.

“Wait up,” you call, stumbling as your foot catches in the tent flap. “I’m comin’ with ya.”

Arthur doesn’t even turn fully around, just casts a lazy glance over his shoulder and squints. “What business you got in Valentine?”

You roll your eyes and march past him, grabbing Freya’s saddle from where it’s resting near the hitching post. “I could ask you the same, Mr. Morgan.”

“I asked first,” he replies, that damn smirk already tugging at the corner of his mouth like it’s got a life of its own.

“If you must know, I’m in dire need of a hot bath.” You toss the saddle onto Freya’s back with a dramatic huff. “Some of us like to smell better than Pearson’s two-day-old possum stew once in a while. Not that you’d know anything about that.”

Arthur snorts, adjusting the cinch on his own saddle. “Is that what this is about? You ridin’ all the way into town just to waste money on soap and water?”

You pause to glare at him over Freya’s back. “I ain’t wastin’ it. I’m investin’ in public health.”

“Uh huh.” He squints at you, cocking his head. “Or maybe you’re plannin’ to go courtin’ some poor soul in Valentine. That it?”

“Maybe I am. Maybe I ain’t.” You adjust your hat and shoot him a grin that’s all teeth. “Why? You jealous?”

Arthur barks out a laugh, short and sharp. “Of the poor bastard dumb enough to fall for a lady such as yourself?” He pauses. “Assuming I can even call you a lady.”

You haul yourself into the saddle with a grunt, lean forward, and scratch Freya’s ears. “Just for that, Arthur Morgan, I’ll replace your soap with a bar of caked horse shit. See if you even notice the difference.”

He swings up onto his horse with the ease of a man who’s done it a thousand times, shaking his head. “You try that, and I’ll throw you in the river myself. Clothes and all.”

You click your tongue and nudge Freya forward, falling into pace beside him as the two of you ride out of camp. “You’d miss me the moment I was gone,” you say, voice light.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he drawls, but there’s no bite to it. In fact, that shit-eating grin’s been plastered on his face since the moment you came scrambling out of your tent.

You glance sideways at him, watching the way he shakes his head and laughs to himself like he don’t quite know what to make of you half the time. If you had to guess, you might be so bold as to say Arthur Morgan enjoys your company just as much as it irritates him.

And if you had a little whiskey in your belly and the moon was high, you might even admit you feel the same.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The ride into Valentine is as dusty, loud, and as unpleasant as the town itself. Chickens squawk. Mud squelches under wagon wheels. Some poor bastard’s getting screamed at by his wife outside the general store. The whole place smells like manure and moonshine and cheap tobacco.

Arthur reins in his horse outside the hotel and spits into the dirt, scanning the street like he’s already regretting bringing you along.

“Well,” he mutters, climbing down from his saddle. “Here we are. The height of civilization.”

You dismount Freya and toss her reins over the hitching post. “Astute observation, Morgan. Next thing I know, you’ll be makin’ sketches of the saloon piss bucket in that journal of yours.”

He gives you a sidelong look, lip twitching. “Only if you’re the one cleanin’ it out.”

You hum as you dust your trousers off. “Lovely. Maybe I will find someone better suited to my delicate nature while I’m in there.” You gesture toward the hotel. “Someone who smells less like cigarettes and horse sweat.”

Arthur snorts. “Best of luck to you. Now go get your damn bath before you scare the locals off.”

You’re halfway up the hotel steps when you pause, glancing back at him. He’s lighting another cigarette, already looking like he’s halfway to leaving you behind.

“You sure you don’t need a bath yourself?”

“Nah,” he says, taking a drag. “Got a few things to take care of. Heard about a bounty at the Sheriff's. Might visit the gunsmith, maybe the post office.”

You raise a brow. “You writin’ letters now? That’s sweet. Didn’t know you had a pen pal.”

He grins around his cigarette. “You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

You lean one hip against a porch post and shrug, a smug little smile curling your lips. “And yet you keep lettin’ me accompany you places. Kinda gives the impression you enjoy it.”

Arthur flicks his ash into the dirt and shakes his head, chuckling low under his breath. “Get in there, trouble.”

You tip your hat at him and push the door open, letting it swing shut behind you. The wood creaks under your boots as you cross the lobby, already imagining the feel of hot water and real soap, not the lye-smelling, skin-flaying blocks you’ve been stuck with as of late.

Still, as the hotel clerk hands you a key and points you toward the baths, you find yourself glancing back through the dusty window.

Arthur’s still outside. Still watching.

And when he catches you looking, he tips his hat just so.

Damn him.

You disappear down the hall before he can see you smile.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

This bath is worth every damn cent.

You sink into the water with a hiss, the heat prickling at your skin before settling into something delicious and divine. Your head falls back against the smooth curve of the deep tub, and you let your eyes flutter shut. The smell of campfire smoke and horse sweat linger in your hair, but now the sweet scent of rose and jasmine override them.

It’s quiet here. Too quiet, maybe. Without the constant chaos of living in a camp with twenty-odd other people. Without Arthur's gruff drawl, the barbs he throws your way any chance he gets.

You’d never admit it aloud, not even with a pistol to your head, but you’d spent most of the ride into town studying him. The way his shoulders moved when he rode, one arm slung back like second nature. How his forearms flexed when he adjusted the reins. That deep, lazy drawl of his when he leaned forward on his horse, whispering kindnesses to her.

That’s my girl.

It’s infuriating. The way he can be so damn irritating one moment and then have the gall to go and make flutters erupt in your belly like that.

You huff and dunk your head under the water, the heat blooming against your cheeks, muffling everything. When you resurface, hair slicked back and dripping, you reach for the bar of perfumed soap and lather up your arms.

You scrub harder than you need to.

Arthur Morgan. Thorn in your side, pain in your ass. And yet, somehow, unavoidable. Unignorable. He drives you up the wall but half the time you’d rather he pin you against it.

You shake your head, water flinging from your hair in fat droplets, and mutter under your breath. Get a hold of yourself.

Because it’s just a bath. Just a hot soak and some soap. You’re acting like it’s boiling you til you’re soft, all because the man has nice arms and talks to his horse the way you’d like him to talk to you.

You sink a little deeper, until the water brushes your chin.

… Still, you wonder what he’s doing now.

Probably leaned against the saloon bar, nursing a glass of whiskey, charming some barmaid with that half-smile he thinks makes him irresistible. 

That thought shoots irritation through you.

You shouldn’t care.

But you do.

You sigh and let yourself sink again, only this time, it’s not to escape the heat. It’s to escape the thought of Arthur Morgan and the way he makes you feel like you're always one step away from either throttling him or kissing him.

The water cools quicker than you’d like, the heat leeching away in slow degrees until you’re forced to admit defeat. With a groan, you climb from the tub, water sluicing off your skin, and wrap yourself in a linen towel that’s coarser than you’d prefer but does the job just fine. You scrub yourself dry, watching the bathwater swirl in lazy circles, now a cloudy shade of brown.

“Twenty-five cents well spent,” you mutter to yourself, smirking as you step back into your clothes. Clean skin under worn fabric is a small luxury in this life, where comforts are few and far between.

You take your time on your way out, fingers trailing along the wood panelling, relishing the way the wooden floor doesn’t kick up dirt beneath your boots like the camp’s packed dirt ground always does. At the front desk, you offer a quiet thank-you to the clerk, prepared to wander the main street of Valentine in search of Arthur, maybe needle him some more if he’s still loitering near the general store.

