#there ain’t no way in hell I’m capable of that

[diimpledoll]

Getting older is realising none of these horny text posts are realistic. What do you mean “I want to keep you on your knees” THE HELL YOU WILL, IM SORE, I CANT IM GETTING FKN ARTHRITIC LEAVE ME ALONE.

[tightjeansjavi]

Mine

A/N: um…hi! I write piss kink now? 👹 I don’t know what came over me today but I was sitting at my desk and just thinking about that mean old man, when all of a sudden, I thought hmm…what would it be like if Joel pissed on me? Then I proceeded to think about the prospect of him peeing on me while I was in a WORK meeting and well, you guess where this is going ;) oh! Fun fact, I wrote most of this in the shower! (How fitting) don’t read if this sorta content disturbs you, and if there’s any puritans out there that wanna call me a sick fuck and tell me I’m going to hell, baby, I’m already there! Feminism went completely out the window on this one!

~word count: 2.7k~

Summary: Joel Miller fucks you the same way he does every night…until he decides to switch things up for the first time.

Pairing | dark!joel x f!reader

Warnings: dark!joel, rough/mean Joel, overstimulation, heavy on the degrading kink, breeding kink, biting, dom/sub dynamic, oral f receiving, spit kink, pussy slapping, slight dubcon, piss kink, implied free use, Joel calls the reader his bitch and cocksleeve, unprotected piv, pussy pronouns, no specific age for the reader, reader has no physical descriptions, +18 minors dni!

Hot wisps of breath fan the shell of your ear. There’s a sheen of sweat coating your skin when his tongue darts out to taste a droplet of your perspiration on his tongue. His strong hips and thighs cage you posessively as he drives his cock further into your already ruined and messy cunt. His thrusts are relentless, and with each heavy punch of his cock into your cervix, you’re gasping for air; begging, pleading for him to let you breathe, but he always refuses.

He takes you like this the same way every night. Never soft and sweet, always rough and demanding. He’s like a rabid dog that broke away from its chain and headed straight for you. Ripping, clawing, and gnawing on your soft flesh. He takes and takes when, and however he chooses.

His large hands, calloused and scarred, act as a brand upon your skin. He molds you to his liking, pressing your face further into the seedy mattress till you can taste the dust ridden fibers on your tongue. His hands are capable of inflicting so much pain, and you can only imagine how many people he has killed with them.

He grunts against your ear, teeth biting down on the soft lobe till you’re yelping for him to stop and he removes his heavy hand from your soft cheek momentarily, only to grasp your hair between his fingers and roughly yank your head up from the mattress. Hot tears blur your vision. You’re in a confused daze, his words sounding muffled as you gulp down lungfuls of air.

“Ain’t much use to me if my favorite cocksleeve stops breathin’, sweetheart.” He gruffly teases, an edge of playfulness in his tone. “Keep on breathin’ in that sweet, sweet air. It’s the only shred of kindness you’re gonna get from me tonight.”

He forces your back to meet his chest, arching your spine to meet the heavy thrusts of his cock splitting you open. He drops your hair, your scalp feeling raw and tender from how hard he was yanking on it. His strong arms encase around your middle, fat fingers tormenting your nipples. He squeezes and pinches them before he shoves you right back down into the mattress.

“Turn your head to the side so that you can fuckin’ breathe.” Is all he says while he reaches for the old headboard for leverage. The shitty mattress shakes and squeaks beneath the weight of his heavy thrusts when he picks up his grueling rhythm, again.

You listen to his advice, if you would even call it that, and turn your cheek to the side so that your airway isn’t restricted. Your trembling hands reach for the tattered sheets, and your fists clench the fabric for any sense of support.

“Atta girl.” He rasps, blunt fingernails dig fiercely into the soft flesh of your hips, taking and marking you with red crescents indented in your skin.

“J-Joel.” You try to find your words, but they are muffled and fragmented. Your mind is too focused and centered on the pleasure rippling through your body to even try and protest.

“Shuddup and take it like you always do, baby. Know you can. Don’t gotta act stubborn about it.” He hisses between his clenched teeth, bending his chest forwards against your arched back. He sinks his teeth into the spot where your shoulder blades meet.

In some twisted and erotic way, he is mating you. His primal nature to breed you, and claim you as his; only his, takes over as he bites down on your flesh hard enough to draw blood to the surface of your delicate skin. And you have no choice but to let him, because despite how used and abused Joel Miller makes you feel, you keep coming back for more because no one fucks you like he does.

And when you don’t respond to his crudeness and condescending tone, he feels pleased by your submissiveness and need to please him.

“Was startin’ to think that my perfect little fuck toy wasn’t gonna show up for her fucking tonight. Thought maybe she had finally woken up and realized her worth, but then I find ya outside my door like a stray puppy jus’ waitin’ to be fucked.” He grunts deeply, slowing the movement of his hips before drawing them back slowly. “Cus’ no matter how many times you try to deny it, you love bein’ my cock sleeve. My fuck toy. You fuckin’ live for that shit baby, and you know what? I think it’s about time that I reward you.” He lets out a throaty breath before driving his hips forward, knocking the air from your lungs in tandem with his hips sharply jutting into the soft swell your ass.

His sweat slick skin slaps against yours, the obscene sounds of sex, and your ruined pussy squelching around the thick intrusion of his cock, send your eyes rolling back into your skull when you struggle to lift your cheek from the mattress to look over at him.

“W—what kind of reward?” You choke out, lips falling open in an o shape when his fat cock head nudges against that inner soft and spongy spot deep within the walls of your inviting warmth.

He chuffs a laugh, lifting his head up from where his teeth were just embedded into your skin. “Ah, there she is. Eager as ever, huh? Be fuckin’ patient, baby. Before I change my mind and decide you don’t deserve a reward at all.” He snaps, slamming his hips forward once more before he draws them back again. He slips out of your sopping pussy completely, leaving you on the edge of your approaching orgasm.

His cock is glistening in the low light, a creamy ring of your combined arousal coats the thick, veiny girth of his cock. He scoots back just enough so that he can watch the way your pussy pulses and drools a trail of enticing slick down between your trembling thighs.

He uses his thumbs to pry your inner lips apart before he spits a glob of saliva between your gaped, pulsing hole, and down to your untouched clit, swollen and puffy with need.

“Such a messy little pussy. You should see the way she’s winkin’ at me right now. So needy and desperate for my cock to fill her up with my seed, ain’t that right?” He sounds drunk, words slurred together, darkened eyes glazed over in lust. He licks his lips, inhaling the heady scent of your arousal like a hound dog locked on a trail. “Smell so fuckin’ sweet, too.” He groans before surging forward, burying his face between your parted thighs.

He’s never eaten you out before. Always claiming that you were undeserving of his skilled mouth and tongue. But tonight he’s finally given into tasting you, and once he’s had a lick, he can’t stop. He keeps you pried apart at his leisure, dragging his broad nose right through your trail of slick from the source. His lips suckle on your clit before dragging downwards to tease your folds, sucking on them, too. He’s eating you as if your pussy, and her sweet, sweet, nectar is his life source.

Your body jolts forward when his wiry beard scrapes at the apex of your thighs. He growls against you before reaching around for your hips and anchoring you in place once more so he can continue feasting.

He obscenely slurps and groans against your cunt before drawing his face back for a lungful of air. His chin and beard are glistening, coated in your arousal when he licks you from his lips. You think that maybe he’s finally having a change of heart when he flips you onto your back with ease, your breasts bounce from the movement when your back hits the mattress with a soft thud.

He never strays from fucking you from behind, on your knees with your face smashed into his mattress. That’s how he always takes you. His way only. And yet, here you are staring up at him with your big doe eyes bright and innocent. Your lips parted when he grabs the back of your knees and presses them towards your chest.

“Make yourself useful and hold those for me, will ya?” He barks out an order.

You scramble to grab the underside of your knees, sweaty fingers nearly slipping before you are able to have a solid grip around them.

“Good girl.” He nods before wedging himself between the small opening of your thighs. He catches that almost hopeful glint in your eyes and shoots it down immediately with an intimidating glare.

He brings one hand to the back of your scalp, roughly yanking your head upwards so you’re making direct eye contact with him. His dominant hand is loosely wrapped around the shaft of his cock, and he slaps the fat mushroom head against your puffy clit to gain your attention. “You focus right here.” He snips, brows furrowed together in a harsh line across his forehead. “Don’t you go and gettin’ this twisted, ya hear me? I know how you women work. Y’all think that jus’ cause a man does somethin’ different for once, that he’s softenin’ up to ya. He ain’t. You’re still my bitch, my little cocksleeve, and you’d best be wise to remember that, baby.”

“Y-Yes, Joel. I’m still your—”

He cuts you off with a low snarl when he begins to feed you his cock from this angle inch by inch, glancing down between your bodies so he can see your pussy pulling him in further. “That you are, my girl. Still feelin’ jus’ as eager for your little reward?” He questions with a cock of his brow, smirk tugging across his devious face.

“Please.” You beg him softly, not understanding what it was you were begging him for in the first place.

“Such an eager little cocksleeve to be pumped full of my seed, baby. Never thought I’d see the day.” He chuckles, pressing his hips forward till he’s completely bottomed out inside of you, and the coarse thatch of hair above his pubic bone presses into your clit.

Wait…what?

You look at him dumbfounded, shaking your head and hoping that you just misunderstood what he was saying. “What?”

“What?” He mocks your surprised tone condescendingly.

“Joel.” You try to reason with him, “we—we can’t! I—I don’t want to carry your fucking kid!”

“Aw.” He pouts, drawing his hips back before slamming them forward again. “You don’t wanna be filled to the fuckin’ brim with my seed? You don’t think your pussy wants that, baby? I think she does.” He teases.

“No, Joel. Please. Anything but that. You can come on my tits, my face, just please—not inside!” Your mind is already reeling at the possibility of having to carry Joel Miller’s fucking offspring in a world such as this one. You felt like one of those breeding mares shipped off to some stud farm to be passed around between stallions till one of their foals would inevitably stick—

He laughs cruelly at your fear and the way it dots your vision. He can imagine exactly what’s going through your mind at that very moment. “You should see your fuckin’ face right now.” He snickers. “Relax, sweetheart. I got a vasectomy years before the outbreak.”

“Jesus fuck, Joel! Why didn’t you just start off with that?!” You yell in his face, wishing you could punch that stupid grin right from the perfect pout of his kissable lips. You feel the tension visibly leave your shoulders when he satiates your fears of pregnancy, even if he does it in such a cruel manner.

“Cus’ I like toyin’ with ya. It’s entertainment for me, baby. You’re so easy to play with. I can do it with my eyes closed.” He muses before rolling his hips forward.

“You’re such a dick for that.” You attempt to chastise him, but your attempt is fruitless.

“Now, don’t go thinkin’ you’re entirely off the hook now, sweetheart. I do believe you said earlier that I could do anythin’ else I wanted to ya, right? Your words, baby. Not mine.”

Damn, his mind is sharper than a fucking arrow.

“Yeah…I did say that you could cum on my tits, or my face—”

“Mmm…nope. That ain’t gonna cut it for me unfortunately. I think I wanna do somethin’ else.” He trailed off, meeting your slightly nervous gaze with a small tilt of his head. How could his words and body language always be so fucking…mean?

“Okay, well, what else do you want to do?”

He shrugs his shoulders in disinterest before he grabs your hands that are still secured around the backs of your knees and removes them quickly so that your thighs fall open. He wants you spread at his mercy when he begins to ram into you, over, and over again. “You’re just gonna have to wait and find out.” He grunts deeply, bending down at an angle so he can nip at the juncture of your neck.

Your head lolls to the side so he has easier access and the pleasure starts to coarse through your body till he moves his mouth down the clavicle of your chest. First he starts off with chaste kisses to the swells of your breasts, and then he toys with the pert nipple between his lips. You let out a soft mewl that quickly turns into a high pitched yelp when his teeth sink into the sensitive pebbled flesh, hard.

“OW!” You cry out at the assault of his mouth. He does it again before switching to your other nipple, delivering the same mistreatment before he soothes the broken skin with his tongue.

You jokingly call him an animal thinking that he would disagree and scold you for it, but instead…he leans into that side of himself. He fucking loves it.

“Yeah, baby. I am a fuckin’ animal. You got that damn right.”

He fucks you like one too, till your creaming around his cock, leaking out around his thick girth that continuously punches into your pussy. He slips out suddenly with a wet squelch, leaving you feeling a little dazed and positively fucked out.

“Still want your reward, baby?”

You nod dumbly, cock drunk and eyes glazed with stars still twinkling behind them.

“Alright, my little cocksleeve. Close those pretty eyes for me, and no peekin!’”

Your eyes snap shut on command, chest rising and falling as you catch your breath.

The old mattress squeaks when his weight rises from it. You think about risking a peek to see what exactly it is that he’s doing, but you decide against it.

He stands above you on the mattress at his full height, looming over your spread legs while your ruined pussy is still drooling along the soiled sheets. He looks down at you with his cock wedged between his fist.

You can hear the wet sound of his fist jerking himself off before you feel the hot ropes of his seed coating your face, lips, neck, chest and lower. He shoots a load across your tummy, and right down to your pretty spread pussy.

Well, I suppose that’s a nice…reward? You think to yourself.

“Ain’t done yet, sweetheart.” He scolds you lightly from above when he sees your thighs beginning to close up like a nighttime flower closing its petals till the sweet kiss of sunrise.

He really has more than that? Damn, I underestimated this sick son of a bitch.

He relaxes his shoulders, letting out a decompressing sigh before he slowly releases his bladder with a sick smirk plastered on his face.

First, you detect the familiar stench of urine, and then the steaming liquid lands on your face, trickling down your lips. You let out a sound of protest and lift your hands above your head to shield yourself from his piss. It trails down the valley of your breasts, down your stomach and between your thighs, mixing into the trail of slick between them.

He’s marking you like a fucking dog marks his bitch, and you’ve never felt more degraded and humiliated in your entire life till you find youself under Joel Miller’s golden fucking shower. The stench of urine and cum stings your eyes and the sensitive hairs in your nose.

He bends down, cock now softened between his thighs and places one hand along the side of your face, brushing away a stray dribble of cum and piss from your lips with his calloused thumb.

