#sneakin these in.. for fun..-

[sandcastle-art]

RIVULET i was going to post them with Spearmaster because ive done all the other ones in pairs but im really happy with how they look and wanted to share right away lol

[any pronouns for this version!]

[pretty-circa006]

Sneaking Out

Stepdad! Negan x F! Reader

summary Negan catches you sneaking out to go to a party and punishes you accordingly

tags age gap (reader is 19, Negan is pushing 40), spanking, unprotected p in v, making out, slight dacryphilia, stepcest, nudity, brief mentions of alcohol consumption, vaguely implied underaged drinking, hair pulling, use of pet names, cumshot

this is my first time posting my writing on here, kinda nervy!

*you are responsible for your own content consumption. if this is something you DO NOT like, simply DO NOT read or interact! :) *

wc: 2.65k

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She sat on her bed, crying. Knees tucked to her chest and head held in her hands as small sniffles and whimpers escaped her lips, despite her best efforts to stay silent. She resented her mom for being so strict and not letting her go out to parties like others her age. She was sure her mom would have let up once she graduated high school, especially since she was legally an adult now, but it only seemed like she doubled down even more. Things got even worse once her mom married her stepdad, Negan. Per her mother's request, he installed security cameras in the front of house and the backyard to ensure she couldn't sneak out. And the few times she tried, she failed, because Negan would be up late, playing video games in the living room or smoking a cigarette in the backyard by the poolside, making it impossible for her to sneak out. She was so miserable, watching everyone have fun over the summer before college while she wasted away in her room with her only entertainment being behind a screen or imbedded in the pages of a book.

It was so unfair. Especially because she knew tonight was gonna be the party of the year. One of the rich girls in her graduating class was throwing a pool party at her mansion, her mansion which housed one of the best pools she'd ever seen. And somehow, she was lucky enough to be invited. This was an opportunity of a lifetime and if it meant being grounded for an eternity, so be it.

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She had one foot out her bedroom window when she heard a knock on her door.

"Hey kid, can I come in?" her stepdad, Negan's, voice called from the other side of the door.

"One sec, I'm not decent!" she fibbed as she stumbled back inside her room. She shut the window as silently it would go before she slipped under the covers of her bed, hiding the fact she had on nothing but a tropical, triangle bikini.

"Okay, you can come in now," she called out. Negan let himself in, glancing around her room suspiciously. She couldn't help but notice how handsome he looked with his glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, tattoos peeking out from beneath his white t-shirt, and obvious outline of his dick through his gray sweatpants that hung low on his waist. Despite being hidden beneath her sheets and comforter, she felt vulnerable and naked beneath his skeptical gaze.

"You're not plannin' on sneakin' out, are ya?" he asked, tongue seductively swiping across his bottom lip. She nervously swallowed, heat blossoming across her cheeks.

"N-no, why?" came her shaky reply.

"You are a shit liar, kid," he laughed, a handsome smirk on his face.

"Why would I sneak out? There's nothing for me to out there anyway," she doubled down, not feeding into his bait. He stalked closer to her bed before sitting down at the foot of it, hazel eyes boring into her soul.

"So you're not going to that pool party happening right now?" The tone of his voice was sarcastic, hinting that he didn't believe a word coming from her mouth.

"Pool party? What pool party?" She punctuated her question with a fake yawn to try and convince Negan that she really was tired and ready to go to bed for the night.

"If you say so, kid. Just know that if I catch your lying ass sneaking out tonight, you'll be in for a world of hell when I punish you." Her thighs involuntarily squeezed together at his words and the action didn't go unnoticed by Negan. She nodded her head while silently praying he'd hurry up and leave so she can sneak out.

His eyes narrowed at her as he stood up. "Night, kiddo," he said, patting her knee through the comforter for good measure.

"Night, Negan!"

She continued laying in her bed, petrified, for another ten minutes until she heard the door to her mom's bedroom shut. Negan's words did manage to strike some fear into her, but not enough to deter her from her original plan. She was sure he was in bed now and falling asleep for the night. After silently sliding out of her bed, she tucked a few decorative pillows in her previous place in hope they'd fool Negan or her mom if they peek in to check on her.

Her hands were shaky when she re-opened her bedroom window. Nerves were finally getting to her. She could hear her heart beating rapidly in her ears as she began having second thoughts about doing this. Negan was nowhere near as strict as her mom, so his punishment couldn't actually that bad. Not that she'd actually have to worry about his punishment, because she wasn't gonna get caught.

She crept out of her window and stepped onto the roof. She closed her window, only leaving it slightly ajar so she could get back inside later. Careful not to slip on the roof's slippery shingles, she tiptoed to the edge and looked over at the space from here to the grassy ground. Too late to go back now. She sat on the ledge and turned herself around so she could hang from the ledge before dropping into the soft grass.

She looked back at the house, elated she was finally out and what fun was about to come

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The dark morning sky was slowly beginning to turn into a lighter blue as she clumsily climbed the trellis back onto the second story's roof. Her slightly intoxicated brain made it so her movements weren't as agile and quiet like before. She lifted her window open and unceremoniously fell inside, smacking the carpeted flooring with her face.

The first thing she noticed was the potent smell of tobacco followed by his signature whistling.

"Aw, fuck," she groaned to herself. She heard the springs of her mattress release as Negan got up and soon his socked feet came into her view. He reached out a hand and helped her up after she gratefully accepted it.

He looked pissed. His thick eyebrows settled into a frown and his hazel-green eyes were devoid of any kindness. She nervously crossed her arms over her body, feeling naked under his gaze.

"How was the pool party?" he asked.

"I wasn't a-at a pool party!" she lied.

His look only darkened, making her weak in the knees. From fear or arousal, she couldn't tell.

"What kinda goddamn fuckin' idiot do you take me for? You are literally dripping wet and wearin' a damn bikini!" he pointed out the obvious.

"I was swimming in our own pool in the backyard!" she lied with such little conviction that she couldn't even fool herself

He stepped closer to her and if she wasn't already so close to the wall she'd have stepped back. She averted her gaze and chose to look at the chipped, bubblegum pink nail polish that adorned her toes. Negan wasn't having any of it, though, and forced her to look up at him by grabbing a fistful of her wet hair and tilting her head up. Hot tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

"What did I tell you would happen if I caught you sneaking out?" he asked between clenched teeth.

"That...that you're gonna p-punish me..." The tears were streaming down her face now as she sniveled pathetically.

"Attagirl," he darkly praised, a sinister smirk spreading across his face. The slight praise caused her stomach to do backflips and her core to clench over nothing. Her face felt hot and her breathing shallowed as her only thoughts were what Negan would do next.

His grip on her hair stayed firm as he walked her over to her bed. He released his hold before taking a seat onto the plush mattress. She stood before him, nervously shifting her weight from foot to foot and nibbling the skin around her thumbnail, awaiting what was to come. His large, warm hands gripped her hips, pulling her to stand between his legs. She glanced down at him as he looked up at her, but her eyes drifted past his face and down to the bulge growing in his sweatpants. She was embarrassed to admit it, but her mouth watered at the sight.

"Now, I want you to know that this shit could have been avoided had your stubborn ass just listened to me," he stated, his grip on her hips growing firmer. She nodded her head, not knowing what to say and not wanting to anger her stepdad even further.

He pulled the ties on either side of her bikini bottoms and let the damp garment fall to the floor between her feet. She nervously bit her bottom lip and looked down at him, but he was too busy eyeing her cunt and soft thighs, which glimmered with the slick of her arousal. He looked up at her as he licked his bottom lip. He patted his thighs.

"Bend over my fuckin' knee, doll," he ordered. She warily obeyed, despite the humiliation of having him see her bare, wet pussy. His roughish hands caressed the soft flesh of her ass, admiring the mounds. Without warning, his hand came down harshly on her right cheek, earning a yelp from her.

"Keep it down," he hissed before landing an even harsher slap to her other cheek. She only whimpered this time, pursing her lips to fight the noises that yearned to escape. He continued his assailment on her ass, leaving it stinging with numbness. Her whimpers turned into a mixture of sobs and wanton moans which only tightened his pants. By the looks of it, he wasn't the only one getting off to this punishment. Her cunt sparkled with her arousal, arousal which was leaking down her thighs.

"Negan, please!" she begged. Her thighs were clenched together as she tried to rub her aching clit on his thigh.

"What is it that you want, baby?" he questioned. His big hands kneaded at her squishy flesh. He knew damn well what she wanted, but he wanted to hear her beg. Her weeping pussy was practically begging to be stuffed with his big cock.

"Need you! Need to feel you inside me," she begged between sniffles and sobs. She stood up from being bent over his lap and sat on it, straddling him instead. His arms snaked around her waist and hers around his neck before she leaned down almost close enough to connect her lips to his.

"Please, Negan?" she whispered against his lips. His eyes flitted from hers down to her lips which were so close to his. Her eyes fluttered shut as she gently pressed her soft lips to his, his facial hair pricking at her skin. Negan could name a plethora of reasons why this would be wrong, but the one reason it felt right overpowered them all, so he grabbed the back of her head and crashed his lips against hers. The desperate moan she let out gave Negan the perfect opening to slip his tongue into her mouth. She tasted like some fruity cocktail that was really just a bunch of things mixed together by some inexperienced kid. He'd have to take her out for a real drink one day. His tongue traversed her mouth, consuming her. She desperately ground her bare pussy on his clothed bulge, eliciting pleasured groans from him. His hands felt up her body before untying her bikini top from the back and the neck, leaving her completely bare on his lap.

"Please, Negan, I need to feel you," she begged after pulling away from the kiss. His eyes were glued to her tits, watching them as her chest rose and fell while she caught her breath. He cupped them in his hands before giving them a squeeze. Her head fell back as she let out a wanton moan. The rough skin of his fingertips gave her hardened nipples some much needed friction as he rolled them between his thumb and forefinger.

"You got some nice fuckin' tits, babydoll," he complimented, only making her wetter.

Her hands slid down his chest, then torso, then stopped at the waistband of his pants.

"Neeegaaan," she impatiently whined.

"Well, baby, if you want it, go ahead and fuckin' take it." His dimpled smile almost brought her to her release right then and there. He lifted his hips so she could pull his cock free. His length audibly smacked his abdomen, the tip an angry, flaming red and leaking with precum. If her core wasn't aching so badly, she'd have gladly taken him down her throat. She took him in her hand. He was so big that her fingers didn't even touch. She stroked him a few times as he sucked bruising marks onto her neck and collarbones. He held onto her hips as she lined him up with her sopping center, stroking him along her slick folds before sinking all the way down on him. The stretch was there, but not painful because she was so wet and ready for him.

"Negan, you feel so good!" she moaned once he bottomed out inside of her. Her nails dug little crescent moons into his skin through his shirt as she began bouncing on his cock. He admired her tits bouncing as she rode him before pulling her closer and taking one in his mouth, kneading the other with his free hand.

The squelching sounds of her wet pussy and the smell off sex permeating her bedroom only made things more erotic. Negan was hitting every spot perfectly, but he wanted more. He freed her tit from his mouth before flipping their position. Her back was now laying against the bed and Negan stood over her, his cock still inside. Now that he had more control, his thrusts came harder and faster, his tip almost kissing her cervix.

"Goddammit, doll, you were made for my cock!" he praised. More profanities and moans fell from his mouth as her wet, spongy walls squeezed his cock. Her moans were growing louder and louder, making Negan worry that they might wake up her mom...who was his wife.

"I know that my dick is the best damn dick you've had and ever will have in your entire goddamn life, but you need to keep it down," he lectured. She rolled her eyes but pursed her lips in a feeble attempt to keep quiet.

They were both close to reaching their peaks and it was obvious by the way his thrusts grew rushed and sloppy and how her cunt was squeezing him.

"I'm gonna-" her sentence was cut off by a scream of ecstasy which caused Negan to cover her loud mouth with his palm. Her cunt squeezed him as her back arched off the bed and eyes rolled to the back of her head while she came. If he was thinking straight, he'd have left her high and dry as punishment, but his own orgasm was close and he'd be damned if he didn't cum. She removed his hand from covering her mouth and took two of his long, thick fingers into her mouth.

"Ho-ly fuckin' shit!" He swore, marveling at the sight. She hollowed her cheeks as she sucked on the digits.

"That's. My. Girl!" he praised with each thrust.He pulled out of her just as his orgasm came over him and shot his load onto her tits and stomach. He flopped onto the bed beside her and she rolled into his strong arms.

"Y'know I can't stay, gotta get back to your mom before she wakes up."

"Just ten more minutes?" she begged, looking up at Negan with those doe eyes of hers.

He sighed and lightheartedly rolled his eyes.

"Anything for my babydoll."

thank you for reading! if you have any feedback on how i can improve, i'd love to hear it!

[likesomeoneinlovee]

An Artist’s Way

pairing: Arthur Morgan x F!reader

Word Count: 10k

Summary: You run into Arthur while on an errand in Saint Denis while he invites you to come with him to Charles Châtenay's gallery. Afterwards you two go out for a drink, then eventually to a local hotel where you find out Arthur had been drawing you in Charles' "style"

Warnings: smut with plot HEAVILY based off the game's mission - Reader briefly mentioned to be a virgin, fingering, unprotected PIV sex, riding, creampie, oral sex M!receiving + F!receiving. Younger woman reader, Arthur's a big boy, canon that he grabs the headboard sorry not sorry.

Author’s Note: Based on the stranger mission: '”an artist's way” in CH4!

More and more you’ve found yourself becoming the gang’s “errand boy”.

This was often Arthur’s job, though he’s been gone more often now, either on bounty’s or doing the dirty work in the gang. So Dutch had you do the clean work. You’d say you didn’t mind it, the running around at least, after all it was one of your only excuses to get away from camp. You’d jump when Pearson needed more herbs or vegetables from the store or if Dutch needed some cigars. You usually went to Saint Denis most of the time, it was the closest to camp after all -and something about running these errands in the city made you feel right at home. The gang was a downgrade from growing up in the city of course, still not completely used to it: the running, it was as if every time you were comfortable everyone had to pack up and move to a whole new location. Hell, sometimes it means crossing states.

You had just walked back to your horse after buying some goods from the general store across the street, packing your purchases into the saddle bags of your hitched horse -some canned fruits and vegetables, cigarettes as per request from most of the people in camp, and some ammo Dutch asked for, just to stock up I suppose. As you worked on buttoning the flap to the saddle bag back down, making sure none of your goods would be seen by people walking by, after all you spent your hard earned -ahem, stolen money- on those things, you could’ve sworn you heard a man ask for directions, a man with a voice as familiar to you as you own.

You looked over your shoulder to see the man, the sandy brown locks under the gambling hat told you enough, why was Arthur in the city? You didn’t think Dutch had any chores for him today, thus why he asked you to go to the store. He held a small card in his hand, looking from the back of it before his gaze fell back on the woman passing, the one he had asked for directions. Once he got them he’d nod to the woman, eyes falling back onto the card as she walked off. 

You’d pat your horse on the neck before walking onto the sidewalk where Arthur stood, he didn’t notice you til’ you tapped on his shoulder. “Arthur?” You were sure he nearly jumped out of his skin. If your voice wasn’t so familiar he probably would’ve elbowed you out of pure defense. 

“Christ–! you tryin’ to kill me sneakin’ up on me like that?” He’d pause for a moment as if his brain finally processed that it was you. “The hell are you doing here anyway?”