But then the man behind the desk stops you with a polite smile.

“Oh, if you’re looking for the fella you came in with, he just went in for a bath himself.”

You blink.

And then stare at him like he just told you he had a live rattlesnake wearing a top hat under the desk.

Arthur Morgan? Paying for a hot bath? After all that teasing? All that ribbing about you getting dolled up for some suitor in town? You’d half expected to find him outside rolling around in horse dung just out of spite.

Before you can gather a proper retort, or perhaps go storming down the hallway to wring his smug neck, a soft creak on the stairs turns your head.

She appears like a mirage in the desert.

Rouge on her cheeks, hair curled and piled high, her corset cinched tight enough to give a man ideas. Her chemise hangs off one shoulder, strap slipping in a way that seems both accidental and entirely intentional. She’s soft and sultry, gliding down the stairs like an apparition.

Your mouth goes dry.

The desk clerk straightens a bit, his tone easy. “Hattie. Gentleman in room two. Deluxe.”

She smiles, slow and syrupy, a curl of smoke practically floating in her wake. “Let me have a quick smoke,” she purrs, glancing at you with a wink sharp enough to cut glass. “Then I’ll be right in.”

She turns on her heel and saunters toward the hallway, hips swaying with practiced ease.

You're rooted to the floor.

Your thoughts, however, go flying.

That rotten, no-good, two-faced son of a bitch.

After all that grief, after the wisecracks and smirks, the whole you plannin’ to go courtin’? nonsense, he turns right around and orders himself a deluxe bath with a woman like that waiting on him?

The sheer audacity.

Your ears burn so hot they might catch fire, and you barely register the front desk clerk blinking at you, a little wary now.

“Miss? You all right?”

“No!” you snap, sharper than a pistol crack. “No, I am not .”

And with that, you storm outside, the door slapping shut behind you as you step into the dust and heat of the street, fury rising like smoke from scorched earth.

Arthur Morgan is about to get his damn comeuppance.

You don’t pause to think, don’t stop to weigh propriety or pride. You just follow the scent of tobacco like a bloodhound on the trail, stomping down the narrow alleyway between the hotel and the bank, jaw clenched tight.

And there she is.

Hattie leans against the frame of the hotel’s back door, a cigarette perched daintily between two fingers, lips pursed around it as she puffs. She’s got the look of a woman who’s seen too much and lets even less surprise her, but she startles when she sees you approach..

You draw in a breath, tempering the fury that wants to lash out in all directions. It ain’t her fault she’s the kind of woman men pay to have bathe them.. It ain’t her fault men pay for warmth and softness in bathwater and bed alike. And it sure as hell ain’t her fault that today, of all damn days, Arthur Morgan just so happens to be her customer.

“Hattie,” you say like you’ve known her all your life, your tone smooth as whiskey left too long in the sun. “Enjoyin’ your cigarette?”

She straightens a bit, eyes scanning behind you as though there must be someone else you're talking to.

Then she catches the pistol on your hip, the pants in lieu of a skirt, the storm in your eyes.

“Miss, please,” she says, lifting one hand defensively, “I don’t want no trouble.”

You blink, realizing what she sees. What you must look like right now. Mad enough to spit nails, armed, wild-eyed.

“Oh, Lord no,” you say quickly, raising both hands in mock surrender. “Ain’t here to rob you.”

She softens only a little, still eyeing you like you might go feral at any second. “Alright then… what are you here for?”

You reach into your satchel, fingers brushing over flint, bullets, an old piece of jerky, until you finally fish out your coin purse.

“What’s a deluxe bath cost these days? Extra twenty-five cents?”

“Fifty,” she says, flat as a skillet.

“Good God,” you mutter under your breath, grimacing as you tug the purse open. She shoots you a look. “Not that you ain’t… Not that your services ain’t worth that much.”

She smirks at that.

You hold out a shiny silver dollar, letting it catch the sun between your fingers. “I’ll give you this if you let me go in that room instead. Room two, with the gentleman.”

She cocks her head, narrowing her eyes. “You plannin’ on robbin’ him ?”

You sigh. Lord, you almost wish that were the case. Would be easier than the truth.

“Somethin’ like that.”

She takes one long drag, ash glowing bright, and watches you as she exhales slow and thoughtful. Then she leans forward and plucks the coin from your fingers like she’s done it a thousand times before.

“Second door on the right,” she says, tucking the dollar into her bodice. “Don’t make too much noise, ‘less you want the fella at the front desk pokin’ his nose in.”

You nod, one foot already inside the threshold. “You’re a good woman, Hattie.”

“And you’re a strange one,” she calls after you, her chuckle trailing smoke.

You move through the corridor like a ghost, boots soundless on the wood, heart pounding louder than it ought to. The door looms before you, seeming larger now. Steam curls from beneath it, thick with the fragrant smell of rose and jasmine.

You raise your hand to knock, affecting your best, most sultry voice. “Need some help in there?”

A pause.

Then that voice, deep and unmistakably Arthur. “Come in.”

You turn the knob and step inside.

Steam fills the room like fog on a mountain pass, the glow of a small oil lamp, casting everything in a dim amber haze.

Truth be told, you didn’t have much of a plan. You’d stormed in here thinking about tossing a bucket of ice water in the tub or maybe snatching his clothes and leaving him to drip-dry in shame. But those half-formed ideas vanish the second your eyes land on him.

Because there, sunk low in the tub, arms sprawled along either side like a goddamn painting, is Arthur Morgan.

His head is tilted back, hair slicked down, eyes closed. He looks peaceful more serene than you’ve ever seen him. And damn it, he’s glowing . Skin golden and wet, a few scattered droplets clinging to the scruff on his jaw. You stare. You forget to be angry. You forget how to breathe.

Then his eyes open.

He blinks once, slow, and sits up just a bit. Water laps at his chest.

“What in the hell…”

And just like that, the fire under your ass lights right back up.

“Arthur Morgan, you are a damn liar,” you snap, stepping fully into the room and letting the door shut with a click behind you. “Told me you didn’t want a bath, but that ain’t what I’m seein’.”

He looks at you like you’ve grown a second head. “What’re you…”

“A deluxe bath, no less! That what brought you to Valentine? Didn’t want me gettin’ one ‘cause you didn’t wanna be caught playin’ cozy with some saloon girl?”

He tuts, jaw already tightening. “Now, how the hell’d you — ”

“I was there , Arthur! Stood right there when she got the order. Gave her a damn dollar to scram.”

That shuts him up. For a beat, anyway. Then his jaw works, and for a second, you think he might smile.

He leans back against the porcelain, eyes tracking over you slow. There’s a glint in them now, not teasing, exactly. It’s warmer than that, more curious. He’s not mad you’re here, just trying to parse why exactly.

“Well,” he says at last, drawl thick with steam, “you gonna stand there accusin’ me, or you plannin’ on helpin’ me wash?”

Your breath catches.

The steam clings to your skin, beads at your collarbone. Your shirt's damp at the edges, clinging to your arms. You should turn around. You should . But your feet don’t move.

But there he is, reclining in the tub like some damn river god, lips parted slightly, water beading along the muscled curve of his shoulders, sea blue eyes fixed on you. There was challenge in his voice, sure, but there was something softer too. 

