#HE'S MY WEE DARLIN

[bassboosted-moon-chao]

Here he is!

This is Aibo-stin "Gadgetbo" Tamare, or Gadget for short! Named after Inspector Gadget, he's a black Aibo ERS-111 from late 1999. He hasn't been fully tested yet but will be today! Hoping he works right.

[17020]

BLUEPRINT

Soshiro Hoshina is great at following blueprints and maps, always finding his way back to you. Right?

TAGS . . . fluff/crack, clingy Hoshina, reader is called 'beautiful', this is my first time writing for kn8, expect more in the future! dedicated to @nyxypoo , for helping me organize my brainrot, and also to @maruflix , for introducing me to the manga in the first place.

Soshiro "Don't get attached to anyone" Hoshina had finally come to terms with the fact that, in order to sleep he needed warmth; one which only a human could provide.

Which is why he found himself in the wee hours of the morning completely awake, unable to catch a wink of sleep. His fingers desperately tapped over the screen of his phone, typing a message. When he sent it, his attention shifted to the background photo of his chat—a picture of a certain officer watching the sunset on the dormitories' terrace.

SOSHI <3 02:41 When are you cominggg I need you

YOU 02:41 I'm going in rn, I'll be there in 5

SOSHI <3 02:42 I'll get the toolbox then Good luck, sweetheart

Having been sworn to secrecy by Soshiro himself, you could not afford to have anyone find out about your relationship with the Third Division's vice-captain. It could jeopardize your job as a platoon leader, and also put both of your lives at risk. Because gossip flows like an endless river, and could eventually reach higher-ups, or worse, an identified kaiju disguised in human flesh.

You carefully aligned the screwdriver with the last screw left. Twisting it, you took it off and placed it with the other three under your pillow, inhaling deeply before taking off the vent panel and sliding in.

You knew the route like the back of your hand, the flashlight from your phone now deemed as unnecessary, for the amount of times in which you crawled through the Third Division's vent systems exceeded the hundreds. The cameras in the hallways would deem it suspicious if you went to sneak out to Soshiro's room directly, which is why you settled on using the vents.

You crawled and crawled, turning every few minutes until you reached your opening. Poking your head out you saw your boyfriend, waiting for you with open arms.

"Aww, is my little worm ready to be carried?" he cooed, his arms now on your sides as he pulled you towards him. You scoffed at the name, "You call me a worm again and I won't help you ever again."

He tilted his head back as he laughed, heading back to his bed, which had the covers already pulled back. He climbed in and patted the spot next to him, grinning from ear to ear when you laid next to him as he took the opportunity to place his head on your chest and wrap his arms around your waist.

"You've no idea how much I missed ya, darlin'."

"We saw each other in the cafeteria a few hours ago, Soshi" you smiled, your fingers running through his hair. You felt him pout as he whined, stating that a few hours were enough to drive him wild.

"Y'know that's not enough, beautiful."

When you agreed to date the Soshiro Hoshina you knew what you were signing up for. Every breathing moment, the vice-captain had to have his hands on you, whether it was his hand grazing yours during meetings, to him latching on to you in order to sleep.

You were his drug. Plain and simple.

It didn't take long for your boyfriend to fall asleep. Your presence alone was comforting, with your body offering him the peace and quiet that he longed for after a hard day at work. Unbeknownst to him, you took a bit longer to join him in dreamland, as you first had to hear the little sentences your boyfriend murmured here and there while fully asleep.

On tonight's menu? "...jus' wanna... be like this... forever."

Apparently, 'forever' lasted for around... half a day. 'Forever' did not include an incident with a honju, which ended up in you having to stay in the infirmary, after stepping in to help someone from your platoon.

Bed rest was mandatory. Those were the orders given to you by the vice-captain, after all. Having encountered and fought a fungal-type kaiju, he demanded you spend the night in the infirmary, in case there were any issues with spores.

Soshiro eyed the photo on his phone various times, only stopping to check the time. 1:34 am. Good enough, right?