“Good news, you’ve been replaced.” 

“Wha���” His brows would furrow together as his mind cranked to figure out your meaning, that was until you pulled your little shopping list out from the satchel swung over your shoulder. “Oh, that.” 

Of course he couldn’t care less about being ‘replaced’ in that department. It was usually a pain in his ass –And honestly you were a pain in his ass too. It’s not that he didn’t like you, you were just ultimately too spunky for his nature. He’d gladly admit you were a good shot, a good killer. So with that you made a good member for this gang. Personality wise he couldn’t help but wince at your jokes while others would laugh, the tiniest amount of attitude that laced each of your sentences. He wasn’t one to like immaturity, especially from someone who was an adult. Though, you were barely even that.

“Have fun runnin’ around with that list of yours then. Seems you’re really movin’ on up.” He’d scorn.

He’d look down at the card in his hands, then back up to look around his surroundings.

“Do you know where this is?”

He handed you the card, the finished paper now warm from him holding it for so long now against your fingertips. It was an address to one of the buildings on this street, you were surprised he hadn’t realized by now.

“That woman didn’t tell you? It’s right on this street.” 

“No.” He’d roll his eyes. “She looked at me like I lost my mind.” 

You’d snicker at that, now walking down the sidewalk with him, both of your boots clicking against the stone sidewalk. Then you stopped in front of the brick building. ”Here, I think.” You’d give that card one last look, noticing the name on the back of the card, you’d squint to see if you were reading it right -Charles Châtenay? you could’ve sworn I heard that name–

My eyes flicked up to the poster on the side of the brick, looks like it was what I thought after all. I usually pick up the paper when I go this route. The route of aimlessly following Dutch’s list as I walk or ride around the city, gives me something to read when I get back to Shady Belle. Seems the artist had an open gallery today. you couldn’t help but snort, the thought of you, Arthur Morgan going to an art gallery full of practically- well, pornography, now that just might be the funniest damn thing you’ve heard all week. -Your immaturity was truly striking.

“Mr. Morgan, Mr. Morgan.” You’d snark. Of course when Arthur wasn’t acting like the man he was -the same man with five-thousand dollars on his head alone, the same who’s murdered more than a person could fathom he was just your regular ol’ suck up.

“Don’t start with that now, I’m already annoyed I gotta go to this thing.” He tapped his boot onto the sidewalk, taking that card back from you and putting it back into his satchel. “Well, ‘less you wanna come in with me. You’d have a field day with this kinda thing. Châtenay seems like a man who’d entertain you anyway.”

You’d think it over for a moment, you could hear chatter already coming from the windows of the building that were open just a crack. Surely you’d find entertainment in it but you were also fond of the arts as well. Though paintings of women laid out nude wouldn’t strike something in you as it would in a man, you’d be surprised if you were the only woman in that building other than the ones on canvas. –At least this would bring some entertainment to your day. 

“I’ll keep you company. Lead the way– or, shall I? Seeing you’re horrible with directions.”

“Up the stairs and to the right.” He’d recite the directions written on the back of that card. “I think I can remember that.”

You two walked into the building together, up the stairs and to the right and you were there. The first hall was filled with sculptures, beautiful paintings hung against the blue walls, the next room you two stepped in was Châtenay’s, you and Arthur’s gaze met with women’s breasts and men’s cocks painted with oils on the canvases. It surely was– something. Arthur tugged his collar to clear his throat. 

The room had more of a variety of guests than you thought, actually more women than men which came as a shock up until you realized these women were actually the models conversing with the other models. They seemed quite proud of their work, respectably so. Arthur had spotted the french artist across the room chatting one of the models up, he wouldn’t want you to get mixed up in his own charades so Arthur would squeeze your shoulder for your attention just for a moment.

“Why don’t you stay here, pretend to be a model or sumthin’, princess. Wouldn’t want you to get your ear talked off by Charles.” 

Your eyes fell on the french artist as he stood distracted across the room, you could barely hear nor understand the words that he was blabbering out through his thick french accent. Something told you maybe it was a good idea for Morgan to handle what he’s gotten himself into with this man before you were stuck talking to someone you could hardly understand, stuck replying with ‘mhm’s’ and ‘uh-huh’s’ as if you knew what he was saying. Although you’d feel a bit awkward standing there and staring at the intimate paintings of both men and women while standing in the same room as the people being portrayed in oil, it’d probably be best for you at least, you were only here to keep Arthur company and today you felt you’d be less of a nuisance to him by obeying his wishes.

“Sure thing.”

You watched as Arthur walked away from you all the way to the other side of the gallery leaving you alone with the model’s dressed in their elegant, expensive attire that you could only dream of owning. And unfortunately due to the paintings you now know what’s under the rich clothing.

– That evening only got more interesting from there on. It was quite ridiculous, you and Arthur couldn’t have been there for more than fifteen minutes before all hell started to break loose. The husbands and wives of the models had practically raided the building before shouting at their spouses, you couldn’t really tell what was happening between Châtenay being attacked by the men and the women, being hit with a variety of chairs, purses, and of course, fists. Before things could get out of hand with you in the mix Arthur came over to you. He had a wide smile on his face, could’ve sworn this was the first time you’ve seen him laugh so hard he had developed tears in the corners of his eyes. 

“You should probably get outta here before you get in the mix of fists, sweetheart–” His voice quickly cut off by a crash as he escorted you out of the gallery. “Wait outside.” He’d pat your shoulder, leaving you standing at the top of the stairs as he left to go help the artist.

“Sure– thing.”  It was like that turned into your only response.

You didn’t really have time to leave with a jest, or something more than two words, not to be a pussy but you really didn’t feel like being hit by a stray flying chair, so you just walked down the stairs and back outside. You’d laugh to yourself as you walked down the street and away from that brick building, of course the highlight of the day only lasted a short moment, it was quick and rushed, but really you didn’t need to stare at those paintings any longer than you already have. -You felt as if Charles or the gallery wouldn’t be mentioned or thought of again, at least in this moment. But you’d be wrong about that. -The sun was setting now, it looked beautiful against all the buildings that made up the city, you found a bench to sit on, figured you’d read that paper you got earlier while you waited for Arthur. Your eyes would skim the words but nothing would really register.

A little while had gone by and after the sun finally set, the stars scattered against the dark sky as you stayed patiently waiting on that wooden –and quite uncomfortable bench, constantly finding yourself adjusting and shifting to get more comfortable, ‘course it didn’t work . You heard footsteps, looking up from the newspaper you felt you read about a hundred times by now out of pure boredom you were relieved to see that it was Arthur.

“Jesus, I thought you’d never come back. Why’d you take so long?” 

“Had to escort the dumbass home so he didn’t get killed. Seems he had a whore waiting for him an’ everythin’.” 

You’d let out a short breath at that, not quite a laugh, you felt your body getting a bit tired but you quickly shook off the feeling, rubbing your eyes with the back of your palm before standing from the bench, leaving the paper behind you, you had a bit of a ride back to Shady Belle, wouldn’t want to fall asleep on the back of your horse. You also had to get all that food and goods you bought back to the camp –though you weren’t quite sure how urgent we needed the provision.

You and Arthur started walking down the sidewalk, side-by-side, the night air now nipping at your skin through the thin fabric of your blouse. It had been too long without a good tease from you to purposely annoy him, clearing your throat to prepare to speak.

“How do you know that artist anyway?”

He’d look down at you as he walked, that was a fair question to ask.

“I met him in the saloon –not the big one down the street here, the smaller one. Don’t know if you’ve ever been there.”

You’d shrug. “I’ve passed by it.”

Arthur would nod. “Met him in there and somehow he convinced me to go to that little show. Gave one of his–”  He'd stop his words looking down at you before shaking his head. 

“Nevermind” 

Charles gave him one of his many artworks, a nude woman, an illustration that he embarrassingly kept safely in his satchel since. And now he’d especially not want to tell you, you were already amused that he even went to the damn show which he himself had more fun that he should’ve. Though, to mention, he didn’t start having fun til’ Châtenay was getting his ass handed to him.

You on the other hand were now dying to know what he gave Arthur, –can’t just start a sentence without finishing it. You had a feeling begging him for the answer wouldn’t work of course, you’d try anyway.

“Oh come onnnnnn.” You sneered. “M’sick of you doing that, you’ve been on this earth long enough to realize you can’t just start a sentence without finishing.”

‘N’ I’ve known you long enough to know I shouldn’t be givin’ you any more reasons to laugh at me.”

“I don’t– laugh,” You’d scoff. “Five months isn’t long either, you barely know me.”

Morgan let out a sigh, tying to think of a good excuse to kinda brush away what he said. Something to finish the sentence he started. “He gave me some money, paid me to go to that exhibit. Don’t want you goin’ around thinkin’ I’m a pervert who went for a good time.”

You’d look up to him after he said that. If that’s all it was –money. “I wasn’t thinkin’ that.”

Well, maybe it crossed your mind once or twice. But then again why would he stop himself from saying that? Right now you couldn’t bother to make sense of it, you just shrugged it off. –Now the walk was silent for the most part, there wasn’t really anything to say. Once you got to your horse you’d pat the saddle bag, feeling that your goods hadn’t been stolen, letting out a sigh before turning back to Arthur.

“We should both get back to camp before someone gets worried.”

Really, you didn’t know who would get worried, you’ve stayed the night at a hotel in the city more times than you could count just so you could sleep in a comfortable bed ‘stead of your worn, hard cot. 

“No one will be worried. Come on I’m the one who made you stay out here longer than you intended, I’ll buy you a whiskey or sumthin’.” 

You’d look at him, almost surprised to hear the offer. It was rare for him to be sweet, if that was the right word for offering you a drink. It sounded good, the thought alone of the cool alcohol burning down your throat already waking you up a bit more than you were.

“That’d– that’d be nice.”

Not too long after those words were shared you and Morgan had made it into the saloon, the faint playing of the piano heard from across the street now loud along with the chatter between people sitting and eating at their tables to the men around their table playing poker. Since it was a bit later in the day –the night now fully taking its course, it was like a signal for men and women alike to flood the saloon. You and Arthur had found a booth to be separated from the crowd at least a little bit. You both set your satchels down on the corners of your seats, Arthur’s finger tapping against the finished wood that made up the table before he took out a cigarette from his satchel along with his lighter, flicking the flame before holding it against his cigarette to light it, Adjusting to stuff the lighter conveniently into the pocket of his pants, inhaling the tobacco into his lungs before blowing the smoke away from the booth.

“I’ll get up, get us some drinks.” 

“Mhm.” You’d hum as you watched him shift out of the booth, walking away to go to the bar. You’d notice something in his empty space, a piece of paper had fallen out of his satchel. You didn’t think anything of it of course, didn’t bother reaching over to put it back in for him. Curiosity killed the cat.

A few minutes later Arthur came back with a couple bottles, sitting back down into the leather seats of the booth with a sigh, the bottles clinking against the table as he placed them down.

“Thanks.” You'd nod, popping the cork out the bottle with your thumb.

“Just two beers, don’t wanna get too drunk, not here.”

Boy, was he wrong. 

After those two beers Arthur had gotten up again to get another. Once beers were out he went to whiskey. One whiskey was out he grabbed any alcohol they had at that bar. Two turned into four. Four turned into six, –eight… Ten.. Fuck.

To be fair you didn’t have as many drinks as Arthur deciding to play responsible tonight, but it was still enough.

The once clean table turned into a mess of empty bottles, glasses, Arthur’s cigarettes and the ashes from made a mess of the ashtray pushed to the side of the table. Random splashes of golden liquid dripped on the table. Now piss drunk in a booth with an also piss drunk Morgan was… Actually a real fuckin’ good time. A peep could escape your lips and Arthur could double over the table with laughter, same with you. 

One idiotic conversation after another you finally thought of it again even through your drunken haze –whatever that artist ‘gave him’ to persuade him into going to the gallery. Why was it clawing at you so much? You usually weren’t so interested in him or his life. Maybe it was because you knew he was blatantly lying to you. 

 “Now– you tell me the hell that– that artist gave you– remember?” 

Finishing the sentence with a hiccup you’d look back at Arthur. Now since you both were a couple more shots away from passing out onto the sea of glasses that made up the table, both of your tongues were loose, of course.

He let out a laugh, shaking his head as he reached into his satchel. “Goddamn, guess you know how to loosen a man up–”  He pulled out that piece of paper that was earlier peeking out from the top of the leather. “--Gave me this pretty little drawin’. Ain’t she a fuckin’ ‘beaut, eh?”

The picture he slid over to you from the other side of the table was a photograph of a nude woman of course, her bare breasts on a perfect display as she perched on a chair. You couldn’t help but laugh, was he really carrying this around all this time? Sure– that creep of a man could truly draw, but Arthur wasn’t one to keep aimless gifts close to him, definitely not directly in his satchel for safe keepings –though you couldn’t imagine what he was actually doing with this picture. If it’s what you thought that would be pretty damn pathetic. 

“He surely can draw– that man–” You’d slur, sliding the illustration back to Arthur, wasn’t something you really needed to study.  “--Now, you don’t–” You’d clear your throat “Surely you don’t–”

“Now princess, I’d need a lot more than a sketch for that.”

You’d laugh, his words melted right off his tongue from the alcohol. Right now you couldn’t even force yourself to think anything of the words he was saying, and anyway, the thought of a man –even Arthur jerking off to a measly sketch of a woman sounded more unappealing than something that’d get you going. Why would it anyway? Arthur was– well, he was Arthur. You’d often be cautious to even call him a friend of yours. Though right about now in the haze of booze that clouded your brain and same his, he’d most definitely call you his friend as an introduction at least.

The music, the chatter, the yelling and hollering in the saloon was echoing through your head. You were sure the pianist practically banging on the keys of the piano would split your ears open if you stayed in that place any longer –you’d ignore it for now, hell maybe even another drink would solve that problem.

“...I didn’t need to know that information.” You’d finally get past your lips with another giggle, slouching over the table with that damned empty bottle still in your grasp, being swung around to enunciate all your sentences. 

Arthur raised an eyebrow, he couldn’t help the grin that pulled at his lips –blame the brandy for that. He leaned back into the leather seats of the booth, his arm lazily draped onto the table, tapping his finger against the glass bottle he held –completely empty. 

“You asked.” 

He shrugged, taking a long sip from the glass bottle, savoring the feeling of the cool liquid slipping down his throat, feeling unnecessarily in love with the burning. You’d pout, tap your finger against the bottle you held, but the corners of your lips betrayed you, a smirk quickly replaced how your bottom lip would stick out from your top.

 “Didn't expect an answer– not like that–” You’d hic, “–not from you.”

“What are you– drawin’ these types of things too? Psh– maybe you needed the reference.” You’d mock him, that brought a scoff from his lips as if you just said something so fucking absurd, he shook his head, slamming his bottle back down onto the wooden table as you swirled your empty bottle around the table. His gaze was seemingly stuck on the table as if he was examining the grooves and knots in the wood, running his finger along the imperfections.

“No, I–” His voice was conveniently cut off by a bang coming from one of the tables, more loud hollering, yelling –looks like someone won a poker game at least, the table surrounded by wasted men, all a bit too excited to be here tonight. Arthur was clearly getting antsy and the alcohol was even clouding your vision. 