“Now, no other man is ever gonna want to fuck my bitch when she’s reekin’ of my piss and cum.”

~~~

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[ayyy-pee]

Discord 18+ - Bluesky - Part One of WANTED Series - WANTED Masterlist

Pairing: Ex-Outlaw Toji Fushiguro x Outlaw Reader

WC: 8.7k

Summary: Shit luck. That's the unfortunate reputation branded to ex-outlaw Toji Fushiguro. That is, until tonight, when a reunion with an "old friend" turns his luck on its head.

Story Warning: Bar Fight, Gambling, Cheating (at gambling lmao), Violence and Blood and Broken Bones, Implied Rough Sex, Rough Oral Sex (M. Receiving), Implied Ass play, Misogyny, Protective Toji, Marking, Profanity, Smut obviously, Outlaw pt.1 references, No Y/N usage here

Art by: shesdeny on X

A/N: I had Backroads by Tanner Adell on repeat the entire time I wrote this ON REPEAT. I didn't proofread i'm so tired yall

Word on the prairie is there’s been one hell of a train heist.

It’s the talk of the town right now, and Toji’s soaking up every word of it as he sits at the parlor poker table. 

One man places a card down on the table, taking a drag of his cigar. “I heard they cleaned the locomode right out. Not even a silver spoon left at the scene.”

‘Thorough,’ Toji thinks. 

Another slides his chips into the center, where the dealer takes them. “Yup, heard that, too. An’ I heard it was a broad that did it.”

This piques Toji’s interest. He slides more chips forward, taps the table to check, letting them know he’s not adding any more money to this pot. Not that he has anymore to offer. He’s really hoping the shit luck he’s been having lately turns tonight.

“A broad?” The cigar smoker asks, thick smoke falling from his lips. “Can’t imagine a woman bein’ able to pull that off.”

At this, Toji snorts under his breath. These men don’t know what a determined and smart woman is capable of. But he does.

Another man laughs hard, tapping his fists on the table. “Thought so, too, but they caught a outlaw at the scene, too.” He tries to catch his breath, chuckling when he describes the scene. Apparently, the poor sucker was picked up from the train car with his hair knotted around the seat bar and his dick out for everyone to see. This makes Toji shake his head, amused, because he has a strong feeling he knows exactly who could have pulled something like that off.

A clean sweep? Leaving the other party humiliated just because they can? Toji’s fairly certain about who the culprit is for this one.

“But they say the outlaw escaped on the way to hoosegow,” notes the man. “Ain’t been able to find him. Probably gonna kill the broad when he finds her.”

Toji shakes his head, the slightest smirk sitting on his lips. That tracks. Leaving the scene with enemies left behind in embarrassing situations? Yeah, he knows exactly who pulled this heist off.

The men go on and on about the heist and the rumors circulating around the town. To everyone else, it all seems impractical. How could some woman possibly have the wits and the courage to be able to face off with one notorious outlaw and come out on top both literally and figuratively? 

Toji only knows one woman capable of achieving such a feat — you.

You’re the one who got—

“You in or you out, Fushiguro?” The dealer calls impatiently. “Hurry up.”

Toji checks the spread across the table, what’s laid out to determine if he’s going to stay in the game or not. And as his eyes flit across the cards, he kisses his teeth.

He lost, as usual.

”I’m out,” he grunts, standing from his seat. “Gonna take a piss.”

-

The streets are alive with activity. Brothel girls stand on the porches of their building, batting their lashes and waving their handkerchiefs in an attempt to lure each and every man inside. They call out to Toji, blow him kisses and offer him the “night of his life” while waving their fingers flirtily in his direction. Toji ignores their advances, not in the mood after taking yet another hit to his already dwindling funds.

This streak of bad luck has been following him all his life. Small inconveniences, minor problems that have built up and taken a toll on him over time. It seemed as if being an outlaw was the only thing he was good at, though he wouldn’t call himself one now. He’s not sure why he ever thought hanging up his hat as an outlaw and taking up gambling would change his luck. He’s never won, not once. But he can’t seem to stop himself from putting it all on the line in hopes that he’ll hit big, just one time. So far, no luck.

Toji strolls into the back alley of the parlor, nose wrinkling at the rancid smell of sweat and piss that fills the area. He finds what he thinks might be a cleaner spot than the rest of the alley and pulls his pants to his knees, grabbing hold of himself just before he begins to relieve himself.

The sharp sounds emanating from the piano keys throughout the many saloons can be heard and Toji finds himself tilting his head back and staring up at the night sky, letting a little tune fall from his lips in a whistle. It’s when he’s shaking the remnants of his bathroom break off that he feels the cold press of metal against the back of his head, effectively cutting his whistling short.

Shit.

Just his luck. Of course he’d go out to relieve himself and end up with a damn gun to his skull.

“Ya know what they say ‘bout whistlin’ at night, don’t ya?” A familiar sweet voice sings behind him. “Brings bad luck.”

Toji chuckles, shaking his head - and the extra piss - off. “That’s a cowboy’s belief,” he remarks. He pulls his pants back up, securing them around his waist. “And I ain’t one.”

The stranger hums, the pressure of the gun easing just slightly, but it’s enough for Toji and he takes this moment to spin around swiftly. His large hand catches the weapon in his palm and he yanks forward, pulling its wielder with it. He holds the barrel of the gun against the center of his forehead, a sick grin sitting on his lips.

“Just kill me if you’re gonna do it. But just know…I ain’t got shit for ya to take.” In the dim lighting of the alleyway, Toji can just make out the way this person stares up at him through hooded eyes, teeth digging into their bottom lip as they have this short standoff with him. Then they sigh, unceremoniously lifting their skirt and holstering their weapon between their thighs. 

“I see shit ain’t changed since the last time I saw ya, Toji.”

Toji only shrugs, a lopsided grin on his face. “Creature of habit, I guess.”

And there’s that laugh he hasn’t heard in some time. One that he won’t admit he’s missed because it reminds him of a different time in his life. One that he also won’t admit that he’s missed.

Standing before him is the earlier topic of discussion amongst the men inside. You’ve got your hands on your hips, dressed in the pretty little get up you usually wear when you’re up to no good, and Toji knows you’re about to have one hell of a night. And he has a feeling that you’re going to be dragging him into whatever plot you’ve cooked up. 

He takes in your appearance, the fancy new gun you tucked away and a very nice hat that probably sells for a hefty price.

Toji motions to your new possessions. “Keepsakes from your last job? Heard it was a damn good ride.”

You lift a hand, running your fingers along the brim of your hat, giggling as you play dumb. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

He knows better than to pry, at least not in the open where just anybody can hear. So instead he tells you, “You look pretty tonight,” and basks in the smile you give him. Soft and genuine, but only for a second before you’ve shifted into the little facade you put on.

“D’ya wanna show me ‘round here?” You ask sweetly, looping your arm through Toji’s and tugging him along. 

Toji slips his hands into his pockets. Truth be told, he hasn’t been in this town long, just arrived a couple days ago when he heard there was easy money to make at the parlors. But he hasn’t found that to be true. He was actually planning on heading out soon anyway. “Not much goin’ on in this town ‘round this time of night. Same ol’ gamblin’, drinkin’, fuckin’ and fightin’ that happens in all the others.”

“Hmm,” you nod, peering up at Toji with the false innocence he’s familiar with. “And what about you?” You’ve switched on your proper speech as well, Toji notes, but he doesn’t miss the suggestive tone behind your words when you ask, “Which one are you gettin’ into tonight?” 

He wants to tell you that he’ll be in whatever shitshow you start, just how he always is when you two run into each other in whatever middle of nowhere town you end up in. But instead he just smirks as he leans down to your ear where he whispers, “Let's see how the night goes.”

-

You’re careful to make sure there are no watchful eyes when you both emerge from the alley arm in arm. Toji leads you back towards the parlor, not missing the salacious looks you’re getting from the other men and cowboys while he holds onto you. And you, ever the actress, offer a demure smile and nod to each and every one of them that has them melting beneath your gaze.

And it’s a ridiculous thing, really, how Toji also finds himself melting for you. Although it’s for different reasons. You can offer all the innocent and pretty smiles you want. It may fool the average man, but it’s never fooled Toji. You two are cut from the same cloth, and that’s what brought you two together in the first place all those years ago.

You’re a beautiful woman, of course. A perfect face with a perfect body to match, filling that outfit of yours just the way Toji has always liked. But it’s your mind that draws Toji to you. Your ability to easily cook up a scheme that you rarely fail to pull off. The way you can slip on a manipulative mask like the one you’re wearing now and wrap anyone around your finger. How you can lure people into your traps and get anything you want. Any time he’s in your presence, Toji’s convinced that he’s sick in the head, because he can’t fucking get enough of watching you conspire against whatever poor person you’ve deemed your target.

It brings him back to his outlaw days, when he’d met you mid-scheme and almost threw a wrench in your plans. But somehow, it ended with you two teaming up to pull off one hell of a heist. And the aftermath? Well, let's just say you left Toji more than satisfied with the outcome.

When you two enter the parlor, it seems the gambling table has changed as well as the dealer, Toji notices. You both observe the dealer, placing three cards face down on the table. He shows one card - the 4 of diamonds - to the players around the table before setting it down and wildly shuffling them. When he’s finished and all three cards lie in a line on the table, one of the men selects a card, and they all erupt in a string of curses when it’s wrong.

Beside Toji, you scoff. “This’ll be a easy night, looks like.” You glance up at him, a teasing smirk on your lips. “Please don’t tell me ya lost all your money gamblin’ on goddamn Three-Card Monte,” you murmur just loud enough for Toji to hear. “All ya gotta do is find the damn card.”

“Can’t lose what I ain’t got,” Toji chuckles. “Come on.”

Of course you’d enjoy this game, he thinks. Three-Card Monte, or Find the Lady. It’s a card game in which the marks, or the players, are tricked into thinking they can find the “money card” among three face-down cards. It seems so simple, but if the dealer is anyone worth his salt, it’s easy to fuck the players over. Make them think they have a chance, so they just keep betting until they’ve got nothing left to lose. 

But of course, you’re a step ahead. This dealer thinks he’ll be playing you, when it’s really the other way around.

“Ya ready?” You question. “Let's make it quick.”

Sounds like Toji doesn’t have a choice. Looks like he’s pulling off a heist tonight. His ex-outlaw heart sings.

He approaches the table with you on his arm just as two men free up seats for you when they opt out of playing any further. You take a seat beside Toji, carefully adjusting your skirt, removing your hat and setting it in your lap. The dealer eyes you, he eyes your bosom unabashedly, grinning when you tilt your head and fix him with a curious look.

“Good evening, sir,” you speak softly and Toji watches you work your magic. “What are we playing tonight?”

The dealer chuckles, shuffling his cards in his hands. “We are playin’ Three-Card Monte, pretty darlin’.” He leans forward, the thick and nasty stench of his cigar breath making Toji’s nostrils burn. “I’d explain how to play it to ya, but I don’t know if you’ll be able to keep up with the rules. This fine gentleman here, however,” he turns his attention to Toji. “Would you like to buy in, sir?”

Toji’s gaze cuts to you. If the dealer’s statements bother you, it doesn’t show. Your smile doesn’t falter in the least. “You’re so considerate.” Your voice is soft and sweet, but Toji hears the bitterness behind your words. “I’m so fortunate my darlin’ husband here…” you reach over and caress Toji’s arm, nails dragging along his skin in a way you know will leave goosebumps in their wake. “...He took pity on poor lil’ me and taught me to play. Right, dear?”

You beam up at Toji, all soft and loving, and he wants to laugh to cover up the way his heart races – one, because you’ve referred to him as your husband which he’s embarrassed to admit doesn’t sound too bad. Two, because you involving him in your little game tonight excites him in more ways than one. He hasn’t felt the thrill of pulling off a heist in some time, his luck almost never panning out the way he wants. But now that he’s run into you, he’s sure it’s going to take a turn for him.

“Yep,” he affirms. “And I’ll teach ya whatever else your lil’ heart wants, angel.” Toji grins, enjoying the way your brows rise just barely at the pet name, some emotion he can’t place behind your eyes. He can’t dwell too long because he’s eyeing the dealer, whose gaze is glued to your breasts again. Toji roughly clears his throat, grabbing the man’s attention. “She’ll buy in.”

“If ya say so.” Of course the dealer isn’t going to argue. You’re what he thinks is the easiest mark of his night.

The first game goes exactly how Toji imagined you’d have it play out. The dealer tells you he’ll be generous and do a practice round for you so that you can “wrap your pretty head around the rules”, and you agree. You of course don’t find the card, or so the dealer is made to believe. But you enthusiastically agree to an actual game.

The first real game, you bet low, telling the dealer that you’re just too nervous to bet too much money, and you’re not sure if your dear husband would approve.

“Put down as much as ya like, angel,” Toji pushes eagerly, earning him a quick scowl from you, covered by a sweet giggle.

“Do you want me to lose all of our money, dear?” You ask, the real question hardly concealed beneath your words.

It’s not your money to bet, so shut the fuck up.

Your foot connects with Toji’s leg beneath the table, just to drive the message home. Toji grunts, covering the pain with a clearing of his throat.

The dealer places the cards face down on the table, then picks the one on your left up. He shows it to you – the Queen of Hearts. 

Fitting, Toji thinks, what with the way the dealer winks at you before he shuffles the cards around quickly then settles them into position. A cocky smile spreads across the dealer's face. He knows where the card is. And knowing you, you probably do, too.

So Toji sits back and lets you play cards while playing dumb in the dealer's face. 

You lose this round, and he can tell it’s on purpose this time, pouting cutely and making the dealer blush a deep red as he shakes his head. “Chin up, darlin’. Why don’t ya place another bet. See if your luck changes.”

“I think I will,” you declare, nodding. 

You place the same small bet and let the dealer do his job. When the cards are settled, you tap your index finger on your chin, pretending to think really hard about it. Then, in feigned hesitation, you select a card. Toji watches proudly, relishing the way the dealer’s eyes widen when he lifts the card and turns it in your direction.

“Oh! I won!” You grab hold of Toji’s arm, your mouth slightly agape as you motion for him to look.

“Look at you,” he purrs, taking hold of your hand. He lifts it to his lips, turning it slightly to press a kiss to your wrist, right where your pulse lies, grinning when you inhale sharply. “Knew ya could do it, angel.”

Your teeth press into your lip, a shy look on your face now. Only for a moment, then you’re shaking it off as you turn back to the dealer. “I’d like to bet more, please.”

He deals you in again, a slight look of displeasure on his face when you somehow end up winning once more. And then you win again, and again. The dealer’s fingers drum rhythmically against the table in annoyance, eyeing you suspiciously.

Now, Toji gambles, but he doesn’t gamble the way you do. His days as an outlaw involved doing anything that involved brute force. He was good at that. Need someone manhandled? You pay the right price and he’ll take the job. Got a bounty out on someone’s head? Dangle a bag of money in Toji’s face and he’ll do it. But when he left his outlaw days behind, and fell into a habit of placing bets he couldn’t make good on, he quickly figured out that all the sneaky counting cards and sleight of hand shit was beyond him. He did, however, pick up on a few things.

Like now, when he notices two random men have joined either side of you and Toji to play the game. They’re obviously shills, there to try and assist the dealer in trying to cheat you out of your winnings. The shill beside Toji places his bet, the dealer shuffling the cards quickly to confuse him. He loses, pretending to be upset when the dealer moves onto you.

You place your bet - a large sum, larger than any you’ve put in tonight and Toji’s brows rise.

“You sure about that, sweetheart?”

It’s your money, sure, but you must feel pretty confident in your ability to win if you’re willing to put so much on the line. 

You nod, lips curling in a smile while you watch the dealer shuffle. “Yes, dear. I think this will be my best round yet. I just know I’ll have fun with this one!”

There’s something about that sentence that puts Toji on edge. Especially when the other man on your side leans over, engaging you in conversation while the dealer shows you the target card – the King of Diamonds. It’s a ploy to distract you, even Toji knows that. They want you to take your gaze off of the cards so that you can’t keep track of where the target is. But you stay focused even as you entertain the man, nodding along to the conversation as you pay attention to the way the cards are moved around.

It feels like forever before the dealer stops and sets the cards down. He waves his hand over them, waiting for you to pick.

You think hard, seriously this time. Toji watches the way the dealer eyes you, sweat beading along his forehead. Likely from nerves, because you’ve been sweeping the floor with him for the last few rounds and he’s sure he doesn’t want to lose more money. If you lost this large bet, you could walk away clean and go on with your night. Toji doubts it’d put a dent in your pocket. With all the heists you’ve pulled off, especially your most recent, he’s pretty sure you’re set for quite a while.

But your eyes meet the dealers, your hand floating back and forth above the cards before coming down to point to a card and the dealer makes a noise that sounds something like a mixture of a scoff and chuckle. There’s certainty in his expression as his fingers flip the card over, shaking his head.

“Sorry, Miss. Looks like you’ll have to –” he swallows his words when he sees the King of Diamonds sitting beneath his fingertips. “H-how?!”

You bat your lashes innocently. “How what, sir?”

The dealer's hand slams down hard on the table, shaking the winning bets and silencing the parlor. The pianist freezes on the keys, the bartenders stop making their drinks, the guests stop speaking, all heads turning to the table where you and Toji sit. The shills now stand, and Toji’s eyes track their movements. One directly behind you, the other to the side of him.

The dealer grits his teeth, face red with rage as he now screams. “You’re cheatin’!”

You gasp, hand coming to your chest to clutch your imaginary pearls. “I beg your pardon, sir!”

“Oh, shut your fuckin’ mouth! I know you’re cheatin’!” 

“I-I’m just playin’ the game, sir.” You turn to Toji, mock concern on your face. “Right, dear? Did I do somethin’ wrong?”

And Toji nods, keeping the ruse going. “Of course, angel.” He sees the anger continue to rise for the dealer the more this drags on, his hands flexing into fists repeatedly. Does he plan to try and hit you? He hopes not, for his own sake. “That’s a serious accusation,” Toji tells the dealer. “You’d better have good proof of my wife cheatin’. You know cheatin’ at cards means hangin’ in the town square.”

“Ya want proof? Look!” The dealer flips all three cards laid out on the table, and there lies the evidence with only one Three of Clovers lying there, and two Kings of Diamonds in the spread. “See?! I knew somethin’ wasn’t right with this broad! Ain’t nobody ever won Three-Card Monte this many times when I’m dealin’ the cards! You’re slippin’ cards onto the table!”

So he’s a cheat, too. Toji should’ve called that. There’s hardly a noble and honest person working in these establishments. Even still, it boils his blood for some reason. 

It may be the fact that Toji has lost most of his savings in this very building tonight, or it may be the way this slimeball has been eyeing you up and down all night trying to see how many times, how many ways and probably in how many positions he could take advantage of you, or the fact that he’s now speaking to you like tar stuck to the bottom of his shoe. Regardless, he’s getting pissed.

Toji’s gaze catches yours briefly, and you purse your lips together. He can see the wheels turning, trying to think of an excuse as to how this could happen. Everyone in the building is holding their breath, and more staff have gathered around to see what the commotion is. Toji counts about three more men around you that he believes may be with the dealer. Jaw tight, he waits for your next move.

You giggle, shaking your head as you sit your hat back atop your head, and Toji watches your mask slip off in real time. “Can’t believe this shit,” you sigh. “This damn shill,” you gesture to the man standing behind you. “He’s good.” The dealer sees your change, too, finger jutting out to point straight at you.

“I-I know you! You’re that outlaw bitch! The one that’s wanted all over for cheatin’ at cards, murder, breakin’ out of jail, and–”

“Aww, the train robbery ain’t at the top of the list yet?” You interrupt, leaning back in your seat with a pout. “Feel like that’s my best work.” You grab hold of the dealer’s finger - swift and easy, bending it back roughly, the man screaming out in pain and doubling over onto the table. “Ya got me,” you whisper teasingly in his ear. “Gimme my earnin’s and I’ll just be on my merry way. No need to cause a ruckus.”

“You fuckin’ whore, I’ll-” The man winces, crying out when you bend his finger further. 

“I’d think real careful ‘bout your next words if you don’t wanna lose a finger.”

“Okay! O-okay!” The dealer concedes. “Just take it ‘nd get the fuck out of here!”

Toji can’t help but watch in awe…and arousal…witnessing you in your natural element again. You’re wild, impulsive, insane. So much so, you’ve got everyone else in this parlor frozen in shock as you pocket your winnings. They can’t seem to wrap their heads around a woman being so outwardly bold to commit a crime out in the open, and proudly, the way you are. It’s admirable; it reminds Toji of when he was at his best as an outlaw, maybe better. 

You glance at Toji, tilting your head towards the money and he snaps out of his reverie and begins to move, pocketing what he can, too.

“Keep whatever ya grab,” you offer, and Toji grins. His adrenaline is pumping, heart pounding behind his ribcage as he grabs all he’s able to. This is a feeling he hasn’t experienced in so long. The feeling of winning. He doesn’t ever want to come down from this high.

When your pockets are full, tied tightly and secured, you finally release the dealer who whimpers as he holds his finger to his chest. He looks about ready to rip your head off, but his eyes dart to Toji who looms over him, daring him to say something and the dealer thinks better of it.

Now all that’s left to do is leave this place quickly and quietly. Maybe grab something to eat and find some place to sleep.

You tip your hat, and just as you turn to leave, the dealer reaches over the table and grabs hold of your dress sleeve. He yanks you forward harshly, dragging you across the table.

“I’ll kill ya, bitch!” He raises his fist and you laugh, covering your face with your arms, anticipating the hit.

You wait for him to make contact, but the hit never comes. You only hear the sickening crack of bone meeting bone, and then you’re falling hard onto the floorboards a second later. Women gasp and race out of the establishment along with some men, but the remaining people step back to take in the scene. Peeking through your arms, you see Toji’s large body standing over the unconscious and bleeding dealer. 

You scramble to your feet and dart over to Toji. His eyes are hard, jaw clenched as he stares down at the man. “Toji,” you whisper, shocked yourself at what he’s done.

“He should watch his fuckin’ mouth when he speaks to ya,” he grunts, and you can’t help but erupt into laughter. And you laugh hard, until you’re doubled over and holding your stomach.

You lean against Toji’s arm, grinning as you nudge him. “You soft for me or somethin’?”

The question doesn’t even register to Toji, because in that moment, one of the shills finally finds his courage again, rushing towards you and Toji with a beer bottle in hand. “You son of a bitch!” He shouts, charging at Toji, but you’re quick to grab hold of a chair, using all your strength and swinging the piece of furniture at the man. You miss, but it buys Toji enough time to grab a chair of his own and launch it across the parlor, slamming into the back of another man at the bar.

He spins around, face contorted in rage, barking out, “who the fuck threw that?!”

You point to the shill, who points to Toji, who points to himself.

The stranger looks confused, but still furious. And he rushes towards you all, elbowing his way through the crowd as he barrels forward. He shoves several men around, all of whom are too drunk off their asses to realize what’s going on. They only know it’s getting rough here and they need to defend themselves. It only takes one drunk bastard to throw the first punch, and then it’s all out chaos. Arms are being thrown, furniture is flying, the floors are slippery with the mixture of alcohol and blood. 

Toji ducks, avoiding a stray punch aimed at him, only to receive a shove in the back. He spins around, catching a man by his collar and easily tossing him aside and knocking the lights out of another man who lunges at him. It’s complete insanity here, so loud and chaotic and in the midst of it all…he finds himself having a good fucking time. This is fun for him. His fist meets the stomach of one man and his heart soars. A knee to the face of another man and his lips spread in a wide grin. His palm comes down to slam someone’s head against the table, rendering them unconscious and Toji chuckles.

Even with the cacophony of punching and screaming and cursing, Toji can hear your wild laughter floating throughout the space.

You’re going toe to toe with grown men, using whatever weapon you can get your hands on and it’s not even about defending yourself anymore. You’re simply enjoying the frenzy. You don’t care if the sheriffs show up, if they put cuffs on you and throw you in the slammer. You’re used to that. You don’t care if your involvement here means a death sentence. Why would you when you’ve been sentenced to death in multiple towns across the prairie and have managed to escape every attempt to put you down?