SOSHI <3 01:35 Alright beautiful, I'm going in I think you're gonna have to get up from the bed to let me in tho I'll let you know when I'm there

YOU 01:36 The iv is in my left arm so I'll be good Good luck, handsome!!

The flashlight on Soshiro's phone was on, the photo on his screen displaying the blueprint of the vent system. The trajectory was simple: go straight, then right, then right again, and then straight into the infirmary vents. Plus, it would be way easier for him to recognize, as you promised him you would play some music from your phone for him to know which room it was.

And so, Soshiro Hoshina embarked on what could be the hardest mission of his life. He wondered how you were able to do this every night without fail, then do it again in the morning before the other platoon leaders woke up. He gained newfound admiration for you as he crawled his way into your room, his forehead red from hitting his head against dead ends multiple times.

At last, he found the panel.

There it was, the soft classical music playing in the room. Weird, he thought, Yn never really listens to this type of music. He shrugged it off, believing that it might have been a special signal just for him.

"Psst—hey—special delivery coming through."

Silence. You must have fallen asleep.

"Yn" he whisper-yelled, "Angel, open the vent for me, yeah? It's kinda cramped in here."

No response.

He sighed as he pressed the call button, uncomfortably holding the phone against his ear. When he noticed your phone didn't ring, he assumed it was silenced. The vibrations surely would wake you up, right?

YOU: Soshi, are you here? I don't see you anywhere

SOSHI <3: Angel I'm here, I followed the music—didn't know ya liked classical

YOU: Classical? Baby, I'm playing Ciara.

SOSHI <3: Then whose room am I in?

The moment Soshiro heard the growl of a feline, he ended the call.

SOSHI <3 02:53 HOLY SHHIT I THINK I ENDED UP IN CAPTAIN ASHIRO'S ROOM

YOU 02:53 HOSHINA THAT WAS ON THE OTHER SIDE DID YOU EVEN READ THE BLUEPRINT???

SOSHI <3 02:54 Oh so I'm Hoshina now. You don't love me. Btw I'm stuck and Bakko found me I love you

"Vice-captain Hoshina? Is that you in the vent?"

Soshiro Hoshina swore he had shit his pants.

[mayababes19]

Wrap Around Me, Darlin'

⚠️ MDNI, Toji x F!Reader, Toji x Afab!Reader, Dom!Toji, Sub!Reader, Degradtion, smut ⚠️

A small (late, I apologize pookie 🙇🏾‍♀️) birthday gift for, @screampied. Please. I struggled on the ending for the past week, I didn't know how to end this 😭.

---‐--------‐-------------‐---------------------------------------------

Christmas. 

One of the holidays Toji didn’t care for. Toji was your long-distance boyfriend. Always sending gifts and face-timing when he could, but this year? Oh, this year was different. 

He had a plan. A real good plan. 

“Toji,I miss you. I haven’t seen you in 2 months.” once again. You decided to annoy your boyfriend in the wee hours of the morning. 1 am on Christmas to be exact. 

“And you decided to call at 1 am to complain?” He smirked. Damn. He looked so good. He gave you a clear view as he walked around in the streets. A bomber jacket, a white low v-neck,  and black cargo pants. “Hey darlin’, want your gift early?” He looked directly into the camera. Early? He was going to give it to you early? “Um,” you debated internally if you wanted to wait a couple of hours or not. ‘Fuck it’, you thought. Right now, you wish you had Toji instead of the small jewelry, bouquet of roses, etc he would usually get you. “Yes, please”.

Suddenly, the call got cut leaving you alone in the dark. “What just?-” you sat up in bed, frantically looking for your charger in the dark thinking your phone died. As you were searching, a knock was heard on your apartment door. You froze. It was 1 am, why was someone or something at your door? Without a second thought, you grabbed a bat just in case as you walked closer peering through the peephole. You couldn't believe your eyes. Eagerly, you unlocked the door and swung it open.

“Hey Darlin’”.

Shit.