Imagine a radio overlapping ten different songs over each other and now replace the songs with the not-so pleasant sounds of men who’d been guzzling booze all night screaming over losing their money by their own stupid and idiotic decisions, women cackling over the city’s pointless gossip– that damn piano! You were ready to smash your beer bottle over the pianist’s head–

 You tried to take a swig from your empty bottle before tossing it onto the table with the others. With a groan Arthur buried his face into his worked palms, he seemed just as sick of it as well.

“Goddamn–” He’d groan. His hands pressing harder into his face as if he was desperately trying to wipe away the noise. “Fuck. Fuck…” 

You two just couldn’t stand it anymore. 

So, why stand it?

You and Morgan made it out of the bar successfully without beating someone with one of the bottles from the mess you had carelessly left on the table –you two getting out of there in time for the bartender to say anything. Swinging your satchels over your shoulders you two left the godforsaken noisebox that saloon had turned on, now all the ‘’hootin’ ‘N��� hollerin’,, was a faint sound heard from the distance as you walked down the sidewalk.

You rubbed your temple with the pad of your thumb, feeling a little better now without all the over fucking excitement.

“Gah– fuck.” Arthur would lean up against the brick building beside him, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand before looking forward, noticing the lit sign for the hotel in the distance. It was quite obvious you two wouldn’t want to be riding your horse back to camp right now. Morgan checked his pocket watch, the arms of the clock pointing to 11:35. ‘Kay, not too late.

“You don’t wanna ride all the way to camp right now, do ya?” His voice deeper than normal from all the drinking, the slurring.

“Not particularly,” 

With a pause your head turned to the sign of the hotel, it’d be better just to go right straight there, once again you might’ve gone it anyway tonight just for that comfortable bed that comes with the deal  –Hell, two dollars could get you a bed with two rooms if you’re lucky enough. 

A hum escaped your throat as you nodded. “I–”

“Dont– don’t worry I’ll be payin’” 

As if you didn’t have two dollars to spare you perked up a bit at that. Guess it was all you needed to hear.

No more excuses, you’d be spending the night with this drunken fool. 

You two both were wobbly on your feet, of course with the amount of shots and bottles practically swallowed whole you could go figure that. You walked into the front doors as you tried to adjust your clothes, Arthur pushed his hat up so it wouldn’t be slouched over his eyes.

“Ah, may I help you two?” The clerk at the front desk had one of those fake overexaggerated smiles on his face.

“Just lookin’ for a room to stay the night. Nothin’ special.” He’d clear his throat, trying to shake off the drunken slur that was making his voice. “Two beds.”

Of course he had to clarify that– er, it only made sense anyway. It’d be really awkward if you and Arthur had to share a–

“Sorry, we don’t have rooms with two beds here.”

Shit.

Well it was logical at least, why would they? Let’s think. Who actually gets hotel rooms – commonly it’s men who’ve bought themselves a whore for the night or someone looking for a place to rest on their ventures. Not often you have two drunken outlaws stumbling in asking for two beds.

“Fine. M’That’s just– fine.” 

Arthur would pass some money over the desk to the man behind, in exchange he received a key to the room.  

“Upstairs, first room to your left, enjoy the stay folks.”

Jesus, you could’ve sworn that smile was melting off that clerk’s face as he spoke. You’d rub your temple again as you and Arthur just said a quick ‘’thank you,, in unison. 

Both of your boots would stomp heavily up the stairs. – upstairs first room to your left. Once there you turned to it, Arthur put the key in, turned it, opened the door. The rusted hinges creaked as it opened, though despite that sound the door opened to reveal a very nice looking hotel room. The bed was made, a thick quilt and were those– satin pillows? 

Surely this was paradise.

Arthur’s eyes looked around the room, other than the bed, a dresser in front, couple nightstands and an oil lamp to give the room a nice warm light –there was an arm chair pushed to the side of the room. 

“I’ll take the chair.”

He groaned as he shimmied his coat off of his shoulders, lazily throwing it onto the arm of the chair. Now with this action he also removed his satchel, it hit the nightstand by the bed, narrowly missing the lamp and hitting the edge before his palms met with his forehead again.

“M’gonna try to find a bathroom in this place–”

You’d let a scowl cross your mouth as he said that, watching as he stumbled out the door, closing it behind him.

Well, at least you could get some peace and quiet– is what you would say if there wasn’t the sound of the bed creaking clearly from rocking back and forth and a quick pace wasn’t coming from behind the drywall of your own room. Whatever, somehow that could be easily ignored by you.

You did notice something more interesting than that though –something you couldn’t seemed to ignore: Arthur’s satchel had fallen from where he had thrown it, landing onto the floor as all his things fell all of it –a mess of papers and money, a couple packs of cigarettes too. You’d click your tongue as you went to pick it up, noticing his journal had fallen out too.

You crouched down to start putting his things back into the leather bag, the money, the cigarettes, though your hands lingered on the worn leather back of his journal for a bit longer than they should’ve.

No, you shouldn’t.

But what if you just– one peak wouldn’t hurt. 

Arthur would probably take a while anyway figuring he went to presumably empty his body of all the alcohol he had drank in just one evening.

 Though as you looked more at the mess on the ground below your knees you’d notice the papers more, one was right side up but underneath the journal, so you’d lift it. Doing so revealed the full drawing done in pencil–

A sketch of a nude woman much like one Châtenay had drawn. But this one– it seemed different. There was more detail, more fluidity to the art, it looked all the more real. Down to the freckles drawn down the valley of her breasts.

You flipped over another stray paper, this one of the same. A naked woman, her breasts on full display, detailed. You’d flip another

And then another.

You’d open his journal.

Flipping through the pages where he’s drawn various things, trees, animals, beautiful scenery of places he’s traveled with the locations written in the corners, some pages filled with chicken scratch of his thoughts– you’d pay no mind to those. You started to notice the pages that were ripped out from his journal yet kept in, more drawings. 

Were you going crazy or did these drawings turn from your average woman with long wavy locks and bright eyes to– you…?

You felt a coil in your gut as you looked down at the images, not the bad kind of coil that you’d get while you’re being chased by an armed man or the kinda coil you’d get as a kid when your parents caught you stealing from the cookie jar– no, you could tell it wasn’t that kind from the additional heat that pooled in your tummy.

Your breathing would pick up, your eyebrows knitted closely as you looked down at these drawings. Your eyes. Your lips. Your nose. Quite obviously your hair too–

Fuck. You were beginning to hear footsteps stumbling down the hallway. You’d quickly shove the contents of his satchel back in, you surely didn't have time to worry about where everything went– if it’d just fall out again, if he’d notice it had been ran and rummaged through. Once it was all in there you quickly latched the button and placed it back on the nightstand, quickly standing from your knees as soon as he opened the door.

“Hi–” 

How could a two letter greeting sound guilty as ever?

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as a grunt escaped the back of his throat, though now looking at him maybe you didn’t wish you were as drunk as him right now –even if it probably meant you’d be forgetting about those drawings by now, maybe you’d just brush it off. 

He closed the door behind him as he coughed into his fist, gently guiding you out of the way so he could get to the satchel on the nightstand– 

Fuck.

As he undid the button he reached in to grab a packet of cigarettes when he noticed one of them was missing. 

“You take one of these?”

He’d say, popping the last one of the packet actually still in his satchel between his lips before lighting it.

“What– no! No– I don’t smoke…”

He’d look at you with his half-lidded gaze he’s had since the saloon, furrowing his brows at your reaction, frazzled for no good reason.

“Christ, girl. You don’t take your liquor well.”

That was funny, you’d think it was the other way around.

“I think it’s quite the opposite, Arthur.”

You’d see his gaze shift to the floor as he looked around, where could’ve that pack gone? He was sure he had a second one– no, he knew he had a second one since he just went out and bought it earlier in the day and– Ah, there it was. Halfway to being pushed completely under the bed Arthur bent to pick it back up. He was too delirious to think of why it even got there.

You swallowed the lump in your throat as you looked at him, his body– those fingers that you now knew were once holding a pencil to paper, sketching you, what he imagined to be underneath those pretty blouses you wore, those skirts that stopped at your ankles. 

This was killing you. Even though you hadn’t said a word to him you still felt like you were lying to him, deceiving him. You never had a problem with that before anyway, why start now? 

You knew what else you always were –that damn loud, snarky girl he always hated to be around. The one who’d let any words leave her mouth without a thought and now you’re here, standing in silence, you’d think your mouth was sewn shut. 

Under the shadow of the bed Arthur saw something else– a paper.

Shit. 

He tapped his boot on top of it and dragged it out, the sound of the paper sliding across the wooden floor heightened your senses again. Course it was one of those drawings, those drawings. It was his turn for his heart to rapidly thump against his ribs.

“Fuck.” You’d hear him groan as he bent down to pick up that paper now, looking it over, it wasn’t one of the drawings of you, one of the quick sketches of a woman he hadn’t named.

“You didn’t–”

…

“I did.”

The room fell silently quickly after that, how could it not? There was no point of you mustering up a flustered, messy defense in a long drawn out blabber that’d escape your lips so you’d just admit it. It wasn’t nothing you did wrong anyway. Arthur sighed, rubbing his hand over his face once more as he shoved the drawing back into his satchel, easily frustrated now he’d just crump it up into a ball before getting it into the leather bag. He braced his hands on the edge of the night stand, taking in a deep long breath before letting out an even deeper and even longer breath out. 

You should say something– say something so he could look you in the eye.

“I– didn’t ask for those.”

“I know.” He’d breathe.

“I didn’t even realize you considered us friendly– I had no clue you–”

“I know.”

Your fingers would twitch at your sides, swallowing hard.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me…”

At first in his head those words sounded– like they could be angry, it might’ve been his brain telling him that. Then he heard that tone– that almost breathless tone in your voice. He finally got the courage back to look you in the eyes, his fingers peeling away from the edge of that nightstand, if his nails dug into the finished wood any harder he would’ve left indents.

“You should be angry with me.”

“I’m not. I mean– I couldn’t be farther from that.” 

You’d stop a moment, his breathing was heavy and so was yours. Arthur would push and twist his cigarette into the ashtray to put it out, blowing out the rest of the smoke through his nostrils with a suppressed, small cough.

“What are you then, princess?’

The name he had been calling you all day now sounding completely different in this heavy tone. You knew exactly what you were. Voicing that would be a little difficult. You felt if you did end up blurting something out it’d either kill the moment or kill him. His voice still had a slur to it from the alcohol, his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. Your own throat ran dry as you flicked your eyes to his plump, pink lips.

A man like Morgan knew what that look you gave meant, he’s had his own fair share of whores over the years, working girls were his usual go-to after Mary at least, before too. I mean, Christ, the man had himself a son once he knew what your eyes alone were saying.

“Why don’t you find out…” You’d finally blurt.

His boots clicked against the ground as he walked close to you, his hand reaching out to cup the nape of your neck.

The way his face slowly, so carefully slowly moved towards yours you’d think he was going in for a slow, gentle capture of your lips– not quite.

His face twitched– leaving you with a brief flash of micro emotion before he would collide his lips against your own, his fingers curling and tangling in your locks of hair.

His tongue delved into your mouth before your own body got the chance to respond, your arms quickly wrapping around his neck as you moaned into the kiss. His hands slid down your shoulders, arms, the curve of your waist, hips, all the way down to your thighs, hands moving to the back of them to hoist you up against his body, his palms laid flat against your ass.

Your legs locked around his hips, finding difficulty to find a place to settle your hands as his tongue fucked your mouth, his shoulders? His arms? You’d eventually give them a home on his vest-covered chest, your fingernails digging into the black leather. 

He could feel the denim of his pants stretch around his growing cock, he hoisted you higher, your clothed breasts practically at his lips now, those lips quickly parted from your lips to move down your neck, sucking at your pulse point.

You would never consider yourself noisy, not ever. Your life so far had never called for sex, sure men had given you their eyes, licking their lips seemingly to grab your attention but they never did, failing miserably instead of getting what they wanted from you. Playing with yourself was a lost cause but you’d count it as experience, the frustrated pumps of your own fingers into your pussy weren’t enough to draw pleasure, relieve the ache in your stomach, it only made it tighter.

Arthur had sucked a hickey into your skin, he made sure it’d be hidden by your hair since it was so far up on your neck. His roughened hands still would squeeze your ass cheeks, fingers working you like dough before giving it a quick, hard spank. Almost just muscle memory for him.

With a grunt he’d lower you two down onto the bed, his mouth quickly returned to yours with the same –nearly violent pace. The bulk of his muscles pressing into your more so petite form. His hand roamed your body – your legs, thighs, stomach, moving up to cup then squeeze your soft breast, the pad of his thumb teasing your budded nipple through the thin fabric of your blouse rewarding him with a moan from your sweet lips.

Just the feeling of his clothing rubbing against his body was driving him mad, ‘’uncomfortable,, couldn’t even express it anymore, it was hell. His hands reluctantly pulled away from you, at a quick pace his thick fingers undid the buttons of his heavy vest, when that was gone, quickly discarded to the floor he finally felt like he was gaining - at least some - of his breath back, now it was a matter of his shirt, quickly undoing the buttons of that next. Fuck, he needed you.

He needed you right fucking now. 

He shimmied the shirt off of his shoulders, down the muscles of his arms before it dropped to the floor behind him –he was on top of you again. His hips bucked into yours quick and hard. Grinding. Rubbing.

Your hair would splay behind you on the bed, always thought in moments like this your eyes should be closed, that seemed like common knowledge, your half-lidded eyes still refused to fully close, especially now that his shirt was off. You’ve of course seen Morgan with his shirt off before, tending to his wounds, his cuts, bathing in the lake out by camp– close up like this it was different. His biceps pulsing as his hands braced on either side of your head, fingers curling into the blanket. Puffs of hard breaths would escape him, it was almost like a pattern before he’d grab you by the sides of your thighs tight.

Arthur would let himself fall back against the pillows that piled against the bed frame, dragging your body right onto his lap –now it was obvious how hard he was, that mass between his legs pulsating against your ass, your back pressed against his chest as he snaked an arm around you, quickly so fucking fast. He’d begin unbuttoning your blouse, tugging it right off of you, you were surprised he didn’t tear the fabric off of your pretty little body. His hands moved up, groping and squeezing your tits from behind, one of his hands moved down your body, down your sternum, stomach, and past the hem of your skirt, dripping your hand under it before his thick fingers found your panties.

Fucking hell you were soaked.

“Jesus christ… Fuckin’ hell you’re soaked…”

He’d grunt, he hadn’t spoken in a while, so focused on his movements, breathing. This was something he couldn’t ignore. He placed a kiss on your nape before his fingers would slide past your wet underwear, his hips involuntarily thrusting into your ass, squeezing your tit harder as he pushed two of his big fingers into your hot cunt. Your head lolled back against his shoulder as you practically squealed. 

“Arthur–!”

Your mouth was wide open, sharp, sinful moans escaping from you as his fingers curled inside you, fuck. If you couldn’t even handle his fingers how would you handle his cock. You can only imagine how fucking big it was. Big hands, muscles, body, it’d be one of god’s greatest jokes if it didn’t live up to the rest of his body.

Your cunt would clench around his fingers- it had been this whole time. His fingernail scraped across the tip of your erect nipple again, you’d squirm in his arms, your own fingers digging into his massive biceps, the tip of your finger tracing the vein that ran down it, his muscle would twitch.