Toji admires that about you, admires that you don’t give two shits. You’re only interested in doing what you love and if lying and cheating and violence is what you love, then hell, he loves it, too. So Toji lets himself have fun with you.

He throws another punch, relishing the disgusting sound of a nose bone being crushed beneath his fist.

He erupts with laughter when he wraps one of his large arms around a man’s neck and he squeezes until Toji feels him fall limp to the floor.

He lifts a leg, smirking when his foot connects dead center in the chest of a man wielding a blade and sends him flying across the room.

Then in the chaos, his back connects with yours and you both swing around, ready to take out the next person. But it’s just you. You, and your jagged whiskey bottle that you’ve busted over someone’s head and hold out defensively in front of you. The poor victim of the impact lays unconscious at your feet. 

Toji takes these few seconds to drink you in, the way the shy and innocent mask you had on upon entry to the parlor is long gone, leaving behind the wild outlaw he’s come to know over the years. He takes in the way your chest heaves, breasts barely contained within the confines of your corset. How you’re covered in blood and grime that he’s certain isn’t yours.

The violence and commotion behind you makes for quite the backdrop to this image he’s committing to his memory. He’s never seen a woman so beautiful.

Your lips part just slightly and Toji’s eyes dart down to the movement. You drop the liquor bottle, not caring that it knocks against the unconscious man on the floor’s head and shatters next to him. Your feet move, carrying you over to Toji until he’s just within arms reach. You’re giving him that same look you had in the alley just earlier, chewing your lip and looking like you want to eat him alive.

And he’ll let you.

Because the feeling is definitely mutual, evidence of his desire only growing in his pants. He shouldn’t be surprised that this is where the night is heading, as it’s led to this many times. But something about tonight has Toji particularly excited. So, he reaches a hand forward, hooking his fingers in the front of your corset and yanks you forward. You throw your arms around his neck, and your lips meet in a sloppy kiss, full of tongue and teeth and groans. His hands palm your ass, lifting you easily and you wrap your legs around his waist. Toji presses your core against him, at the same time he feels your holstered gun press into his side and it only makes him harder. He moves your body, dragging your center along his hardening length.

“Where’re ya stayin’?” You gasp into the kiss, and Toji steps to the side just in time for a bottle to whizz past your heads.

“Brothel up the street,” Toji groans when you dip your head low to drag your lips along his neck. You break away to stare down at him, only smirking in response.

Yes, this night is headed exactly where he thought it would.

-

Your back hits the wall hard, knocking the wind out of you and sending a painting that hangs on the wall to its demise as it falls to the floor and shatters to pieces. You barely have time to catch your breath after Toji has broken away from your nipples, courtesy of him freeing them from your corset halfway up the stairs to his room.

“Fuck, ya always feel so good,” Toji lets out of a garbled moan, his lips finding your neck as you grip his hair.

“Thinkin’ about me a lot, huh? So, ya are soft for me?” You ask, a giggle falling from your lips, only to be cut off when Toji presses his thick length to your core. “Ah– fuck, Toji,” you cry out. You moan when he sucks hard. 

He’ll surely leave a mark, and some part of Toji finds that he likes the idea of you strolling around with the brand he’d left on you on display for all to see. He wants men to see you, see you’ve been marked up by someone else and wonder who you go home to at night. Even if it’s not Toji, at least it was him who made it crystal clear that you laid with someone who wasn’t them the night before.

He loves the idea that he gets to have you, because you choose to let him have you. It’s not a part of some scheme you’ve come up with, you don’t have some ulterior motive. You don’t want anything but to get your fill for the night, and you want to get your fill from him. You want him to have you, and the thought has him grinding his clothed erection against you in a desperate attempt to gain some friction between the two of you.

You tug at Toji’s strands, moaning at the way he ruts against you, how his tongue slides smoothly across your pulse. “Shitttt, don’t hold back,” you gasp, and Toji can’t help but chuckle.

“When have I ever, angel?”

The pet name has you looking at Toji the way you had earlier. A flash of something unfamiliar behind your gaze, gone as quickly as it appeared and your hands crash down on Toji’s chest, shoving him back. He sets you down and you shake your head, wasting no time in falling to your knees without him having to say so. He watches you lift your skirt, unholstering your gun and carelessly tossing it aside. Then you undo his pants, pull the fabric down until his clothing sits in a pool at his ankles.

Your hands wrap around his cock, thick and veiny and pump him slowly. Toji grunts, placing his palms against the wall as he enjoys the view of you kissing the underside of his dick.

“Like that, angel,” he sighs when you run your tongue over the fat vein that runs all the way from his balls to his tip. “Fuuuck…”

Your tongue reaches his head, where a bead of precum sits and you lap it up greedily, grinning when Toji’s legs tremble just slightly. “Like this?” You ask, swirling your tongue around him slowly just before you take his entire length to the base.

Toji hisses, hips bucking forward on instinct. He grits his teeth, eyes rolling to the back of his head when you swallow around him. Your throat squeezes him deliciously and he can’t stop the pathetic groans falling from his lips. You bob around him, hollowing your cheeks as you suck and take all of him with every bob of your head.

When Toji’s cock nudges your throat and you gag around him, Toji hisses. “Yes, yes, stay there,” he grits out. You hum around him, eyes alight with mischief and Toji’s back stiffens. The vibration shoots straight through to his cock and Toji leans his forehead against the wall to keep from losing his balance at the sensation. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me.” 

Toji’s mouth parts slightly, a rough groan leaving his lips. You’re toying with him, the way you toy with everyone. You love this shit, love having whoever you set your sights on going crazy over you. You’ve got those cute lips of yours wrapped perfectly around his cock, working him closer to his release and you’re enjoying every second of bringing him to the edge. It doesn’t help when you hold eye contact with Toji while you take him in your mouth, all the way down until your nose is buried in his soft pubic hair while you lift your skirt and slip your hands into your undergarments.

Your brows knit together, moans muffled by Toji’s dick in your throat while you touch yourself. The image is so arousing, your lips stretched around him while your mouth is full. He can’t help but buck forward – once, twice, and then he’s fucking your mouth all on his own.

“Yessss, play with that pretty pussy for me,” Toji groans. He’s fucking your face at a frantic pace, and you’re taking every stroke he gives. “Ah, fuuuuck –” Toji pants, a hand coming down to hold the back of your head. He pushes your head down, forcing your throat open to take his entire swollen length down your throat, occasionally holding you there for a moment, loving the sound of you choking on his dick and your saliva more than any sound he’s ever heard you make. The mixture of your fluids drips messily down your chin, and still, Toji keeps fucking your face until you’re gagging and squeezing around him.

He pulls out, holding the base of his cock tightly. Because he’s watching you - mouth agape as you gasp for you, chin glistening and lips swollen with her hand in your pants. The sight is so sexy, so arousing, he thinks he could paint your face right this second.

You inhale sharply, swallowing as much air as you can. Your fingers tease at your clit, dipping inside your walls just briefly before your breath hitches and you whimper a pathetic challenge. “Don’t tell me you’re done already.”

And Toji grins, easily shoving himself back into your mouth. He’s even rougher with you if possible, and you seem to love it that way, keening around him as your fingers rub tight circles on your clit. He pulls away from you once, brows pulled together as he tries to catch his breath while he makes you take him down to the hilt over and over again. “Fuckin’ hell, angel. Takin’ my dick so good for me. Your throat feels so fuckin’ good. Don’t move–”

Toji scrambles forward, grunting and pressing his length all the way down your throat, so far, so desperate to feel you squeeze around him again that he’s got your head up against the wall. There’s nowhere for you to go as his hips buck forward. 

“Fuckin’ take it, swallow my cock, fuck–” 

Your hand finds his thigh, squeezing tight while the other works you closer and closer to your release. It feels way too good, better than any woman, any mouth Toji’s ever been in. His balls are tight, slapping loud and wet against your chin as he slams into your face.

He hears you, hears your moans as the rise in pitch, getting higher and higher with every thrust of his hips, every press of your fingers against yourself.

“Gonna cum, angel?”

You whimper in response, unable to nod or speak, while Toji’s got his dick stuffed into your throat.

“Cum for me, then. Make a mess on your fingers while I fuck your mouth,” he grunts, hips snapping forward.

Your eyes roll back, nostrils flaring as you dip your fingers into your core and feel your walls fluttering around them. Your release washes over you with such intensity, your legs begin to shake, tears begin forming at the corners of your eyes, drool falls in thick strings from your lips. And all the while, Toji is still fucking into your mouth. 

The sight is one he wants to burn into his memory. You - the woman who just a few hours ago knocked men on their asses, cheated and won and still somehow escaped without punishment - now getting off on getting him off. 

He’ll be sure to remember you on your knees for him, bringing yourself to ecstasy while your mouth is stuffed with his cock, tits bouncing with every thrust and –

Oh, he’s gonna cum.

Toji tells you as much, then moves to pull out, but you press your hands to the backs of his thighs and pull him back into your mouth, staring up at him as if begging for his cum.

And when you look at him like that, how could he ever say no?

He presses forward, mouth falling open with a loud and guttural moan as he finally reaches his peak. Toji’s body tenses, cock stiffening and thighs trembling as he twitches in your mouth. You hollow your cheeks, sucking him deeper if that’s even possible, and Toji’s moans only grow in volume. His cum shoots from his swollen tip, straight into your throat and you gag on the sheer amount of it.

“Fuckin’ swallow,” Toji growls, watching the way you struggle to handle all he’s giving you. “Don’t waste a fuckin’ drop. Swallow it for me, angel.”

And you do as you’re told, gulping down every thick rope of cum that paints your esophagus. When you finally release your hold on Toji, his cock softening between your lips, you gasp for air, coughing and sputtering while you wipe away the remnants of you and Toji’s deed.

“Almost killed me,” you jokingly complain, voice rough from the abuse your throat just took.

Toji chuckles, stepping back and taking your hands to help you stand. “Guess we’re even, then. I mean, ya almost got me killed tonight.”

You giggle and shake your head, pressing your palm to his chest, pushing Toji backwards until his knees hit the end of the bed and he falls back with a loud oof. You lift your skirt, climbing atop Toji and straddling his hips, and Toji would be lying if he said he wasn’t hard all over again.

“Hope ya ain’t got all that gettin’ even feelin’ out just yet, because I can think of plenty of times ya almost got me killed.” You lean forward, a hand on each side of Toji’s head and his hands find your breasts, still free from your corset. He cups both soft mounds, idly running his thumbs over your nipples and drinking in the expression you make when you moan without your mouth being stuffed full.

Toji grins, eyes honed in on the way your breasts feel in his hands. “Like the horse stealin’. That rancher almost blew your top off.”

Your lips spread with a smirk. “Well, if ya hadn’t been so fuckin’ loud when we were in the barn, he would’ve never woke up!”

Toji scoffs, “Well, ya snuck a finger in my ass! I ain’t ever had that happen! How the hell was I supposed to know it’d feel like that?!”

You both burst into a fit of laughter, reminiscing on all the crazy shit you two have gotten into over the years. You make Toji miss his outlaw days, almost make him want to go back to it. But that life’s not for him anymore. Though, it is fun to dabble in it from time to time, only with you.

Your lips find Toji’s, tender and sweet. Until - like all things you do - it’s not. It quickly turns heated, your hands dipping into Toji’s dark tresses while your lips lock in a searing kiss. You both make quick work of ridding each other of any clothing, hands roaming each other’s bodies once you’re bare.

It’s a fight for dominance in this bed. Who can kiss harder, who can leave more marks, who can pull the most moans from the other? The bed rocks with every movement, the headboard banging against the wall as Toji flips you over, pinning you to the bed with his body weight.

You hum, your hand ghosting across Toji’s muscular ass. “This looks familiar.” You take a finger along the seam of his behind and Toji inhales sharply. “Ah…by that ya meant…it felt good. Should I do it again?”

Toji’s head dips down, the tip of his nose touching yours as he breathes, “let's see where the night goes.” He slips inside of you, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths.

You move together, losing yourself in the passion of the night, disregarding the way the bed shakes.

And the way the photos and paintings fall from the walls.

And the way the headboard beats dents into the paint.

And the way the head mistress bangs on the door.

And - 

-

The morning sun blazes high in the sky, shining through the thin curtains of Toji’s room. He stretches his noticeably sore body, yawning as he lets himself slowly wake up. 

What a night - and morning. He knows he needs to hightail it out of town soon to keep from being identified as your accomplice at the parlor last night. He can’t sit around dawdling all day.

Toji sits up in his bed, already knowing it’s pointless to glance at the other side and wonder where you went. Of course, true to form, you’d made a smooth and quick exit. You’re probably long gone by now, wreaking havoc in another town. He tries not to take it personally that you likely didn’t even bother to say goodbye.

He slides off the bed, wincing when he feels a sharp sting of pain in his foot. He lifts his leg, pieces of wood falling to the floor where remnants of what appears to be a broken side table lie. His eyes scan the room, and the absolute mess all over. It looks like a damn tornado ripped through here.

Chairs thrown aside, a shattered mirror and pieces of glass all across the floor, broken art all over. He doesn’t remember you two being that rough with each other last night. 

His stomach grumbles angrily, not allowing him to dwell on the mess he’s already planning on leaving behind. He searches his room for his discarded clothes, slipping on the items before he finds his bag. He’ll make a quick exit and slip out, hop on his horse and get the hell out of this town.

Toji’s not sure what he was expecting when he went to find his belongings. Maybe that you’d have taken them with you, just because it would have made you laugh to know you had your way with him then took all he owns. He certainly wasn’t expecting to find the fancy cowboy hat you wore last night sitting beside his bag, or to find a pouch of silver in his bag with a note inside. Toji unrolls the piece of paper, green eyes skimming the words.

“for the luck you keep sayin’ you ain’t got. hope that changes”

He shakes his head, a goofy smile on his face as he counts the money left for him. And it’s enough for him to get by for a while, enough for him to enjoy a bit of gambling, too.

Toji will have to thank you the next time he sees you. If you survive that long. But he doesn’t doubt that you will.

He slings his bag over his shoulder, exiting his room. He’s sure to close the door, hiding the horrendous disorder he’s leaving behind. Toji’s feet carry him down the stairs to the main floor of the brothel where it’s already bustling inside, people sitting down to enjoy breakfast. He’d have a seat, too, but he can’t risk sticking around in case someone recognizes him from the parlor. Or sees that damn room. As hungry as he is, he needs to go.

Toji maneuvers around those who stand around the room, idly chatting with each other. He’s about halfway across the room when someone calls out to him - a man’s voice. He could keep walking, ignore the man, but that would only make him look suspicious. It’s important for him to not draw attention. So Toji stops, spinning on his heel and coming face to face with the man calling out to him.

“Pardon me, sir. I’ve asked everybody in here, but no one knows a thing,” he explains as he approaches. He stops in his tracks, gaze locked on the top of Toji’s head. “Nice hat…” The man points towards the new item Toji wears.

“Thanks.”

The man stares for a few more seconds before he inhales sharply and continues. “I got word of a bar fight here last night…started by a woman.” The man reaches into his pocket, pulling out a sheet of paper and unfolding it. He holds the paper out to Toji, who just glares at it. 

It’s you. Your face on a WANTED poster, beaming happily in your mugshot with the largest bounty he’s ever seen on your head.

Toji eyes the younger man - long, black hair, violet eyes and strangely stretched ears. He wonders why he’s asking about you. To collect the bounty? No, he doesn’t look the type.

“What about her?” Toji asks.

The man runs his fingers through his hair, sighing. “I’m lookin’ for her. Ran into her once and…” He sighs again, like it pains him to think about his run in with you. And Toji is sure it does. That’s typically how you leave men (and women) in your wake. Spiraling and chasing any trail you may leave behind. “I just need to find her.”

Toji adjusts the weight of his bag on his shoulder. “Ain’t seen her in my life,” he answers simply. He doesn’t wait for a response from the man. He turns, making his way out of the brothel before the stranger has a chance to follow.

The man stands there, unblinking as he watches Toji’s form retreat from the brothel. His violet eyes narrow, the rage he feels bubbling in his chest. He could act now, because he’s fairly certain that what he feels is correct. 

Whatever happened last night, it involved you.

Whoever that scar lipped man is, he knows you.

He has his hat, the one you stole from him the last time he’d seen you.

But acting on his hunch would only bring unwanted attention. So he takes a deep breath, exhaling any anger he feels. After all, he’s positive that he’s one step closer to finding you again.

[jyoongim]

Can I request and Alastor x reader where she was his wife when they were alive but she ends up in heaven while in her early 20’s due to being murdered on her way home from his radio station one night. She never knew about Alastor’s crimes but she finds out about the extermination at the meeting Charlie has with heaven and sneaks down during the next extermination not knowing if Alastor is still alive or not? Maybe some magic like reader singing No Good Deed from Wicked trying to prevent Alastor from being harmed or killed? Once they find each other I can’t imagine Alastor ever letting her leave again, not even to heaven. Can I request a bit of fluff and maybe NSFW to make up for the time spent apart? Thank you!

Title: Ruined Redemption 

Warnings: 18+! NSFW, angel!wife Reader, fem!reader, reader & Alastor married, mention of past life, mention of death, demon!alastor, fluff, creampie, rough sex, French, Heaven & Hell, am i missing something????

”You sure you dont want me to walk you home cher? I can wrap up right now” Alastor said as you pressed your soft lips to his cheek. You reassured him you would be fine. That you were perfectly capable of getting home without him escorting you.  “No no ill be fine promise. Just dont stay too late hmm? I would love to have my husband in our bed for once when the sun ain’t risin’” you said, glaring at him playfully. 

He chuckled, nodding ”Be careful on your way home cher, it ain’t safe for a doll like yourself to be roamin’ the streets at this time of night” Alastor said as you waved goodbye.

“I love you”

The stars twinkled in the sky as you stared up at them.

You blinked, raising a weak hand up to them.

 Blood.

You were bleeding. 

You had took a shortcut to get home and a man had grabbed you into a dark alleyway.

He tried to take advantage of you but you resisted, angry that you wouldn’t be a easy target he slit your throat so you wouldn’t cry out, leaving you to bleed out onto the cold concrete.

Your wedding ring shined at you. You let out a gurgle,

Alastor…

You use to think that people were lyin’ when they said your life flashed when times of death, but tears welled in your eyes as every memory of you and Alastor came to your mind.

The night you met Alastor was the last one you saw as you heaved your last breath.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

”Did you forget Hell is forever?”

You sat at the council meeting as the princess of Hell tried to reason with Sera. You were saddened that the Angels went down and executed the soul of the damned.

You thought the idea of rehabilitating souls was a good idea. 

You had waited years to see Alastor, but you quickly became concerned when each year he didn’t pass through those pearly gates.

Alastor was in Hell. At least you had hoped. 

You heard that the next extermination was soon and you plotted to descend to Hell to find your lost lover.

Alastor please be okay 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hell wasn’t as bad as you thought. 

You quickly found the hotel the princess hosted and knocked on the door.

”Oh why hello- wait you’re-” Charlie stuttered.

You gave her a smile. You must have looked ridiculous, an Angel at her door and with the extermination approaching.

”D-Do you know Alastor?” You asked, almost pleading that you hoped your lover was at her hotel.

She blinked and nodded, letting you inside.

”I thought your idea was bees knees by the way”you said as she ushered you to sit on a couch.

”W-Why thank you! But…how do you know Alastor?” She asked.

You fiddled with your ring. “Well you see I’m his-”

”Darlin’? ” a voice interrupted you.

You almost broke your neck turning around. You let out a gasp “A-Alastor?”

A tall red demon stood in the archway.

He was dressed in all red, save for the few black accents.

His face dawned shocked, though his smile never faltered. But you saw it was tense.

You stood up and approached him.

Theres no way this was your Alastor…

You subconsciously reached a hand to his face “A-Alastor…is it really you?”

He leaned into your touch, grasping your wrist softly

”Mon cher…”

Your eyes welled with tears and you launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms around him as you buried your face in his chest.

Still in shock, Alastor wrapped his lanky arms around you.

Whiskey and sandalwood. That was the scent that flooded your nose, same scent that always clung to him.

”I t-thought i would never see you again” you cried.

”what are you doing here?” You asked

He smiled “I should be askin you the same thing. A pretty thing like you shouldn’t be down here”

You didn’t even realize that an audience had gathered.

”what’s white wings doing down here?”

You eased your grip on him, actually taking him in.

He looked nothing like your Alastor, but you knew it was him.

”Oh baby what could you have done to land yourself in hell?” You asked.

The tall spider gave a laugh “Freaky face there is one of hell’s most powerful Overlords toots”

Alastor glared at him before looking down at you “Its a rather unpleasant story my dear, but I guess I should tell you now”

And tell you he did.

You wouldn’t have thought that your Alastor was the one who had once terrorized your city.

Your husband was…You had married a killer.

”regret marrying me doll?”he asked at your shocked face.

You shook your head “Never” you gave him a smile “But you’re at a hotel that promotes soul redemption?”

He laughed “Just a little investment of mine to pass the time. I have no notion to redeem my soul”

This caused you to panic “B-but the extermination!”

He caressed your cheek “Don’t worry about that, I wont let anything happen”

You huffed, deciding to trust him “Well aren’t you gonna introduce me?” You asked turning to give your full attention to the bunch.

”Why of course! Everyone this pretty doll is my darling wife” he beamed

”WIFE!?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alastor took you on a tour of the hotel. You walked, arms interlocked as he showed you around.

You laughed when he brought you to his radio tower “Just couldn’t let it go huh?” You had said, earning a laugh.

He led you to his bedroom. You marveled at how it suited him. There was a swamp that split up the room.

A true southern man you sighed.

You sat on his bed, taking it all in.

Alastor couldn’t believe that you were here.

He thought that he would never see you again.

He had figured that you were in Heaven after a few decades.

You were his sweet little wife. You were the only good thing in his life.

He absolutely lost his mind when he was told you were killed on your way home.

He should have walked you home.

Your death weighed on him for decades. Even in death.

But here you were.

You hadn’t changed a day. Well the wings and halo were new.

”Mon cher…” He approached you, voice dropping the static and kneeled before you. 

You were real and you were here.

His arms wrapped around your waist as he laid his head on your lap.

Your hands found his hair, massaging his scalp. You tickled at his ears and giggled when they twitched.

”je suis désolé mon amour. je suis tellement désolé que tu aies connu un sort aussi cruel. si j'étais juste rentré à la maison avec toi... je suis vraiment désolé” his heart was pounding as he nuzzled into your stomach.

You smiled at his words. You cupped his cheeks, lifting his face to yours “it wasn’t your fault Al. Things happen. All that matters is that we are together again. ‘Ill defy death itself to be with you," were our vows remember?”

Alastor moved quickly. He gently pushed you onto your back as he climbed over you.

”tell me…tell me our vows again”

He tugged at his bow tie and stripped off his jacket, you retracted your wings as you watched him

”A-Al?” You whispered, suddenly breathless.

”please…tell me our wedding vows”

”From the moment our paths crossed, it was always you.

It was the moment we met that I saw everything. 

Our future.” 

He unbuttoned his dress shirt.

“You were everything i ever dreamed of and became so much more. 

I love you.”

He leaned down to kiss you

“Heaven and Earth cannot compare to how much I love you. 

Through the good and bad, Ill always love you.

 I give my heart and soul to you to cherish for an eternity ”

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he peppered wet kisses along your neck