Here he was. Toji was standing proudly in front of your door, his voice deep and silky. “Missed me?” “Are you crazy?! It’s 1 am, I wasn’t expecting you to show up!” He only smirked. Loving getting a rise out of you. “What? You wanted your present.” You stepped aside letting him in from the freezing air. “C’mere..” Toji gently pulled you into a soft yet rough kiss as you closed and locked the door. You wanted this. You missed him so much.

Toji carefully led you to your bedroom, the back of your knees hitting the edge of your bed. "You'll love your gift, Darlin'" He mumbled. Toji soon moved to your neck, leaving love bites as he tasted your skin. He was rough but also gentle. Little did you know that'll change soon. Toji pulled away, admiring the hickeys he left on your neck. He knew you'd have a hard time covering them and that gave him an ego boost.

"Strip," Toji ordered. He had a smug grin as he leaned back against your dresser. "Strip for me, darlin'." You knew he was serious. You started taking off your clothes, slowly, teasing and giving him a show. Toji grunted as he watched, trying to keep it together. "Teasing, huh? You know what'll happen if you keep going, Darlin'". He was right. Last time you teased him when he visited, you couldn't walk for 2 days. You got wetter as you remembered Toji dominating you that night. "Look at you," he cooed. "You're dripping down your thighs and I only kissed you. That needy, baby girl?"

Toji lifted himself off of your dresser and strode towards you, pushing you down on the bed. "All that beggin' and whining over the phone and now you're shocked? Tell me what you want, baby" he muttered as he got on his knees, kissing down your thighs. "Toji-" you gasped. Toji parted your thighs, licking his lips. "I missed my favorite dessert". Before you could even respond, Toji attacked your pussy eagerly licking and sucking like a starved man.

Lick after lick, you got wetter. He knew exactly how to get you going. "Tell me, baby girl," he parted your folds, sliding two fingers in. "What do you want?" He whispered, his hot breath fanning against your clit as he thrusted his fingers in and out. You moaned, arching your back. "Mmph.. Toji, fuck.." He barely even started and already made you speechless.

His fingers were so thick.. so long...

You looked down, your gaze meeting Toji's as he stared up at you through his bangs, sucking your clit and fingering you. "F-fuck Toji... I want you. I need you" you whined, squirming. Toji placed one of his arms across your stomach, holding you down as he continued to feast. He was driving you crazy and he's only been here for twenty minutes.

"Toji, please!-" Toji finally let up. A string of saliva connected his lips to your cunt as he pulled away. "Such a good girl for me, darlin,'". He smirked. He lifted his arm off of you and kissed up your chest. "A very good girl". You were breathing heavily, trying to process what he just did.

Toji sat up, removing his jacket, shirt, and shoes teasing your nipples in between - leaving him only in his boxers. He slid his fingers down, teasing your cunt once again. "On your knees, baby girl". You bent down, coming face to face with his bulge. Even with his boxers on, you could tell he was big.

You looked up at Toji, his eyes lidded as you pulled his boxers down. "Mm, you look so pretty on your knees for me." He teased. His thick, curved, and veiny cock sprung out - nearly hitting you. "Toji, did you.." you paused, too stunned to even finish. "Grow? Maybe, maybe not". He was so cocky. So.. fuck. He irritated you at times but damn did you love him. "Use those pretty lips, darlin'".

You wrapped your lips around his veiny cock, gagging as you try to take him in your throat. "C-come on, open that pretty mouth of yours, darlin'," he grunted. Toji's eyes glossed over as he watched you. "Such a pretty slut for me.." he cooed. Toji loved this. You were so sloppy whenever you sucked him off and every time he went back home, all he thought about was you on your knees using that sloppy mouth of yours.

You took Toji deeper causing the 6'2 foot man to moan, his eyes closing as he tilted his head back. Fuck. You thought he looked so sexy. Toji's eyes opened halfway and he pulled you head away, picking you up and tossing you on the bed. "Toji!" You glared at him but he didn't care. He couldn't wait anymore. And neither could you. "Shut up..." He kissed you, his tongue sliding between your lips as he crawled on top of you. The kiss was rough amd bruising, yet, passionate. He pulled away, a string of saliva connecting the both of your swollen lips.