With a wet squelch from your tight pussy Arthur would withdraw his fingers from your walls, you weren’t finished. Wasn’t his concern. The coil in your gut felt like it’d burst any second, your cunt left throbbing, empty without the fill of his fingers.

He was gonna give you something better than his fingers.

“Lift up…”

His mouth was pressed against your ear feeling the hot breath fan onto your lobe. His hands gripped onto your hips, pulling that pretty dark skirt right down the length of your legs, you could hear the clinking of his belt behind you, making your ears perk. 

“Up.”

Another command escaped his lips, you’d nod as you shakily got off of him, kneeled onto the bed. Arthur blew out the oil lamp on the bedside table, the room now lit by the paleness of the moonlight that shone through the windows, the curtains spread. It wasn’t like people would see anyway, though it’d be a good show.

Once he had unbuckled his belt he threw it to the ground– Arthur didn’t wear briefs, why would he? They caused him more discomfort, an extra layer of tightness to his balls and shaft. One tug of his work-pants and his hard, thick cock sprung from the confines of the black denim, the light from the window reflecting on the bead of precum that beaded off his cockhole. His size was impressive, sending a signal through your body– you couldn’t control yourself anymore. You ripped your underwear right off of that poor bundle of nerves that it protected, tossing the wet lace down onto the floor.

You practically crawled to him, his hands reached for your hips before pulling you on top of him, walking on your knees over him, his cock shooting straight up as it twitched with your pussy like it was fucking magnetic. You’d sink your body down onto the thickness, moaning his name as you sheathed him into your pulsating cunt. His hand wrapped around the headboard, gripping it for dear life as he pumped his way into you–

“Fuck!” Your hands braced on either one of his hips before one trailed up to his chest.

“That’s it– that’s fuckin’ it, princess.”

His thrusts quickened, his back arching up with each fast pound of his pelvis. His cock slipping deeper into your gummy walls with each snap. His dick curved inside of you, the head of his shaft kissing your g-spot, he felt so painfully good, your teeth bit into your thumb to try to muffle the sounds escaping your mouth, your body shaking. 

You didn’t want to let yourself be this –a mess on top of him. Riding him. You had to gain some control even with his cock slapping inside of your sore hole. His eyes opening up, releasing the headboard to trail back to your breasts, those scarred, calloused hands - once again - giving the tender mounds another generous groping. Your hands would run to rest on top of his own big ones, the size of him consuming every sense –not only his dick, his hands, his body. Looking down and seeing the muscles in his stomach tense and twitch, his head arching backwards into the comfortable pillows behind. He was close. Surely you were too.

His hand ran to the small of your back as he helped you a bit, pushing himself up against the headboard so his body was lazily sat up now, your hips rolling back and forth into his as you ground down, making a loud, throaty moan release from the back of his throat, his balls slapped against your ass, now you’ve got it. Bouncing up and down on his cock leaving him with no mercy.

“You’re gonna make me cum, princess– you’re’mmmm–”

His eyes locked onto the sight of your perfect tits bouncing up and down as you took his cock, he felt his sack tighten up, that unbearable sensation deep in his gut, he was gonna cum. He needed to cum. Though you were still chasing that high as his fingers dug into your waist, your skin there raw and pink from the tight hold. The base of his cock rubbed against your clit, the coarse hair crowning it scratched against the sensitive, swollen bud, the sensation making you lose every bit of yourself to him.

With one more curved thrust from him you’d climax, your body collapsing over top of his as you did. Making sure to cry right into his ear. Your trembling fingers clawing and digging into the broad, tense muscles of his shoulders. His eyes rolling back into his skull as his orgasm followed yours, strings of hot semen coating your inner walls as he fucked it into you, making your pussy milk out every hot, thick rope of cum, his head falling foreward between the valley of those pretty tits he’d been admiring all night. 

“Oh fuck, princess.” 

His voice wavered as he tried desperately to catch his breath back though it seemed it’d all been stolen from his lungs.

“Oh, Arthur…”

That desperate whine squeaked from your lips. A kiss was planted on your clavicle before he’d guide you so you were underneath him again, careful not to jar you too much after all he was well aware of how hard he had just fucked that tight little hole of yours. He’d pull his shaft out from those walls that were spasmed around him just a second ago, watching all that access, hot seed spill out from your pink petals. 

Did you think that was it? Surely you had to return the favor.

Arthur had a cigarette lit and hanging from his lips that were wet with his own salvia, your head between his legs bobbing up and down on that thick cock that was still coated with your own juice. His fingers tangled up in your hair, fucking your mouth with the same force as he had with your cunt just moments ago. The cigarette in his hot mouth was the only thing suppressing his noises, taking it between his fingertips just to let out a loud long moan. 

You’d gag when his swollen tip hit the back of your throat unexpectedly, your hands digging into his thighs as your eyes held close so fucking tight tears welled up in them, making your vision blurry as you looked up at Arthur, eyes closed, puffing on that cigarette. Your left hand went to wrap around your base as you pulled him nearly completely out of your mouth, your lips still wrapped around his cockhead, your tongue tracing his hole.

“Goooooood fuckin’ girl… Keep going–” 

Your hand jerked him off now as your abused throat got to catch a break, though it’d still need to be put up to work, hm? You hopped onto his thigh as your hand now caressed his chest, trickling your fingers down his thick chest hair that covered the tan skin. Your thumb teased his red hot tip, before you kept rolling your hand up and down –he was close, you now leaned to tell when that vein that ran down his low stomach all the way down to the middle of his shaft began to twitch and pump you’d get to milk the man dry a second time. A mix of your drool and his precum dripping down his length.

Your fist tightened around him as your mouth locked with his as he held the smoking cigarette between his forefinger and his middle, his hand wrapping in your hand to the nape of your neck, hips bucking into your palm, he cums again. Hard. Right into your fist. 

Arthur was panting like a damn dog, you had jerked him off just right to get his legs to tremble as they spread for you. He broke away from your mouth to catch his breath that you stole from him. You trailed a kiss to his neck, he had been marking you all night you thought it was only fair to give him some too, sucking a purple mark into his skin before trailing your mouth down.

“Good girl— good fuckin’ girl…” He was a mess.

His praise was always a godsend to you, ringing through your ears, you craved it. Your tongue ran down his collar, his shoulder, then down his arm, those pulsing muscles that were smooth to the touch, glistening with his sweat. The way his chest began heaving heavily as you traced the thick vein that ran down his bicep with your tongue.

Receiving was something that his body needed. But giving was something that he craved. Just hearing the sweet moans and cries from a woman’s mouth as it hung agape was something that could get him off more times at just the thought of than a blowy. 

–Though now your legs were on his shoulders as he pumped his tongue into your walls, running it up and down your slit as he - messily - ate your pussy, he was starving for it after all. Your back was arching upwards but his hands were too occupied holding your ankles to the dips of his shoulders to touch you anywhere else, his nose pressed against your clit –even his nose could find work. Your pants were hot and labored, all you can let out those sharp, gorgeous whines of his name, the one you’ve grown so accustomed to.

“Arthur!”

Again.

“Fuck- fuck, Arthur–!”

His name learned to roll off your tongue like honey, it seemed to be becoming the thing that came natural to you in life. He loved it, his mouth sucking feverishly at your clit, he knew all  those sweet-spots, you weren’t a religious girl, - if you were you wouldn’t be in your right mind to let Arthur do these truly sinful things to you - but you’d thank god to every whore, every woman that taught him these tricks. 

Your thighs would squeeze his head til’ it was about ready to pop, though that’s just what Arthur wanted, mumbling praise into your sweet, slick folds as his fingers moved into the mix too, forcing your body to that high you’d been desperately chasing, the pad of his finger pressing against one of your soft spots.

You’d cum hard on his face, your glistening climax now coated his beard as he removed his face from your thighs, looking at your heaving, shaking body now beneath him. Resting your legs down he’d slowly lower himself back onto you, his lips kissing from your navel to your lips, his body - and yours, of course - finally feeling a bit heavy.

“You’re too good f’me, girl…”

At the moment there was not enough oxygen in your lungs to give him a vocal response, you’d just nod, your cheeks flushed a pale pink. His hand moved to brush some hair away from your face, strands stuck to your cheeks, forehead, it was a sight for him. He’d pick you up, pulling you to sit in his lap as he held you to a tight embrace, nipping and kissing at your neck. He was so needy for you. 

The night had settled, only a bit. You found yourself tucked in Arthur’s arm with the warm quilt thrown on the hotel bed covering your bodies, both sore and spent.

Arthur had been flipping through the pages of his journal now, it only felt right to shamelessly show you the works he’s done of you now, of course those were only a couple.

“I stopped doin’ them for a while now… Most of them was from when I was drunk. Foolish.”

He’d explain, though it didn’t seem like it needed an explanation anymore, you didn’t care after all though you appreciated it. Your hand would reach out to touch the page, feeling the rough paper beneath your fingertips.

“I don’t mind…”

“Yeah well, maybe now you can model f’me, hm?… I’m always better working with a reference.”

You couldn’t help but giggle.

“It's a date then.”

You two had both fallen asleep shortly after, his sweet praises in your ear til your body was limp against his own, his fingers combing through your hair —a moment of intimacy and peace like this after he had fucked you so thorough. Not a thought of worry in your pretty little head.

 'Cept maybe how the ride back was gonna feel on that soreness between your legs– 

[twobitsblade]

ok ok okkk, so can you do bob sheldons younger sister (like 16?) dating dallas, and him sneaking in and stuff 😓😓

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ feels like sugar in me

[ author’s note: hi darling, this is literally one of the most fun requests i’ve ever received! i loved writing it, and i hope you enjoyed it. kisses and hugs! ]

you were everything dallas winston wasn’t—innocent, sweet, polite. but most importantly, you were a soc—wealthy and glamorous. and he was… well, he wasn’t just a greaser; he was a full-on hood.

your relationship started out rocky—or, well, at least according to you. according to him, he had simply “caught a hot soc broad at the drive-in.” tomato, tomahto, right?

but you never really thought about your differences much, and you certainly weren’t thinking about them tonight as you absentmindedly applied your moisturizers, lotions, and hair curlers—all things dallas teased you for relentlessly. but you knew he appreciated the results, so you weren’t about to stop.

just as you were about to place your final roller, a knocking sound at your window made you gasp. you’d seen too many horror movies for this. before your brain could race through the possibilities for self-defense, that cocky bastard’s new york-accented voice cut through the night air.

“hey, sweetheart, you gonna let me in? i’m freezin’ my balls off out here.”

you scoffed, shaking your head and setting your hair curler down as you approached the window.

even in the dim light of tulsa’s streetlamps, you could see him looking you up and down, clearly skimming over your figure in your pale pink nightgown. you shook your head before unlatching the window.

he climbed in awkwardly, stepping down with a thump. his figure towered over you, the smell of cigarettes filling your nose. you smiled softly as his large arms wrapped around your waist, closing the distance between you two.

“i should be pissed—entirely pissed at you, winston—sneakin’ into my house like this.”

“but you’re not,” he replied smugly. “besides, your snob of a damn brother ain’t here, so there’s no problem, doll.”

and there it was—another one of dallas’s remarks that made you realize what he truly thought of your family.

“c’mon, dal, i’ve told you so many times not to talk like that about him. you don’t know him!” you said, your voice coming out a little louder than intended. and just like that, a new argument was brewing between you two.

“your brother beats people up for fun, baby. you consider him a good guy?”

“i—dallas, that’s not fair, and you know it.”

he was about to respond but stopped, shaking his head as his hands found your waist. without warning, he shoved you roughly onto your vanity.

“i’m not lettin’ some blonde twerp ruin what i got goin’ with the hottest broad on the west side of tulsa, y’understand?”

you sighed before nodding. you were too tired to fight.

he looked up at you with his signature shit-eating grin, but this time not to admire. he plucked at your hair curler.

“now what’s all this, barbie?”

“dal, don’t touch that! you’re gonna ruin it!” you snapped, turning back to the mirror, your lips curving into a firm line.

dallas had this weird ability to bring out a childish petulance in you—one that, even as a child, you weren’t allowed to display to your family. it wasn’t the sheldon way of doing things.

he began walking around your room—of course, he wouldn’t apologize, the jerk—observing the space as though it were an animal enclosure. the pink, girly room you had decorated all on your own.

posters covered the walls—elvis, james dean, marilyn monroe. the sheets were light pink. and god, was it hot, knowing how soft you really were beneath all that prim and proper.

dallas turned back to you abruptly, pouncing. he grabbed you from your vanity and tossed you onto your bed, making you let out a loud, high-pitched, giggly squeal.

“shit.”

you muttered it just as you heard bob’s footsteps stomping down the hall. in a panic, you shoved dallas into your en suite bathroom and waited.

bob entered in his pajamas, his hair tousled, eyes swollen with sleep.

“what’re you howlin’ for?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

“nothing, bob. i just—uh—i was on the phone with cherry, and she’s a real funny gal.”

at the mention of cherry’s name, his eyes softened, something gentle flickering in them.

“ah. tell her we’re still on for nine tomorrow at the way out.”

“will do,” you said with a mock salute.

he paused.

“c’mere, kid.”

he held his arms out, and you quickly hopped into them, hugging him.

he wasn’t a good person—you both knew that. hell, everyone in tulsa did. but he was your brother, and you loved him. and you knew he loved you too.

just like he loved cherry. just like he loved his friends. just like he loved the approval he got from society. just like he loved getting away with the things he did. just like he secretly yearned for someone to tell him no. just like he secretly yearned for someone to guide him instead of mindlessly worship him.

and for that, there was no one.

he sighed, pulling away and shaking his head before clapping you on the back, making you let out a slight squeak.

“you be good, alright? you’re good.”

you smiled as he waddled away.

you let out a breath of relief as you shut the door. and in gathering your thoughts, you almost forgot about the man hiding in your bathroom—

“ahh!”

he whisper-shouted, making you jump forward and trip over your rug.

“you absolute dickhead!” you whisper-shouted back, causing him to giggle before peeling off his dirty brown leather jacket and tossing it across your room. you clicked your tongue in disapproval.

“how soundproof’s this room, dolly?”

“ugh, dallas, stop it! you’re something else,” you reprimanded halfheartedly as he joined you on the soft, carpeted floor.

[jobean12-blog]

Mission Accomplished

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Word Count: 4,157

Summary: You've had a crush on Bucky from the moment you met and now that Sam has the two of you going on a mission together you're not sure how to handle it. Sure you've had casual conversastions before and hung out as a group but all this one on one time... what could possibly go wrong? Or maybe right?

Author's Note: I love a sweet and slightly shy, soft Bucky! The details of the mission are not really important here so I just have them flying from some lovely hidden away location to NYC for some sneakin' around to get info. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: shy and sweet Bucky, awkwardness from both characters haha, but lots of fun, flirting, tension, fluff, implied smut

You’re alone in the elevator, having just left your meeting with Sam, when Bucky steps inside just as the doors are closing.

Your eyes meet and your breath catches in your throat, the weighted silence becoming awkward.

You open your mouth to say something but then stop, blinking away the words before leaning heavily against the wall.

The damn elevator is moving so slowly.

Finally, the doors open and Bucky gestures for you to go first. Instead, you nearly shout at him, “looks like we’re going on a mission together.”

“Yeah,” he says with a small smile.