”Ill reap the Earth to and tear the Heavens apart to remain bound to you”

You gasped as he nipped your shoulder

”This love I give can never die. For Ill defy death itself to forever be with you.”

he buttoned your shirt, brushing a thumb over your nipples. A shiver ran through you.

”For death itself could never part us. 

I am yours forever and always and ill raise Hell if death tried to part us ”

You moaned softly as he took a nipple into his mouth.

“Alastor…”

The rest of your clothing was quickly removed.

You almost wanted to cover yourself.

When was the last time you were intimate with Alastor?

You felt like you were on your wedding night all over again.

”You’re as beautiful as when you were alive my dear”. He whispered, spreading your thighs.

You jumped feeling his hand skim your exposed clit.

You were embarrassed with how wet you were.

he still had that effect on you, even in the afterlife.

Your breath hitched as he dipped a finger inside you

Alastor groaned, you felt just as you did before.

You pulled him to your face, your face flushed and eyes lidded. Your soft lips met his as he worked your cunt.

”Alastor please” you whined against his lips.

You were always such an impatient thing.

But he would never deny you.

He growled ”If I fuck you Ill never let you go. You’ll never see those pearly gates again if you let me have you. So tell me you don’t want this, you don’t want me and Ill stop” he shimmied out of his pant, freeing his cock.

Alastor was lying. Even if you told him to stop and you didn’t want this he would never let you go back to Heaven.

Not when he just got you back.

Your lips met his again, the kiss was filled with longing and passion.

”I never want to be without you again”

He slammed his lips on yours again as he slid his cock into you, swallowing your squeal as you took him.

Fuuuuuuuuuucccccckkkkk

He gave a few soft thrusts to make sure you adjusted well to him.

You panted into the crook of his neck. Nails clawing into his back as he rocked into you.

A cry ripped from your throat as he gained momentum.

”Aahh!”

This was different. So different from when you were alive.

Alastor was always passionate in bed with you, but this…this was so…you couldn’t even describe it.

a word popped into your head.

Divine

The way he fucked you told of how much he had missed you. 

Decades of being apart melting away as he pounded into you.

You locked your ankles behind his waist.

”You always take me so good cher. So so so good” He moaned into your ear.

The sound of skin hitting skin and your soft moans filled the air.

His cock hit that soft sweet spot inside you making you wetter.

”Ill ruin you. Fuck you til you’re drenched in me. Until your very scent is covered in me.” a harsh thrust brought him to be buried to the hilt.

Alastor smirked as your cunt fluttered

”You want that doll? To be ruined? To never see Heaven again? Hmmm you’ll throw away your salivation to be fucked by a demon like me?”

The telltale squelch of your cunt was his answer.

He would be damned if he ever let you out of his sight again.

His pace turned rough, he could feel himself changing.

”Alastor?” You felt him get bigger. His body morphed and when you looked at him, he expected fear.

But you looked in awe as he turned into his demon form.

Antlers big as willow branches, eyes black and glowing red like dials. He was disheveled.

He looked like a wild beast.

And he was fucking you like one.

All you could do was hang onto him. Letting him take you like you would disappear.

”ooh fuck aaahh please please” you cried as he fucked you, rutting into you with so much force you swear the bed was knocking against the wall.

You  felt your thighs tremble from taking his brute thrusts. That familiar tingle forming in your stomach.

were you gonna cum? Could you cum?

guess you’ll find out

Your demon husband was fucking you and you were gonna cum.

on his demon cock…oh heavens…

”Tu vas jouir, chérie ? Tu vas laisser un démon t'arracher ta libération ? Vous voulez que? hmmm? Tu veux jouir sur la bite de ton démon ? laisse-moi l'avoir chérie”

He purred, fucking into you so hard that a slight bulge was present.

He was going to break you. Ruin you.

He unhooked your legs, pushing one to your chest to get a better angle. Hitting those spots that had you seeing stars.

”A-Al! Oooh fu-fuuuck! I-I’m cumming oh my g-”

A large claw hand covered your lips

He snarled “There’s no God here sweetheart. Now. Cum”

Your body seized, feeling like a fire had set off as your organ ripped through you.

Alastor slapped his mouth over yours to eat your cries.

He thrusted into feverishly, seeking to paint your heavenly walls white with his cum as he fucked you through your orgasm.

”that’s a good girl, milking me dry”

He gently cradled your limp head, nipping at your swollen lips “where you want me cher? Cause i got half a mind to soak you in my cum”

You whined “i-inside…please cum inside me Alastor…baby please!”

He grinned “As you wish”

His pace quickened and with a low growl he emptied his cum into your cunt, sighing as he filled you til it spilled around him.

You let out a soft whine as he pulled out, wincing at the emptiness that he left behind, feeling his cum drip down your ass.

Alastor purred like an engine as he took you into his arms, basking in the afterglow as you cuddled into his side.

This is where you belonged.

By his side.

He’ll tear Heaven apart if they tried to take you back.

You were the Radio Demon’s.

Forever and always

@jellibean2018 @thewinchestah @markster666 @3verlark @alastor-simp @alastorsaries @alastwhore666 @horrorartsworld @gojosaturos-wife @ioniiaa @alstorloml @polytheatrix @catherine69420 @catmunist @lbcreations-blog @night-owl-2000

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Comment if you want to be tagged!!!

[chadobi]

Hi there! I’ve recently found your work and oh my god I’m obsessed! You write yearning so well! I’m chancing my arm and seeing if you take requests , if not please don’t worry and ignore this message!

I was wondering if you could write bayverse raph x reader , a little angst fluff maybe? Maybe he’s Inlove with her but doesn’t feel like he even has the right to let her know, angsty yearning, turns out she’s been madly in love with him for months

If you decide to do this Thankyou! Take as much creative liberty as you’d like! ☺️

“Stay Outta the Dark”

Thank you, sweetheart! That was my first request, so I’m really honored! I’ll do my best , let me know what you think!

Bayverse Raphael x reader

| agnst | confession | fight

Raphael didn’t belong in the light.

He was born in shadow, shaped by war and survival. Everything about him—his size, his face, his freakin’ existence—was built for battle. Not for soft things. Not for laughter. Not for you.

And yet, you were there.

Always there.

You started off as April’s friend. Someone from her past, someone smart and stubborn and too curious for your own good. And he’d hated you for that at first—your wide eyes, your easy friendliness, the way you looked at him like he was someone worth knowing.

He tried to avoid you. Tried to push you away with sarcasm and silence and every ounce of that hard shell he’d built to keep the world out.

But you never left.

You came back to the lair. You asked questions. You brought books and food and your dumb little playlist that Mikey became obsessed with. You laughed too loudly, fell asleep on their couch, danced around like the place belonged to you.

And somewhere along the way, you started belonging to him.

Not that he’d ever tell you.

Raphael didn’t have the right to want someone like you. You were light, he was stormclouds. You were soft edges, he was blades. If he touched you the way he wanted to—if he told you what he felt—it would ruin you. Pull you into the dark with him. And you didn’t deserve that.

So he stayed silent.

Watched you from a distance, memorizing your smile, your voice, your scent. Let his feelings rot in his chest like poison. Every laugh from you carved another crack in him. Every casual touch—your hand brushing his arm, your fingers in his bandana when you helped him fix it—felt like a blade under his skin.

And at night, when the others slept, he’d sit on the edge of the roof and whisper your name like a prayer and a curse. Don’t fall. Don’t hope. Don’t fucking dream.

But he dreamed anyway.

—————

It all came to a head on a cold, sharp night in November.

You showed up at the lair soaked from the rain, eyes red, voice shaking. Some guy you’d been seeing—some normal guy—had stood you up. And Raph hated how a part of him liked it. Hated how he had to fight the urge to punch a hole in the wall because he wanted to be the one to make you feel safe.

He didn’t say much. Just handed you a towel, let you rant, sat too close without meaning to.

Then you said it.

“Why can’t I just fall for someone who’s good for me?”

The words punched him in the gut. Because even you knew you wanted someone else. Someone better. Someone not him.

He snapped. “Maybe ‘cause you know you’d ruin it. Maybe that’s why.”

You looked at him like he’d slapped you. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means stop lookin’ for something you ain’t meant to have,” he growled, standing. “People like you don’t belong with people like me.”

“And what kind of person are you, Raph?” you asked, voice low and shaking.

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Just stared, jaw clenched, pain flashing like lightning behind his eyes.

“I see the way you look at me,” you whispered. “Like you’re starving. Like you hate yourself for it. And I—”

You hesitated. Then took a step forward.

“I look at you the same way.”

Raph backed up like he’d been burned. “Don’t. Don’t say that.”

“Why? Because it’s true? Because if you admit you want me, you’ll have to admit you’re capable of being loved back?”

His fists shook at his sides.

“You think I don’t know what I am?” he snarled. “I can’t be what you want. I’ll wreck you. I’ll drag you down with me. You’ll end up hating me, and I won’t survive that.”

Your voice cracked. “Then stop pushing me away before I have to prove you wrong.”

Silence stretched between you like a blade.

And then—you stepped close again, slowly, like approaching a wounded animal.

“You don’t scare me, Raph,” you said softly. “You never have.”

Tears prickled behind his eyes. He turned his face away.

You touched his hand.

He didn’t pull back.

“You don’t have to stay in the dark,” you whispered. “Not with me.

Something in him broke

Not all at once—but enough.

His hand closed around yours, rough and trembling. His forehead dropped against yours. And he breathed—really breathed—for the first time in months.

“If you get hurt ‘cause of me,” he rasped, “I won’t forgive myself.”

“Then don’t let me go,” you whispered.

And he didn’t.

[urdreamydoodles]

Hi! I’m sorry about your surgery! And as intructed I’m here to request!

Can I Have the X-men characters with a reader who’s very muscular, and maybe how’d they react. If that’s too vague maybe just the X-men characters working out with the reader.

I hope you recover fast and hope everything goes well!

X-MEN CHARACTERS X FEM!READER

X-Men with a very muscular S/O

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Rogue, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Hank McCoy, Emma Frost, Laura Kinney, Wade Wilson & Kitty Pryde

Response to Did-I-Ask: The surgery is supposed to be for the best, even though it's very scary to think that they're going to cut my back open and put metal rods in it. Anyway... MUSCLE MOMMY. Thanks for that.

Logan Howlett

- Logan noticed your strength before he noticed you. Not that you weren’t beautiful—hell, you were stunning—but the way you carried yourself was what first caught his eye. The way you moved, each step precise, controlled. The way you lifted things without a second thought, like the weight meant nothing. There was a familiarity in it, a recognition. Strength wasn’t something delicate to you—it was yours, it was part of you. And Logan, for all his years, had never met someone who made raw power look so damn effortless.

- He never outright commented on your muscles before you got together. Logan wasn’t the type to gush, wasn’t the type to openly admire. But he had a way of looking, of watching. The kind of gaze that lingered longer than it should, that flickered over your arms when you reached for something, that trailed down your back when you pulled your hair up. And when you caught him staring, when you raised a brow with that knowing smirk, he’d just grunt, shrug, and pretend like he hadn’t been completely captivated.

- When you finally got together, Logan wasn’t one for flowery words, but his actions spoke loud enough. He liked your strength, your power—respected it. Never treated you like you were delicate, never held back when you sparred, never told you to be less. And when you carried him once—effortlessly, like he weighed nothing—he had just chuckled low in his chest, looking up at you with something both amused and proud. "Well, ain’t that somethin’," he had murmured, his fingers tracing over your bicep. "Guess I ain’t the only tough one in this relationship."

- Logan had always been protective, but with you, it was different. He didn’t need to hover over you, didn’t need to step in when things got rough. And that—more than anything—was what made him fall harder. Because for the first time in too many years, he didn’t feel like he had to be the unshakable one. Didn’t feel like he had to bear the weight of the world alone. Because there you were—strong, unwavering, unbreakable. And Logan, against all odds, found himself leaning on you just as much as you leaned on him.

Remy LeBeau

- Remy had always been a man who appreciated beauty, and mon dieu, did he appreciate you. But it wasn’t just your face, wasn’t just the curve of your lips or the fire in your eyes. It was your presence, the way you moved with the kind of confidence that only came from knowing exactly what you were capable of. The first time he saw you lift something that would’ve made most men strain, he had whistled low, shaking his head with an easy smirk. "Ain’t never seen a belle quite like you before," he had murmured, red eyes gleaming with something dangerous.

- Before you got together, Remy flirted shamelessly—relentlessly. He had a thousand words to describe you, a thousand compliments dripping with his signature drawl. But there was a particular reverence when he spoke about your strength. "Bet you could lift me easy, cher," he’d tease, leaning in close, a smirk playing at his lips. And when you did—hoisted him up like he was nothing, spun him around just to prove a point—he had laughed, bright and wild, delighted. "Ah, mon amour, I think I just fell in love."

- Being with Remy meant endless praise, endless admiration. He liked to worship you, liked to trace his fingers along your muscles, liked to murmur in that honeyed voice of his about how magnifique you were. He wasn’t intimidated, wasn’t insecure. If anything, he thrived off it. "Damn shame you ain’t a thief like me," he’d joke, "we’d be unstoppable." And when you raised a brow, playful and sharp, he’d grin, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "Ah, but I suppose I already stole your heart, non?"

- But more than the teasing, more than the flirting, Remy trusted you. And that was rare. He had spent his life learning not to depend on people, not to expect someone to catch him when he fell. But you—you—were a foundation he never expected. He knew that if the world crumbled beneath him, if everything he had ever built came crashing down, you’d be there. Unyielding, unshaken, as steady as the strength in your arms. And for once, Remy let himself rest in that certainty.

Kurt Wagner

- Kurt had always seen strength as something that came in many forms. He had known warriors, had known fighters, had known people whose power was all sharp edges and destruction. But you—you—were different. You had the strength to shatter mountains, to bring men to their knees, and yet, there was kindness in you, softness in your touch. The first time he saw you lift something that should have been impossible, he had only blinked, tail curling behind him as he took it in. And then—"Mein Gott, you are incredible."

- He wasn’t shy about his admiration. Before you got together, he was fascinated by you. Would ask endless questions about how you trained, about how it felt to be that strong. He would watch you spar with awe, his golden eyes filled with open wonder. And sometimes, when he thought you wouldn’t notice, he’d reach out to trace the curve of your bicep, marveling at the sheer power beneath your skin. "It is amazing," he’d murmur, almost to himself. "You are amazing."

- When you finally got together, Kurt was constantly touching you—casual, affectionate, awestruck. His tail wrapped around your wrist, his hands traced over your arms, his head rested against your shoulder as if drawn to the very essence of you. "You make me feel safe," he admitted once, softly, as if the words carried too much weight. Because he had spent his life being the one who had to run, had to hide. And yet, here you were—unshakable, unwavering. His anchor in a world that had never truly held him still.

- But it wasn’t just admiration—it was joy. Because Kurt adored every part of you, from your strength to your heart. He would swing from the rafters and land gracefully in your arms, laughing as you caught him with ease. He would wrap himself around you, tail curling tight, whispering how lucky he was. "Strong and beautiful," he would say, grinning, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "Truly, I am blessed." And you knew, without a doubt, that he meant every word.

Scott Summers

- Scott had always been disciplined, always respected strength—not just physical, but mental, emotional. And yet, when he first saw you, he had felt something entirely different. It wasn’t just admiration, wasn’t just respect. It was something deeper, something unshakable. You were powerful, in a way that demanded to be seen, in a way that made the air shift when you walked into a room. And Scott, for all his restraint, couldn’t help but watch.

- Before you got together, Scott tried to be subtle. Tried to focus on his work, on his responsibilities. But he noticed things. How you carried yourself. How you held back, always careful of your strength. And once—just once—when you lifted a fallen beam with nothing but a flick of your wrist, he had muttered, almost to himself, "I’ve never seen anyone like you before."

- When you were together, Scott wasn’t the type to say it outright, but his hands spoke for him. The way he’d squeeze your arm absently, the way his fingers would brush over your muscles in quiet appreciation. He didn’t need to say he was in awe—you could feel it in the way he touched you, in the way his breath hitched when you held him close. "You don’t have to protect me," he told you once. But the truth was—he liked that you could.

- And in the quiet moments, when it was just the two of you, Scott would sigh against your skin, holding you like you were the only steady thing in his world. Because for once, he didn’t have to be the strong one. For once, he could let go, knowing you would always be there to catch him.

Jean Grey

- Jean had always been drawn to the kind of strength that wasn’t just physical. The kind that was felt—a force in the room, a presence that demanded to be noticed. And you were all of that. It wasn’t just the muscles, though those were undeniably impressive. It was the way you carried yourself, the way you moved like the world had never once been heavy on your shoulders. The way you stood, solid, unwavering, as if nothing could break you. And Jean, for all her power, had never met someone who felt like a fortress.

- Before you got together, she tried to pretend she wasn’t completely fascinated by you. She was subtle about it, or at least she thought she was. But her eyes lingered too long when you sparred, and her fingers would brush over your arm under the guise of casual touches. And when you caught her staring, when you smirked at her in that knowing way, she would flush—an actual flush, pink dusting across her cheeks—and turn away, as if you hadn’t just caught her admiring every inch of you.

- When you were together, Jean loved touching you. It wasn’t just about attraction (though there was plenty of that). It was about feeling you, grounding herself in the solidity of you. She would lean into you absentmindedly, her fingers tracing the lines of your muscles as if committing them to memory. "You’re incredible," she’d murmur against your skin, like a quiet confession. Because for all her own power, for all the things she could do, there was something deeply comforting about your strength—about knowing that, for once, she could lean on someone else.

- And when the world threatened to pull her under, when the weight of her own mind grew too heavy, it was you she turned to. You, with arms strong enough to hold her when she broke. You, who didn’t flinch when her powers surged out of control. You, who simply stood, unshaken, and reminded her that she wasn’t alone. And Jean, for all the galaxies she could hold in her mind, knew that you were the one thing she would never let go of.

Ororo Munroe

- Ororo had always believed that true strength was as much about grace as it was about power. It was not just the ability to lift, to fight, to endure—but the ability to move through the world unshaken. And you—you embodied that. The first time she saw you, truly saw you, she had felt the air shift. Not from her own power, but from yours. You stood like an unmovable storm, like something carved from the earth itself. And Ororo, who had always commanded the sky, found herself mesmerized by the weight of you.

- Before you were together, Ororo watched. Quietly, curiously. She was not the type to be easily flustered, but there was something about you that made her pause. Not just the sheer strength of you, but the control—the way you handled yourself, never careless, never reckless. And when she finally spoke of it, when she traced a finger over your arm with quiet appreciation, she simply smiled and said, "There is power in you. A rare, beautiful kind."

- When you were together, Ororo was not shy in her admiration. She would rest her head against your shoulder, her hands lazily tracing the curve of your biceps as if she belonged there. She would stand beside you in battle, her eyes gleaming with pride when you fought like an unrelenting force of nature. And when the storms raged, when the skies darkened, it was you who kept her tethered—your strength the one thing that never wavered, even when the heavens roared.

- But most of all, Ororo trusted you. With her heart, with her fears, with the parts of her that few ever saw. Because she knew that you were not just strong in body—you were strong in soul. And for a woman who had spent her life carrying the weight of the skies, knowing that she could rest against you—steady, unyielding—was the greatest gift she had ever been given.

Rogue

- Rogue was used to being the dangerous one. The one who had to hold back, who had to be careful, who had to be afraid of her own strength. But you? You were the opposite. You were powerful, so powerful, and yet you carried yourself without hesitation, without fear. And that—that undid her. Because if anyone knew what it meant to fear your own power, it was her. And yet, when she looked at you, she saw someone who had mastered it. And Rogue, for all her bravado, had never wanted something more.

- Before you were together, she tried not to let it show. She played it cool, cracked jokes, teased you about being a "brick house." But there were moments, quiet moments, where her eyes would linger, where she would stare a little too long when you lifted something heavy with effortless ease. And when you caught her, when you grinned at her and flexed just to mess with her, she’d scoff, rolling her eyes—but the blush creeping up her neck betrayed her.

- When you were together, Rogue thrived on your strength. She would cling to you shamelessly, drape herself over you like you were the most comfortable thing in the world. She’d run her hands over your muscles with a smirk, murmuring, "Damn, sugar, y’could crush a man with these." And if you ever did carry her—effortless, like she weighed nothing—she would melt, her Southern drawl turning lazy and affectionate as she murmured, "Well ain’t that somethin’."

- But more than the admiration, more than the teasing, Rogue trusted you in a way she rarely trusted anyone. Because you never made her feel dangerous. You never treated her like something to be feared, never flinched when she touched you (through gloves, always). And when she was tired, when she was worn down from carrying the weight of what she was, you would hold her—strong, steady, safe. And for the first time in her life, Rogue knew what it felt like to rest.

Erik Lehnsherr

- Erik had always respected power. He had seen too many people stripped of it, too many lives crushed under the weight of those who wielded it without mercy. And you—you were power incarnate. Not just in strength, but in presence. In the way you stood tall, in the way you carried yourself like you knew what you were capable of. And Erik, for all his cynicism, found himself captivated.

- Before you were together, Erik was not one for admiration—but he noticed. Not just the way you moved, the way your muscles tensed beneath your skin, but the way you never let anyone make you feel small. There was something almost magnetic about it, something that made him linger. And when he finally acknowledged it—when he stood before you, his gaze sharp and assessing—he simply said, "You are formidable." And from Erik, that was the highest compliment he could give.

- When you were together, Erik marveled at you in his own quiet way. He would trace his fingers over your arms absentmindedly, like he was memorizing the strength beneath your skin. He would watch you in battle, his lips curling into something almost proud as you tore through your enemies like a force of nature. "Beautiful," he would murmur under his breath. Not just your face, not just your form—but the raw power of you.

- But more than that, Erik trusted you. And that was rare. He had spent his life believing that trust was a weakness, that to rely on another was to invite betrayal. But you—you were different. You were unyielding, steady as steel. And Erik, against all odds, found himself leaning on you. Found himself allowing himself to rest. Because for the first time in a long, long time, he had found someone who could stand beside him, unbroken, unshaken. And Erik, for all his hardness, could not help but soften in your arms.

Charles Xavier

- Charles had always believed in strength beyond the physical—strength of mind, of will, of heart. He had known warriors with bodies made of steel but spirits fragile as glass. But you… you were different. There was power in you, undeniable, but it was not just the muscle beneath your skin. It was the way you carried yourself, the way you moved with purpose, the way you stood. And for a man who had spent his life surrounded by those who fought for survival, Charles found himself utterly captivated by the effortless strength that radiated from you.

- Before you were together, Charles tried to be subtle about his fascination. He was a gentleman, after all. But his gaze would linger when you entered a room, his thoughts lingering in admiration even when he forced himself to turn away. He had never been a man drawn to appearances alone, but there was something about the way you moved, the way your body was carved from pure discipline, that made his mind wander far too often. And when you caught him looking, when you smiled at him like you knew exactly what he was thinking, he had to suppress the warmth rising in his chest.