"I'm going to fuck you all night until the only think you can remember is my name and the feeling of my dick pounding your little cunt, understand darlin'?" You nodded and Toji sat up positioning himself. "Toji, please.." you pleaded. You were aching for him and all he did was smirk and tease you. Such an asshole. He rubbed his cockhead against your enterance, slightly pushing in before pulling right back out. You whined and squirmed. "Beg for it," he mocked. "Beg for it like a little slut".

"I want you to fuck me. Please fuck me, Toji. I need you" you begged. "Good girl". Toji looked directly in your eyes as he pushed in, causing you to gasp and moan.

He was big. You felt every inch, every vein..

"Gasping already, darlin'? I only just started" he was indeed just getting started. "Nah.. we're not doing missionary. I'm going to give you something better. You're going to feel every inch of me as I rearrange your guts, baby girl. It's christmas, darlin'.." Toji flipped you over onto your stomach into the pronr bone position and started pounding into you.

You moaned, grabbing the sheets as your eyes rolled back. Toji leaned down kissing your neck, leaving hickeys. "Keep moaning for me, darlin'." He groaned. "Fuck, you feel so good baby girl. So wet and tight for me".

You reached a hand down rubbing your clit before Toji yanked it away causing you to whine, "ah, cute. Tryin' to cum early, hm? No baby... not gonna let you. You're going to take what I give you." "I'm sorry, Toji-" "Too late for that, slut."

Toji pulled out and grabbed your hips, flipping you onto your back. "Aww, look at you. You're clenching around nothing, baby. Such a needy whore for me". He propped up one of your legs onto his leg shoulder, still holding your hips before sliding back in. "Wrap your pretty cunt tight around me, darlin'". You grabbed his bicepts for support as he started thrusting again. You arched your back as you cried out. "F-fuck Toji..!"

He was smirking, "Take it like a good girl, baby.." Toji was hitting your g-spot repeatedly causing you to moan louder and louder. "You're so loud, darlin'. Trying to let your neighbors hear how much of a whore you are? Hm?" He teased, his movements speeding up. At this rate, you were close to seeing stars and babbling. He was like beast. He was fucking you so good. Toji spat on your clit and rubbed it with his thumb as he fucked you. He was so nasty. You heard slushing noises every time he moved deeper and deeper, nearly bottoming out. "Mmm, close t-toji.." you cooed. "Beg for me to let you cum. Say it, slut. Use your words and beg".

Every thrust and rub against your clit got you closer. You could feel your stomach tightening. "Please. Please let me cum, Toji." You begged. "Aht, not good enough" Toji added more pressure onto your clit. "M-mmph. Fuck. T-toji please..." you eyes rolled back as you moaned and your breathing hitched. "Please let me cum, Toji. I'll be g-good". Toji finally let up. "Cum for me, baby girl". After he said that, your climax hit you like a train and he slowed his thrusts slightly amd removed his thumb. Toji kissed you through your climax before pulling away. "Good girl.." Toji pulled out and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling you with him.

"You can cum again? Right, baby?" He questioned. You nodded as he slid you down onto his cock. You bit your lip and wrapped your arms around his neck as you bounced up and down.

"Look at me as you ride me, darlin'" You looked at his face and it was so pretty. Bangs stuck to his sweaty forehead, eyes lidded, and his breathing labored as he made eye contact with you. The moonlight shined through the curtains highlighting his features. You sped up your movements causing the black-haired man to moan "fuck baby.." he groaned, throwing his head back. You kissed his neck as you rode him causing him to moan louder and more whiney. You left hickeys in every spot you kissed. Toji gripped your hips for support as you rode him faster. "I'm close, baby girl.."