“I’m excited, I’ve never been to the city before.”

He rubs the back of his neck and shuffles his feet. “It’s definitely somethin’.”

“Should I meet you at the Quinjet tomorrow morning? Or do we need to talk about anything before then?”

“I think that’s fine,” he answers, still holding the doors of the elevator open.

It starts to ding, and you register the sound with a nervous giggle and step out.

“It’s fine if we just meet at the Quinjet or before?” You ask for clarification.

“Um,” he starts. “It should be…”

“I don’t mind…” you begin at the same time.

“Sorry,” you whisper, “I interrupted. Go ahead.”

“We can just meet at the Quinjet,” he says as he shoves his hands into his jean pockets and starts to walk down the hallway.

“That sounds good,” you tell him. “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Yeah, see you in the mornin’.”

He smiles, his gaze lingering before he turns around the next corner.

“Great,” you mutter to yourself. “Now he really thinks you’re a bumbling idiot.”

Your feet shuffle along the ramp onto the Quinjet and you squint against the early morning sun that’s just starting to rise above the top of the mountains in the distance.

Fumbling with your bag you head toward the seats, finding Bucky already inside and waiting. He stands and reaches for your bag.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

“Hi,” you answer back, staring.

He secures your bag and sits back down. You glance around at all the empty seats and then sit right down next to him.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” you ask. “I’m a nervous flyer.”

With a smile he says, “no doll. That’s fine.”

You watch him wipe the palms of his hands on his pants.

The door to the Quinjet closes and you shift in your seat, toying with the seatbelt and growing more frustrated with every passing second.

The engines ignite and you make a squeaking sound, finally deciding to just try and tie the seatbelt rope in a knot.

Bucky places his hand over yours. “Let me help?”

You nod and try to slow your breathing as his hands work smoothly to undo your mess and clip the belt then tighten it.

“There. Comfortable?”

“Yeah, perfect. Thanks.”

You feel the jet start to move, and you clasp your hands together in your lap. You can feel his eyes on you but for fear of further embarrassment you keep your face forward and try not to sweat too much.

“What did you bring for lunch?” he asks.

“What?”

“Lunch. What did you bring for the ride?”

“Were we supposed to bring lunch?” you ask wide eyed.

He laughs. “It’s not a long ride but I’m always hungry so I brought peanut butter and jelly and a bagel. Plenty to share.”

“That’s good,” you say with a smile. “And thanks. It’s a good thing one of us is prepared.”

“When it comes to food yeah, otherwise, I’m leaving that up to you.”

You smile. “Don’t worry. As far as the mission goes I know exactly what we need to do.”

“Good. And I’ll show you all the best places to eat.”

With a laugh you let out an exhale and realize you’re already up in the air and cruising. You give him a thankful look and smile.

He winks and then settles back in his seat.

Eventually, after some light conversation, you drift off to sleep, slowly slanting toward Bucky until your head is resting on his shoulder.

His movements are soft and easy as he drops lower, so your neck isn’t so stretched out and he leans back to close his eyes.

You wake to the jerking of the jet and the feeling of weightlessness in your stomach as you start to make your descent. You’re awkwardly twisted in your seat but somehow so comfortable. The body next to you is warm and firm and smells so good.

With a jolt you straighten and disentangle yourself from around Bucky’s metal arm. You then notice your leg is hitched over his thigh.

Trying not to wake him you remove the rest of your limbs from his body and rub a hand over your face. He’s still quietly breathing, eyes closed and long lashes fluttering when you start to study every feature of his face up close.

His hair is mussed at the back, and the front, normally pulled upward, now falls over his forehead, shiny and soft. His sharp jaw is covered in a dark shadow, highlighted every now and then by patches of gray that travel down his strong neck.

And there, on his shoulder, is a wet patch of drool covering his leather jacket.

You anxiously wipe at your face and search for something to wipe it off with. Your panicky movements jostle him enough that his eyes flash open only to find your face inches from his.

You smile with a whispered, “hi.”   

He blinks a few times before his blue eyes widen, his gaze moving from yours to the spot on his shoulder where you had been wiping.

“I’m sorry about that,” you mumble. “Apparently you’re very comfortable.”

He grins. “Good to know.”

“I guess I dozed off too. Sorry about that doll. I was trying to stay awake and keep you company in case the trip got bumpy.”

“Oh my gosh, don’t be sorry. You looked adora…”

You stop yourself, snapping your mouth shut and then looking down at your seatbelt.

“Think you can help me out of this I need to stretch.”

“Not sure that’s a good idea…” he starts as the jet hits another patch of turbulence.

You ignore his warning and start to work on your seatbelt, opening it with minimal effort and trying to stand. The moment you do your body is thrown off balance and you nearly fall into his lap.

He wraps a strong arm around your waist and holds you close to his chest.

“I got you,” he says with a mischievous smile.

“I shouldn’t have gotten up,” you sigh. “I’m…”

“Nah, don’t worry. I get it. I never liked flying much myself. I’ve just done it so much now I guess I’ve gotten used to it.”

The sincerity in his words and tone make you melt against him and instead of moving back to your seat you rest your head on his shoulder.

“You’re a comfier seatbelt anyway,” you say quietly.

You can feel his eyes on you, but you keep your own on the wall across, afraid of what he’ll see written all over your face.

Once you’re out of the jet and into the fresh air you breathe deeply, taking in all the sights and sounds of the city. Bucky leads you to a small hotel on the upper west side of Manhattan, opening and holding the door for you.

The clerk greets you warmly and asks for your names.

“Separate rooms?” he asks with a questioning look.

You clear your throat and rush out with, “we’re here for business.”

The clerk nods and hands you your keys. You follow Bucky to the elevator, wincing inwardly when you remember your last encounter in one of these machines.

But this time the silence is more comfortable and when you exit Bucky points down the hallway.

“I’m right down here.”

“Looks like I’m next door,” you say. “I’m gonna freshen up.”

“Ok,” he says and watches until you unlock your door and get safely inside.

You fall against it and drop your head along the hard wood, groaning. You’d been on this mission for less than half a day and you’d already drooled on him, practically groped him, and threw yourself in his lap.

“Fucking hell,” you grumble and shuffle toward the bed, falling headfirst onto the pillows.

When you awake with a stretch you realize it’s only been an hour, but your stomach grumbles and you contemplate your food choices.

Before falling asleep you had managed to discard your clothes and don the soft hotel robe hanging in the closet. Now, as you tighten the knot at your waist you peer out into the hallway and hope there are vending machines near the ice machine.

It’s eerily quiet. Not even the sound of a television coming from a nearby room.

You head down the hallway.

“Doll?”

You let out a squeal of surprise in the quiet, the shrill sound echoing off the walls.

You turn and say, far too brightly and loudly, “HI!”

“What are you up to? I was just grabbing something to eat. Didn’t bring any snacks, remember?”

“Snacks?” he repeats, looking around the hallway before his eyes linger on your robe.

“From the vending machine,” you chirp as you lean casually against the wall. “Hungry?”

“What were you gonna get? Doritos?”

A pop of color stains his cheeks and a hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Maybe an energy bar?” you muse.

“What about half a peanut butter and jelly?” he offers.

“What no bagel left?”

He dips his head and rubs his hand along the back of his neck.

“Might have eaten that when you feel asleep on the jet.”

Your head falls back with a trill of laughter, and it makes his stomach flip.

“I’d love some pb and j. Thanks.”

“Come on,” he says and steps backward toward his room.

After you stuff the half a sandwich in your mouth, Bucky eyes you suspiciously.

“That definitely wasn’t enough to eat. We have to get you more food. And me too.”

He rubs his belly and stretches, the motion lifting the hem of his henley and exposing the waistband of his boxers and the dark trail of hair that disappears beneath.

“Food…right?” you whisper.

“Are you still hungry?” he asks, oblivious to your ogling.

“Starved,” you say with a harsh swallow.

After excusing yourself back to your room you to change you emerge ready to eat. The air is cooler now and you close your eyes, grateful for the refreshing feeling on your skin.

You take in as much of the city as you can while Bucky leads you with confidence down the street. You reach the corner and wait for the signal to walk. When the light changes, the crowd moves and you feel the press of his palm on the small of your back, urging you forward.

The sensation sends a shiver down your spine and when you reach the other side of the street he stops and gives you a concerned look.

“Are you cold?” he asks and starts to shrug off his jacket.

You’re anything but, however, there is no way you would ever turn down his jacket.

“A little. Guess I wasn’t expecting it to cool off so much.”

“Here,” he says and drapes his jacket over your shoulders. “Better?”

“Much,” you say, snuggling into his warmth and smell. “But won’t you be cold?”

“Nah, I’m like a walking heater,” he promises with a smile.

You continue down the sidewalk, now truly oblivious to all else other than the occasional brush of his shoulder and the feel of his jacket wrapped around you.

His voices pulls you from your trance and you finally register what he’s saying as you look up and see the iconic edifice of the American Museum of Natural History.

“Oh my god,” you say and stop dead in your tracks.

“Pretty cool right.”

You rush toward it, grabbing for your phone.

“Will you take a picture of me?”

You’re still trying to find your phone when you ask him and he laughs, pulling out his own.

“I’ve got mine. I’ll take it and send it to you.”

A sea of tourists rush by before he’s able to open the app and snap a picture but after he does the expression on his face is a little…charmed.

“Got it,” he says, turning the phone to show you. “Came great.”

You squeal in happiness. “Ok, now you come here.”

He stands next to you, and you take his phone. “Let’s get one together.”

“But…” he starts. “Your arms aren’t long enough!”

“Nah, I’ve got this! Just bend down a little and I’ll just…”

You start to maneuver closer to him, your heads almost touching.

“I’m being such a tourist right now,” he grumbles playfully.

“I promise I won’t tell anyone, “You giggle.

He takes the phone from your hand with a smile and holds your gaze for a fraction of a second, clearing his throat.

“Holding you to that doll.”

It takes a few tries to get the angle right but when you do he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you in tight, snapping the pic.

He looks at the photo then turns the screen so you can see it. It’s a great picture. You’re both smiling and cozy.

“What’s your number?” he asks.

You recite it and watch as he types. In your pocket your phone buzzes and you chime, “ah there it is!”

You try not to smile too widely at the photo or the fact that Bucky seems to be smiling just as much as he looks at it one more time.

The smell of something good starts to fill your senses as you continue walking down 81st street and when you reach another corner, Bucky stops at the hot dog stand there.

“Always go to the one with the longest line,” he says.

You try to wait patiently but he notices your hopping feet and wiggly fingers.

“Don’t worry doll, it’ll be worth it. I promise.”

Once you have your hot dog in hand you pull him away from the cart and onto a bench under the shade of trees.

You moan around the first bite. “Bucky…oh my god.”

Thankfully, you’re so engrossed in the joy of your street dog that you don’t notice the way he’s staring at your lips, his own parted with his sharp inhale. Your tongue darts out to lick the corner of your mouth and he nearly chokes.

“You ok,” you ask, forgetting about the food.

He nods and holds up his hand, motioning for the bottle of water you bought. You open it and hand it over, watching him take a long drink and focus on the way the muscles in his neck shift with each swallow.

“Yeah, all good,” he sighs, next stealing the napkin from between your fingers.

“So, you like it huh?”

“Yeah,” you say with grin. “Think I need another.”

On the way back to the hotel you discuss the mission and go over your plan for the next few days. You’re mostly there to collect information and be covert so other than being in the right places and the right times you’ll be free to explore.

You point out every landmark, asking questions and hanging on his every word. When you reach the door of the hotel he holds it open for you once more and you realize he’s been quiet the last few blocks as you’ve rambled on.

“Shit,” you mutter. “You must think I’m so weird.”

He smiles and follows you in.

“Weird, yes but weird is good. I like your energy, and I think you’re pretty amazing.”

Before you can respond, the elevator dings and a crowd of people file out. He walks you to your door and you shrug his jacket from your shoulders, hanging over his and waiting until his arms are through before you smooth the leather down his chest and fix the collar.

He sucks in a breath, and you wait, worrying you’ve crossed a line.

“Thanks for getting me dinner,” you whisper.

“Anytime doll face.” A small smile tilts his lips upward as his eyes search yours.

Your hands still linger at his collar, and he takes your wrists, securing your hands around his neck.

This time you gasp and the faint scent of him hangs in the air, leather, and warm spice. You lean in slowly, and he does too, making the space between you disappear. His nose brushes the edge of yours and you can feel his breath across your lips.

“Are you going to kiss me Bucky?”

His chest is pressed against yours and you feel his heavy breathing. He pulls away just enough to look you in the eyes.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to stop,” he murmurs.

“I wouldn’t want you to…I’ve thought about this. A lot.”

Your confession makes his brows hit his hairline.

You continue. “I always thought this would just be a crush. But now, spending time with you, I feel like I’m going a bit crazy…in a good way.”

When you look up and meet his wide eyes you groan. “And I’ve said too much and totally freaked you out.”

Your head drops but his fingers catch your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his soft expression.

“No doll, you haven’t. I’m just not used to any of it.”

“I can’t believe that” you smile. “You must have girls falling all over you.”

He shakes his head with a huff of a laugh. “Not really and uh…well, it’s been a while…since I’ve done this.”

He steps back and gives you a sheepish look. “So, if you’re really interested, you’ll have to be patient with me. I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing.”  

His admission is endearing, and you give him a reassuring smile before leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth.

“You’re worth the wait Bucky.”

You turn and with one last smile, close your door softly and once again collapse on the bed.

The next day you meet Bucky in the hallway, ready to tackle the day and get things done. The brightly shining sun brings plenty of warmth and you notice Bucky rolling up his sleeves as you walk toward your destination.

While you’re admiring his forearms, both metal and flesh, you nearly run into the crowd in front of you. He grabs your arm and pulls you back just in time, against his chest, and you exhale before sharply inhaling the same breath at the feel of him so close.

“You ok?” he asks softly against the shell of your ear.

“Yeah,” you answer. “Sorry. Was just lost in thought.”

He nods in understanding and steers you safely through the crowd. He stays close, his arm hanging at his side and his knuckles occasionally brushing yours. You assume it’s accidental and try not to react as goosebumps spread along your skin. But by the third and fourth time, you begin to wonder.

His pinky extends and caresses yours, and every nerve in your body seems to ignite, beginning at where you skin touches and stopping at your toes. You sway on your feet and your stomach erupts in butterflies.

The more time you spend near each other, the more he seems to unwind, and his wordless flirtation slowly builds throughout the day.

You want to scream at him that he knows exactly what he’s doing but instead you go with it and make sure he knows you’re receptive.

When you’re on the subway back to the hotel, the train rocks back and forth as you move through a darkened tunnel. Your body sways into him and he grabs your hip, holding your back to his chest.

You can feel the flex of his fingers against your skin and the warmth of them through your shirt. By the time the train reaches the station you’re breathing rapidly and walking unsteadily as he guides your toward the train doors and steps behind you.

His large hand remains at your waist, and he presses into you, allowing you to feel him, every inch.

Back at the hotel, your skin is burning and your body aches and you’re sure you can see the same desperation reflected in his eyes.

But instead of making a move he simply takes your hand and lifts it to his lips, watching you over your knuckles and kissing each of them.

He looks like he wants to say something and even inches forward before letting out a nervous exhale and waiting for you to go inside.