“I’d like to get my money’s worth,” he says, softer now. “Reckon you would too.”

As if possessed by the steam and the knowledge that he is naked beneath the cloudy water, you cross the room and kneel beside him. 

He shifts, sitting forward just a bit. “Could use a hand with my back.”

And damn you if your heart doesn’t do a little flutter at that.

You reach for the cloth perched on the rim of the tub. Dip it into the water. Your fingers brush the edge of his shoulder as you begin to wash, and you feel it, that sharp little inhale he tries to hide. The tension under his skin.

Warm water runs down the ridges of his back, over scars and sun darkened skin. He exhales, head dropping forward, and for a moment it feels like the world gets very still.

“I didn’t… I didn’t rightly know what I was doin’,” you admit, voice small now, honest. “Just knew I was mad. Came up here all fired up, ready to start somethin’. And then I saw you sittin’ here, lookin’ like that, and…”

You trail off, cloth pausing over his spine.

He turns his head, gaze catching yours. “And?”

You swallow. “And I didn’t want some other woman’s hands on you.”

The shift is instant. His whole expression changes. Softens. Like he’d been waiting for you to say it.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Maybe I don’t want that either.”

You scoff, but it comes out breathless. “Right. You paid extra for a deluxe bath ‘cause you didn’t want a woman touchin’ you. Makes perfect sense.”

His gaze flickers away. “I… hurt my back. Been tough reachin’ everything. Wanted to make sure it was done right.”

“Oh.” The irritation slips through your fingers like bathwater.

“Just wanted to smell nice, you know.”

“For who?” you ask, meaning it to sound playful, but it slips out softer than you intended. Barely a tease at all. “Plannin’ on courtin’ someone?”

He doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t speak for a long beat.

“For you. Wanted to smell nice for you.”

Your chest tightens. A slow, hot ache unfurls deep in your ribs.

You reach out before you even know you’re doing it, brushing damp hair back from his temple. He turns into your touch, eyes fluttering closed.

“I think about you all the time, Arthur,” you whisper. “More than I ought to.”

His eyes open. He searches your face, like he’s waiting for you to take it back.

But you don’t.

“Join me?” he asks, the words a little rough at the edges.

The hot ache in your ribs dives down to your core. 

You could make a joke. Could throw up that wall again, tease him about not wanting to dirty yourself soaking in his dirty water. But none of that feels right now, not here, not with him looking at you like that. Like you hung the moon.

You rise slowly, taking a step back from the tub. Your hands go to the buttons of your shirt, and though they tremble, you don’t stop. One by one, you undo them, each one a step closer to something you’ve only let yourself imagine in the quiet of night.

Arthur bows his head, eyes shut tight like if he doesn’t look, he can keep control of himself.

“You don’t have to look away,” you say softly. “I… I want you to look.”

His eyes open, and what you see there undoes you. Like he’s looking at something sacred.

When you slip your trousers off, you swear the air gets thicker. Your chemise clings to your skin, damp from the heat, and when you finally slide it off, there’s nothing between you and him but the steamy distance across the floor.

Bare in body and soul.

You step toward the tub. The water laps at your ankles first, hot and silken, and then you ease down slowly, legs folding to the side so you’re facing him. The tub is small, and your knees touch beneath the water. The heat of him seeps into you like sunlight through your canvas tent.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t make a sound, just watches you. He looks at you like he’s never seen you before. Like he can’t quite believe you’re real. His gaze moves slow, respectful, reverent. 

Then he lifts a hand, wet and trembling, and cups your cheek with such tenderness it breaks something loose inside you. His thumb sweeps across your cheekbone, slow and reverent.

“Let me wash you, too,” he says thickly.

You huff a quiet breath, a smile tugging at your lips. “I just had a bath, Arthur.”

“I know,” he says, barely above a whisper. “Ain’t about gettin’ clean.”

You nod once. “I’m yours.”

You know Arthur is not used to being given things without a fight. Not used to things being his. But you figure you’ve given him enough hell at this point. And maybe you’ve been his this whole time, since the day you laid eyes on him from across that damn stagecoach.

Arthur shifts forward a little, the water sloshing gently around you. His hand slides from your cheek down to the curve of your jaw, then to your neck. His touch is careful, deliberate, like he’s memorizing you one inch at a time.

“You sure?” he asks all low, like gravel soaked in honey.

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t,” you murmur.

He reaches for the washcloth, soaking it in the warm water and wringing it out slowly. You watch the way his hands move so gently, those rough and capable hands you’ve spent so long admiring wrapped around guns and knives and ropes.The way his chest rises and falls. It stirs something deep and aching in you.

He presses the cloth to your collarbone, dragging it gently across your skin. The heat of it makes you shiver, and his eyes flick to yours, gauging your reaction.

You don’t look away.

He trails the cloth over your shoulder, down the line of your arm, the curve of your elbow. When he reaches your wrist, he turns your hand over and kisses the inside of it, soft and slow.

“I ain’t ever done this before,” he admits. “Not like this. Not slow.”

You let your head tilt, watching him. “Then take your time.”

He does.

The cloth moves down your chest, careful, reverent. He doesn’t rush, not even when your breath hitches as he grazes the side of your breast. His hand lingers, trembling just a little, and his thumb moves over to graze across your nipple. You lean into his touch, soft peak pebbling under the pad of this thumb, and into the space between you that’s growing warmer with every breath.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, voice thick with wonder. “More than I can make sense of.”

He dips the cloth again and brings it to your thigh, dragging it slowly upward. Your legs shift in the water, parting, an invitation unspoken but clear. His hand stills just above your knee, and he looks up at you, gaze searching.

“Can I?” he asks.

You nod, voice hardly a rasp. “Please.”

He slides the cloth higher, over your thigh, up the tender inside of it, so slow it makes you ache. You can’t hold back the soft sound that slips from your lips, and his jaw tightens like he’s holding himself back, like he’s barely hanging on.

The cloth slips away, forgotten. He drops it over the edge of the tub, and both hands find your waist, drawing you gently toward him. The water shifts around you as you settle into his lap, straddling him, bare skin against bare skin beneath the surface. He’s warm everywhere, solid, a wall of hard-earned corded muscle beneath you.

You feel him, hard and hot beneath the water, but he doesn’t push. Doesn’t grind against you or ask for more. He just holds you there, like this is enough. Like you are enough.

Your hands rise to his face, brushing the wet hair back again. “Arthur…”

He leans in, forehead pressing to yours. “You don’t gotta say nothin’. Just want to touch you. Feel you.”

But you want to say it.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” you whisper. “Wanted you. ”

His breath shudders against your mouth, and then he kisses you.

Arthur Morgan is an outlaw, but when he presses his mouth to yours, you are certain he has only ever known tenderness. You are certain you have only ever known this feeling, of his body entangled with yours in a steaming bath, of being lulled into unreality by steam and the way he touches you.

It’s not hurried. It’s not rough. It’s deep, slow, devastating in the way it unravels you. His lips are soft, tasting of heat and longing. His hands grip your waist like he’s anchoring himself to this moment, like if he lets go, he’ll drown.

You deepen the kiss, one hand slipping to the nape of his neck, the other drifting down, skimming over the swell of his chest. He groans low in his throat, a sound that vibrates through you, and his mouth moves to your jaw, your throat, kissing a line down to your collarbone. Then he’s pulling a nipple into his mouth, suckling gently before turning to give his attention to the other.