You grinned. You knew this was perfect opportunity for revenge. You sped up your movements once more causing the buff man to moan your name and whine. Not long after, you both came together, moaning.

You collapsed onto Toji's chest as he fell back onto the bed. "Fuck darlin'.. I might have to stay until New Years..." He huffed, wrapping his arms around you.

This was the best Christmas present you could've wished for.

[letorip]

kiss with a fist [iii]

"your slaps don't stick, your kicks don't hit, so we remain the same"

===+++===

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: you can't help but feel like maybe you and tara are more than frenemies, and it culminates in a night where you finally share some truths with each other.

warnings: a somewhat traumatic dream sequence lmao, mentions of sex, kissing (almost), curse words, blood

word count: 5.8k

A/N: hope y'all like this one because i definitely liked writing it. definitely a whole lot more kissing than fisting.... wait a minute....

it's 5 am, my ass is grass. anyways, part 4 relatively soon because woo wee theres still so much to explore in this story i legitimately cant believe my idiot self said it'd be done in 2 parts originally

===+++===

===+++===

"(Y/n)," a voice calls to you, sing-song and sweet as your eyes fade to darkness. It's a gentle woman's whisper, but it manages to hit you like a truck, pulling you down from wherever you came from, and plopping you wherever you've arrived. Or, rather, wherever you've always been. "(Y/n), look, darlin'."

A gust of wind gently strokes over the plane of your cheek, and when you open your eyes, all you can see is rye. On one end, it reaches out towards a sharp cliff, overlooking a lake, with nothing but rocks and the water below. On the other, it runs far up the plains of land in front of you, stopping in front of the white house you know all too well, with its rickety porch and broken tire swing.

You take a few steps forward, as if ready to run right inside, and then before you know it, you're running. Like the world is about to end, like the house is burning down, like you'll never see the place ever again. Foot after foot, you dash towards it, hearing Alisha's piano flit through the front window for the first time in years, and the smell of a pie right along with it. "(Y/n)!" the voice calls again. "Dinner time, kid!"—

But your foot catches on a root, just like it did in your memory, and in an instant, you've fallen down into the rye, with a painful thud, right on your face. You let out a grunt, feeling the dirt on your new, white shirt. The one your mother never let you wear when you were playing outside.

And when you right yourself again, sitting up out of the field, the house isn't any closer than it was before. It sits, perfectly far away, only all that stuff is gone now, and the house looks about as dark as it did the day of Mitchie's funeral.

"(Y/n)!" an excited voice calls from behind you. "Wanna play tag?"

"(Y/n)'s too old for that, Mitchie," another voice chides, and you whip around like Calvin would actually be there to chide him like that. Like he used to. But he isn't. All you can see is the rye. It stands in thick stalks, reaching up to your knees in lush groupings, tall and abundant, strong and growing.

Another voice. "Read me a story?" It's soft and it's a little girl's and it's far away, and you get to your feet and spin in a circle, waiting for her to appear. It seemed to reverberate through your ears, washing through the pathways of your brain before seeping into your heart. It fills it up, and before you know it, you can feel yourself hastily searching for her.

"'Randa?" you called into the open field. "Miranda? You there?" but she continues on like she didn't hear you.

"Would you read me a story? Please?"

"I will Miranda, but where are you?" you called back, raising a hand to shield your eyes from the barrel of the hot sun.

"I'm gone, (Y/n). You're supposed to be gone too," she says back, with a sweet giggle. "Why aren't you gone with us?"

"I—" you stammer, whipping your head around the field in search of your siblings. "I don't—"

"Do you really think that's fair, (Y/n)?" Calvin asks.

"Why aren't you here, (Y/n)?" Miranda asks again, this time her voice wavering like she was about to cry. "Why aren't you in the rye with us?" Your hands came up to your head, trying to squeeze your eyes shut and block out the noises, but they seemed to reverberate into your skull.