- When you were together, Charles found himself indulging in the wonder of you. His hands traced the planes of your arms absentmindedly as he spoke, as if grounding himself in the reality of your presence. He marveled at the way you held him—not just physically, but emotionally, mentally. For all his intelligence, for all his wisdom, Charles had spent much of his life feeling alone in his own mind. But with you, there was solidity. A quiet, unwavering strength that he could reach for, even in his weakest moments.

- And there were weak moments. Nights when the weight of the world pressed too heavily on his shoulders, when the echoes of voices in his mind threatened to drown him. And it was in those moments that you held him, steady and sure, reminding him that he did not have to carry everything alone. And Charles, who had spent so much of his life offering comfort to others, finally understood what it was to be held.

Wanda Maximoff

- Wanda knew power. Knew what it meant to be feared, to be called dangerous, to feel the weight of something terrible humming beneath her skin. But you—you were different. Your power was not chaos, not something unpredictable or unstable. It was firm, steady, as if the world itself could bend around you and you would not waver. And Wanda, for all her uncertainty, was drawn to that. To you.

- Before you were together, she was hesitant. She had been drawn to people before, but this was different. You were so strong, so certain, and she—she was made of fractured pieces barely holding together. But when you looked at her, you did not see fragility. You saw her. And that terrified her more than anything. So she avoided you, at least at first, pretending not to notice the way her heart stuttered whenever your hand brushed against hers, or the way she always felt safer when you were near.

- When you were together, Wanda clung to you in ways she had never clung to anyone before. She would rest against you, tracing patterns against your skin with absent fingers, as if memorizing the solidity of you. She would watch you lift things effortlessly, train with an intensity that left others exhausted, and she would smile—because there was something so beautiful about watching you exist in your own strength. And when you held her, when you wrapped those strong arms around her and whispered that she was safe, she believed it.

- And she needed that belief. There were days when the weight of her own power felt unbearable, when the voices of the past whispered in her mind that she was a danger, a mistake. But you—you never flinched. You never feared her, never hesitated when she reached for you. And when the world threatened to break her, it was you who reminded her that she was whole.

Pietro Maximoff

- Pietro was fast. Too fast for most people to keep up, too fast for most to even touch. His whole life had been a blur of motion, a race against the world that could never quite match his pace. But you—you were solid, immovable, a force of nature that did not bend to the chaos around you. And for the first time in his life, Pietro found himself slowing down. Just to watch you. Just to see.

- Before you were together, he teased. A lot. His flirting was constant, relentless, laced with cocky smirks and playful nudges. "Damn, sweetheart, you been liftin’ cars for fun or what?" He’d joke, even as his eyes traced the lines of muscle in open admiration. But beneath the teasing was something else—something quieter, something more real. Because Pietro wasn’t used to feeling small, but next to you, he did. And he liked it. More than he wanted to admit.

- When you were together, Pietro was all over you—always touching, always moving, always leaning into you like you were his personal anchor. He would drape himself over you dramatically, sighing, "Ugh, babe, I’m exhausted, carry me," just to get you to pick him up (which, of course, you could). He loved showing you off, bragging about how "his" partner could probably bench-press a truck. And if anyone dared to challenge your strength? Pietro would just cross his arms, smirk, and say, "Go ahead, try ‘em. See what happens."

- But more than anything, Pietro trusted you. You were a constant in a world that moved too fast for him, a foundation he could rest against without fear of falling. And for someone who had spent his life running, the idea of staying—of being held by someone who could handle him, who could match him—was the most terrifying, exhilarating thing he had ever known.

Hank McCoy

- Hank had spent his entire life being called a beast, a brute, something other than human. He had learned to compensate with wit, with charm, with intellect, but deep down, there was always a part of him that felt wrong—as if his body was something to be ashamed of. But then there was you. You, with your power, your strength, your undeniable presence. And yet, you never let it define you. And that… that changed everything.

- Before you were together, Hank admired you from a distance. He wasn’t the type to gawk, but he certainly noticed—the way your muscles flexed beneath your skin, the way you moved with an effortless grace that made even the most difficult tasks seem easy. And more than that, he noticed how unapologetic you were about it. There was no shame in your strength, no hesitance, no fear. And for someone who had spent so long struggling with his own form, that was… inspiring.

- When you were together, Hank was fascinated by you in ways he could hardly explain. He would trace his fingers over your arms as you lay beside him, murmuring quiet observations about muscle density and physiology, until you laughed and pulled him closer. He adored watching you work, watching you move, and whenever you lifted something heavy with ease, he would push his glasses up with a smirk and say, "An absolutely remarkable display of biomechanics, my dear."

- But more than admiration, more than fascination, Hank felt safe with you. Safe in a way he rarely felt with anyone. Because you never looked at him and saw something monstrous. You never recoiled from the sheer size of him, never treated his strength as something unnatural. And when he held you—when you let him rest his head against your shoulder, let him feel small for once—it was then that he truly understood what it meant to belong.

Emma Frost

- Emma Frost was not a woman easily impressed. She had walked among kings, controlled rooms with a glance, and brought entire empires to their knees with nothing but her mind. Beauty, strength, power—none of it was foreign to her. And yet, you caught her attention. Not because of your muscles alone—though she certainly noticed them—but because of how you carried them. Strength was so often loud, desperate for validation, but yours was effortless. Unapologetic. You did not beg the world to take notice, and that made her watch you all the more.

- Before you were together, she kept her intrigue quiet. Emma did not pine—it was simply beneath her. But oh, she indulged in little observations. The way your muscles tensed beneath your skin when you lifted something heavy. The way your body moved with a confidence that was neither arrogant nor overcompensating. She would make passing remarks, seemingly casual—"Darling, you do realize your physique is utterly devastating, don’t you?"—but beneath them, there was something undeniably real.

- When you were together, Emma became shameless in her adoration. She had always appreciated beauty, but with you, it was something else entirely. Her fingers would ghost over the lines of your arms as she spoke, as if mapping out the shape of you without thought. She would lounge against you in moments of quiet, resting her head on your shoulder with the ease of someone who knew she was untouchable—except by you. And though she would never say it outright, the way she sought your warmth, the way she traced your skin absentmindedly, spoke volumes.

- But more than that, Emma trusted you. And for a woman who trusted so few, that was everything. Because strength, to her, had never been a thing of brute force—it was control, presence, certainty. And when the weight of the world pressed too heavily on her shoulders, when old wounds whispered that she was alone, she would turn to you. To the body that could hold her without faltering. To the presence that made her feel, for once, like she did not have to be made of diamond just to survive.

Laura Kinney

- Laura had spent her life being told what she was. A weapon. A tool. Something created for violence and destruction. She had been conditioned to see strength as something brutal, something cold. But then there was you. You, with your muscles carved from discipline, from effort—not from programming or pain. And you were kind. Strong, but never cruel. Capable of destroying, yet choosing not to. And that fascinated her more than she could ever put into words.

- Before you were together, Laura was curious. She wouldn’t say much—she rarely did—but she would watch you. Studying the way you moved, the way you carried your strength without the arrogance she had come to expect from those who were powerful. And more than that, she tested you. She would throw herself at you in sparring matches, pushing, provoking, trying to see if there was any hidden brutality beneath your surface. But when you caught her wrists mid-strike and simply smirked, as if amused rather than threatened, something in her chest shifted.

- When you were together, Laura found herself drawn to you in ways she didn’t fully understand. She was not naturally affectionate, not soft in the way that others were. But she would press against you in moments of quiet, resting her head against your shoulder without a word. She would run her fingers over the scars on your skin, mapping them as if trying to understand how strength could exist without cruelty. And when she saw you lift something with ease, she would simply nod in approval—not impressed, not surprised, just quietly satisfied.

- And she needed you. More than she had ever needed anyone. Because for all her lethality, for all her sharpened edges, Laura had spent her life feeling like she was something wrong. But you never treated her as something broken. Never flinched when she was at her worst. And when nightmares clawed at the edges of her mind, when old ghosts whispered that she was nothing but a weapon, it was your arms—strong, steady, real—that held her together.

Wade Wilson

- Wade liked to joke that he wasn’t into muscles—he was into you. "The muscles are just an added bonus, babe," he’d say, grinning like a fool. But in truth? He adored them. Worshiped them, even. Not just because they made you look like some kind of Olympian demigod (though, yeah, that was definitely part of it), but because of what they meant. You were strong, but you never used that strength to hurt people. You were powerful, but never cruel. And for someone who had spent his life fighting monsters, you were the first thing that felt truly, undeniably safe.

- Before you were together, Wade was obnoxious about his attraction. Constant flirting. Endless commentary. "Damn, babe, I could probably do pull-ups on your biceps." He’d rest his chin on your shoulder, stare at your arms, and dramatically sigh, "It’s just unfair. It’s like Michelangelo sculpted you just to make the rest of us feel bad." But beneath all the jokes, there was something real. Because Wade wasn’t used to gentle strength. And every time you pulled him close without hesitation, every time you caught him without flinching, something in him softened.

- When you were together, Wade was obsessed. Absolutely, unapologetically obsessed. He would constantly poke at your muscles, squeezing your arms with a goofy grin. "I just wanna make sure they’re real," he’d say, as if you hadn’t already proven your strength a hundred times over. He loved that you could pick him up effortlessly, and he would take every opportunity to be carried around like a dramatic, oversized damsel in distress. "Sweep me off my feet, my hero!"

- But beneath all the jokes, beneath the constant teasing, Wade needed you in ways he would never fully admit. Because for all his bravado, for all his unkillable resilience, he had spent his life feeling like he was too much—too broken, too loud, too damaged to ever be held the way he wanted. But you? You never hesitated. Never pulled away. And when he curled against you after a long, brutal day, whispering the worst of his thoughts against your skin, you held him without a second thought. And in those moments, for the first time in forever, he felt whole.

Kitty Pryde

- Kitty was fast, clever, and always one step ahead of the world. She had spent her life dodging, slipping through walls, never quite staying still long enough for people to catch her. But you? You were solid. Unshakable. A presence that couldn’t be ignored. And she had never met anyone who made her want to pause—to stop running, to stop slipping away. Until you.

- Before you were together, Kitty found herself fascinated by you. She wasn’t subtle about it, either. "Okay, but seriously, how do you look like that?" she’d ask, poking at your arms with an impressed grin. She would watch you lift things effortlessly, her mind racing between admiration and the scientific curiosity of someone who had to understand how that kind of strength even worked. And when she caught herself staring a little too long, she would quickly phase through a wall to hide her flustered expression.

- When you were together, Kitty was delighted. She would climb onto your back without warning, grinning. "I have the strongest partner in the universe—why would I ever walk again?" She would grab your arms at random moments just to marvel at them, laughing as she wrapped her fingers around your biceps and said, "Okay, but seriously, do you think you could punch through a Sentinel? Like, just one punch?"

- But beneath the teasing, beneath the playful awe, there was something deeper. Because Kitty had spent her life feeling like she had to keep moving, keep running, never staying in one place long enough to get hurt. But with you, she stayed. She let herself be held. And for the first time, she felt like she didn’t have to phase through walls just to survive.

[sheaabuttaababyy]

Runaway

Cowboy Roman x Black oc

Angst, fluff

Authors note: I kinda challenged myself with this one, it was sitting in my drafts for awhile since I was kinda nervous to post this. I don’t usually write like this so if it’s not great, I apologize. I tried😭

The hot sun blazed down over the large land, stretching wide and wild across the countryside. Horses kicked up dust near the wooden fences, cows mooing in the distance, bugs hummed like background music to a life she no longer loved.

Neveah wiped the sweat from her brow as she loaded bags of groceries into the back of her beat-up truck. The baby inside her licked lightly— a soft, sweet reminder of why she kept pushing through. 7 months pregnant, swollen feet, aching back, and still she was doing this alone.

Her husband, Colton, was nowhere to be found— again.

Earlier that morning, she’d asked him to help with the groceries. His answer?

"You ain’t crippled, Neveah. That baby ain’t due yet. You got two hands don’tcha?

She could still hear his voice, thick with that drawl, dripping with indifference. He hadn’t touched her belly since they found out about her being pregnant. No doctor visits. No nursery paint. Not even a damn back rub.

She sighed, exhausted. Closing the truck bed That’s when she saw him.

Roman.

Standing tall in his dark blue jeans and black tank-top by the fence that split their properties, leaning with one thick forearm on the top rail. Cowboy hat over his eyes, long wavy hair tied back in a man bun, tan tattooed arms glistening under the sun, and a familiar glint In his mouth— a toothpick nestled at the corner of his lips like it lived there.

He was trouble. And temptation.

Her husband hated Roman with every bone in his body— ever since Roman bought the neighboring ranch a few years back. No one really knew why it started, maybe it was just that Roman was everything Colton wasn’t. Strong, capable, respected, And kind in a way that made people trust him with their lives.

And maybe, just maybe, Roman gave a little too much of that kindness to her.

"You alright, darlin?" He called out, voice thick and smooth. That toothpick shifting slightly between his teeth as he smirked.

Neveah froze, then managed to give him a tired smile. "Im good. Just hot and pregnant as hell"

Roman chuckled low and slow, the kind of sound that shot down her body. He started walking toward her with a predatory walk, that made her thighs clench and stomach flutter.

"You shouldn’t be haulin bags like that" he said, pulling the toothpick from his mouth to speak clearly, then slipping it right back between his lips like it belonged there. "Where’s that husband of yours?"

She looked away, her cheeks burning. "Where he always is. Drinkin and bitchin about you"

Romans jaw clenched but he didn’t speak right away. He gently stepped in front of her grabbing all the grocery bags at once. He carried every bag into her house without being asked, as she slowly followed behind him, hand on her tummy. He set them carefully on the counter, before turning to her, eyes dark and sincere, that pick twitching again in his mouth as he looked over her with concern.

He stepped closer to her, his figure towering over hers.

"You ever need help… anything at all, you come to me. Don’t matter the time or when. I’m here for you." taking a hold of her hand in his two big ones, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Always."

Neveah swallowed hard, looking up at him through her lashes. "Thank you Roman. Really."

It became a pattern after that.

She’d catch glimpses of him fixing fences, feeding his horses. Muscles bulging with every movement, sweat dripping against his golden-brown skin. That little stick always in his mouth like a signature — he’d twirl it with his tongue while working, chewing it lightly when he was thinking.

He’d always stop by with a cold glass of lemonade whenever she was sitting on the swing bench out on her front porch, fanning herself from the heat. Sometimes she’d find baskets of fresh fruits and vegetables or home-cooked meals left by her door, no note — but she already knew who they were from.

Her husband never noticed. Too busy sleeping off whiskey, yelling at the tv, or complaining about the "damn Samoan next door"

And at night…

Oh, those nights.

After Colton passed out drunk in his recliner, Neveah would slip out the back door in her cotton dress. Her heart pounded as she walked through the field. Roman would already be waiting by the big oak tree behind his barn — lantern lit, blanket laid out, two mugs filled with sweet tea.

Toothpick in place, his back leaning against the tree like he had all the time in the world, his hat tilted back so she could see those brown eyes, that lit up the second she stepped into view.

Their conversations started off slow. Simple things. Weather, crops, horses.

Then they got deeper.

He told her about losing his mom at 13, about the pressure of keeping his family proud while running the ranch alone. She told him about how lonely she felt even with someone sleeping in her bed.

He listened. Really listened. That thin piece of wood would stop moving when he was focused as she expressed her feelings. His mouth twitching every-time their was sadness in her voice.

2 months and this was their routine every evening. Neavah leaned against the tree on the blanket as Romans head was in her lap, loving the was she was running her fingers though his hair, as she spoke.

She suddenly winced sitting up a bit. Roman sat up immediately, concern on his face. "You alright?"

She nodded, letting out a sharp breath. "Yeah, yeah. Just a kick. A strong one"

He reached out slowly, almost hesitantly, and placed his wide hand on her bump.

They waited.

Then — thump.

The baby kicked again, right against his palm.

Romans eyes widened, his lips parting around his toothpick, as a huge smile made its way on his face. He let out a breathy chuckle and looked at her belly in awe.

"Well, Well" he murmured, toothpick twitching. "That little girls got some power in her. You feel that?"

Neveah smiled, her eyes stinging. "She always does that when you’re around" rubbing the back of Romans neck gently as he leaned his head closer to her bump.

Roman looked up at her, something deep and quiet in his expression. His voice dropped low. "She knows who I am."

He leaned down lifting her strawberry tank top, placing a soft kiss on the now exposed skin of her tummy. That toothpick still tucked in between his lips. "Hey little one" he whispered. "Daddy’s here."

Neveah swallowed, her heart thudding. She should’ve thought it was wrong letting another man claiming her baby as the daddy, but it felt right. She felt so safe with him.

Roman rubbed her belly in slow, gentle circles, his thumb brushing over her skin like she was something delicate and divine.

Then he looked at her. Just looked. Long and hard.

The toothpick dipped slightly as he pulled it from his lips.

And then, without a word, he leaned in — slow, deliberate. And kissed her.

She let out a small gasp as their lips touched. It wasn’t rushed. Not lustful. Just deep. Full of emotion, unspoken promises. His left hand stayed on her belly as the right gently gripped the back of her neck, as their mouths met, lips moving together like they waited their whole lives for this moment.

It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a claim. A vow.

They pulled apart, slightly out of breath, as he rested his forehead against her’s. Moving her curly hair back behind her ear.

"You and the baby are my world, you know that?"

She nodded her head, tears in her eyes. "I know"

And then

One night - the air thick with tension, the baby nearly due, her body aching and her heart at a breaking point — Roman took her hands beneath the stars.

He placed a kiss on them both, as he stared into her eyes. His hand reaching out to caress her swollen belly, as if he already claimed the child within.

"I love you." He spoke out. "I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you tryin to wrestle a feed bag outta your truck, alone."

Her lips trembled at his words.

"I wanna raise this little girl with you. As mine. I’ll be the man you need. The father this child deserves. A loving man you deserve. We can leave. Tonight. Just you and me."

She choked back a sob, staring at the man In front of her — all broad shoulders, calloused hands, warm strength, his eyes filled with love every time he stared at her.

"I love you too" she spoke as her voice slightly cracked. "I wanna be with you. I don’t wanna a life with him, I want to spend it with you."

He smiled at her words, placing a firm kiss on her forehead, as she squeezed her eyes shut.

Then she looked up at him as he pulled back. "I’m gonna go pack a bag"

"Okay ima go start the truck up." Placing a soft peck on her lips, before she walked back in the house.

They didn’t run far. Just a nearby town, quiet and safe, where no one knew her as "Colton’s wife." Where Roman rented a small ranch house, painting the nursery yellow, and read baby books to their baby girl through Neveahs stomach, earning a few kicks from her.

Neveah would laugh her ass off every time they laid in bed, him shirtless with his cowboy hat and toothpick between his teeth, reading in different voices just to see her smile.

He was there for eveything. When her water broke, helped her through every contraction, held her hand and kissed her forehead through every scream. Thanked her for letting him be apart of her life as he watched their baby girl let out her first cry.

And when the nurse handed her the baby wrapped in pink, Neveah turned to Roman with happy tears in her eyes.

"She’s yours"

Roman carefully took the baby from her like she was made of gold as his eyes watered. Kissing her tiny forehead, and looked at Neveah with so much love.

"She’s ours" he whispered sitting on the side of the hospital bed, as Neveah rested the side of her head against his arm.

Both of them staring at the beautiful, sleeping baby girl in his arms, with smiles on their faces.

🏷 @trippinsorrows @catxo @bloodlineslut @whowrotethenote @4milly @adoreesun @mikaylathenerd5 @romanreignsbae @mselenalovebug @theusotwinzcom @uceyliyahh @christinabae @mjonthetrack @luuvprincess @beccalynns-world

Also I forgot to say if your on the taglist and wanna be removed for the Roman fics please let me know so I can take you off. I’ll leave y’all on for the Jey uso ones though.

[fallstaticexit]

Prev / Next / Beginning / Pillowfort

TW: Sex, Sim Spice

Transcript under the cut

Client: I mean this respectfully, Nancy-

Nancy: Mrs. Landgraab.

Client: Right, right.

Client: We’ve done business with Mr. Landgraab for over two decades. He knows what we’re looking for.

Nancy: With Mr. Landgraab's pending retirement, he will be personally involved in very few projects. Any upcoming initiatives will be managed by me. My track record speaks for itself, and I assure you, I will not let you down.

Client: [sighs] You seem like a nice gal, Nancy-

Nancy: Mrs. Landgraab.

Client: We don’t doubt you’re a professional, considering who your father is but I think we will proceed with Mr. Landgraab, even if there’s a wait. With all due respect.

Nancy: I would like to remind you that he will retire, and I will be assuming leadership of the company.

Client: [chuckles] Well, he ain’t off the horse yet, missy. You take care.

Nancy: Wait- fuck. [sighs]

[snickering]

Nancy: Now WHO left this tasty little snack for me!

Jonathan & Malcolm: [squeals]

Nancy: What are you two doing here? You supposed to be in school. You’re not playing hooky are you?

Jonathan: I asked the driver to bring us here first. We wanted to surprise you with Dino. He’s lucky.

Nancy: Is that so?

Malcolm: Do we have to leave, Mommy? I wanna stay here with you!

Nancy: Oh, absolutely. You two are way too distracting and I need to focus. I’ll see you at dinner.

Jonathan: 6:30 sharp?

Nancy: 6:30 sharp. Malcolm, please behave today.

Malcolm: No promises!

Nancy Narrates: [Being a woman in a male dominated field felt like a crime. Being a mother was somehow worse]

Nancy Narrates: [My name alone wasn’t enough to gain their respect. I still had to work twice as hard]

-

Nancy: What issue? How is this possible?

Worker: There’s an issue with the plumbing. I called for our site manager to speak with you about it. We followed the blueprints, ma’am.

Nancy: [mutters] Damn it.

Manager: We can fix it, no problem but we’ll need new plans no later than tomorrow morning, bossman. Shouldn’t set us back but maybe 1-2 days tops.

Geoffrey: Oh, no! No, sorry, I’m not the architect-

Nancy: I drew the plans, actually. You can discuss the details with me.

Manager: My apologies, miss!

Nancy: Mrs. Landgraab will do. Where can we sit and chat?

-

Geoffrey: Ok, I have a joke. What has five toes and isn't your foot?

Jonathan: [snickers] What?

Geoffrey: My foot.

Jonathan: Pfftt! Dad! That was awful! I got one too!

Jonathan: How does a wiener go camping?

Geoffrey: [laughs] Oh boy. How?

Nancy: Jonathan, please, no wiener jokes at the table.

Jonathan: In a Wiener-bago.

Geoffrey: [laughs]

Geoffrey: Hey bud, your steak is getting cold. Come sit and eat.

Malcolm: Nuh-uh. I like watching Mommy. I’m going to be an architect too when I grow up. I’m gonna be the best, just like you.

Nancy: You sure will, my darling. It’ll be me, you and Jonathan.

Malcolm: And Daddy?

Nancy: Well, someone has to file all the paperwork.

Geoffrey: [laughs] Hey!

Jonathan: HA! Mommies can make jokes too!

Geoffrey: So, I had the world’s longest day, the boys are out cold for the night and you look so gorgeous right now. Thinking what I’m thinking?

[both panting]

Geoffrey: [whispers] Want to turn over?

Nancy: [whispers] Yes. Ok, try that.

Geoffrey: Hey, do you just want to stop?

Nancy: [nods]

Nancy: I’m sorry.