“I could die happy right now,” he breathes against your chest, pressing kisses there.

“You’re not gonna die,” you murmur, threading your fingers through his hair. “Not tonight.”

Arthur’s mouth continues to lather both breasts in open mouthed kisses, warm breath ghosting over your skin, and you arch into him, your body asking for more even before your mind catches up.

He groans again, quiet and rough, as if your reaction undoes him.

One of his hands skims up your back, broad and calloused, fingers spreading wide as he holds you close. The other trails lower, slow and steady beneath the waterline, tracing the curve of your hip. His palm slides over the swell of your thigh, and then inward, the pad of his thumb brushing just shy of where you ache for him most.

You gasp softly, breath hitching against his cheek. He stills, giving you space, giving you the chance to stop this, but you don’t want to stop. You need him to keep going.

You tilt your hips up in answer, pressing closer, your mouth brushing his ear. “Please, Arthur.”

That word, please , shatters whatever restraint he was clinging to.

His hand slides between your thighs, fingers tentative at first, but guided by your sharp inhale, your body’s silent instructions. He finds you slick, warm, already undone just from being close to him. His mouth finds yours again as he strokes you, slow and patient, like he’s learning every inch of you. Like he wants to remember exactly how to make you come undone so he can do it again and again.

He gathers your wetness on his thumb and guides it up to your clit, rubbing slow and gentle circles. His thick middle finger teases at your entrance, and he pulls back to look you in the eyes as he pushes in. You pout at the intrusion, a low whine escaping your lips. He pumps you a few times before adding another finger, and that’s when he knows he’s hit the sweet spot.

Your head falls to his shoulder, fingers digging into his back as he fucks you on his fingers. The water laps around you both, soft and rhythmic, masking the sounds of your breaths turning ragged, your gasps swallowed into the curve of his neck.

“You feel so good,” he mutters, heavy with awe. “So damn good…”

“Arthur,” you whine into his ear, his name never sounding so pure and yet so filthy. “Don’t stop, please.”

The pressure builds in you quickly, quicker than it ever has when you do this yourself, and in seconds you’re falling over the edge, fingers digging into his back, his name falling from your lips amid a string of muttered curses.

He pulls you back to look at you coming down, admiring his handiwork. He’d look smug if he weren’t so desirous, if his cock wasn’t painfully hard and resting inches from your still fluttering cunt.

Sensing this, you shift in his lap, seeking more of him, the heat between you almost unbearable now. His fingers still at your hip, holding you steady as you guide your hand between your bodies and wrap it around him, thick, hard, pulsing with need.

Arthur’s whole body shudders. His head drops back, jaw tight, like he’s trying to keep from losing it right then and there.

“You’re killin’ me, darlin’,” he rasps.

“Then don’t wait,” you whisper. “I don’t want gentle. I want you. All of you.”

He grits his teeth, his hands finding your waist again, gripping tight as he positions himself. You rise up a little, just enough to line yourself up, and then you sink down, slowly, inch by inch, until he’s seated deep inside you.

A broken sound, your name, slips from his throat, part growl, part prayer, and your head falls forward to rest against his, both of you shivering in the aftermath of your bodies connecting at the root.

He fills you perfectly. The stretch burns deliciously,  your bodies slotting together like they were always meant to. Like maybe this was written somewhere in the stars long before you ever crossed paths.

You begin to move first, slow, rocking your hips gently, savoring every drag of friction, every pulse of pleasure that builds in your core. Arthur’s hands roam everywhere, your back, your hips, your breasts, like he can’t decide where to settle because it’s all too much, too good, too real .

His mouth is everywhere too. Your tits, your neck, your shoulder, the curve of your jaw. He murmurs things you can barely make out between gasps.

So beautiful, can’t believe you’re mine, I got you, I got you.

You find a rhythm, the water sloshing gently with each movement, and your bodies fall into a perfect, desperate cadence, like a prayer whispered back and forth, over and over.

When it starts to crest, when the pressure builds and coils tight, you bury your face in his neck, your moan muffled against his skin.

You feel it again, that pressure in your core, the pull that drags you into ecstasy. His cock seated so deep inside you, his mouth lapping at your sensitive nipples, his fingers exploring every inch of you like he can’t possibly have enough of you flooding all of his senses.

He feels it. Feels the way your walls flutter around him, the way your movements stutter. “That’s it,” he groans, hands gripping your hips harder, driving into you deeper now, chasing the edge right behind you. “Come for me, sweetheart. Let me feel you.”

And you do.

It hits like a wave, sharp, sweet, overwhelming. Your body clenches around him, pleasure sparking down your spine as you cry out his name. He follows a breath later, hips jerking, breath  caught in his throat as he spills into you, hands trembling against your skin.

For a long moment, all you can do is breathe. The world narrows to the quiet splash of water and the warm weight of his forehead against yours.

Then Arthur lifts a hand to your face again, brushing his knuckles along your cheek.

“You alright?” he asks.

You nod, a dazed little smile curling your lips. “Better than alright.”

He kisses you, slow and deep again, a promise sealed with steam and sweat.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

You both linger in the tub longer than any paying customer probably ought to. 

The water's gone tepid, but neither of you seem to mind. Your fingers trail idle circles across his chest, the rise and fall of his breathing soothing beneath your palm. His nose brushes yours now and again, lazy little kisses shared between soft smiles.

Eventually, you shift, your legs tangling with his as you rest your chin atop his shoulder. “If we go back to camp now,” you murmur, all low and drowsy. “We'll wake everyone up ridin’ in.”

Arthur lets out a soft grunt of agreement, nuzzling into your hair before pressing a kiss to your temple. “Then we’ll keep ‘em up all night, too.”

You lift your head, feigning a scandalized gasp. “Arthur Morgan!”

“What?” he says, completely unbothered, though the crooked little grin tugging at his mouth gives him away. “You think I’m lettin’ you crawl back into your tent after that?”

You shake your head, hiding your smile. “What’ll the others say?”

“Don’t much care,” he says, sitting up, groaning as he stretches. “Think we earned a real bed tonight, though. What do you think?”

He climbs out first, grabbing a towel and then another, insisting on drying you off himself, all slow and careful. You dress in his flannel shirt draped over your shoulders, the hem brushing your thighs. Your chemise’s neckline peeks out where you didn’t bother buttoning all the way, your hair still dripping down your back..

You slip out into the hall together, Arthur’s hand low on your back, guiding you toward the front desk. The clerk is still there, chewing on a toothpick and flipping lazily through a tattered newspaper. He glances up as you approach and blinks.

Arthur clears his throat. “We’ll take a room. Just for the night.”

The clerk squints. “Weren’t you just in there for the deluxe bath?”

“Was,” Arthur says evenly. “Now I’m payin’ for a bed.”

The man frowns, glancing toward the back. “Where’s Hattie?”

Arthur raises a brow. “Didn’t need her, turns out.”

The clerk looks between the two of you, taking in the damp hair, the loosely buttoned clothes, the unmistakable glow of two people who just did a whole lot more than bathe. His cheeks redden and he hands over the key without a word.

You make it halfway up the stairs before you bite back a grin.

“So,” you murmur, tossing a glance over your shoulder at Arthur. “How’d you enjoy your deluxe bath?”