"Mitchie was your fault, you know," Peter chides. "We would've never let that—"

"—Why did you get to stay, (Y/n)?" Came Tomas' voice. "We're supposed to be cursed, and you're supposed to be cursed too." He was always the quiet one, but now his voice had a sharp edge to it. One of jealousy. One of anger.

"Why didn't you catch me?" Mitchie asked. "If you just would've caught me..."

"Come play piano with me, I'll teach you," said Alisha, in her light, airy laugh.

"Why did it get to be you?" snarled Calvin. "And why are you getting closer to Tara? You want to curse her, too?"

"Stop—" you stammered, squeezing your eyes shut tighter.

"Wanna play hopscotch?" said Mitchie.

"Do you miss us, (Y/n)?" Alisha said, in between tears.

"Yes, of course— I—" you tried, but now the voices were filling up your head, threatening to spill over and knocking you to the ground. You curled up into a ball as your brain filled up. Words piling up on top of words, piling up on top of words, about to split you open. "STOP!" you yelled.

And everything went silent. When you opened your eyes, you found yourself still in the field, but your siblings' voices had gone entirely. Now it was just you, in the field, alone with the rustling of the wind and the rye, as it grazed gently against your legs. You hadn't remembered standing up, but you were now.

In a flash, you could see a shape, running through the rye in a line that was very visible from where you were. You recognised the dark hair, and the yellow jacket he always wore. With the realisation came the looming dread, and you realised with very little time left what this exactly was a memory of.

You took off running, faster than you had to the house, faster than you had ever run, and faster than you had run then, chasing after him as he took off towards the cliff-end of your rye field. "Mitchie!" you yelled, trying to be louder than the buzzing cicadas, but it seemed the moment you yelled, the cicadas got even louder. He was too short to see over the stalks, but you could see him go, running in odd shapes as he got nearer and nearer to the cliffs edge.

"Catch me if you can, (Y/n)!" he called back with a gleeful laugh.

"(Y/n), grab your brother," called your mother. She didn't seem too worried, and she hadn't been, then. No one had been, until it was too late.

"Mitchie! Stop!" you cried out, feeling tears already beginning to fall down your cheeks. "Mitchie!" you tried again.

"Come on, you've gotta be faster than that if you're gonna be it!” Mitchie called back. "Catch me! Get me! C'mon! I'm gonna make it hard for you to win, Duck."

"MITCHIE! PLEASE!" you screamed, but all he did was giggle. “STOP! DON’T GO!” But the moment you reached the end of the rye, he was gone over the edge, just he had been when you were 13, and there was an arm shaking you awake.

===+++===

"Oh my god, you're about the least peaceful sleeper I've literally ever seen," Tara laughed, grinning at you from over her textbook. She had it pulled into her lap from her side of the table and titled against the table edge, and spread out in front of you were her papers galore, with notes scribbled all over them in preparation for her upcoming exam.

Mindy sat next to her, playing a stupid game on her phone, while Ethan was also studying in his own textbook. He had stopped trying to avoid you as much, as had Chad. You and Tara "dating" seemed to offend them less and less the longer it went on.

"Uh," you mumbled, still feeling a little bit disoriented from the dream. It was like a dose of adrenaline had been shot directly into your heart, and you struggled to adjust to the calm, peaceful library that actually was around you. "Shut up," you grumbled, but not like you were actually upset by her teasing.

Tara watched you with her eyebrows raised. "You look tired."

You sat up in your chair, running a hand through your hair. There was a small layer of sweat on your forehead. "Aren't you never supposed to say that to someone? Pretty sure that's how you get someone at the bar to throw their drink in your face."

"It is," Ethan nodded. "I made that mistake once. I was trying to be sweet."

"Good thing I'm not seducing you, then," Tara shrugged. "You've seen me puke everywhere. Pretty sure that ruined my chances right-out, and yet you love me anyways."

You grinned, leaning back to stretch out your arms. It was meant to be a gentle teasing from Tara, but you had only gotten better and better at deflecting the longer you were around her. "You'd be surprised, actually. That was super pretty. That was the prettiest you've ever been." Mindy snorted next to Tara.