It’s torture to feel this way, knowing you’re not dreaming that he wants you but also knowing he’s scared. And besides that, the entire day of quiet foreplay left you needy.

You opt for a relaxing bath which doesn’t relax you at all and when you spread your warm body out on the bed the urge to slip your hand between your legs is too great. Your mind immediately fills with thoughts of how his calloused fingers would feel on your skin, so sensitive and wet.

You know he’s only on the other side of the wall and you think you can hear him talking on the phone, his voice faint but it’s enough for you to pretend.

The swift movement of your fingers along with your wild imagination is enough to send you over the edge with a cry of his name.

It’s only when your breathing evens out that you notice how quiet it seems, and you realize that you might have been too loud.

A knock at your door makes you yelp in surprise, and you hear Bucky’s voice on the other side.

“It’s just me doll.”

On shaky legs you walk to the door and open it only enough to peek out at him. You don’t say anything, and he asks, “everything ok?”

“Yeah, sure, why wouldn’t it be?” you answer, still quite breathless.

“It’s just…I heard…I thought? Did you call my name?”

Your eyes widen and your mouth hangs open.

He taps his ear with a sideways smile. “Super soldier hearing.”

“Well. No. I mean, yes? Maybe. I think I was dreaming?”

He waits for you to finish and then gently pushes on the door.

“Are you gonna let me in?” he asks.

You hold his stare, your heart hammering against your rib cage.

“Are you going to kiss me this time?”

Something in his eyes answers your question and you let go of the door, allowing him to slip inside and shut it.

You lean against it, his hand still pressed to the wood above your head as the other joins it, effectively caging you in.

He tilts his head, wearing a smile that gently pulls at his lips.

“What were you really doing in here?” he asks.

Your gaze moves from his lips to his eyes and every coherent thought leaves your head. You stare and let your tongue trace the outline of your mouth.

“Answer me,” he demands quietly.

“I was thinking of you.”

He bends to kiss your neck softly, his lips tracing the column of your throat before meeting just below your ear to whisper, “that’s it?”

“And touching myself.”

He inhales sharply through his nose, exhaling your name and dropping his hands to take your face between them. He drags his nose along your jaw and then his lips hover just above yours.

He stills and as much as you know he wants this you know his insecurities are hard to overcome.

You slide your hands up his chest, feeling the strong muscles flex beneath your fingers, and curl your hands around the back of his neck.

“I came with your name on my lips,” you whisper, keeping your eyes on his.

It’s all he needs, and he lets a low growl rumble through his chest before he closes the distance and kisses you. Your lips slide over his and you pull his bottom lip between your teeth, making him groan.

Your fingers dig into his hair as his hands slide along the curve of your waist to your back, clutching and bringing you impossibly close.

The kiss grows deeper, and you let out tiny little gasps as he tastes you, barely registering what you’re saying before, “please, Bucky, escapes.

“Please what?” he says, his lips sliding to your ear, softly kissing the skin beneath. “Anything.”

“Just…kiss me.”

He smiles against your lips. “Pretty sure that’s exactly what I was doing doll face.”

“Touch me,” you beg, taking his metal hand and sliding it down between your breasts.

“You can’t be real,” he breathes out.

You kiss his neck, lifting your lips to his earlobe and nibbling it before whispering, “I am and I’m all yours.”

[deans-queen]

Stolen Moments 📸

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Y/N)

Summary: Y/N finds herself unable to resist capturing a rare, peaceful moment of Dean Winchester sleeping in a motel room. But when Dean wakes up and catches her in the act, what starts as an innocent photo op quickly turns into an intimate encounter.

Warnings: light smut, fluff, Dean being hot while he’s asleep (if I missed any lmk)

Y/N couldn’t help herself. Dean Winchester, the ever-tough hunter, was sprawled out on the motel bed, sound asleep. His usually furrowed brow was relaxed, lips slightly parted, and his broad chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. The sight of him so vulnerable, so at peace, was a rare one, and Y/N felt a flutter in her chest that she couldn’t ignore.

She quietly picked up her phone, careful not to make any noise that might wake him. The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the cracked blinds, casting soft shadows across Dean's face. The perfect light for a candid shot. Y/N brought her phone up, framing the image, and snapped a few photos. She moved slightly closer, wanting to capture the way his lashes brushed against his cheekbones and the stubble that darkened his jawline.

In her concentration, she didn’t notice the small twitch in Dean’s fingers, nor the way his breathing changed ever so slightly. As she leaned in for a closer shot, a low, gravelly voice broke the silence.

Y/N froze, her heart skipping a beat as she looked up to find Dean’s piercing green eyes fluttered open and stared back at her, one brow arched in that classic Dean Winchester way. His lips curved into a lazy smirk, and she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks.

“Enjoying the view, sweetheart?”

“I, uh…” She fumbled for words, trying to explain herself, but Dean just chuckled, the sound deep and warm.

“Could’ve just asked for a picture, you know,” he said, pushing himself up on one elbow. “But I gotta admit, it’s kinda cute you were sneakin’ around like that.”

Y/N bit her lip, her embarrassment quickly turning into something else as Dean’s gaze lingered on her, his smirk fading into something more serious. He reached out, his fingers brushing against her hand, sending a shiver down her spine.

“Come here,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost a command.

She didn’t hesitate. Y/N moved closer, sitting on the edge of the bed. Dean’s hand slid up her arm, his touch gentle but firm as he pulled her towards him. She leaned in, her heart pounding in her chest, until their faces were just inches apart.

“You gonna keep takin’ pictures, or are you gonna give me something to remember?” Dean’s voice was a low rumble, and the way he was looking at her made her pulse quicken.

Y/N didn’t need any more encouragement. She closed the distance between them, her lips finding his in a kiss that was soft at first, tentative. But Dean’s response was immediate, his hand moving to the back of her neck, deepening the kiss. The room seemed to fade away, the only thing she could focus on was the feel of his lips against hers, the way his stubble scratched her skin in the most intoxicating way.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them slightly breathless, Dean’s thumb brushed over her cheek, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Next time, you could always just ask for what you want, baby girl.”

She smiled, her earlier nerves completely gone. “And miss out on all the fun? I don’t think so.”

Dean chuckled again, pulling her down onto the bed beside him, his arm wrapping around her waist. “Guess I can’t argue with that.”

As they lay there, Dean’s fingers tracing lazy patterns on her skin, Y/N realized just how much she enjoyed these quiet moments with him, the rare times when the world seemed to slow down, and it was just the two of them. And maybe, just maybe, she’d have to start sneaking more pictures of him when he wasn’t looking. After all, Dean Winchester was a sight worth capturing.

Authors Note:

Hope you enjoyed this story!

@deanwinchestersgirl8734 requested this and I thought it was such a cute idea! Feel free to let me know what you think! I always love reading feedback!

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[vandme12]

This has been rotting in my head for so long, how would the KC cast react to a powerful figure Mc? Ronin added mc because he just thought they were a writer needing inspiration, but what if they were actually a big influential figure in politics, media etc? Maybe they’ve hired Misaki before to get rid of someone? Maybe V knows them from charity meetings? How would it all unfold?

I really loved writing this! Whoever asked, Please ask me more head canons! The concept, would be they're a powerful "person" who usually gets people to kill off "bad" people! This is my longest head canon!

Ronin Beaufort!

At first, you were just a fun little distraction. Some writer looking for inspiration in the darkest parts of the world? Yeah, yeah, he’s heard that one before. But you were flirty, sharp, and a little too comfortable around him, which made you interesting.

So, he let you stick around. Took you to some bloody, brutal places, spun his words like knives, toyed with you just to see if you’d flinch.

But you didn’t.

You kept up. You even pushed back.

And damn it, he loved that.

You made things fun.

So fun, in fact, that he didn’t question it. Didn’t stop to wonder how you were able to navigate his world so easily, how you had this natural charisma that could turn heads, how your words carried weight in a way that felt… important.

He didn’t put the pieces together—until he saw your face on the news.

He’s at some dive bar, half-watching the TV, when he sees it. Some big political scandal. Some business shake-up. And right there, center screen, is you.

Your name. Your title. Your power.

His brain short-circuits.

He just stares for a good five seconds, drink frozen halfway to his lips.

“What.”

Immediate, sharp, loud laughter.

“Oh, what the FUCK?! You gotta be kiddin’ me.”

He’s laughing so hard he slaps the bar. The bartender jumps. Other people in the bar look at him like he’s crazy.

Because of course. Of course, the one person he’s been dragging into the worst places, letting into his world, kissing, touching, —

Is actually one of the most powerful people in the world.

The moment he gets his laughter under control, he’s grinning. Big. Sharp. Wild.

“Well, well, well. Ain’t this a fuckin’ surprise.”

The next time he sees you? Oh, he is not letting you live this down.

He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, smirking like the devil himself.

“Sooo, babe. Anythin’ you wanna tell me? Y’know, like—what the fuck?”

If you try to act casual about it? He grabs your chin, tilts your head up, and just grins.

“Nah, nah, don’t gimme that. You mean to tell me I’ve been callin’ you ‘sweetheart’ and sneakin’ you into crime scenes, when I should’ve been callin’ you Boss?”

If you flirt back? Oh, he eats that shit up.

“Ohoho, you’re playin’ dangerous now, darlin’. You know what happens to people who turn me on and surprise me? Bad, bad things.”

He’s so into this.

Like, obnoxiously into it.

He starts calling you titles sarcastically.

“Ahh, my beloved CEO, let me open the door for ya.”

“Oh no, did my precious politician have a rough day? C’mere, lemme make it all better.”

“D’you think world leaders would shit themselves if they knew you were makin’ out with a serial killer? ‘Cause that’s funny as hell.”

But beneath the teasing? Oh, he’s obsessed.

He already thought you were a perfect match for him, but now?

Now, you’re not just smart. Not just dangerous in your own way.

You’re untouchable.

Bottom line? He is so in love with you it’s disgusting.

You’re powerful, you’re dangerous, and you’re his.

And that? That’s all he ever needed to know..

“So, what’s the play here, sweetheart? You gonna bring me down? Put me in the headlines? C’mon, gimme a scandal—make it a good one.”

If you tell him you have no intention of exposing him, that you’re here for your own reasons, he’s intrigued.

“Ahhh, so you’re just a little freak, huh? Love that for you.”

“So, tell me, baby—how’s it feel, bein’ the most dangerous person in the room for once?”

And when you smirk and say, “I’m always the most dangerous person in the room,”—Oh.

Oh, he loves you. Because it’s true, isn’t it? Ronin might be a killer, but you—you have real power. The kind of power that doesn’t need a knife to cut people down. AND that? That’s hot as hell.

Misaki

At first, Misaki thought you were just some random writer that Ronin picked up for fun. Maybe you were looking for inspiration in the darkest corners of the world, and hey, Misaki could respect that.

Until, one day, they’re watching TV in their bunker, shoveling cup noodles into their mouth, and—

Your face is on the news.

Immediate choking.

They nearly drop the noodles.

They stare.

Blink once. Twice.

Wait. What the fuck.

They scramble for the remote, turn the volume up, and suddenly, their world is spinning.

"HOLD ON—"

Because there you are, center screen, name plastered in bold letters. Some scandal, some massive political shift, some media shake-up—and at the heart of it all? You.

The person they’ve been flirting with. The person they’ve been spending nights with in calls.

"WAIT, WAIT, WAIT, BACK THE HELL UP—!"

They’re gripping their head, pacing their bunker, absolutely spiraling.

“You mean—you mean to tell me I’ve been flirting with someone who can LITERALLY change the world?! Oh my god—oh my god, I’m so broke, I can’t handle this—"

The next time they see you? They’re standing there, arms crossed, clearly trying to look intimidating but failing miserably because their face is still stuck in pure existential crisis mode.

“Sooo. You got anythin’ you wanna tell me, boss?”

If you just smirk and go, “Oh? You didn’t know?”

They groan loudly.

"OF COURSE I DIDN’T KNOW, YOU JERK! Oh my god, I was out here thinking you were some struggling writer, and now you’re telling me you could probably buy my entire life with a single check?!"

Cue another breakdown.

And if you’ve hired them before? Oh. Oh, that’s interesting.

“Hold on—wait, wait, wait. You’re telling me I’ve been talking to one of my clients this whole time?!”

They go through a full existential crisis.

But once the initial shock wears off? They’re intrigued.

“Okay, okay, but real talk—why the hell are you hanging out with us? You could be anywhere, doing anything, running the world, and yet, you’re here. Why?”

If you flirt with them? They malfunction.

“H-Hey, don’t distract me! This is serious! You—wait, what do you mean I look cute when I’m panicking?! That’s—STOP.”

But deep down? They FEEL KYAH!

If you say something like “Because I like you”

—They malfunction.“LIES. YOU’RE A LIAR. DON’T SAY THINGS LIKE THAT—”

But deep down? They’re kicking their feet.Because holy shit.

Someone that important thinks they’re important.

It’s the worst and best thing to ever happen to them.

Angel

At first, Angel just thought you were another charismatic, ambitious person—someone drawn into her orbit the way most people were. She didn’t question it too much. You were charming, clever, and played along with her public persona so well it was almost addictive.

Then, one day, she sees you on the news. Not in the background. Not as a guest. You are the news.

Maybe you’re a political powerhouse, a media mogul, an elite CEO—whatever it is, you’re big.

Cue an instant mental shutdown. She’s staring at the screen, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, and for once in her life, completely speechless.

“… Wait, wait, wait. What?!”

First, she replays every conversation the two of you have ever had, wondering how she missed the signs.

Second, she assumes you just didn’t tell her because… well, why would you? She wouldn’t have believed it anyway.

Third? Immediate concern.

Because she knows powerful people. She’s been around them.

And most of them are monsters.

But you? You’ve always been kind to her. Sweet. Playful. The same way she is with you.

…So why does this still feel like a dream?

When you finally come home, Angel is sitting on the couch, arms crossed, a frown on her lips—but her eyes are soft.

"Sooo…" she tilts her head. "Is this the part where you tell me I’ve been secretly dating royalty, or—?"

You try to explain, but she just leans closer.

"And when, exactly, were you gonna tell me that you're kind of a big deal?"

Pout. Full pout.

But she’s not actually mad. Just incredibly intrigued.

The more she learns about your influence, the more protective she gets.

She knows the price of power. She knows the pressure. The weight. The expectations.

And she knows what it’s like to need approval.

She’s quiet for a moment before reaching for your hand.

“Are you happy?” Her voice is gentle.

You nod, but she studies your face carefully, trying to find the cracks.

“You promise?”

If you squeeze her hand, reassure her? She melts.

She wants to believe you. So badly.

Angel is soft with you in ways she isn’t with the world.

She may be a perfectionist. She may be needy for attention. But with you?

She doesn’t have to perform.

She can just… be.

And that’s a rare, precious thing.

And she will make fun of you for the way you talk in "serious mode."

"Ooooh, look at you~ all professional and intimidating~"

But deep down? She’s proud.

She just expresses it through teasing.

She knows power changes people.

And she worries about that. About what it might do to you.

But she also loves you too much to let it push her away.

“No matter how big or important you are…” she murmurs, curling up against you. “You’re still mine.”

And honestly? There’s no one else in the world she’d rather love.

V

The moment, you open your video feed to see him for the first time he knows who you are.

V already knows who you are.

He’s rich. Powerful. Connected. No one reaches his radar without him knowing everything about them.