He smirks, deadpan. “Bit underwhelmin’. Tub was too small. No champagne. Woman wouldn’t stop talkin’.”

You laugh, bumping your shoulder against his as he catches up to you at the top of the stairs.

“Well at least you didn’t have to share it with a cowboy who dirtied your bathwater” you ask, playing along. “Maybe I’d have preferred your woman, seems awful sweet.”

“She was.” He pauses at the door, unlocking it. “Still talkin’ though.”

You scoff as he opens the door for you, stepping inside. “Ass.”

“Your ass,” he shoots back, swatting at your backside as he ushers you inside.

You don’t even make it under the covers before he’s got you in his arms again, falling back into the mattress with a satisfied grunt, taking you right along with him. You’re laughing as he pins you beneath him, one knee nudging your thigh as he brushes your hair off your face.

His gaze flickers lower, down to your collarbone. He dips his head there, pressing a kiss to the hollow of your throat, then inhales deep like he’s savoring you.

“You smell good,” he mutters against your skin.

You giggle. “Better than horse shit?”

He grins into your neck. “Oh, by miles.”

Then he nips playfully at your collarbone. “Still might have to take you back for another bath tomorrow. Just to be sure.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, tugging him closer with a teasing hum. “Well, if that’s the case… I suppose we better go for the deluxe again.”

And from the way he grins down at you, you’re certain he’s already plannin’ on it.

[bunny-jpeg]

hi bunny!

I’ve been wanting to try the bakery and finally got around to it!

Could I get savory pastry(norris!reader), pull-apart bread, and root beer with carlos sainz!

the menu

want to submit your own order? then hit up the menu! it's still open (yay)! and i working away on orders, so please feel free to submit your own! we're open 6 days a week! i hope you love this order, anon! thank you for submitting it! i hope you're okay with me making the reader have.. big titties... i wanted to yearn for big titties tonight..

savory pastry ("let your brother find out.") + pull-apart bread ("i love you") + root beer (filming/recording) served by carlos sainz jr. (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, norris!reader, possessive behavior, mean!carlos, filming, ditzy!reader, soft!reader, implied mid to plus size!reader, sorry lando, unprotected sex, breast worship

rivals come and go. if carlos really hated someone however, he wouldn't fuck their sibling. carlos wasn't out fucking max's sister or one of charles' brothers, that was stupid and childish. it was a mind game reserved for people who thought they were smart

but that was until he saw your knelt down in the paddock trying the laces of your pretty pink sneakers and when you stood back up a slight breeze pushed up your skirt. and carlos caught the briefest glimpse of your panties. cotton, pink with little flowers on it. carlos stopped in his tracks, he hadn't realized the can of celcius he had was now on the floor.

you didn't notice his leering gaze, but instead burst into smiles when you went over and wrapped your arms around lando. he held you not like a lover, but like a sibling. oh, you were lando's fabled sister, the one who went to school in the middle of nowhere. was it canada? not that it mattered.

you could've been studying pottery in utah for all carlos cared, because he wanted one thing. those full breasts in his hands.

he remembered the first time he held them in his hands. the weight to them made his eyes bug out a little bit. it was about three months into the season and carlos was starting to feel the itch for sex. a lot of drivers got it, that was a lot of the reason why significant others would fly out for that weekend. but carlos has his right hand, something his left hand if he was feeling adventurous.

and one thing led to another and he ended up in your hotel room for the night. and then you were in his the next weekend, then followed by you in the ferrari motor home. eventually your behind was as red as the ferrari shirt that carlos got for you. he liked how the long was a little stretched across your pretty tits.

the rational thing would've been to tell your brother, lando. drivers dated other driver's siblings all the time! sometimes drivers dated other drivers, but carlos wouldn't get into those details. but something kept him reserved by telling the other driver.

you on the other hand were nervous about telling him. lando had scared off every boyfriend you had since your teens. you remembered when he chased a guy who had a crush on you off your family's front lawn with a hose. if lando found out about carlos....

"what if he finds out?" you squeak when he pulled you to ferrari's side of the paddock, you almost falling over yourself as you tried to keep up with him.

he shrugged, "let your brother find out."

your ferrari t-shirt (a gift from carlos) made you fit in nicely with the others on that side of the paddock. and carlos made sure that no one was looking when he got you into the driver's room. when he got the door closed and locked, he flipped up your pretty skirt. something a little more muted to go with the ferrari shirt, but short and carlos wanted to get his hands on you.

you ended up on the couch with carlos not even taking off the thing, only your panties underneath. he could feel the excitement in his blood stream. your knees up to your chest and your ankles in the air. carlos got his phone out after he got his cock out of his tight jeans.

"sorry, we're in a bit of a hurry." he said as he angled the phone towards your sweet cunt. it felt so good to be balls deep inside of you. even if it was messy quick sex.

carlos liked to film your encounters together. he liked to record your little noises, even if it was just recording your noises together. something to play back when he was alone. sadly, you couldn't be at every race. but carlos was hoping in a few years that would change.

he got his cock into you with ease. one hand on your clothed breast and the other on the phone. he got good shots of your pussy and face. he watched it change on the screen as he moved against you.

you tensed up for a moment then relaxed and carlos felt the cotton in his brain grow. he got addicted to your fast. he continued to grope your breasts as he moved against your achy slit. your legs kicked out a little and carlos pushed himself closer to you. he pointed the camera at the both of you and chuckled at the lenses.

"future carlos, remember this?" then started to lazily make out with you. you giggled as well. you knew those videos were often safe on his phone.

you squirmed a little bit and carlos put his face between your clothes breasts and rubbed his face up against them. he groaned against your heartbeat before he pulled away and got the camera right in your face before he leaned back a little bit to film your beautiful cunt taking him so well.

you yelped but quickly covered your mouth with your hands. he pout the camera in your face as he asked quietly, "so pretty. so good for me. i think about you all the time." he said almost sweetly.

you looked up at the camera, finding a moment to compose yourself before you said, "i love you."

he smiled down at you, the camera angled at your sweet cunt as he responded, "i love you too." he loved the feeling of your sweet cunt against him. he loved it so much. it made his heart leap in his chest at the idea of being able to fuck you.

usually he liked to tease his cock between your heavy breasts, but that would have to wait for another night. for now he just got a good shot of them bouncing as he fucked you. a half-assed mating press just to get to your pussy.

he could feel the heat burning in your core as he fucked you. you felt so good, were you always this good for him. or maybe the rush of today's race was what kept you bouncing on his cock like a good girl.

it wasn't long before you covered your mouth once more and shakily exhaled against your trembling hands. it all felt so good and it made you run hot all over. it was so sweet, it was so good.

carlos almost dropped his phone from the mere pace that he was fucking you in. his heavy breathing heard on the camera paired with your sweet little moans. it was hot, it made carlos' brain run a mile a minute.

with a few more bucks of his hips, he pushed himself all the way inside of you to finish. your voice got high pitched as you came as well, but kept your hands over your mouth to keep yourself quieter.

"there. you'll be having this again soon." carlos said to the camera. to his future self. he ended the video and like a gentleman he helped you start to get yourself dressed.

carlos gave one last squeeze to your breasts and said softly when he sat next to you on the couch. curled up at your side, "we'll tell lando soon." then placed a kiss on your cheek.