Geoffrey: Don’t apologize. You know it’s ok to stop, right? And we don’t have to have sex just because I’m in the mood for it.

Nancy: [sighs] I want to be in the mood, I just...I don’t know. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

Geoffrey: Maybe you’re stressed about work?

Nancy: [sighs] Maybe. My father is ancient, and he would rather work himself ragged instead of letting me step into his role. He doesn’t trust me. Hell, he doesn’t even know me.

Geoffrey: You’re right, he doesn’t know you. If he did, he’d know how capable and ready you are.

Nancy: I’m just tired of feeling invisible.

Geoffrey: Well. Make them see you. Be loud. Be in charge. You got it in you.

-

Nancy Narrates: [I knew there was something inside me that craved more. I wanted to be more than just a mother and wife. I wanted 'something’ so badly, and it drove me mad not knowing exactly what it was that I wanted ]

Nancy: I hear you’re lucky, Dino. What do you have in store for me?

Nancy Narrates: [What I didn’t know was that all that wanting was not done in vain. That day that Judith Ward walked into my office changed my life]

Judith: Knock, knock! I hope you don’t mind taking a walk in.

Nancy: Oh! Oh, Ms. Ward, not at all! Please, have a seat.

Judith: Call me Judy, I insist, please.

Nancy: How can I help you?

Judith: When I purchased land in The Pinnacles, I knew I wanted a home designed by a sharp, feminine eye.That’s why I picked you to design my dream home, The Ward Den. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?

Nancy: It would be my absolute pleasure, Ms. War- Judy. May I ask what made you of all people choose me specifically?

Judith: Look around! The future is female! I make it my business to hire female cooks, female hairdressers, female designers, you name it. Men are only good for one thing these days, well, two if you count my male guard dogs. You know-

Judith: Wah wah wah wah wah.

Judith: Wah wah wah wah wah. Wah wah?

Judith: You know what I mean?

Nancy: Um, yes. Yes.

Judith: You have no idea how excited I am, hon! I just know all those B list bitches will gag when they see my new home on the hill. I’m going to throw the biggest party of the decade just to show it off. Everyone will be dying to have their home designed by THE Nancy Landgraab!

Nancy: I will make sure it is my best work yet. I’ll start right away.

Judith: I know you will! I have a great feeling about this, Nancy Landgraab!

[classyhoeeee]

'Distraction': Rafe Cameron 18+

Part 1 - Sarah, Kiara, and Cleo are on a mission to steal something from figure 8 with the reader. Something that Rafe Cameron, Topper or even Kelce wouldn’t let them get away with. The thing is, Rafe was their biggest threat. The pogue girls had an idea that involves the reader. They want her to distract him with a sexy truck wash. Thing is…the two of them have unfinished business.

pairing - Rafe Cameron x f!reader tags - enemies to lovers relationship, fingering, degradation, spit, overstimulation, a little rough, truck sex, wet mentions, reader orgasm, dirty talk, knifeplay, dark!rafe.

a/n - just a warning…this one is VERY freaky. Hehe. It’s my favorite one that I’ve written so far. enjoy.

……………………………………………………………………………..……

The Distraction

“Y’all are crazy as hell.”

The words left your mouth before you could even think them through, your voice loud enough to make Cleo snort and Sarah wince. Kiara, however, didn’t flinch. She simply leaned back against the rusted van, arms crossed, watching you with an infuriating calmness.

“It’s not that crazy, Y/N.”

“Yes, it is, Kie! It’s Rafe Cameron. I can’t believe I’m even saying this, but I think y’all forgot what he’s capable of. He literally swore he was gonna kill me.”

Cleo raised her eyebrows. “And yet, you’re still standing. Ain’t no bullets flying, is there?”

“That’s not the point,” you shot back, glaring. “The man is unhinged. He hasn’t forgotten what I did. I pushed his ass overboard. I stole his boat. His boat, Kie.”

“Exactly,” Sarah said, breaking her silence. “And yet, you’re the only one he hasn’t laid a hand on. Don’t you think that’s…weird? I’m his sister and he’s even tried to kill me.”

“It’s not weird. It’s Rafe. He probably thinks it’s more satisfying to scare the shit out of me from afar than to actually follow through.”

Sarah, Cleo, and Kiara shared a look, one of those silent girl-code moments you couldn’t quite decipher. It pissed you off immediately.

“What?”

“Listen,” Kiara started, holding up her hands, “we need this. You know we do. That safe in Ward Cameron’s study? It has everything we need to help the guys. But getting into Figure 8 without Rafe breathing down our necks? It’s impossible. He’s always watching, Y/N. And we know he’s gonna be there today.”

“And you think throwing me at him is gonna fix that shit?”

“Distract him,” Cleo corrected with a sly smile. “You know you can.”

You scoffed, shaking your head, the very thought making your skin prickle. “No. Absolutely not. I’m not gonna—”

“Wash his truck,” Sarah interrupted.

The words hit you like a slap to the face. “What?”

Kiara’s smile was almost apologetic. Almost. “It’s simple. He loves that stupid truck. You’ll get his attention in like…two seconds. Enough time for us to get in, grab the shit we need, and get out.”

“You want me to give Rafe Cameron a sexy car wash? Are y’all out of your damn minds?”

Cleo shrugged. “You look good. He’s obsessed with you. We’re just being resourceful.”

You pointed a finger at her, already fuming. “He’s not obsessed with me. He’s obsessed with revenge. There’s a difference.”

Sarah’s voice dropped, soft and coaxing. “Y/N, you’re the only one who can do this. If we screw this up, the guys are screwed. Please.”

You stared at her, at the pleading look in her eyes, and felt the weight of her words settle on your shoulders. You had come this far with them—you’d do anything to protect your own. That was the Pogue way.

Even if it meant putting yourself in front of the devil himself.

“Fine,” you muttered through gritted teeth. “But if Rafe kills me, I’m haunting y’all for the rest of your lives.”

Cleo grinned, clapping her hands together. “Deal.”

———

The truck sat under the sun like a black mirror, drops of water clinging to its surface and glinting in the light. You hated how it looked—pristine, perfect, expensive. Just like him.

And, like clockwork, Rafe Cameron appeared, materializing out of thin air like a goddamn nightmare.

He leaned against the porch railing, beer in hand, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The buzzed hair only made him look sharper, those pale blue eyes locking onto you like you were the only thing worth seeing. He looked you over—slowly. Starting at the mess of suds sliding down your brown arms, down to the soaked hem of your white top where your leopard print bra peeked through. His gaze lingered on the exposed skin of your thighs as you shifted in your tiny shorts, then flicked back up to your face.

Rafe smirked, slow and wolfish, before taking a long sip of his beer.

You’d already fucked up, and you hadn’t said a word.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again.” His voice was smooth and lazy, but the edge beneath it cut deep.

You turned to look at him, sponge still dripping in your hand. Despite the racing in your chest, you forced yourself to meet his gaze, tilting your chin up defiantly. “Rafe… I—”

“You what?” he interrupted, his smirk twitching wider. He stepped off the porch, the gravel crunching under his boots as he approached. He moved slow—deliberate—as though giving you the chance to run just so he could chase.

You glanced at the truck for a split second, calculating the space. Too far.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” you said softly, surprising yourself with how steady your voice came out. “For everything.”

Rafe blinked. You saw it—the flicker of something in his expression as he stopped a few feet away. He looked at you like he wasn’t sure whether to believe you, his tongue running over the corner of his mouth. “Sorry?” he echoed, voice dripping with mockery.

You nodded, stepping just slightly closer, letting the sponge drop to the gravel. Your hand brushed your collarbone as you shifted, drawing attention to the trail of soap suds sliding down your skin. His eyes followed, just as you knew they would.

“I mean it,” you said softly, almost seductively, tilting your head just enough to let the sunlight catch the line of your jaw. “I shouldn’t have pushed you off the boat. I panicked.”

Rafe’s gaze darkened, but he didn’t say anything, his chest rising and falling steadily.

You kept going, forcing the words out like silk. “I shouldn’t have betrayed you. You didn’t deserve that.”

For a second—just a second—you saw his expression soften. His eyes dropped to your lips, his grip on the beer loosening slightly. He looked almost… hesitant. Like he wanted to believe you.

And then he laughed.

It was loud and sharp, the sound scraping down your spine like nails on a chalkboard. “You’re good, you know that?” Rafe said, shaking his head as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’ll give you that. You almost had me there.”

Your stomach dropped.

His eyes snapped back to yours, the smirk curling his lips twisting into something cruel. “You really think you can stand there, play the little innocent act, and I’m just gonna forget what you did?”

“Rafe, please—”

He moved fast, rounding the truck before you could react. You bolted around the other side, keeping the truck between you.

“Oh, this is cute,” Rafe taunted, his voice ringing out as you circled. “What’s the plan now, huh? Gonna fucking run? Where do you think you’re gonna go, Y/N? Huh?”

You didn’t answer. Your heart slammed against your ribs as you circled, your movements mirroring his as he prowled like a fucking lion.

“Stop running,” Rafe barked suddenly, slamming his palm against the hood of the truck. The sound made you jump. “You think I’m just gonna let you get away again? Like hell I will.”

He moved left—you darted right. It didn’t matter. You were too slow, and he was too fast. Rafe rounded the truck, and you ran.

You barely made it two steps before he caught you.

“Let me go!” you shrieked as his hand snatched your arm, yanking you back hard enough to send you stumbling. “You motherfucker!”

He didn’t. Rafe pinned you to the truck in one smooth motion, his body towering over yours. The heat of him, the size of him, made you feel small—helpless in a way that set your skin on fire.

Rafe’s face hovered inches from yours, his eyes gleaming with something dangerous. “What’s wrong, Y/N?” he murmured darkly. “You scared?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Rafe leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear. “You should be.”

Your voice came out shaky. “Rafe—please—”

Rafe pulled back just slightly, and you saw it. The flash of silver in his hand. Your breath hitched.

The knife.

He twirled it between his fingers, slow and deliberate, his gaze locked on your face as you froze. “What was it you said last time?” he mused, dragging the blade lightly down your arm—not enough to cut, but enough to make you shiver. “I’m doing this for my friends, right?”

You whimpered softly, the sound escaping before you could stop it.

Rafe’s lips twitched, his eyes lighting up like you’d just given him the best gift in the world. “Say it again,” he whispered, pressing the flat edge of the knife against your throat—just enough to make your knees buckle. “That’s why you were stupid enough to come back to me, right? Those fucking pogues set you up?”

“Rafe,” you whispered, tears pricking your eyes as you gripped his wrist. “Please…just let me go.”

The tears slipped down your cheeks, and you felt his chest rise sharply against yours.

“Look at you,” Rafe muttered, his voice low and almost… awed. “Such a pretty bitch when you cry.”

You shuddered, a broken sob leaving your lips as his knife traced the dip of your collarbone.

“Rafe…”

“Shh,” he murmured, the sound almost tender. “You don’t wanna say something you’ll regret.”

You forced yourself to meet his eyes, your breath coming in shaky gasps as tears streamed down your face. “What… do you want from me?”

Rafe’s smile widened, something twisted and triumphant lighting up his face. “What I want? You’re coming with me.”

You froze, his words hitting you like ice. “What?”

Rafe stepped back just enough to grab your wrist, tugging you forward as you stumbled to keep up. “You really think I’m letting you run back to your little Pogue friends? Nah. You’re done, Y/N. We have unfinished business.”

“Rafe—no the hell I’m not. What are yo-”

“Save it,” he snapped, dragging you toward his truck as you tried to fight him off. “You brought this on yourself. You wanted my attention, right? Well, you’ve got it.”

You thrashed against his grip, tears streaming down your face. “Rafe, please—let me go! I’ll leave! I won’t come back!”

Rafe shoved you against the passenger door, leaning in close, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You’re not leaving, Y/N. You should’ve stayed off figure 8, Pogue.”

The finality in his tone made your stomach drop, and for the first time, you realized the truth.

You weren’t getting out of this.

Not this time.

———

The air inside the truck was suffocating-thick with sweat and heat and the overwhelming scent of him. Your back arched against the worn leather of the backseat, your hands clawing uselessly at his shoulders as Rafe moved above you, relentless as he fucked the shit out of you.

Every sound you made-every gasp, every choked-back moan-felt like a betrayal. You hated yourself for it. For the way your body responded to him despite everything.

Despite the smirk that stretched across his face, the glint in his pale blue eyes that said he'd won.

"Look at you," Rafe muttered darkly, his voice heavy with satisfaction. His hand slid down to your thigh, his grip rough, forcing your legs wider as he pressed you deeper into the seat. "Acting like you hate this…like you hate my dick."

"I do," you gasped, even as your voice cracked, even as your body said otherwise.

Rafe's laugh was low, cruel, vibrating through you as he ducked his head to press his pink lips against your neck. His teeth scraped against your brown skin, making you shudder, and when he pulled back, his expression was all sharp lines and wicked intent.

"You can lie to yourself, Y/N," he said, gripping your chin and forcing you to look at him. "But you don't get to lie to me."

You glared at him, your chest heaving, your nails digging into his arms. "Fuck you."

Rafe grinned, leaning closer until his lips brushed your ear. "You are."

You opened your mouth to snap back at him, but the words turned into a sharp cry as Rafe's hand shot up, tangling in your hair. He yanked your head back, not enough to hurt— but enough to remind you of exactly who was in control as he drove himself deeper and deeper into you.

"Say something now," Rafe growled, his voice low and smug as he pushed himself deeper.

"Come on, sweetheart. I thought you had something to say?"

Your nails clawed uselessly at his arms, your body arching against the seat as he hit something deep inside you that made your thoughts scatter. Your jaw clenched, your breaths coming in sharp gasps as you fought to hold onto your anger, your defiance, anything to ground you.

But all you could focus on was him.

The way he filled you-so deep it felt like he was tearing you apart and putting you back together all at once. The way his body towered over yours, his pale skin pressed against the deep brown of your thighs, the contrast making everything feel more raw, more intense.

His dick is too damn big.

The thought came unbidden, unrelenting as your body clenched around him, your mind spinning from the overwhelming pressure and stretch. How the hell is this motherfucker even fitting?

"Fuck," you muttered under your breath, your nails biting harder into his skin as you tried to stop the heat pooling in your stomach from taking over.

"What's that?" Rafe taunted, his grin widening as he rolled his hips, making you gasp. "Didn't quite catch that, baby. You moaning for me already?"

"Shut the hell up," you hissed, though your voice cracked as the pleasure twisted tighter.

Rafe laughed, his grip tightening in your black hair as he tugged your head back further, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Nah, I don't think I will. Not when you're squeezing me like that. You like it, don't you? Feel how deep I am?"

You glared at him, fresh tears pricking your eyes as your lip trembled. "You're a piece of shit. I hate your ass."

Rafe's smirk widened, his teeth flashing like a predator's as his hips snapped forward, deliberate and rough. "Hate me all you want," he sneered, his voice dripping with cruelty.

"Doesn't change the fact that you're fucking taking it like a good little Pogue slut."

"You're disgusting," you snapped, though your voice wavered, your breath hitching with every thrust.

"Yeah? And you're pathetic," he shot back, his tone cruel as his hand slid down to your waist, gripping tight enough to bruise. "Talking all this shit while you're pushing back on me like you're fucking starving for it."

Your stomach churned, humiliation and heat flooding your chest as your body betrayed you again. Your hips shifted, just slightly, the pressure too much to fight.

"There it is," Rafe muttered, his eyes darkening as he felt you give in. His grip tightened, guiding you against him as his smirk turned wicked. "Look at that recoil. God…you fucking bitch, shit." He gritted the last part and gives your ass a hard slap, making you whimper.

His hand moved to your thigh, pulling your legs wider as he forced you to meet his rhythm. "Say you hate me again," he growled, leaning closer, his nose brushing yours. "Say it while you're bouncing on my dick like you don't want me to stop."

Your lips trembled, every sharp, degrading word tearing at what little resolve you had left. You hated him. You hated the way he owned you, the way his grip burned against your dark skin.

"Fucking say it," Rafe demanded, his voice a growl as his grip on your waist tightened, forcing you to push back against him. "Say you hate me while you're begging me to keep going."

Your acrylic nails dug into his arms, fresh tears streaming as you tried to stifle the sob threatening to escape. "I-I hate you."

Rafe chuckled darkly, his breath hot against your ear. "Yeah, well, your pussy doesn't." He pulled back just enough to watch your face, his smirk deepening as you arched beneath him. "Look at you. Can't even stop yourself from pushing back. Fucking whore."

You bit down on your lip, the humiliation twisting with the heat building in your stomach. You hated him. You hated yourself.

But you couldn't stop.

Rafe's hand slid to your jaw, forcing your tear-streaked face up to meet his. "There it is," he muttered, his tone softer but no less cruel. "Good fucking Pogue. Taking me just like you're supposed to."

And as you finally broke beneath him, your body trembling and tears spilling freely, Rafe's smirk widened, victorious and unrelenting.

"Speak ," Rafe hissed, his face inches from yours. "Say you want me."

You shook your head weakly, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you tried to fight him, to fight yourself. "I-I don't..."

"Bullshit."

His grip on your hair tightened, and your eyes squeezed shut, your body betraying you all over again. You hated him-hated his smug face, his cruel words, the way he made you feel like you were his plaything. But the worst part?

You didn't hate this. As much as you said you did.

"Say it," Rafe growled, his voice dropping lower. "Say you want me, or I'll stop."

You bit down on your lip so hard it hurt, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. He wouldn't let you get away with silence-he never did.

"Rafe-"

"Say it," he repeated, pulling just hard enough on your hair to send a shiver down your spine. "Be a good girl for once."

Your voice trembled, barely above a whisper. "I... I want you."

"What was that?" Rafe taunted, tilting his head as if he hadn't heard you. "Say it again. Louder."

You opened your eyes, glaring up at him through the tears you refused to let fall. "I want you."

The words tasted bitter on your tongue, but Rafe's reaction was immediate. His grin stretched wider, his teeth flashing in the dim light as his hand loosened in your hair, smoothing down to rest at your jaw. His thumb dragged across your bottom lip, almost gentle.

"That's what I thought," he muttered, his voice thick with triumph. "Took you long enough."

You turned your head away, biting back the sob that threatened to break free.

Rafe didn't let you escape. He grabbed your chin again, forcing you to meet his gaze as he leaned in close. "You're mine now, Y/N. You get that, right?"

You didn't answer. You couldn't.

Rafe smirked, his eyes dragging slowly over your tear-streaked face, down to the dark skin of your chest where his touch still lingered. "I fucking hate Pogues," he murmured, almost to himself. "But you? You're my exception."

And the way he said it-soft and dangerous, like a promise you'd never escape-made your stomach twist in something you couldn’t name.

You hated him.

And you hated yourself even more.

——

The backseat of Rafe's truck was a battlefield-your resolve crumbling and Rafe's triumph curling around you like smoke, choking out every last ounce of resistance.

Your body was a mess of heat and sweat, pinned under the weight of him, his grip unrelenting as he dragged you further under.

"Don't stop now, sweetheart," Rafe murmured, his voice a gravelly mix of amusement and cruelty. His lips grazed your ear, every word deliberate, every breath making you shiver. "You've come this far. You're not tapping out on me yet, are you?"

You bit your lip, trying to ignore him, to ignore the way your body betrayed you with every movement, every burning pulse of pleasure he forced out of you.

Rafe noticed. Of course he did.

"You're quiet all of a sudden," he taunted, his tone mocking as his hand slid up your thigh.

"That's cute. What? Cat got your tongue? Or are you just embarrassed? Bet your little Pogue friends wouldn't believe it if they saw you right now-dripping all over my dick, letting me do whatever I want to this pretty little pussy."

"Shut up," you whispered, a broken edge to your voice, hating the way his words twisted something sharp and hot in your chest.

Rafe chuckled darkly, his hand moving to tangle in your hair, tugging hard enough to make you gasp. "Nah, I don't think I will. Not until you say it. Admit how good I'm making you feel. Tell me how much you like this."

You shook your head weakly, tears stinging your eyes as you tried to turn away. "I don't _"

The shrill ring of your phone cut you off.

You froze, the sound slicing through the thick air like a warning shot. Rafe didn't stop. If anything, his grip on you tightened, his smirk widening as his gaze flicked to your bag. He reached over, grabbing the phone with deliberate ease before holding it up to your face.

Kiara.

"Look who it is," Rafe drawled, his grin dark and knowing. "Your little rescue team, huh? Probably wondering where you're at. Should I tell her?"

"Rafe-please, don't," you choked out, panic creeping into your voice as you tried to grab the phone.

He yanked it out of reach, his other hand tugging your head back to force you to look at him. His face was too close, his blue eyes gleaming with something cruel and unhinged.

"You wanna beg now, huh?" he muttered, pressing the phone against your cheek, his thumb swiping over the screen. "Go on. Answer it. Tell her how you're too busy getting fucked to come back."

Your stomach dropped. "I can't-"

Rafe leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "Answer.The.Fucking.Phone. NOW."

The phone clicked, and Kiara's voice rang out loud and clear. "Y/N? What the hell is taking so long? Where are you?"

You squeezed your eyes shut, tears spilling down your cheeks as you tried to steady your voice. "Kie... I-I'm fine."

"Fine? You don't sound fine. Where are you? Did something happen?"

Your lips trembled as you felt Rafe move against you, his hand sliding back to your thigh, his grip firm and possessive. He pressed a kiss to your temple, mockingly soft, before murmuring into your ear, "Say it, or I'll say it for you."

"I'm fine," you said quickly, your voice breaking as you forced the words out. "I got—distracted. I'll catch up with you later."

"Distracted? What are you talking about? You don't sound-"

"I gotta go," you cut her off, your voice shaking as Rafe pulled the phone from your ear.

The line went dead.

You let out a shaky breath, your whole body trembling as you looked up at Rafe. His expression was pure smug satisfaction, his lips pulling into that wicked smirk that made your chest tighten.

"See?" he muttered, tossing the phone onto the floorboard. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"You're a fucking monster," you whispered, tears streaming down your face as you pushed at his chest weakly.

Rafe laughed, low and taunting, as he grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head. "You say that now, but I don't think your pussy got the memo. You're squeezing me so tight right now-what do you think that means, huh?"

"Stop-"

"No, you stop," Rafe snapped, his voice darkening as he leaned in closer, his face hovering just above yours. "You wanna play the victim, act like you hate this, but I know the truth. You fucking love it.“

You couldn’t even argue with him. Not when he was abusing your g spot the way he was.

The backseat of Rafe's truck had turned into a world of its own-hot, suffocating, and inescapable. The windows dripped condensation, a cage of sweat and shadows that blurred the outside world into nothing. It was just you and him, and every second passed like a fever you couldn't break.

Rafe hadn't let up-not with his words, not with his hands. He was relentless, pressing you deeper into the leather, dragging every ounce of fight you had left out of you. Every time you thought you could pull yourself back together, he shattered you all over again.

"You're not even trying to fight me anymore," Rafe murmured, his voice low and taunting as he stared down at you. The blue of his eyes looked almost silver in the faint light, glinting with satisfaction as they dragged over your tear-streaked face. "That's sweet. Guess you finally figured it out."

Your chest heaved with shaky breaths, your body trembling beneath him as you turned your head away. "I hate you," you whispered weakly, the words barely audible.

Rafe grabbed your chin, his fingers digging in just enough to make you look at him. "Yeah?" he taunted, his grin wicked. "You love repeating yourself, huh?. Go on. Keep telling me how much you hate me while you're laying here, dripping all over my seat like a desperate little Pogue slut.”

You clenched your jaw, the tears pooling in your eyes making it hard to see him clearly.

"I... I hate you."

Rafe's expression didn't change. If anything, his smirk deepened, like he was enjoying every second of your misery. "Nah," he said softly, shaking his head as his thumb brushed across your lip. "That's not what I wanna hear."

"Rafe, please.." you choked out, your voice breaking.

"Please what?" he taunted, his tone dripping with mockery. "You want me to stop? Want me to let you go so you can run back to those broke-ass Pogues? Fuck that." He leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "Tell me what you really want."

Your heart sank, every word tightening around your throat like a noose. "Don’t…Don’t stop," you whispered.

Rafe grinned, his hand slipping to rest at your jaw, his grip firm but not cruel. "That's better," he murmured, tilting your head back so you couldn't look away. "Say it again. Louder."

Your lip trembled as the words slipped from your mouth like poison. "Don’t stop, Rafe…please."

"Good girl," Rafe muttered, his thumb tracing along the tear-streaked curve of your cheek.