Tara glared at you, unappreciatively. "And you're pretty when you do not speak."

"I'm pretty all the time, Tara," you mockingly shook your head. "And you think I'm joking. Find yourself a girl who looks nice covered in sweat, with her hair going everywhere, and puking in the toilet. That's my girlfriend."

"You're such a dick," Tara scoffed, but you could tell part of her was stifling a laugh. It was funny to her too, and you both had laughed at it together for days, afterwards.

If anything, it had gotten easier and easier, to act like the both of you were actually dating. You weren't too sure why, maybe Tara had become less annoying, or you had become less annoyed by her, but you had definitely at least become a better actor. That's what it was, after all. "Oh, also," she continued.

"Yeah?"

"Someone tried to call your phone, while you were sleeping. I think it was your dad."

You frowned. "You didn't pick up, right?"

"No," Tara said, shaking her head. Then she paused. She dropped her voice to speak just to you, guarding the conversation from Mindy and Ethan. "Do you and him not get along?"

You shrugged. "Eh. He was probably just checking in. We have a fine relationship." It wasn't true but it was an easy lie, that rolled off the tongue like nothing. He had already called twice, that day, and you knew why.

"Seriously, though," she said with a frown, looking up from her book. "You look fucking horrifying—"

"—Thanks," you said, flatly.

"—I mean, even more than normal, it's crazy—"

"—Thanks," you repeated.

"—Have you not been sleeping, or something?"

You shrugged. "I mean, I'm an architecture major, and it's midterms... so not really."

"Hm."

"What?" you asked, propping your head up on your arm. "What's the 'hm' for?"

She shrugged, trying to turn back to her textbook. "Hm, nothing."

You furrowed your eyebrows down at her. "Well, obviously the 'hm' was something, Tara." Mindy shot you a look again.

"Or it was just a hm."

“Would you two shush,” she said to you, rolling her eyes. “You bicker like an old married couple.” But you both ignored her.

"It's never just a 'hm.'"

"I say hm all the time. It's literally just a hm."

"No, it means you've got something to say but don't want to say it."

She frowned at the accusation but was obviously even more displeased that you were correct. "I was gonna suggest we go to the OBK party tonight, but maybe you should just go home and sleep. I was trying to be nice.”

You shrugged. "I won't be doing either, actually." Tonight was not the night for parties. You were somewhat grateful, that you had a legitimate excuse to busy your time, or else you would've spent even longer thinking about the dream. "I have to do homework. My final is due tomorrow."

Tara furrowed her eyebrows at you. "Wait, but I thought classes ended today."

You shook your head. "Nope. I've still got some stuff do."

"Oh," Tara frowned.

"Not all of us can have easy majors," you teased, trying to lighten the mood away from what was clearly concern.

"Hey! You chose the stupid thing," Tara shot back. "Not my fault I chose something fun." She stood up, gathering her things into a neat stack. The time was nearing for her midterm exam, and you stood up with her, grabbing her textbook to be helpful.

"Thanks," she said, then she wandered over and held out her hand. You grabbed it in yours, lacing your fingers together, just like you had practiced together.

The library was a tall building on the far side of campus from where you lived. It was a trek and a half to get there, which is partially why you had been a little annoyed, when Tara said she needed to go there. It ended up being the perfect place to fall asleep in, with the quiet signs and only a few murmurs now and again, and though it had been a less than peaceful dream, it was more than you had been getting for the past few days.

"I don't see why you can't just go without me," you shrugged, adjusting her book in your hands. "Just tell Sam I'll meet you there. Besides, Chad and Mindy are going to the same party, right?"

"Yeah, but I what if they realise you're not actually there and mention it to Sam, or something? And, I'd have to go there alone, since Chad and Mindy are going early."

"They are?"

"Yeah. Helping with set up. Mindy literally just mentioned that. Shows how much you listen to her.” She shook her head in a mocking disappointment in you.

“I was asleep, jerk.”