-

that night after carlos' grand weekend he was out drinking with the rest of ferrari and mclaren. you had left early because the you were very tried from the day. carlos had suspicion that it might have been from your escapade earlier that day plus the race.

it was a lot for you. carlos didn't mind, even though he missed you.

he was talking to lando, treating him like a friend more so than a rival (he'd eventually be his brother-in-law, might as well get on his good side). they had a few drinks and carlos mentioned that he had something to send the other man.

"yeah, just message it to me, mate!"

carlos laughed and with his thick thumbs he didn't send the right video. what was supposed to be a stupid tiktok, was instead the 10 minute uncut video of carlos fucking you. lando's sister. before he realized what he had done, lando's eyes were the size of dinner plates on the screen.

"uh... mate... carlos." lando said when he was able to find the words. he turned his screen to the other driver. the thumbnail wasn't the stupid meme, but rather a shot of your pussy on full display.

carlos' eyes went wide, realizing that he sent the wrong video. he chuckled nervously and said, "let me explain myself, mate!" he knew he'd be hearing about this for months from both norris siblings.

but, at least you didn't have to keep it a secret anymore. <3

[qrpixel]

QR-Pixel is a global brand that strives to create a smart platform for home automation, lighting, and control at the most affordable prices. With a wide portfolio of products, we aspire to meet every requirement that is presented to us. With a strong R&D, we are working on creating smart products that are not only futuristic but also affordable.

[chettyspagetti]

Camp Race Show Down (CRSD)

Lore at bottom

(Red?) Racekid is illegal racer and has been racing for a long time. Not the best but definitely not the worst. Keeps his cool most the time and pulls off a lot of stuns. He will either win by a smidge or be ran off by the cops and have incomplete race / loose. Always finds a way out of whatever pickle he’s in and has funny quip about it. He’s willing to do anything for thrill of the ride, and frequently doesn’t think before he does something. Mainly just doing it because he belives in himself.

Neeancy is flag girl / with Racekid as not a racer but as more of moral support / love interest (??) She is in the car when he races and is back seat driver but she sits in the front. Shes the brains of the operation and keeps him from killing himself. She doesn’t race at all but is there to help with plans and strategy since she’s still really smart and can calculate like the air and shit and how it drags. She can get kinda crazy but Racekid likes crazy so it’s okay , she tells him off when he looses or does something stupid in the race and he just nods because he knows she’s right

Mad Max , sponsor/manager for Nikki . Schemes their way into races and does shit under the table. Wears a nice outfit and tells Nikki to “do what she does best”. Is a Bookie, makes bets on races but will make it in his favor . Has a watch and a bunch of different ids on him.

(Panther) Nikki is a reckless driver , hitting cars with hers and grinding them on walls. Has no fear with racing and having a fun time doing it. Gets hurt and acts like a wounded dog when hurt . Car frequently has to be repaired and it’s a pain in Maxs ass to fix

( Erode )Ered is cool racer who has a low rider with lots of mods. Purplely/pink with yellow accents. It can glow with led lights and shit. Very chill with her riding and doesn’t try to hurt the racers, not out of kindness it just doesn’t benefit her like Nikki. Top dawg with racing and wins against Racekid but there’s no bad blood between them. More of “you did good, maybe you’ll be a good as me one day :p” and she drives off. Plays music while she races .

Sasha races and is sponsor of Erin and Tabii. Will pay people to ruin the race for others and purposely sabotaged people. Has very nice car , not fully made for racing but it’s still really good. Does similar things to max but both don’t like each other because they are “different “ with the way they do it. She wears a helmet and it has a visor on it to keep her safe. Bought all the tokens and has a lot more then everyone else.

Erin is a slower driver then Tabii is, being more calculated and less or a risk taker. She has a dark blue car and focus more on accuracy and consistency then speed. Tabii can get bad road rage and if she looses she’ll be extra nasty next race or even after . Tabiis car is more angular and has white stripes. Sasha is hard on both of them if they loose and are lowkey scared of her.

Dolph is sketch artist and makes posters for the event. You can see them in dark parts of town with the list of racers on them. Anyone can sign up. Hes also been asked by the police to sketch who he though did it but just fucks with them cus snitches get stiches (sketched max as Barack Obama) (Rouge Racer) (Rou)

Harrison owns a “bar” that many kids reside/hang out in to drink juice / caprimoons/ whatever like a normal dingy bar. He looks like a normal bar tender and does this instead of racing. He helped his brother get into illegal racing but got caught by Gwen and David, and got sent home. (And to a boarding school) he doesn’t mess with that kind of stuff anymore but still needed to make a living.

Everyone else bets on the races , they also bet with Max cus he has higher risk/ higher reward . It isn’t legal but none of this is

Instead of getting money for winning races they get arcade tokens to “Charles Pizza Family diner” A family owned restaurant with Charles the Hamster and his gang as the mascots. They like it and that’s all it matters.

[millerskitty]

Running If You Call My Name

❥ dbf!joel / f!reader x joel miller

❥ (18+) nsfw

❥ reader insert

❥ medium burn, no outbreak au. some timelines are changed to fit the story.

dividers by @/saradika !

warnings: jealousy, angst, reader kisses someone other than joel, brief mention of depression

word count: < 1k

masterlist

Chapter 3

September brought cooler temperatures and good things to your life. You’d gotten a promotion at work despite having been in a depressive slump following the shit show that took place in your car. You’d seriously considered trading it in after that afternoon. You were in a better place now, you were dating again; well, you were texting a guy and you were ready to officially go on a first date with him.

Caleb was smart, athletic and kind. He was a biology teacher, never married with no kids. He was thirty-five years old and your age wasn’t an issue to him. You should have been more excited for your date, but you were dragging your feet.

You took one last look in the mirror before grabbing your purse and heading downstairs. Pop was outside drinking with your uncle Robert, his brother, who was in town for business. You waved goodbye to them through the glass sliding door when you’d heard Caleb knock at the front door.

To your utter shock and disbelief, you opened the door to find Joel standing there with a six pack in hand. His eyes traveled brazenly over your body. You were wearing a fitted little black dress and cowgirl boots. You knew you looked damn good, but you couldn’t help but shrink under his gaze.

“Hey.” He said quietly.

“They’re in the back.” You said, looking past him at the black Ford F-series that noisily pulled up to your house. Eat your heart out.

Caleb hopped out, jogging up the driveway to greet you. “It's so nice to finally meet you,” he took your hand and kissed it gently. “You’re so gorgeous in person.”

You blushed, the back of your head burning from the holes that Joel was likely burning into it with his eyes. “Thank you, Caleb, you don’t look bad yourself. Where are we off to?”

“I’ve got a couple destinations in mind.” He smiled.

Caleb took your hand and led you to his truck, helping you into it. When he closed the door and made his way back to the drivers’ side, you glanced back at the porch and Joel was still standing there, watching you leave. His eyes were cold as he reluctantly turned to join Pop and Robert in the backyard.

You shivered, wondering if he’d felt jealous. You shook the thought from your head and returned your attention to Caleb whose cologne was like heaven, woodsy and spicy. You made small talk as he drove off, giving you some reprieve from the anxiety that bubbled inside you.

~

You laughed more than you thought you would that night. Caleb took you to dinner and then a western style dance hall. You hadn’t line danced since high school, but he was intent on making you dance for your dinner. You broke in those cowgirl boots on the dancefloor and Caleb watched from the bar until the love songs started playing. He joined you on the dance floor and held you close to him.