So when your face appears on his screen, he isn’t surprised.

What surprises him is the fact that you recognize him, too.

You tilt your head, lips curling into an amused smirk.

“Mr Valentin Viljoen, right? We’ve met before.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Yes. And you are—”

“I'm your kind!” you interrupt smoothly, leaning back in your chair. “Without ever spilling a drop of blood.”

That makes him pause.

His posture tenses. Just for a second.

Because… that’s not wrong.

He’s seen your name in places that matter—a ghost behind the curtains of power.

You don’t get blood on your hands.

You hire people to do it for you.

At first, he’s wary.

You are the kind of person he hunts. The kind who orchestrates death while keeping their hands clean.

The kind that believes their cause justifies the means.

And yet…

You don’t silence everyone. You don’t kill for profit or ego.

You kill corrupt politician. The ones who slip through the cracks of the system. Like him.

He watches you closely after that.

“You play God,” he says one night, his voice measured. “Deciding who lives and who dies.”

You meet his gaze, unshaken.

“So do you.”

The two of you challenge each other constantly.

You push him to see the necessity of what you do.

He pushes you to consider the weight of it.

“Your assassins are no different than the people I kill,” he says coldly. “They’re just a tool you use to maintain control.”

You hum thoughtfully. “And you’re just a weapon that wields itself.”

Silence.

A game of chess with no clear winner.

But there’s one thing he can’t ignore.

You don’t kill the innocent.

Your network, your power—it’s built on a foundation of purpose.

And whether he likes it or not…

You’re not the villain he expected.

He watches you more than he should.

He listens to how smoothly you speak, how effortlessly you manipulate a conversation without a single lie.

He hates how drawn he is to it.

“You play dangerous games,” he mutters one night.

You smirk. “So do you.”

And he hates that you’re right.

He’s used to keeping his distance.

But you make that impossible.

The sharp way you tease him, the way you dance on the edge of his moral code.

It gets under his skin.

“What the hell are you?” you ask one night, head tilted. “A hero? A killer?”

His lips press into a thin line.

“What are you?” he counters.

It happens slowly.

At first, he tells himself he’s just keeping an eye on you.

But then it becomes habit.

Seeking your voice, waiting for your messages, analyzing your movements.

He finds himself protecting you before he even realizes why.

Because the moment someone tries to take you down?

He’s already one step ahead.

“You should leave,” he mutters after taking care of a hitman sent after you. “Disappear.”

You laugh softly. “And let them win?”

His jaw clenches.

He should walk away from you.

But he won’t.

Because for all his righteousness…

He can’t let you go.

[thedeafprophet]

Camera cuts to Jamie the most serious darkened look on their face as they say in no uncertain terms that grace isn't to go anywhere fuckin near the palace

grace buddy dont do that to them. this whole friendship hinges on the very nature that the princess doesnt know about him

i would love to find a way to make grace's balmoral palace painting adventures canon bc the guy really has nothing to do

but 1: i don't know what to do with it yet. 2: he already knows the palace is fucked up

and 3: i'm 90% sure he would have at least 3 people (twitch among them) immediately telling him absolutely not do not get involved with the palace oh my god

[mysteryshoptls]

SR Grim - Striped Ribbon Vignette

"The best time we can possibly have!"

[Ramshackle Dorm – Anniversary Party]

Grim: Wooooah. Ramshackle's all festive lookin' now! Take some pics with the ghost camera, [Yuu]!

Grim: When Ace and Deuce came over with the other first years this mornin', at first I was all, "What's goin' on!?"…

Grim: But looks like they were just puttin' up decorations for "Founding Day." What a bunch of kids, all super excited over somethin' like that.

You don't like Founding Day, Grim?

Grim: I-I didn't say that.

Grim: Night Raven College's a big-shot school that only lets chosen mages in. That means it's a huge deal to go to school here, right!?

Grim: There's no way any student here wouldn't be celebratin' Founding Day!

Well, so, it's great that they decorated everything so nicely for us, then.

Grim: …I guess.

Grim: But it was so crazy with how noisy everyone was. At least everything got done alright, thanks to my awesome leadership, though.

Grim: Didja see how Ace tried to skip doin' actual work, even though he's the one who came all on his own? He tried pullin' pranks on me again today, too!

What do you mean, "again"?

Grim: C'mon, you! Didn't you see him pickin' on me during flight class yesterday!?

Grim: When I was trying to fly on my broom, he tried to get in my way by using his wind magic to tickle me. He's so annoyin'!

Grim: He's obviously just jealous of my magical genius. I'm gonna show him who's the real boss one day!

Grim: Deuce was at least focusing on putting up the decorations, but he kept hanging the letters out of order… He's no better than Ace.

Grim: Oh yeah, that reminds me, the homework answer he gave me the other day was completely wrong and it got Crewel on our case, big time.

Grim: In the end, me 'n Deuce had to stay after for Crewel's special lessons. That guys should really do better on his studies.

I don't think you're one to talk.

Grim: Urgh… H-Hey, I've totally been taking my classes more seriously recently!

Grim: But in History of Magic, whenever Jack sits in front of me, I can't see the blackboard at all.

Grim: Plus, he's always sitting as straight up as he can despite him already being so huge, sayin' he needs to exercise his back muscles even in class.

Grim: If I say somethin' to him, he just says "Sit on [Yuu]'s shoulders" and doesn't budge one bit. He's such a muscle-brain.

Grim: Epel's gotta have the worst of it, seeing as he's in the same class as such a stubborn guy.

Grim: …Actually, Epel'd probably just snap back and pick a fight right away, huh.

Grim: He's a gutsy kid that hates to lose, after all.

Grim: We were sneakin' some food outta the cafeteria together the other day, too. We promised not to tell anyone, either… Boy, that sure was fun…

Grim: …Ah! Shoot, I just told you! That right now is a secret between us, okay!?

Grim: Speakin' of sneakin' food, Sebek's hard to deal with too! He's so stubborn, there's no use talkin' with him!

Grim: A little while ago, I tried just the tiiiiniest bit of some of his food, and he got super mad, yellin' and chasin' after me!

Grim: He just kept coming and he was shoutin' so loud my ears were starting to hurt real bad.

Grim: It was just one bite of his deluxe minced cutlet sandwich… Or was it five? Maybe ten bites?

I should probably apologize to him later…

[Ramshackle Dorm – Anniversary Party]

You look like you're really enjoying your time here at school, Grim.

Grim: Your little grin's creepin' me out, stop it. Well, what about you, then?

1. Every day is a blast, thanks to you.

Grim: Myahaha! Well, that goes without sayin'! Grim: And that's 'cause I'm here watchin' over and takin' care of you every day! Grim: …Good, good, you're enjoying yourself. Eheh.

2. I think I'm exhausted by all the trouble that happens every day…

Grim: My-Myaah!? Grim: What, does that mean you ain't havin' fun hangin' with me every day? I can't accept that! Grim: You'll see just how much I've been doin' for you! Just you wait!

Grim: …But hey, I guess I've gotten used to living in Ramshackle like this.

Grim: We're really doin' pretty good for ourselves in this run-down dorm.

Grim: That downpour the other day caused a huge mess the other day with all those leaks, though.

Grim: The bed and blankets were soakin' wet that I thought we'd have to sleep on the floor…

Grim: But luckily, one of the sofas made it through dry, so that was good. It was small and cramped, but way better than the floor.

Grim: We were able to patch things up with the help of the ghosts, but one day we definitely gotta get the school to cough up some dough to fix everything!

Definitely!

Grim: Yeah! We gotta make sure bein' here at this school's the best time we can possibly have!

[knock, knock]

Grim: Oh! Is that Ace 'n them?

Grim: We promised we'd all get together to celebrate Founding Day outside. I bet there's a feast planned, too!

Grim: Let's go, [Yuu]! Time for an outdoor party! Myaha!

Grim, let's keep at it together.

Grim: !

Grim: …Yeah! I'm definitely gonna keep lookin' after my little hench-human forever.

Grim: You just stick with me, [Yuu]!

Requested by @sweetdelightknight.

[sai-int]

Do you think Jhonny is the type to secretly wear laced underwear from time to time? Perhaps the task force was in a pub once after a long mission and soap leans forwards in his chair, his shirt riding up and there is the peaking flash of black lace above his waistband out of the corner of your eye. Maybe it's just the exhaustion and the many drinks you had.

Then weeks later maybe in the barracks or training room he bends down slightly to pick or put something up/down and the black lace is peak out again and this time you are sobber. Maybe he is into this or maybe it was his last resort of clean underwear ? Still doesn't explain why he owns laced female underwear though

okay, let’s think about this for a second.

he’s got that confidence, that casual boldness where he doesn’t take himself too seriously, and i feel like he’d lean into something like this for the fun of it. the kind of guy who enjoys turning heads and getting reactions, especially when no one expects it.

you’re sitting in a pub, mission done, the whole team letting off steam. the room’s warm, the air thick with the smell of beer and worn leather, and the haze of exhaustion makes everything feel a little surreal. soap’s halfway through some dramatic story. he’s leaning forward, gesturing wildly, accent cutting through the noise.

then it happens. his shirt rides up just enough to flash the waistband of his boxers… or what you thought were boxers until you catch the distinct shimmer of black lace peeking out. it’s quick, barely noticeable, but it’s enough to make you stop mid-drink, your brain short-circuiting for a second.

but you brush it off. you’ve had a couple of drinks, you’re tired, and it’s johnny. if anyone would find themselves in an odd underwear situation, it’d be him, right? maybe it’s some gag from his mates back home or one of his infamous “bets” gone wrong. you laugh to yourself and move on.

except it doesn’t end there.

a few weeks later you’re in the training room, trying your best to stay focused on whatever mundane task is in front of you, but johnny’s right there. bending down to grab a kettlebell or stretch out his legs, his shirt riding up just enough to expose that telltale band of lace peeking over the waistband of his pants.

it catches your eye. how could it not? and before you can stop yourself, you glance again, a little longer this time, just to make sure you’re not imagining it. that’s when you lock eyes and he’s caught you.

he straightens up, a sly grin spreading across his face, his eyes narrowing with amusement. “enjoyin' th' view there, hen?”

your cheeks burn immediately. “i wasn’t- i didn’t mea-” you stammer, trying and failing to find an excuse that doesn’t sound absolutely ridiculous.

“aye, dinnae play coy now,” he teases, stepping closer, that grin only growing. “ye've been sneakin’ glances fer weeks, haven’t ye?”

you want to deny it, but the playful glint in his eyes tells you there’s no point. so instead, you cross your arms, trying to muster up some semblance of composure. “you’re just… full of surprises, johnny. that’s all."

he chuckles at that, his hands on his hips, his thumb hooking under the hem of his shirt. “oh, this surprise?” he asks, lifting his shirt enough to give you another look of the thin band.

and there it is: black lace, snug against his hips, leaving absolutely no doubt in your mind now. it’s delicate and intricate, and you can’t help but wonder how the hell it ended up on a guy like him

“like what ye see?” he teases, tilting his head and folding his thick arms in front of himself before lowering his voice, “could give ye a proper look in my quarters if ye ask nicely.”

you roll your eyes, though your pulse is definitely racing. “you’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“oh, ah ken,” he says, “but admit it. ye're curious.”

and he’s right. you are. but you also know better than to give him the satisfaction of saying it out loud. “keep your secrets, johnny,” you mutter while looking away, trying to hide the blush tinging your cheeks.

“secrets?” he calls after you, laughter in his voice. “oh, lass, this is just th' start. wait till ye see th' red ones.”

mlist

[gnar-slabdash]

Hat Bracket Round 1A, Match 8: Sneakin' Beanie v. The Pixie

Sneakin’ Beanie Episode: 1x09 The Snow Job Character: Parker, as Parker Propaganda: I just always enjoy when she dresses up like an actual cat burglar.

The Pixie Episode: 1x05 The Mile High Job, 3x07 The Gone Fishin Job Character: Eliot, as Eliot Propaganda: you may be thinking "this is just a boring beanie, compared to all the weird fedoras out there" think again! this is the a very fun knit hat- the chevron stitch, the multilayer ribbing, the point at the top!!! (that's called a pixie style pointy hat) this is a classic understated eliot move. it makes his hair look great and the point is so whimsical. anyway we should all be wearing pixie hats Editor's Note: Originally submitted for the Mile High Job, submitter then noted it's also in Gone Fishin, which means it goes on my list of "Probably the characters' actual favorite hats"

[runninonemptyy]

Gallavich Week Day 1: Sports

I wrote this ficlet for day one. Since it’s short, I’m posting the whole thing here, along with the ao3 link. ☺️ @gallavichthings

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66582235

Baseball and Forever

“Bullshit, he ain’t safe! I tagged him out!”

Ian turns to look at the boy playing first base. Mickey Milkovich. He knows him from school—kind of. He always seems sort of angry. Ian’s attempt to befriend him by asking for a pencil hadn’t worked out the way he’d intended. But there’s something about him.

He can tell that underneath the anger, the boy is really sad. He’s always dirty, and Ian wonders if he ever takes a bath or a shower. In the Gallagher house, they have a shower schedule—no more than five minutes, in and out. He wonders if Mickey’s family has a schedule, too. Or maybe they just don’t have hot water. He’s seen the boy’s dad around, and some of his siblings. He’s never seen his mom. He wonders if anyone cares enough to make him take a shower.

Ian thinks he wants to be Mickey’s friend. Maybe Mickey would like to come over one day. They could play catch, maybe some video games. He thinks he’d like to see Mickey smile for once, to see him having fun. He doesn’t know if he’s ever seen the dark-haired boy smile before.

But then he watches with shock and amusement—maybe even a little bit of wonder at the ballsiness of this kid—as Mickey whips it out and pisses all over first base, to the abject and utter horror of each and every adult, from the coaches to the parents.

And then, Ian’s caught staring. “The fuck you lookin’ at, Freckles?”

Okay, so maybe not now. Maybe they won’t be friends just yet. But Ian’s sure it’ll happen one day.

******

“Ey. Raincheck on the Sox game, okay? We’ll sneak into the next one,” Mickey says as they look at the freshly watered baseball field through the chain link fence, sharing another cigarette in their post-orgasm haze.

“Yeah, raincheck,” Ian says, trying not to stare at Mickey, but failing miserably. Truth be told, he’d missed him while he was in juvie. A lot. Probably way more than he should’ve. He can’t tell Mickey that, though. Ian knows that if he were to say it, the other boy would just spit some empty threat about cutting his tongue out or something.

But it’s okay, because Ian can tell that Mickey missed him too. He’s starting to see past his tough exterior, and he’s pretty sure that he might be the only one who gets to see the real Mickey. He’s the only one who gets to see the little smile that he so unsuccessfully tries to hold back. He’s the only one who gets to see the little sparkle in his blue eyes when he’s feeling happy. And Ian’s more than okay with that.

******

“The fuck couldn’t we just sneak into the game like old times?” Mickey asks as they make their way to their seats, beers and hot dogs balanced precariously.

“We’re on parole, Mickey. And we can afford to buy tickets to a baseball game. Why not splurge for once?” Ian says as he plops down into his seat, beer sloshing out of his plastic cup and onto his shirt.

“Ain’t no one gonna send us back to the joint for sneakin’ into a fuckin’ pre-season baseball game. Besides, we’re old pros at this. It’s not like we woulda got caught,” Mickey smirks before taking a messy bite of his hot dog.