"See how easy that was? You can listen when you want to."

You closed your eyes, fresh tears spilling down your face, but Rafe wasn't done. His grip tightened slightly, a warning, as his voice dipped lower. "You know what else I wanna hear?"

You nodded your head submissively. "Please... tell me, Rafe.”

He smirks at your obedience before speaking, his tone firm and commanding. "Say you'd choose me over them. Over your little Pogue friends. Say it, Y/N."

Your eyes snapped open, horror twisting in your chest as you stared up at him. "No."

Rafe tilted his head, his smirk cold and sharp.

"No?" He chuckled softly, his grip never wavering as his free hand trailed down your side, slow and deliberate. "You don't get to say no. Not anymore. Say it."

You swallowed hard, the words catching in your throat as you tried to pull back-tried to escape the weight of him, the weight of his words. "I-I don’t wanna."

"I didn’t fucking ask if you wanted to." Rafe growled, his face inches from yours. "You're mine now. Not theirs. Mine. Say it."

You shook your head weakly, tears streaming freely now as your chest heaved. "I-l'd choose you."

Rafe froze, his gaze locking onto yours, something wild and triumphant sparking in his eyes. "What was that?"

You squeezed your eyes shut, your voice breaking as you repeated the words he wanted. "I'd choose you over them."

"Look at me when you say it."

You blinked up at him, the tears blurring his face as you choked out the words again. "I'd choose you over them, Rafe."

His grin stretched wider, his expression dark and smug as he brushed his lips against your ear.

"Damn right you would," he murmured, his voice soft but venomous. "They don't deserve you. They never did. I'm the only one who sees you for what you are."

You didn't respond. How could you? The fight had drained from your body completely, leaving you trembling and broken beneath him as he watched you with the same victorious gleam in his blue eyes.

But Rafe wasn't done.

"Open your mouth," he ordered, his tone low but firm, his grip tightening on your jaw.

Your stomach twisted, fresh tears spilling as you stared up at him, wide-eyed and uncertain.

"Rafe, why-"

"Do it," he snapped, his voice sharper now, his smirk twisting into something darker. "Don't make me ask again, Pogue."

Your lip trembled, your body shaking as you parted your lips hesitantly, the humiliation burning through you like fire.

"That's my girl," Rafe muttered, his eyes locked onto yours, his thumb brushing across your bottom lip before he leaned forward. Without hesitation, he spit into your mouth, the action deliberate, possessive, and utterly degrading.

"Swallow that shit," Rafe commanded, his tone calm but laced with authority. "Don't even think about spitting it out."

Your throat tightened, the shame twisting in your chest as you obeyed, swallowing under his watchful gaze.

"That's it," he murmured, his grin widening as he cupped your cheek, his pale fingers brushing against your tear-streaked skin.

"Good fucking girl. That's why you're mine. Because no one else could handle you like this."

His thumb dragged across your lips, smearing the wetness there as he tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze again.

"Say it one more time," he whispered, his voice soft but no less commanding. "Say you'd choose me over them."

You choked back a sob, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. "I'd choose you over them."

"Good girl," Rafe whispered, his voice almost tender as he pressed a kiss to your jaw. "I knew you'd come around eventually. You just needed me to remind you where you belong."

He pulled back just slightly, his gaze lingering on your tear-streaked face as he dragged his thumb across your bottom lip. "Bet you'd let me knock you up, wouldn't you?" Rafe murmured, his voice almost soft, his smirk curling into something sinister. "Let me put a fucking Kook baby in you. Make you mine for real."

Your stomach flipped, your heart pounding in your chest as you stared up at him in disbelief. "You're sick," you whispered, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks.

Rafe chuckled darkly, his thumb dragging along your jaw as his pale fingers stood out against your dark skin. "Yeah, well so are you. Ditching your friends and begging for my dick." He leaned closer, his lips brushing yours as he whispered, "What kinda girl does that make you, huh?"

You were quiet and couldn’t even respond…how could you. He was right. You begged him not to stop and even now you wanted him to keep sliding his dick in you.

Rafe's smirk widened as your silence stretched. "I asked you a fucking question," he growled, his hand suddenly tightening around your throat. The pressure made you gasp, your back arching against the seat as he leaned closer, his breath hot against your lips. "What kinda girl does that make you?"

You shook your head weakly, the tears spilling faster now as your chest heaved.

"Rafe, what do you want-"

"Don't fucking 'question' me," he snapped, his grip tightening further, sending a dizzying rush through your body. His other hand slid down to grab your hip, pulling you closer as he sneered, "Say it. Say what you are, baby. You're my little whore, aren't you? My dirty Pogue bitch who can't get enough."

A broken sob escaped you, and his grin only grew as he tilted your head back, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Tell me who you belong to.”

Your breath hitched, your voice barely above a whisper as the words slipped past your lips, tasting like poison and fire. "I'm... I'm yours."

"Yeah, you fucking are," Rafe muttered, his tone softening just slightly as he released your throat, dragging his hand back to your clit, playing with it as he continues to thrust into you, deep.

Your chest heaved, your body trembling as you felt yourself tipping over the edge, that coil of tension snapping inside you as you come around his dick. You gasp sharply, your head falling back against the seat as your body arched into his.

"Ah shit," Rafe grunted with a deep sigh, his voice dark and triumphant as his hand slid up your brown thigh, his fingers digging into your soft skin.

"That's my good girl. You're so fucking perfect when you cum for me."

You whimpered, tears spilling freely now, your mind fogged and overwhelmed. But Rafe didn't stop. He wasn't done with you yet.

"Look at me," he ordered, his tone commanding as he grabbed your jaw, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. His blue eyes burned into your brown ones, the smug smirk on his lips twisting into something darker. "You think I'm letting you off that easy. You're gonna give me one more."

"Rafe-" you choked out, your voice trembling.

"Don't fucking fight me," he snapped, his grip tightening. "You've got one more in you, baby. I know you do. And you're gonna give it to me."

Your body trembled, your head spinning as he pushed you further, relentless in his thrusts.

Every nerve was on fire, every sound that escaped your lips ripped from your chest against your will.

"That's it," Rafe murmured, his voice dropping to a low, possessive growl. "Give me one more baby…just one more around my dick."

The words hit you like a punch, and you shattered, the wave crashing over you so hard it left you breathless. Rafe followed you down, his grip tightening as his own body tensed, his head falling into the crook of your neck as a low, guttural sound escaped his lips as he got closer.

Rafe didn't stop. He followed you through it, his strokes still sharp and relentless, his grip firm as he kept you exactly where he wanted you. His breath was ragged, a low, guttural sound escaping his lips as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

For a moment, everything stilled. The truck rocked gently beneath you, the windows fogged, the world outside feeling a million miles away. His weight pressed into you, heavy and grounding, his chest heaving against yours.

You should have been angry. Humiliated. But instead, the words left your lips before you could stop them.

"Rafe... cum in me."

His head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as he pulled back just enough to look at you.

The smirk that spread across his face was sharp and wicked, his tone laced with mockery as he chuckled. "Oh, you think you're calling the shots now?"

"Please..." you whispered, your voice trembling as fresh tears slid down your cheeks.

Rafe leaned closer, his nose brushing against yours as he sneered. "What makes you think you've earned that, huh? After pulling that little stunt on my boat? You think you can tell me what to do?"

You shook your head weakly, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. "I'm sorry-"

"Sorry doesn't fucking cut it," he growled, his grip on your hips tightening as he moved again, pulling a sharp gasp from your lips. "You wanna tell me what to do? No, I tell you what to do."

You whimpered, your hands gripping at his shoulders as your body trembled beneath him. "Rafe... please. I'll do anything."

"Anything?" His voice dipped into something darker, more dangerous, his lips brushing over the shell of your ear. "You'll cry for it, baby. You'll fucking beg for it, or you're not getting shit."

You bit down on your lip, the tears spilling faster now as your chest heaved. "Please," you choked out, your voice breaking.

"Please, Rafe. I need it. I need you."

"Louder," he demanded, his hand moving to grip your jaw, forcing you to look at him. "Let me hear you fucking mean it."

Your voice cracked as you sobbed, the words spilling from your lips like a prayer. "Please, Rafe! I need you to cum in me! I'm yours-I'll do whatever you want! Just... please."

His grin widened, satisfaction gleaming in his pale blue eyes as he tilted your chin up, pressing a slow, mocking kiss to your lips.

"That's my good girl," he murmured, his tone dripping with triumph.

And when he finally came in you, letting himself unravel against you, the low, guttural sound that escaped him sent a shiver through your entire body. His weight collapsed onto you once more, his breath hot against your neck as he pressed his forehead to yours, a lazy, smug grin still plastered across his face.

Then Rafe tilted his head, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "You're never leaving me now, Y/N. Not after this."

You didn't respond. You couldn't. Because deep down, you knew he was right.

And that terrified you.

The haze came quickly after that, swallowing you whole. The heat, the sweat, the steady weight of him pressed against your trembling body-all of it felt distant and surreal. You weren't sure how long you lay there, pinned beneath him, his blue eyes watching you like you were a puzzle he'd just solved.

Then his hand came up, quick and light, delivering a playful slap to your cheek. Not enough to hurt, but enough to snap your attention back to him.

"Hey," Rafe muttered, his smirk twisting into something sharper, darker. "Don't drift off on me. You're not getting out of this until you say it."

You blinked up at him, your breath shaky as the fog clouding your thoughts started to lift. "Say... what?"

Rafe's hand slid to your jaw, gripping you firmly as he tilted your head back, his lips brushing over yours in a way that felt both possessive and mocking. "Say you're sorry for what you did. For pushing me off my fucking boat."

Your lips parted, your chest heaving as his thumb dragged across your bottom lip, leaving you trembling beneath him. "Rafe, are you serious-"

"Say it," he interrupted, his voice sharp but calm, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Apologize, and maybe I'll go easy on you."

A tear slipped down your cheek as the words caught in your throat. You hated him. You hated the way he owned you, the way he twisted you into knots with nothing but his voice, his touch. But the fight had been drained from your body completely, leaving you with no choice but to obey.

"I'm sorry." you whispered, your voice cracking as fresh tears welled in your eyes.

Rafe's grin widened, his thumb brushing along your jaw as he leaned closer, his breath warm against your lips. "Louder."

Your body trembled, the shame burning hot in your chest as you repeated the words, louder this time. "I'm sorry for pushing you off your boat."

"Good girl," Kate murmured, his tone laced with triumph as his lips crashed against yours. The kiss was messy, desperate, full of teeth and heat, and you felt yourself slipping further into the haze. His hand tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make you gasp as his tongue claimed yours.

It wasn't sweet. It wasn't gentle. But it was addictive.

He pulled back just slightly, his pale blue eyes watching your swollen lips, the tear streaks on your face. "You feel that?" he muttered, his voice low and mocking as his hand cupped your cheek. "That's mine now. All of it. Every fucking piece of you."

You didn't argue. You still couldn't.

"Open your mouth," he ordered, his tone soft but firm, his smirk curling as his thumb tapped your bottom lip.

Your lips parted instinctively, and the haze grew thicker as he spit into your mouth again, the deliberate action pulling a low whimper from you.

Rafe's grin deepened, his eyes gleaming with something wicked as he leaned forward and whispered, “Ready for round 2?”

You paused for a second to see if he was serious and when you saw that he in fact wasn’t joking, your rolled eyes.

You were never trusting Kiara, Cleo, or Sarah again. Not that you’d get the chance to since you belonged to Rafe now.

You were his. Not theirs.

[belovedmusings]

Sukuna as Your Boyfriend

A list of SFW headcanons for the king of curses. Stay tuned for an NSFW version!

A/N: I’m taking some liberties here and assuming that Sukuna can actually be capable of a long term, committed relationship…

✶ always has to be touching you when you’re in public. everyone needs to know you’re his and only his. his favorite way is to grab the back of your upper arm and keep it in a firm grip.

✶ he likes to call the shots. whenever you want to go out, he’ll decide where to go. he’ll be paying, so he wants to take you to a place worth his money.

✶ overprotective of you. if anyone tries hurting you either emotionally or physically, he’ll throw hands and fight for your honor.

✶ intimidates the eyes of any other person who might find you attractive right away. you belong to him. he’s a very jealous and possessive man.

✶ walks around in his or your place without a shirt at all times. likes to see you wearing his shirts instead.

✶ if you sit in his spot on the couch, he’ll simply pick you up and set you back down on his lap once he reclaims his rightful place.

✶ has quite the temper on him. early into the relationship he yells and might even break things. when he sees it scares you, he switches to leaving and taking a walk so that he doesn’t subject you to his outbursts anymore.

✶ when you cry, his immediate response is ‘who hurt you? i’ll kill whoever made you upset’ with genuine bloodlust in his tone.

✶ teases the hell out of you and loves to see you embarrassed. will grope in public. his favorite is to have his hand on your ass at all times.

✶ a bit controlling. might even try to police what you wear/how long and how late you’re out with friends.

✶ will fight for your honor at a restaurant, and doesn’t care if he comes off rude. “didn’t you order something else? Incompetent idiots. Hey, you!” *calls the waiter and proceeds to aggressively ask for what you’d wanted originally*

✶ no cheesy romantic stuff. sharing a drink with two straws? no. couples outfits? absolutely not. he can’t compromise his street-cred.

✶ loves it when you show aggression. may provoke you.

✶ loves when you get bitter or sassy about something. maybe a friend did you dirty so you shit-talk them behind their back? he’s joining in and being meaner to them.

✶ never judges you for any of your dark secrets. guards them with his life and encourages that you tell him. has probably done worse and finds you more attractive the more dark/depraved they are. makes you feel comfortable with your negative emotions instead of ashamed.

✶ really dry humor, and very sarcastic. loves it when you banter with him.

—-

A/N: a lot of this ain’t cute and cuddly bc sukuna ain’t cute and cuddly sooo—anyways: Sukuna Masterlist

[angstywaifu]

Black Dahlia - 38. Dragged Along

Summary: Dahlia talks Bodhi into a little excursion to celebrate finishing their first year. A/N: Another follower milestone! I can't thank you guys enough for all the love and support. This is also our last part before Dahlia's second year and fourth wing/book content starts up. So enjoy this cute friend moment between Dahlia and Bodhi before we jump into that. Garrick Tavis x OC (Dahlia Aetos)

Black Dahlia Masterlist | Masterlist | Links

“I can’t believe you talked me into this.” Bodhi grumbles as I lead him down the passage way I’d snuck us into back at Basgiath.

”Not my fault you’re easy to manipulate. You could have said no.” I toss over my shoulder back to him.

I briefly catch the mocking glare he shoots my way as we pass under a mage light.

”And face you’re wrath? No thanks.” He says with a nervous laugh.

I roll my eyes at him even though he can’t see it. “You have Xaden for a cousin and you’re scared of me?”

”I’ve grown up around him. Unless I stabbed him in the back and screwed him over, he ain’t going to do anything to me. I’ve only known you a year, and I’ve seen how ruthless you can be. You’re scarier than you think.”

”And yet here you are. Can’t be that bad.” I say with a smirk, the end of the passageway coming into view, the sun illuminating the outline of the hidden door.

”I feel like I’ve gotten myself in too deep with you to get out.” He grumbles.

”If anyone is in too deep it’s Garrick.” I say as I turn to him, Bodhi snickering at my comment.

”Very deep from what I hear.” He teases with a smirk.

He steps back as I raise my arm to hit him. “Xaden is perfectly capable of putting up his own sound barrier if it bothers him that much.”

”As is Garrick.” He points out, which I ignore as I pull out the casual infantry issued jackets I’d taken. “And do I want to know how the hell you got those?”

I look up at him and cock an eyebrow. “You’re really going to question how the biggest disappointment to her family who has lived at Basgiath for years managed to get these?”

Bodhi raises his hand and points a finger as he purses his lips and just nods. “Fair point.”

”Good. Now put this on and give me your jacket.” I tell him as I hold the infantry jacket out to him.

He takes it and shoves it on as I do the same before shoving both our jackets into the pack and lean it up against the wall next to the hidden door that will take us into Chantara.

”How did you know-” Bodhi’s words die on his lips as I look up at him, giving him a pointed stare. “Right, family disappointment and all that. Got it.”

I turn and push on the brick next to the door, releasing the door so we can push it open. There were plenty of other ways to get into town, but this was the easiest and safest. There was talks they were going to start letting riders into the town, but I still didn’t want to risk it till it was done. As long as Bodhi and I kept the jackets on and our relics covered, we would be safe from being reported. It also helped that Infantry cadets were able to wear whatever they wanted with their casual jackets in the town. Not many wore black, but we could make it work, especially with the setting sun.

And as we walk through the crowded town centre, no one bats an eye at Bodhi and I. We’d voiced the idea to Austin and Liz, but they weren’t as sold on sneaking out as we were and were happy to wait and see if the ban lifted, especially with the drinks now available to us at the Quadrant. But what I wanted to do couldn’t be done in the Quadrant. I hadn’t been here in over a year now, managing to sneak here just before crossing the parapet. I’m pleased to see their shop is still here. What they did wasn’t super popular, with their business mainly being to dragon riders. And seeing as Basgiath only held rider cadets for most of the year, their client base was few and far between.

”Oh fuck, he’s going to kill me.” Bodhi mutters from behind me as I lead him over to the shop, pushing open the door to the black painted store front.

A bell sounds overhead, announcing our arrival, a muffled voice coming from out the back. The inside is just as I remember. The walls adorned with paintings and designs on offer, the counter now freshly painted with a new coat of red, making it stand out from the dark wooden floors and black walls.

Hurried footsteps meet my ears, and from the doorway leading out back appears a familiar face I was more than happy to see. “Dahlia! About time my favourite client came back.” Blake says with a smile.

”Kinda hard with the ban on the riders quadrant being allowed into town.” I says with a smile. Till Bodhi and the others, Blake was the only one I would truly smile at. The one person who wouldn’t judge me.

”Though I see you found a way around that.” He says as he nods towards the navy blue jackets Bodhi and I wear. “Whose you’re friend?”

I turn and motion to Bodhi. “This is Bodhi. Bodhi, this is Blake.”

”Nice to meet you.” Bodhi says with a tight lipped smile as he side eyes me. Clearly not impressed on what I’d dragged him into.

”Did you get the request I sent?” I ask, turning my attention back to Blake.

He nods. “I sure did and it’s all ready to go.”

He turns and motions for Bodhi and I to follow him.

“You could have warned me. He’s going to kill me for this if he finds out I came with you.” Bodhi whispers to me.

”You’ll be fine. It’s not like we’re doing anything bad.” I point out as I follow Blake.

”Riders are banned from being here. This is going to scream where we have been.” He informs me as if I am not fully aware.

”Yes Rider’s are banned, but only on a town level. Nothing in the Codex states we can’t be here.” I say with a knowing smile before entering the room and walking over to the bench Blake already has laid out.

”What do you think?” Blake asks as I sit on the bench.

The design Blake holds out to me is amazing. Each flower is extremely detailed, and arranged just as I liked it. I couldn’t wait to see it once he did shading and detail work.

”It’s perfect.” I say with a smile and shrug off the infantry jacket I throw at Bodhi who catches it with ease.

”Perfect. Lets get stared.”

Bodhi grumbles as he sits in the chair next to me. “All I wanted was a drink in a damn bar.”

@imtoanonymousforyou @simplyme-fornow @omalmal @lalaluch @wolfbc97 @leptitlu @fullmoon-94 @the-fandom-ness @fan-of-many-bands @awkardnerd @heeseungthel0ml @acourtofsmutandstarlight @fairchild06 @freyagallileaevans @pit-and-the-pen @hannraumari @elliot-rain @thestarseternaal @stupid-and-contagious01 @hyperfixation-train-station @lxnvmvrzx @thebreadisthetruevillian @red0202 @fangirling-galore @craftytrashprincess @taliyahvermillion @xadenswhore @fenixyrie @lagrandeourse @hellodarling1357 @iambored24601  @thegiftofacreativemind @fanfictionjunkie1112 @mysticalfuncollectorus

Dahlia Tattoo Inspiration

[cosmicdahlias]

She Looks Just Like You

an arthur morgan x reader fic

You’ve unintentionally fallen pregnant and Arthur’s the father.

warnings: pregnancy, birth

alright y’all! so this is my first sfw fic and i chose to spoil y’all with some pregnancy and dad arthur fluff. it kinda jumps around a bit, but hopefully it’s still a good read

You were fully aware with how lazy you and Arthur had gotten with contraception, both mutually agreeing that the linen condoms dulled the experience. You pretended like him finishing inside you was a nonissue, you liked it that way.

You started to become sick as a dog every day for weeks on end, pissing like a racehorse every 30 minutes, and your cycle never came. Abigail, having gone through this before, immediately knew what was going on.

”You need to see a doctor, y/n. You’re for sure pregnant.”

“It’s probably nothing.”

“That’s what I thought too, but look how that turned out for me.”

You let the symptoms persist for another two weeks before you decided you couldn’t take it anymore, you got yourself in with a doctor. It took a short exam of your cervix for him to break the news.

“Well, miss, I can say with 100% certainty that you are indeed pregnant.”

“Ah, I was kinda hoping you’d tell me it was just really bad food poisoning.”

“No, I’m afraid you are, as you say, ‘up the spout’. Now, are you and the father on good terms? Do you know the father?”

“Oh yeah, I know him.”

-

It took a few days for you to muster up the courage to tell Arthur. You were riding back to camp when you decided you couldn’t hide it any longer.

“Arthur, we need to talk.”

“You know I hate when you say it like that.”

“I know, I know, but I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t important.”

He tugged on the reins and halted his horse to a stop, he hopped down and helped you off of yours.

He put his hands on your waist. “Okay, now what was so important?”

You shifted on your feet nervously and took a deep breath.

“Arthur, I’m pregnant.”

He froze for a moment. “You’re sure? For sure, for sure?”

“As sure as the doctor who told me.”

You had no idea what to expect from his reaction. For a second you thought he’d get mad, but instead he wrapped you in a crushingly tight hug, lifting you off your feet.

“Oh my god, I had my suspicions with you bein’ sick and all for so long, but I didn’t wanna pry. You’ve made me so happy, happiest man on earth.”

“Y- you ain’t mad?”

“Are you kiddin’? You’ve given me the greatest gift I could ever ask for.” He said, kissing you.

That night you lay with Arthur in the tent you shared. When you fell asleep he put a hand to your stomach, stroking it with his thumb.

-

Immediately after receiving the news Arthur objected to you doing any jobs that could be even slightly dangerous.

He would always answer your protests with “And what happens if the baby gets hurt?”

“You sure as shit didn’t care when it was just me.” You retorted.

“That’s because I know what you’re capable of, it’s different now.”

-

A month later you had just arrived back at camp when Micah decided to once again participate in his favorite sport, antagonizing the fuck out of Arthur. He watched as Arthur assisted you in helping you down from your horse.

“How do y’all even know if he’s the father?” Micah sneered.

“Watch it, Micah.” Arthur growled, teeth clenched.

“Hey, I’m just sayin’, everyone ‘round here’s had them, even Dutch.”

“For your information, I’ve been faithful since the day Arthur and I got together.” You retorted.

“Yeah you say that, but I think we all now deep down you’re still the same little whor-“

Arthur cut him off with a punch square in his face, breaking his nose. Micah stumbled back.

“You son of a BITCH!”

Micah returned with a blow of his own, connecting straight with Arthur’s mouth, busting his lip.

Dutch overheard the commotion and rushed over, putting himself between them.

“What the hell is with you two? Can’t y’all have a single conversation that don’t end with either of you drawin’ blood?”

“It’s what he gets for not keepin’ his mouth shut.” Arthur spat.

“Just speakin’ the truth, Arthur. You’re gonna find out one way or another.” Micah grinned as blood streamed down his face.

You dragged Arthur away to the tent, Micah called out to get the last word in.

“That whore ain’t gonna be yours forever, Arthur!”

You sat him down on the cot, taking a cloth and dabbing at the blood that seeped from his lip.

“Lord almighty Arthur, you can’t keep lettin’ him get to you. You’re a better man than that.”

He put his hand to yours. “And I can’t let him talk to you that way. I love you too much to ignore it.”

-

Around 5 months in you were dozing off next to Arthur when you felt a flutter in your stomach, you shook him awake and put his hand to you.

“Arthur! Arthur! The baby’s kicking!” You said, full of excitement.

“Huh? Wha- OH!”