“You’ve got to tell me the name of the panty-dropping cologne you’re wearing,” you giggled tipsily.

“I would never reveal my secrets.” He smirked, leading you out to spin before winding you back into his arms.

“You’re too damn good at this.” You shook your head and smiled at him.

“Too good at what?”

“Making a girl feel so good, so special.”

“Well I pay close attention to what a girl likes, you love dancing, you love a good drink and you love feeling like the main character.”

You blush at his observations. “You’re good. I think I like you.”

“Well, thank God!” he chuckled, pulling you into a hug as the song ended.

You made your way out to his truck shortly after. Caleb helped you climb up into it, taking off your boots and setting them on the floor. You blushed at his attention to your needs. He really seemed to be a gentleman.

So why was the image of Joel watching you drive away replaying in your mind? You kept trying to forget. Something you were completely hopeless at achieving. You couldn’t ignore the guilt that pooled thick in your stomach as you shooed the thoughts of Joel away.

When you’d made it home you had to suppress a gasp at the sight of the very man sitting on that damned tailgate, a six pack of beer by his side. He was facing your house, shamelessly watching as Caleb parked, making his way around to help you out and walk you to your front door.

“Thank you for the wonderful night,” you said, looking up at the handsome giant who smiled down at you kindly.

“It's what a princess like yourself deserves.” You tried not to cringe at how perfect he was trying to be. He was just entirely too sweet to be true.

“I’d invite you in, but my Pop is home.” You blushed.

“No worries, I wouldn’t want to keep you up.” He said, leaning in for a hug. He slowly, cautiously tilted your chin up, giving you every opportunity to speak up or shrug him off, and he kissed you. The kiss was chaste, quick and respectful. Maybe he did have a heart of gold.

“Good night, Caleb.” You said, taking a seat on the porch and watching him return to his truck and head out.

When his truck moved past your line of sight you saw that Joel had gone in for the night. Maybe he wasn’t out to watch you after all. Something stirred within you. Sadness was creeping up and overshadowing your fun night out. You couldn’t help but wonder how long Joel had been sitting out there.

chapter 4

[nathaslosthershit]

Long Distance (LN4)

Summary: Long distance relationships are hard, especially when they both have very time consuming careers

Warnings; Angst (a whole lot), no happy ending in this part (will happen in pt 2)

Request: hi!! requesting a lando norris x female uni!reader if possible reader being a medical student or a one of the engineers on the paddock 🧍🏻‍♀️

Lando wasn’t known for being the smartest on the grid. He, like many other drivers, had only a few years of school to his name. But that still hadn’t stopped him from being able to somehow ‘woo’ a woman quite the opposite. 

His girlfriend was currently in her last year of medical school. While he was unbelievably proud of how far she had come, the difficulties of long distance have gotten to both of them, and there wasn’t much hope once she graduated and was off to a medical training program. With her studying for finals and Lando being off to a new country every two weeks for Grand Prixs, their relationship has been rocky to say the least.

Constant lack of communication and missing each other's calls had led them to have tons of unspoken dialogue. Each unanswered call created the smallest bit of resentment that just continued to grow and grow. 

No more sweet ‘goodmorning’ or ‘goodnight’ texts, no more wishing her well before a big test, no more sending ‘good luck baby!’ before qualifying. Just a few ‘how are you doing?’ and other bland messages you’d send to a coworker, not your significant other. 

After weeks of little communication, they had finally scheduled a ‘zoom date’. Not particularly the most romantic date they had been on, but it's the best they could do with their schedules. Lando called in late at night for him while his girlfriend had a lunch break in between labs. Time zones be damned.

Lando was 25 minutes late leaving only 35 minutes to actually talk to one another.

Her wifi was spotty so it kept freezing.

Finally, with only 5 minutes left, Lando decided to make a joke that there is no reason for her to continue going to labs, as he would be happy to be her ‘sugar daddy’. This was not very well received by his girlfriend, who responded with a quick “fuck you” and hung up early.

Lando was joking, a bit. He loved his girlfriend and saw a future with her, he just couldn’t stand long distance and any job in the medical field was bound to take up most of your time. He wanted her, but he also wanted someone who could be by his side on race day. That just wasn’t something that was possibly currently. 

He supported her. He loved to brag about how smart she was and how she was so dedicated to helping people. But that came with setbacks.

After a quick message from Lando (‘I was kidding darling. You know how proud I am of you. Lighten up a little, yeah?’), which she ignored, she was off to her labs in a worse mood than before. Things couldn’t go on like this. 

He hadn’t heard from her in three days. His “how are you, love?” and “Miss you lots. Hope your class is going better than my neck training :(“ went unanswered. She knew she was being petty, but maybe a relationship was just too hard for her life currently. 

After three long and stressful days of silence, she called him. With no message asking what she needed to speak about, Lando feared he already knew.

“We can’t keep doing this” She said after they quickly exchanged a ‘hi, how are you?’ ‘I'm good, how are you?’. 

“Baby, I told you it was just a-”

“I know that Lando! It's just that this isn’t the first time you have mentioned me quitting my career to be your housewife or whatever unrealistic idea you have stuck in your head.”

“I don’t need you to be a housewife! I don’t want that for you. I just try to let you know that you don’t need to worry about your future as much because I will always be there to help you.”

“But I want a career! I want to work hard so I can have a good future. You need to get it into your head that your career isn’t the only important one.”

“I don’t think that! Me wanting to let you know that I support you no matter what isn't diminishing your career plans! It would be nice if you started to show a little more support. I am so sick and tired of all our conversations revolving around you and how your day was. If classes are rough, or you are stressed, you don’t respond to me. I never know where I land with you. But god forbid I try to mention how hard my day was. I am just as sick of it.”

She didn’t know how to respond. It seems that all the times she has been more focused on how she was feeling she completely forgot to check on how he was doing. Before she can even muster out an apology, Lando jumps back in.

“Maybe you are right. I don’t think I can do this either. Not anymore.” He feels his stomach dropping as he says the words, not fully meaning them.

There is a long silence, moments where she wants to apologize, to try and reconcile. In that moment all of the good memories of their relationship come flashing back to her, as if her mind is begging her to do something. But she doesn’t. 

“Then I guess this is it.” She finally says. 

“I guess so.”

Part 2 out now!

[gyurilla]

if i say, i love you - #HIM

synopsis: riwoo accidentally retweets one of your old posts, thinking he’s on his spam account. he quickly deletes it, but your friend manages to screenshot it before it’s gone. you play it cool, acting like it was no big deal—pretending you haven’t secretly had a crush on him for years and thinking it was just a harmless mistake. but riwoo knows it wasn’t a mistake

contains: swearing, yn saying “die”, half written!, theres a spelling error near the end in yn’s msgs pls ignore that

taglist: @pinkiwinkiminki @banez @oowir @viesin @nujeskz @torkorpse @coffee-addict-kitten @8makes1atom @tempewra @jungwonbropls @janjoonty @uncasings @lvlyhiyyih @tkooooop @quinnynation @addictedtoboba @letwiiparkjay @skibidihan @dobbiesvvorld @jvngw0nlvr @conwunder @imma-jiki @koocreampie

wc; 788

prev | main | next

----

honestly you had no idea how this happened, one moment you were crushing on him, and the next he was standing outside your dorm with his one hand in his pocket and the other holding flowers.