Ian just rolls his eyes at his…fiancé. Holy shit, it’s still weird to think about. But this man, gracelessly shoveling a hot dog into his mouth, is the only person he’ll ever want to sit next to at a baseball game for the rest of his life. That much he knows for a fact.

******

“Oh, come on! What kinda bullshit call was that?” Mickey shouts in almost complete unison with Lip, both of them standing up and causing the moms at the game to glare at them, clutching their proverbial, non-existent pearls.

Ian had been slightly worried about Lip and Mickey both being in attendance at Freddie’s tee-ball game, and clearly his concerns had been justified. But part of him, a really big part, loves it. He loves his husband’s passion, how seamlessly he’s become a part of Ian’s family. Really, though, Mickey was always family. That was never even a question. And watching him get riled up over a bad call at his nephew’s tee-ball game makes his heart melt, and, well, kinda turns him on if he’s being honest.

So, fuck it. Ian stands up and joins his husband and his brother. “Yeah, come on, wake the hell up!” Because, yeah, that call was bullshit.

******

The house is quiet, eerily so. Ian pulls himself out of bed to look for his husband, who rarely gets up before him. But Ian’s just coming out of a downswing, so he’s been more tired than usual, and he figures Mickey must’ve been letting him get some more sleep.

He walks to the kitchen and sees a freshly brewed pot of coffee with Ian’s favorite mug set down on the counter right in front of it—the one Mickey had gifted him shortly after their wedding, the one that says, “My Husband has an Awesome Husband.” (The other one Mickey had given him, the rooster mug that says, “I Love Your Cock,” remains mostly hidden these days.)

He fills his mug and walks through the house, searching for any sign of life, but he comes up empty. That is, until he approaches the window facing the backyard. He peers through it, and he sees both of the people he was looking for.

Mickey’s out in the backyard with their six-year-old daughter. They’re both wearing baseball gloves, tossing the ball back and forth. Ian just watches as every single toss Mickey makes misses the little girl’s glove and hits the grass. Each time, Mickey runs to pick it up and patiently throws it again.

Ian thinks of the conversation they’d had so many years ago, on their one-year wedding anniversary. Despite how much time has passed, he remembers it like it was yesterday—Mickey expressing his fears about becoming a parent one day. He thought he’d be a shitty dad, but Ian knew so deep down in his gut that this could never be the case. He knew Mickey would be a great dad. And he was right.

Standing here right now, watching Mickey playing with their daughter after having spent several days taking care of Ian during his downswing, he’s so glad that he managed to finally know that boy from the baseball team. The one who’d been so fascinating to Ian, so angry but so sad. Ian just wanted to be his friend. And now, he’s that and so, so much more. Best friend, husband, father of his child.

And the fact that the same boy wanted to know him, too? Well, it makes Ian feel pretty damn lucky.

[sanjisboyfie]

one piece smau: misc. edition

— miscellaneous :P probably pt.1 bc this is so fun to dooooo

— no romantic pairings, just the strawhats being cutie friends, male reader!!!

ー idk if the formatting is weird on desktop bc i did this all on my mobile 😭😭😭

liked by freeluffy, roro.zoro, and 8.6k others

-> ._.[name]: luffy is recycling, recycling is good for the enviornment!!! be like luffy <3

tagged: freeluffy

dni_nami: who on earth would want to be like that idiot ???

-> roro.zoro: no bc shes right

-> ._.[name]: you guys r so mean 😭😭

dr.law: im surprised there arent more bottles, u guys had the whole block awake....

-> freeluffy: we had to make five trips :DDD

-> ttchopper: FIVE TRIPS?????

-> dr.law: and when your guys' livers fail ill b there to laugh

-> ._.[name]: actin like u werent sneakin in shots of vodka :/// alright buddyyyyy

-> uso_pp: LMFOAOAO

-> SUPERCOLA: u jus got exposed

liked by ._.[name], dni_nami, and 4.6k others

uso_pp: im beggin yall to stop getting into drinking contests w zoro and nami

tagged: ._.[name]

._.[name]: naw trust next time i got em

-> uso_pp: didnt u say ts last time???

-> dni_nami: the fact he keeps thinking hes gonna win is crazy

-> ._.[name]: imma win back all my money

-> uso_pp: AND YOU BET MONEY??? ur gonna b in eternal debt [name]

princesanji: my beautiful nami is always coming out on top 😻😻😻

-> ._.[name]: who r u ???

-> princesanji: i dont interact w losers

-> dni_nami: sanji, ur the reason my username is what it is please do not test me rn

[liked by ._.[name], robinkills, and 80 others]

liked by ._.[name] and 7.3k others

robinkills: nami and i showing sanji and [name] who exactly they gotta jump

tagged: dni_name, ._.[name], princesanji

dni_nami: skank ass bitches invading a party that our friend is throwing jus to talk shit is crazy

-> ._.[name]: glad we took em outside 😋

-> princesanji: ILL FIGHT TO PROTECT YOUR REPUTATION MY QUEENS NAMI AND ROBIN - NO ONE WILL EVER DEFAME YOUR NAME IN FRONT OF ME EVER AGAIN

-> ._.[name]: one time ill agree w sanji on smth

freeluffy: no fair i wanted to come :(((

-> dni_nami: the pouting at not being involved in a fight is crazy

-> boahancock: my beautiful boy luffy i have many people you can have the pleasure of taking care of 🥰🥰🥰

uso_pp: their stupid ass bfs thinkin they stood a chance against sanji AND [name] was hilarious nglll

-> robinkills: it was over before it even started

[liked by dni_nami, princesanji, ._.[name] and 40 others]

liked by freeluffy, portgasdace, and 4.1k others

princesanji: someone donate this brokeass some money so he can buy his own packs

tagged: ._.[name]

._.[name]: HOW MANY OF MY LIGHTERS HAVE YOU STOLEN??? this is compensation

-> princesanji: stop lying i didnt steal shit from u

-> ._.[name]: I SAW MY ZIPPO ON YOUR NIGHTSTAND U FUCKING LIARR

ttchopper: smoking isnt good for u [name] :((

-> ._.[name]: suddenly i no longer like cigarettes

-> ttchopper: :DDD

-> roro.zoro: walked like a dog.

-> ._.[name]: ur just mad cuz chopper actually likes me

-> roro.zoro: im gonna kill u

-> dni_nami: chopper doesnt like either of u pls stfu

liked by robinkills, roro.zoro, dr.law and 13k others

._.[name]: my hearts <333

tagged: portgasace, freeluffy

portgasace: YALL SEE THIS im [name]'s favorite u wish u were me

-> freeluffy: i think [name] likes me the most, sorry ace!!!

-> portgasace: im beggin u to shut the fuck up

-> freeluffy: ur jus mad cus im right :DD

uso_pp: i wanna see a fight between these two over [name]

[liked by dni_nami and 50 others]

-> ._.[name]: u jus wanna see a fight mf shut up 😭😭😭

liked by dr.law, freeluffy, and 7k others

._.[name]: DAMNN PAPI ZORO GIVE ME ONE SHOT PLSLSSS 🤤🤤

tagged: roro.zoro

roro.zoro: we r never going to the gym tgt ever again im sick of ur bullshit

-> ._.[name]: can u pls come home and meet my parents i told them all abt us 🥺🥺

-> roro.zoro: i hope u die in a fire

uso_pp: unexpected couple of 2023 😱😱😱

[liked by ._.[name], robinkills, and 70 others]

._.[name]: he looks soo fionneneee

-> dni_nami: pls stop thirsting for zoro on ur main at least take it to the finsta [name] i cant stand this any longer

-> roro.zoro: how abt he jus stops in general???

-> ._.[name]: ur ltr in love w me stop being so obsessed in replying to my comments zoro 🙄🙄

-> roro.zoro: unlock ur apartment door im outside

-> ._.[name]: i feel unsafe.

[brights-place]

Hiii I have 2 req ideas and I can’t really choose between them so could you choose for me??

1: miles42 finding out that his little sister has a bf

2: miles42 having a little sister that works at achemex too, but she didn’t really do what she’s supposed to do on missions and just messes around all the time

42! Miles Morales finding out that his little sister has a bf

Pairings: Miles & Lil Sister! Reader

Warnings: Fluff

A/N: I'd say that it'd be funny fr miles 42 staring down at his sister when she has a boyfriend and be like "Who you sneakin off to" like how rio acted to miles 1610 when he went off with gwen.

- You've recently started to date a guy your age and he made you feel happy about yourself and felt close - So obviously you had to hide it from your brother and mama rio because you weren't exactly to tell them since whats going on with the city - Here you were getting read for a date with him but as soon as you opened the door you had miles staring you down - you were like one year younger then him but here he was arms crossed and scowling "who you runnin off too" it felt like you were under investigation - "No one" as you try to move past he blocks it "uh uh you tell me where you going? who you going out with? is it genkie? I never liked that guy" "YES YOU DID AND HE'S YOUR BESTFRIEND?!" "Shush" (yall better get the refrence) - So here you were sat down as he pryed you off of every information - "So where you running off to?" "To a karoke place then bowling" "With who" "Lila, Mari, Will and [Guys name}" and here was the longer even worse stare down as he spoke "Does ma know" "of course she does!" - So when you left he was obvs in his prowler costume making sure you were safe walking around but when he noticed how you were holding a guys hand he was 100% gonna scold you and then tease you - As your older brother he was worried yet he made so much fun of you - If you go on dates he makes sure your protected properly with everything you need and make sure that he treats you right when he picks you up miles doesn't want any of that stupid bullshit - Uncle Aaron scared the shit out of your boyfriend Him and Miles was obvs staring him down and he 100% was scared but they welcomed him but reminded him that if he ever broke your heart they'd make sure he gets hurt - Miles 42 would be an amazing brother every version of miles is and he protects you cause your his younger sister even if its one year apart - Miles likes to tease you alot I mean you teased him about his partner so he had the rights to tease you back - def walks into your room when you and your bf are cuddling and makes sure to keep the door open as you shout at him to close the door - Broke into your room again when you were gonna kiss your bf but he was holding a shoe "Nah bro dont even try it or try me drop my sis" - Miles and your bf become gaming buds and the fact he makes fun of him when he loses oh how smug he is and makes fun of your boyfriend proudly - he's very supportive after awhile but is still defensive he already lost his dad and you along with your mother are everything to him he can't lose another uncle aaron and him also may have tabs to make sure that he never does anything shitty to ya.

reblogs + comments are appreciated ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

©brights-place 2024 — do not repost on another platform, copy, translate or edit my works! if you fit my DNI list please don't interact

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: "Not Letting Go" – Part 16

The night had been… perfect.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you and Marshall had just been.

No stress, no tension, no overthinking. Just the two of you, tangled up in each other, laughing about dumb things, reminiscing about old memories, stealing kisses in between whispered conversations.

At first, you had kept a little distance, unsure of how far to let yourself fall back into him. But Marshall had a way of pulling you in, of breaking down the walls you thought you had built strong enough.

One moment, you were laughing at some ridiculous story about Proof, and the next, his fingers were trailing over your arm, his lips brushing against yours like he had all the time in the world.

And you let him.

Because, God, you missed him.

The way he kissed you, slow and deliberate, like he was trying to memorize every part of you all over again. The way his hands moved carefully, like he was afraid you might disappear if he held on too tight.

By the time you both finally fell asleep, curled into each other, his heartbeat steady against your back—you knew there was no pretending anymore.

This wasn’t just about the kids.

This was you and him.

And that terrified you just as much as it comforted you.

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of muffled voices downstairs.

Your eyes shot open, immediately aware of the warm weight behind you.

Marshall.

His arm was still draped over your waist, his breath slow and steady against the back of your neck.

For a second, you just stayed there, unwilling to let reality creep in. But then—

“Shit,” you whispered, realizing what time it was.

Marshall groaned behind you, shifting slightly. “Mm… five more minutes,” he mumbled against your shoulder.

You smacked his arm lightly. “Marshall, wake up. The girls are awake.”

That got his attention. His eyes blinked open, his grip on you tightening slightly before he groaned, rubbing his face. “Damn it.”

You sat up carefully, pushing your hair out of your face. “How the hell are we supposed to get you out of here without them seeing?”

Marshall smirked sleepily, stretching. “You act like I haven’t been sneakin’ outta your room since we were teenagers.”

You gave him a deadpan look. “You are not climbing out the window, Marshall.”

His smirk grew. “Why not? I bet I could still do it.”

You snorted. “You’re pushing fifty, babe. Pretty sure your knees would disagree.”

He placed a hand over his heart dramatically. “Damn. That was uncalled for.”

You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your smile.

But then the sound of footsteps on the stairs made you both freeze.

Marshall’s eyes widened slightly. “Shit.”

You scrambled out of bed, tiptoeing to the door and cracking it open just enough to peek out. The hallway was empty.

You exhaled in relief. “Okay, coast is clear.”

Marshall sat up, still grinning like this was all some grand adventure. “I still think the window would’ve been more fun.”

You shot him a look. “Get your ass moving before one of them catches us.”

He chuckled but obeyed, slipping out of bed and following you quietly into the hallway.

With one last look over your shoulder, you darted toward the stairs, Marshall right behind you.

And just like that—he was gone.

But the warmth of last night? The way his arms had felt around you?

That wasn’t going anywhere.

[yuckydraws]

You already know who: Vant Pup

All Gyftmas morning, that sneaky mistletoe has been moving from archway to archway, doorway to doorway - and you're onto it. Every time you move from room to room, you scout the entrances and exits with a discerning eye.

Pup, however, walks from room to room without a care, shrugging when you bring up the kissing tradition.

"a kiss is just a kiss, who cares?"

You care.

So, you huffed at his blasé attitude of it all and continued to step carefully, never off your guard. Meanwhile, Pup has already had to kiss two people due to his lack of awareness - Alphys and Toriel.

You... you'd be lying if you said you weren't slightly jealous. Alphys, he only kissed on the cheek out of respect for Undyne who was watching him like a hawk. Toriel, however, kissed him right on the teeth, finding the tradition adorably fun. All very tame and friendly, yet your heart lurched a bit both times.

Eventually, the festivities die down. You've got a bag full of gifts from all of your friends and a covered plate of food that Tilly insisted you take home with you. As you stand up from zipping up your boots, you're surprised to find Pup standing behind you.

"sneakin' out without sayin' goodbye?" He teases. Caught.

"I couldn't find you." You excuse.

"was outside havin' a smoke."

"Ah." This is awkward. "Well, it's supposed to snow soon, and I wanted to get home ahead of the weather, so I'll see you later-"

As you open the front door to make your escape, you're stopped by his hand on your arm. You raise a brow at him.

"ya really didn't notice? ya've been watchin' all night an' all-a-sudden, ya let yer guard down?"

Tentatively, you look up, sure enough... there's the mistletoe. Your face feels hot when you look back to him. He's... standing under it with you.

"what d'ya say?" He drawls, leaning into your space - but pausing to let you make that last move or pull away. Your heart thuds against your ribcage, and after one glance to your surroundings to check if anyone else is around (there isn't) - you close that gap.

Pup purrs, one hand reaching up to cup your cheek, while the other finds your hip and pulls you closer. Much... less friendly then the other two he's given out today. When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours.

But, a kiss is just a kiss... right?