He felt the tiny foot against his hand.

He chuckled. “Well how about that? We got a little fighter.”

-

Another 4 months passed you by. Your water broke early in the morning and you were in severe pain all day, contractions kicking your ass. Late in the afternoon you tried to distract yourself by hanging up the washing to dry when you fell to the ground in the most intense pain you had ever felt in your life.

“ARTHUR!”

He ran over. “What? What’s wrong?”

You were breathless, panicking. “The baby, it’s-“

Arthur leapt into action, scooping you up and rushing you back to your tent. He laid you down gently on the cot, taking off your skirt and bloomers. He stuck his fingers inside you, feeling your cervix.

“What in the sam hell do you think you’re doin’?” You barked.

“Seein’ how far along you are. Don’t start pushin’ just yet, it won’t do you any good.”

“Why’re you actin’ like you know what you’re doin’?”

“Cause I’ve done this before.”

Two hours passed as the contractions rolled through you, each one worse than the last.

“Remind me to fuckin’ kill you when this is all over.” You said through gritted teeth.

“I honestly deserve it.”

He returned his fingers inside you.

“Okay, you’re ready, you can push.”

The pain from the contractions was nothing compared to this. It felt like your insides were being ripped apart.

“God, it hurts so BAD.” You said, tears streaming down your face.

“I know sweetheart, you’re doing so good, keep goin’.”

You gripped Arthur’s hand almost hard enough to break it.

“You’re almost there, just breathe.” He cooed.

“I AM BREATHIN’ YOU BASTARD!”

You let out a deafening shriek, there was silence for a moment, then you both heard a cry.

There she was, all 8 pounds of her, face bright pink as she cried. Arthur held her in his arms.

“It’s- it’s a girl, we have a little girl.” Arthur said, tears forming.

He cut the umbilical cord with a knife and holding her for just a moment longer before handing her off to you.

“She’s so beautiful, y/n, she-“

“She looks just like you, Arthur.” You smiled, exhausted.

-

John and Abigail showed up a few hours later with little Jack in tow.

John spoke. “We came to see how y’all are doing. How’s the baby? Is it a-“

“A girl, Dahlia.” Arthur replied.

“Heh, guess I have a niece now.” John smiled.

“It’s a beautiful name, y/n.” Abigail said.

“Aunt y/n, Uncle Arthur, can I hold her?” Jack asked.

“Of course Jack, sit down first.” You responded.

Jack sat on the edge of the cot.

“Now you gotta support her head. Okay, Jack?” Arthur said.

“Okay.”

You handed Dahlia to Jack, he carefully took her in his arms. He extended a finger, she took it in her chubby little fist.

-

That night the men of the camp sat by the fire as Arthur passed out cigars. The women crowded into your tent, sipping whiskey and fawning over your new baby girl. You had to admit, it was nice to have a drink after nine months of involuntary sobriety.

“Well one thing’s for certain, Arthur definitely ain’t gonna be able to leave you now.” Karen laughed, sufficiently intoxicated.

“Arthur’s been crazy about them long before this. You’ve seen the way he looks at them, watches them like a hawk. I think it’s sweet.” Abigail said.

-

Arthur held you as you slept when he heard a whimper, he gingerly got up so as to not wake you. He took Dahlia in his arms, cradling her and holding her against his chest.

“Shhh, you’re okay, your daddy’s got you. I know you probably want your mama, but we’re gonna let them sleep for now. You kinda tuckered them out.” He chucked.

He stepped out of the tent and returned to the fire, John was still there.

He put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Welcome back to fatherhood, prepare to never know a full night’s sleep again.”

Arthur laughed. “It’s worth it, I already love her to death.”

“Despite lookin’ like your ugly mug she really is beautiful, Arthur.”

Arthur looked down and smiled at the baby that slept in his arms. “Yeah, she is.”

[actuallysaiyan]

57. “have you seen the things that the fans write about you and *other celeb*?” With Toshi? Maybe the *other celeb* could be a younger pro like Hawks or even Fatgum! Just someone obvi closer to the readers age and makes him a bit… upset. Jealous. Because hey, just because he’s older doesn’t mean he can’t do those things too! Hell, he probably has moves these youngsters ain’t even heard of!

warnings: smut, lewd themes, vaginal fingering, confident Toshinori, age gap, lewd magazine article, mentions of erectile dysfunction prompt: “have you seen the things the the fans write about you and *other celeb*?”

You were appalled while reading this magazine. Why you even decided to pick it up was beyond you…maybe it was because you saw that someone had decided to lump your husband with other pro heroes. It was a gossip magazine but this time you were worried they might go too far.

The article was all about fans sending in love letters, theories or even their thoughts and wants about these heroes. It was pretty clear to you that they all found your husband to be too old. Too outdated. Even if he had been the number one hero, people didn’t think too highly of him these days. It angered you to no end sometimes to think about how people spoke about him.

When he gets home, Toshinori comes over to you and he presses a kiss on your cheek. He leans over the back of the couch to look at what you’re reading. He frowns as he scans over some lines but then he laughs.

“It’s not funny!” You cry out, throwing the magazine on the coffee table. “Have you seen the things that the fans write about you and the other pro heroes? It’s terrible!”

He sits down next to you. “Like what? That I’m no longer suited to be number one? I know that already.”

You blush and look down at your hands on your lap. “Well there’s that and there’s…”

The way you look right now would suggest there’s something else going on. They must be writing something pretty nasty about him. He tries not to let it get to him but he’s definitely curious now. So he grabs the magazine and begins reading the article.

“When I found out how old All Might is…” he recites some words from one fan. “Jeez! She really thinks I can’t…I can’t get it up?!”

You sigh and roll your eyes. “That’s tame in comparison to how they treat you when it comes to the younger heroes.”

His brows furrow. “You don’t believe these words do you? I mean…I know Hawks and Fatgum and even Enji…they are all younger than me.”

You shake your head. You know that Toshinori is more than capable of making you feel good. There’s a smirk that spreads on his face when he leans in to kiss your lips.

“Can’t get it up, huh?” He grabs your hand and brings it to the growing bulge in his pants. “How about this huh? I may not be as young as I used to be, but I think I’m still hung like a horse. What do you think, baby?”

You swallow hard. Your throat feels so dry, but that’s about the only thing that is dry. You can’t believe the way he’s speaking to you right now. Toshinori doesn’t always talk dirty but when he does, it makes you so wet. He nips at your bottom lip.

“Baby, I asked you a question. Now could you please answer it?”

“You’re…you’re fucking huge. Hung like a horse.”

He laughs at your words. Your world gets flipped upside down literally when he pushes you onto your back and he grabs your legs. He places them on his shoulders before kissing you hungrily. Toshinori lets his kisses linger before they trail down your neck to your chest. He slides off your shirt, kissing your shoulders before he cups your breasts in his hands.

“Besides, do you think those pro heroes know how to make you cum so hard you forget your own name?”

His question is almost rhetorical. How could they know how to make you cum the way Toshinori does? He slips one of his hands down your sweatpants, toying with your pussy through your panties. Meanwhile, he’s sucking on your nipples.

“Already this wet, hm?”

He pushes your panties aside, teasing your folds and your hole. Toshi actively ignores your aching clit in favor of ramping things up with a lot of teasing. By the time his long fingers even brush against your clit, you’re already dripping. He looks into your eyes while he rubs your swollen nub to a shaking orgasm.

“Remember baby,” he kisses you to swallow up your sweet moans. “Just because I’m older, that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to make you feel good.”

He then pulls down your pants completely and wraps your legs around his waist. You watch through hooded eyes as he unzips his pants and pulls out his throbbing erection. He chuckles at the hungry but fucked out look you give him.

“I guess I’ll just need to fuck you so hard you forget all about that silly magazine article!”

reblogs and comments always appreciated!

©actuallysaiyan 2025– do not repost on other platforms, copy, translate or edit my works!

dividers: @adornedwithlight

taglist: @thissaintjessi.  @cherryblossombankai, @sunflowers-heart,  @erebus-et-eigengrau @sareenthedreamer

[altkys]

=͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝙉𝙤𝙬 𝙋𝙡𝙖𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜... 𝙊𝙣 𝘼𝙘𝙘𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙗𝙮 𝙉𝙞𝙘𝙤 𝘾𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙨 [ 𝘼𝙪𝙙𝙞𝙤𝙨, 𝘾𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙣 ]

Since my first x reader/oc post on my other blog (@xoxokys2hugs) was about my latest obsession: Leo Valdez, its only fair that my first x reader post on this blog is dedicated to my first obsession: Karma Akabane

Warnings include: mentions of blood and injuries, implied making out

❝ Oh, I'll never see it coming, but I know we'll crash 'Cause when we're with each other, yeah, we move too fast And every time I think about the consequence I swear I only fell for you on accident ❞

Karma Akabane doesn’t have an interest in romance and dates for fun, but only scarcely.

He goes up to you one day — a person he’s said about four words to — and asks you out. He lays his intentions out clear: a need for bail if he ever gets arrested, to piss someone off, to win a bet.

It’s all very superficial. Which is why he’s surprised when you say yes, and gets offended in turn when you admit to being surprised it’s not for anything physical.

“Thanks for saying yes, it’s real helpful.” He drawled, flipping one of your pens like he would to a knife. 

“It’s fine.” You snatched it back. “I’m just surprised you didn’t ask to hook up or something.”

“What.”

“What?”

Karma, who shows up at your house and stumbles in late at night, saying it’s your job as his loving partner to bandage him up, and teases you all the while.

“Just so you know,” he started, playing with a strand of your hair idly. “I’m not actively looking for your body. Just that you’ll back me when I need it.”

“Fine by me.” You shrugged, hand moving to his collar. A tight squeeze resulted in more cracking from the dried blood-soaked fabric. “Not ‘actively’ looking?”

“Not actively.” Karma almost didn’t respond, too busy being lost in the moment. 

Your eyes were captivating, even from just a few centimetres away. Admittedly, he should be more intimidated than he was: the way your eyes were so sharp and calculating even in an arrangement like this— it was the look of a predator in its natural element. 

You hummed as your free hand tilted his head left and right, probably inspecting the various cuts that marred his pretty face. “Really?”

Karma raised an eyebrow. “You think I’m capable of lying?”

“You came looking for me covered in blood.” You said curtly, rolling your eyes. “I’d hope you’d be able to accomplish that at least. But for this, I guess you’re telling the truth about not wanting my body.”

‘You guess,’ Karma mused, biting his lip to stifle a chuckle.

“Don’t get me wrong,” He said, his tone dropping in volume as he leaned closer. They were almost touching, his face hovering over yours. “You’re one hell of a looker. If you’re offering physical, I’ll take ‘em anyday.”

Karma, who sits with you on the school roof. It’s late at night, but hanging out with him has gotten you alright with breaking more than a few rules (though you lament the fact that it’s being used to enter school again)

He shifts just slightly closer, paying no mind to the wind threatening to steal the straw from his strawberry milk. Your warmth is comforting in a way, something he hasn’t really experienced before. It was almost sickening how much he craved it. How he had walked into this trap his own heart set up with free will.

“Why’d you even bring me up here?” You sighed, kicking your feet as you sat on the edge, leaning against him. Karma wrapped an arm around you, looking more serious without his usual smirk.

“Just wanted to.” He shrugged, poking your cheek. “It’s romantic, ain’t it?”

“It’s a school.” You deadpanned. 

“My lover doesn’t appreciate me.” Karma whined, resting his head on your shoulder. It was an oddly domestic gesture— at least in his mind. Being this… touchy. It was unlike him. His hands itched into a fist, but he didn’t feel the need to punch like he usually did. 

“You’re right, I don’t.” You rolled your eyes.

“Harsh.” He chuckled, chin digging into your shoulder as he pouted, his free hand tugging your arm. “You’re supposed to be nice to lovers, babe. Don’t you know that?”

Of course, he didn’t know too well either as he grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him with a smirk that looked way too pleased with himself.

“Y’know,” He mused as his thumb rubbed against your bottom lip. “I’ve been having a bit of a problem lately.”

“Yeah?” Your hand ran up his shirt, pulling him down just slightly by the collar. More gentle than he ever deserved, closer to you than he ever thought he’d be. “Like what?”

It was a little fast. Only a week into his first fake relationship, but somehow, he found he didn’t mind. Not because he actually loved you— more of your company, of feeling liked and supported. In all honesty, when Karma stayed up late at night, thinking about where this would go, how it would end, he wished you never met.

But that felt like a far-away wish right now, with the way you held him close. Karma had to bite his tongue to stop the warmth creeping up his neck, engulfing his ears. The whole ‘touchy’ thing was a little embarrassing.

“Can I?” He asked, disregarding your question. Specifying was a waste of time, with the way his eyes were locked on your lips. “Please?”

And, surprisingly, you obliged immediately. Fingers tracing his neck, pulling him in to close the gap. Kissing Karma felt different from normal. It was as if every feeling was heightened. 

He was slow, tentative and soft. A hand on your cheek, the other one on your waist, holding your body tight to his. Karma was a good kisser. A really good kisser, especially without his usual teasing. He pulled away to breathe, mercury eyes searching your face before he was back to savouring the moment.

It was only when he stumbled home — lips marred with red that for once wasnt blood, and a taste in his mouth that definitely wasn’t strawberry milk — did he groan, banging his forehead against his door.

“I swear I only fell for you…”

[sparklingcid3r]

The words were out, hanging in dead space between them. So cruel and violent. Pony wished he could take them back, but no retraction would ever repair the damage he’d caused.

Something in Darry must have died that night. Or maybe Ponyboy had finally killed what little was left of him, and snuffed out any chance he had of getting his relationship with his big brother back.

In which words sometimes speak much, much louder than actions.

-

Pony always thought that Darry would be the one to cross the line first. Pony knew how to put a cork over his fury; tasting copper was better than a verbal beatdown. Biting his tongue was one of the few things Pony was better at than his brother.

But he really ought to have known, with his nose constantly shoved in a book and all that. With enough pressure, every dam will break.

Darry’s eyes glittered like ice as he stood from the recliner, his arms folded. Soda was there, too, though he stayed curled up on the couch, letting Darry play bad guy.

“Where the hell have you been, Ponyboy? Curfew was two hours ago.”

Pony was tired. He wasn’t in the mood, so he kept his gaze low. “You guys didn’t have to wait up. I was fine.”

“How are we supposed to know that? You didn’t tell us about your plans after school, you didn’t call, nothing. When you don’t show up, what are we supposed to think?”

He shrugged. “I don’t gotta share everything with you.”

Darry thought that was a hoot. Pony could tell by the mean scowl on his face as he said it.

“So long as you keep your nose outta trouble, you know I don’t care what you do.” That was true. After the accident, Darry could have been a lot worse. By all means, he should have been. A lot had changed in their family, he supposed, and Darry was trying out a few new tactics.

He ran roughshod over Pony’s retort before he could make it. “You didn’t even think to tell me you’d be out late, so here we are, making sure our kid brother ain’t been left for dead somewhere, worrying our asses off, just for you to walk in, right as rain.”

Somewhere along the way, Soda ceased to exist in their world. He couldn’t have said when.

“Glory, Darry, are you happy to see me or not?” Pony snapped. “Make up your damn mind!”

“Happy?” Darry scoffed. “Yeah, I sure am happy you think the rules we have in this house, under my roof, don’t apply to you.”

“I ain’t saying that—“

“Then what are you sayin’? ‘Cause all I been hearin’ is a load of bull.”

Darry was getting real mad. He liked keeping his southern twang on the down low—Pony figured it had something to do with his bitterness over not getting the hell out of Tulsa—but it flared up when he got all riled.

Pony knew he should throw in the towel and just start appeasing, but the tiniest spark of indignation lit a whole fuse in his chest, and suddenly he was hollering right back.

“I don’t gotta tell you anything, you said so yourself! I wasn’t doing nothing wrong, so what if I show up an hour or two late? I’m here, aren’t I?” And it felt real good seeing, even for a second, the startle in Darry’s face, that his pathetic little brother could spit fire right back. “All you do is holler my ears off, day and night. Lay off already!”

Darry recovered so quick that if Pony had blinked, he’d have missed that sweet moment altogether. “You better watch that tone, Ponyboy, or so help me God.”

“Naw, you don’t go pulling this with Soda. Why does he get to do hell all without no permission?”

“Because Sodapop’s pulling his damn weight around here, helping me pay our bills and for our groceries. And this is how you repay us, by sneaking around past curfew and letting me think some Socs got their hands on you.”

Pony never wanted to do to Darry what he thought the Socs would do more than in that moment. He wanted to wrap his knuckles and sock his brother in the mouth, see how he liked it being someone else’s punching bag. Using Soda like that was a low blow.

Of course, he was about as capable of hurting Darry as a fly was against a bear, but his chest is too hot and tight to consider retreating now.

“If money’s all you care about, I’ll drop outta school and get a job. How’s that sound?”

“Don’t you go even entertainin’ that thought.”

“Then don’t you go dragging Soda into this!”

“Why shouldn’t I? You’re killin’ us, Ponyboy! That’s all you been tryna do lately, send us both to an early grave!”

“You wanna talk about graves? Mom and Dad are gone and all you’ve been doing is tryna replace them, but you ain’t even good at pretending to know what you’re doing!”

Shame was already boiling in the pits of his stomach, but his anger blinded him. The best he could do was turn his back and flee.

Darry caught Pony by his bicep. His grip was tight, and Pony’s first thought was that he was about to be tossed into the couch. “Don’t you dare pull that shit on me, Ponyboy Michael, using them against me—“

Pony wrenched his arm free and whirled on his heels, smacking Darry’s hand with a snarl carved out of his face. He pointed an accusing finger and let his fury loose in the worst way he could think of:

“I wish you had died instead!”

Time froze. His hand wasn’t quick enough to cage the monstrous words back into his mouth. They were acidic and would have burned on the way back down, but he would have preferred it.

Even Soda, watching from a distance, was stunned into abject silence, his lips parted and his chest heaving up and down, yet he made no sounds.

That was all it took. Not a clenched fist adorned with sharp rings or a heater packing back to back rounds. Six words laced with vitriol from the mouth of his kid brother, and Darrel Curtis buckled.

What did Pony say next? Should he speak at all? He peered through Darry’s glassy eyes and saw the fresh devastation they harbored within. Where he saw it most, though, was where it did not show itself at all. Darry’s hands were loose at his sides, unfurled and calm. He was perfectly still, not even harsh pocketfuls of air shaking his shoulders as they so typically did. Save for his shuttering expression—a coldness steadily fought for the place of raw hurt—Darry was just a body stood upright.

“Darry, I…” Ponyboy‘s rasp was wet and quivering. He felt the heat of shame and tears on his face, burning his ears and behind his eyes. The words shriveled up when they reached the cusp of his tightening throat.

Sodapop tried to intervene. His hand went up as if to brush Darry’s arm, but he thought better and settled on hovering just above.

“Hey, Dar—“

“Go,” said Darry, strained. “You have school tomorrow. Go to bed, Ponyboy.”

Pony nodded immediately, but Darry was the first to retreat. He pulled away from Soda. Pony staggered back to let him through, and he was spared no glance in the aftermath, not that he deserved it. He didn’t deserve any of what Darry had spent the past two months giving him, or anything that came after.

It was only a matter of time before Darry hated him for it, and he was pretty sure he just set that process on a fast track to fruition.

[stars4seraphim]

Soft Katsuki Bakugou x Autistic S/O Headcanons??

yayyy my first (actual) post ^_^ I wrote these headcanons to fit similarly to what i deal with as an autistic.

═══════•°• 💥 •°•═══════

═══════•°• 💥 •°•═══════

Katsuki notices patterns quickly — your stimming, your quiet habits, the way you need things a certain way.

He might not say it directly, but he'll quietly accommodate your needs. Like if he knows certain textures or lights overwhelm you, he’ll adjust the environment a bit without making a big deal out of it.

“Tch. These lights suck. I’m turning ‘em off.” (When really, he’s noticed they bother you.)

He’s not naturally the best with soft words, but he learns how you prefer to communicate. Whether it’s through shorter conversations, written notes, or just spending quiet time together, he adapts over time.

He may struggle at first with not taking shutdowns or quiet spells personally, but once he understands it's how your brain works, he adjusts fast.

Meltdowns trigger his protective side. If someone stares, makes rude comments, or just doesn’t get it? He’s right there with a glare and a growl: “What the hell are you lookin’ at?”

In private, he’ll be your anchor. He doesn’t force words — just stays close, keeps the room calm, might offer pressure (like a weighted blanket or his arms around you if that’s what helps), and waits until you're ready.

If you stim to regulate, he might gently mirror it without comment, or hand you your favourite stim toy.

Physical affection is important to him, but he learns to wait until you initiate— or gets used to asking: “You want a hug or not?”

He never pushes you into sensory-heavy situations. In fact, he’s happy to duck out early if you’re overwhelmed. “We’re leavin’. I’m bored anyway.” (Liar— he just saw you needing space.)

You never have to mask around him. He’ll call out anyone who tries to “correct” your behavior or treat you like a burden.

He’s also secretly proud when you do things that are difficult for you— even small stuff like making eye contact or speaking up.

“Damn right you told them off. You were badass.”

Katsuki is absolutely softer with you than anyone else.

He’s still gruff, still Katsuki, but his tone with you is less explosive, more grounded. He’s not afraid to sit in silence with you— he respects that comfort.

Occasionally, when you’re overwhelmed or tired, he’d pull you into a hoodie-clad hug and mumble: “You don’t gotta explain. I got you.”

He absolutely adores way your eyes light up when you talk about your special interests.

The way you hum or tap your fingers when you're calm.

How you line things up or keep them in a certain order — he’ll never touch them. In fact, he’ll yell at others who do.

If you info-dump, he listens, sometimes pretending to be annoyed, but he's secretly storing every detail. “Wait, wasn’t that guy you mentioned in that one thing with the time loops or whatever?”

He learns patience, you learn to trust someone with your needs.

He doesn’t treat you like you’re fragile— he treats you like you’re you. Capable, smart, and worthy of love and respect.

But he also recognizes when the world’s too much, and he’ll fight it for you, no questions asked.

═══════•°• 💥 •°•═══════

Intamate Moments (Non-S3xual, focusing on affection, sensory needs, emotional closeness)

═══════•°• 💥 •°•═══════-

Katsuki’s the type to want to show you he cares, but the second he realizes that typical affection (like surprise hugs, intense eye contact, or rough teasing) might overwhelm you, he immediately adjusts.

He doesn’t say it outright, but it’s clear: your comfort is more important than his ego or usual pace.

“If it’s too much, just tell me, alright? I ain’t gonna blow up about it.”

Consent and comfort come before his priorities.

He doesn’t kiss you the moment he can. Instead, he asks — awkwardly at first.

“Can I—uh… I mean, if you want, I could… kiss you?” (Cue red face, but he means it.)

If you flinch from sudden touches, he learns to announce affection before doing it— “I’m gonna touch your hand, okay?” — or waits for you to make the first move.

Cuddling might start out side-by-side, not tangled up. He’s fine with that. Eventually, if you’re up for it, he becomes a protective big spoon, one hand resting lightly on you— never squeezing unless you ask for it.

He offers his hoodie a lot. Not just for warmth, but because it smells like him, it’s heavy, and it comforts you.

If you stim when flustered (fidgeting, flapping, etc.), he never mocks it— he finds it kind of cute and grounding.

If certain textures make you pull away (like rough hands, scratchy shirts, etc.), he starts moisturizing, wearing softer fabrics— even if he grumbles about it.

“Dumb lotion smells like flowers, but you don’t flinch when I touch you now, so... whatever.”

He notices when your body stiffens, when your breathing changes, and immediately backs off. It’s not rejection to him— it’s information.

Sometimes you don’t say you’re okay with something — you show it in posture or repeated behaviour. Katsuki learns your love language like a damn expert.

He might not be “soft” with everyone, but with you? He’s gentle. Low voice, soft hands, quiet presence.

”You don’t gotta do anything you don’t want to do. I’m good just being here with you.”

First forehead kiss? He messes it up and bumps your nose. You laugh. He dies a little inside but will try again.

He doesn't like PDA, but if you need grounding or reassurance in public (like a hand on your back or holding your pinky), he’s there. No hesitation.

On shutdown days, when you need space and can’t handle any touch or conversation, he just sets your favorite snack near you and sits close, quiet, letting you know he’s there when you're ready.

He never demands you be “affectionate” to prove you care. He knows you do.

“I don’t need all that clingy crap. Just gimme your time. That’s enough.”

GOODNESS GARAGEBAND THIS IS SO SOFT SOB 😭