“hi” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, shoving flowers into your face

you walked up towards him, “hi!”, your tone soft and friendly, taking the flowers from him and smiling

he noticed your calm demeanor, and the tension he once felt completely disappeared, his shoulders relaxed, he reached for your hand gently, “ready to go?” he smiled

your heart skipped a beat, why the HECK WAS HE SO BOLD now?!

he led you to his car and opened the door for you, it was a quiet gesture. you slid into the passenger seat, the leather cool against your skin. he closed it softly, and then entered the driver’s seat.

the drive was quiet, but it was the kind of silence that felt comfortable, almost like the space between two people who didn’t need words to understand each other.

--

they entered the aquarium side by side, close but not quite touching. the cool, dim light of the tanks made the air feel fresh, and the faint murmur of water and distant chatter filled the space. you approached the otter tank, your eyes catching a little otter floating lazily on its back, paws tucked against its chest. you let out a small laugh, it kind of reminded you of riwoo

“that's me”, riwoo said smiling, as if he read your mind

“why?” you asked, intrigued

“because i can be playful at times”, he smirked

"you? playful?" you raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “woonhak told me the opposite, but i'll believe it when i see it.”

“huh?? what else did that punk tell you..” he said shyly

“don't know, i forgot” you teased and began walking away.

they moved to the text tank, but this time you were holding his hand, guiding him to where you wanted to go, the octopus exhibit, you spotted the cephalopods

you pointed at them, “cephalopods are insanely cool, they're so smart. they can solve puzzles and can remember solutions, they also can camouflage rapidly.”

riwoo blinked, all this sudden information hit him at once, “are you trying to flex your major?” he said laughing

“maybe” you said grinning, “are you impressed?”

“very.”

they wandered deeper into the exhibit, stopping at the glowing jelly fish, they sat down infront of it

“i’ve always wanted to come here”she said softly, her gaze on the jellyfish, “but on a date. not with my friends”

riwoo looked at her, his smile warm and genuine. “m glad i can be the first then” he said, “are you ready to leave?"

“i never want to leave” you pouted a little, but then smiled. “but i am hungry, so let’s go!”

riwoo laughed softly, standing up. “alright, let’s get something to eat then.”

--

the resturant wasnt fancy, but i was warm and cozy, it smelled like garlic and butter, a smell you knew all too well

“how did you know this was my favorite place?”you asked raising an eyebrow

“lucky guess..?” he chuckled, trying to play it cool

you looked at him, trying to make eye contact with him “yeah, no way”

he tried to avoid your eyes, but he ended up coming clean, “okay..woonhak told me”

you laughed loudly, “you asked woon??”

“okay listen!” he said, his face deep red, “i told the groupchat where i was taking you but i had no plans for dinner, and then he was all 'she loves pasta, like loves’, and this is the closest Italian place i found near your dorm that was family owned so i put two and two together!” he blurted out

you giggled, “riwoo you're really cute!!”

you both ended up ordering a pizza and small pasta, and spilt a slice of tiramisu, riwoo insited on feeding you the tiramisu, claiming it was romantic.

even after finishing, neither of you made a move to leave. you stayed seated, the conversation flowing easily between you, as if neither of you wanted the night to end.

“today was nice..” you said softly, glancing at the him

he leaned forward, his elbows on the table, “just nice? i thought it was more than nice” he pouted.

she smiled, “it was great!!”

“that's what i wanted to hear” he grinned, “can we do this again soon?”

“you want too?” you asked, surprised

“yeah, only if you want too.” he replied, his gaze softening as he looked at you shyly.

“of course i want to, riwoo. i really like you”

“im so happy you said that, yn.”

--

a/n: the date part was lowkey short, idk i thought if i was reading this i would lowk get bored so i shortened it, i also did a little research on some of the animals, it was fun

[apas-95]

I’m an anarchocommunist that thinks a lot of other anarchists are stupid. For example, I don’t think that most people will just make insulin or do garbage collection/processing out of the kindness of their heart, and I also don’t think if it was genuinely done out of the kindness of their hearts that it’d work great. My idea is that for the “getting people to do the shitty jobs” question, the people that do those jobs should be compensated better in some way. Maybe a larger/nicer house, I’m not sure on the details. But other anarchists will say “all labor is equal”, and while I’d like to agree in the “work is hard” sense, I think things for the obvious common good, like teacher or garbage man or doctor deserve some sort of reward over other jobs. And for the efficiency of the labor, I think *specifically for labor* there needs to be some sort of organization, and we can use what’s worked before. We don’t need to have bathtub insulin if there’s a factory right there, and if there’s no connection from the insulin factory to doctors/pharmacists and truck drivers then it won’t work either. Really, my main problem with Marxism/Leninism or Stalinism or Maoism or any combination of those is that there are specific people with far too much power over others. I’m ok with light power in the way of “man you gotta drive the firetruck to the burning building even though you hate the dude that lives there”, but I’m not ok with the idea of a supreme leader or representatives in a political sense due to as I’ve amounts of power obviously corrupting people.

Really I’m sending this to you to get your criticism of my ideas- I think you’re pretty smart, and even if I disagree with you on some issues, I think I agree with you on others. I also want to say that not all anarchists are… like that.

So, years ago, before I started reading any Marxist theory, this is about where I was at politically. If you think about any of the practicalities, you come up to points where, very clearly, the maxim of 'no authority at all' conflicts with being able to do anything. If you're seriously considering how society could be better organised, if this is something you actually intend on bringing about, then you make some amount of concession to reality - as you did with the firetruck example!

Now, myself, I went on like this for a good while, coming up with methods of truly democratic organisation that wouldn't be susceptible to the types of totalitarianism I'd heard about, ending up very similar to your position. I was interested, however, in how these 'failed experiments' that I'd learned devolved into bureaucracy started out, and I started reading up on the history, and realised, with some discontent, that what I'd developed, once I'd made all the concessions for reality that would be necessary if this system were to be the actual one real human beings lives depended on, was essentially identical to the Soviet system.

From there, I read up on Marxist theory, still basically wary that this had all, at some point, been taken over by an evil dictator, but able to see that the earliest stages, at least, had been exactly what I was imagining, but put into practice. Reading the theory, reading how their experience experimenting with different forms of organisation, and the failures of some types, had led them to discover what did and didn't work, and adjust accordingly, made me suddenly appreciate why certain things were done certain ways. The harsh experiences of civil war had revealed certain dynamics and mechanics in the way society and production worked, which translates into political theories that bore out results I wouldn't have expected (and neither had the communists who had discovered them through practice!).

Eventually, with some chagrin and a significant deal of excitement, I realised that much of what I'd passively absorbed about socialism, many of the common-sense maxims that I'd been taught by capitalist society about the nature of power and so on, were very much artifacts of a decades-long war against these communists and the system they'd built, carried out by exactly the corporations and empires I had thought myself opposed to.

I won't critique any individual point of yours, but I will enjoin you to try out some Marxist theory - Dialectical and Historical Materialism, or Socialism, Utopian and Scientific, or Principles of Communism, or even the Communist Manifesto, and to read between the lines of whatever capitalist source you read on socialism, to notice every [citation needed] and wonder what actually happened such that someone felt the need to make something up.