“I know,” she said, grinning.

You looked down to her, where she walked next to you, gently swinging your joint hands back and forth. "It's not a far walk to OBK. You could probably make it there in five minutes. It's well-lit, and—"

Tara frowned, shaking her head adamantly. "Not alone. Not without you, no way. Sam would want to see you at the door to pick me up. She'd probably hate the idea of it."

"Fair enough," you shrugged. "Find a movie at home tonight, then. Relax, or something. I'd kill to be done with this stupid project."

"What are you even making?" Tara groaned, breaking your hands to shove hers into her pockets. Actually, it was your jacket, and therefore technically your pockets too, but she had taken a liking to it, after your date. You had been less than pleased, when she asked to borrow it, considering how much the jacket meant to you, but she insisted it was assisting her to keep up the act. You figured you could part with it, at least for a little while.

"Architecture," you said with a thick layer of sarcasm. Tara rolled her eyes at you. She nudged you, and you couldn't help but laugh as her elbow pointed into your side.

"Oh, you think you're funny, huh?"

"I'm hilarious."

"You wish..." she scoffed, shaking her head.

It was a beautiful day in autumn, and the weather was soon to leave the sigh of brown leaves and rainy days and move into whispery winds and icy pavement. You didn't mind winter, but you didn't like the chills, even though it was undoubtedly what gave summer's warmth a certain sweetness. Still, nothing burned like the cold.

You walked her all the way to the door of the exam hall, stopping out front to hand her the textbook you had been carrying. You went to speak, but the moment you tried to open your mouth, your phone started ringing. You grabbed it from your pocket, sighing and declining the call, while Tara stared at you.

"Is that your dad, again?"

"No," you said. "Telemarketer."

"Right..." she said, frowning. "You're a terrible liar."

"Am I?" you challenged. You were, it was true.

"Why don't you want to talk to him?"

“I just don’t.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m asking why, (Y/n).”

"Why don't you leave it alone?" you shot, in frustration. You could see Tara's eyes narrow at your tone, and you felt a bit bad. There was the occasional reflex still, to bite each other's heads off. You weren't sure what it was about her, but something about Tara Carpenter always seemed to rile you up inside, and do the same for her with you.

"Sorry," you said, looking down at your shoes. "I just don't want to talk about it."

"That doesn't mean you have to be an asshole," Tara glared.

"Right... I'm... sorry."

Tara sighed. "I guess I'll see you next week?" She asked.

You nodded. "There'll be plenty of time after this, I just need to get this thing done."

"Okay," she nodded, failing to hide her excitement. Tara seemed to really love parties, the more and more she went to, and you were somewhat glad you could help her find something she enjoyed. It was nice to see, not that you'd ever say that to her. Doing that would absolutely result in her teasing you again, or something even more annoying.

"Good luck on your test," you said.

"Good luck on your project, babe," she said, drawing the name out.

“Now who’s hilarious,” you said with an eye roll. Tara winked at you, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Me.”

===+++===

It seemed you were having no good luck on it whatsoever, actually. Laid out in front of you was all of your materials, in a messy pile of cut-out pieces and foam boards that were there, sure, but not likely to just jump together and put itself together on its own.

The clock had already ticked away to 12:33 in the morning, and your design was barely finalised to where you could get to work and finish quickly. All of the other students had left at a much more reasonable hour, and it left you standing at your table alone, quietly working to classical music in the empty modelling lab.

At this rate, you could be here for another two or three hours, and the project was due at eight. You were sluggish, slowly working through the plans you had set out days ago and working through the kinks.

Every few minutes, when you stopped for even a second, the dream seemed to rush back to the forefront of your brain. Your mother had been the one to call, that evening while you were eating a poor excuse of a dinner, and you had declined that call just like you had declined all the rest.

You were hunched over your work, probably unhealthily so, with your face buried in your iPad, hastily throwing out sketches of the various shapes. You were settling on a design that would have to do, heading for the woodcutter, when you heard a noise.

It resembled a door shutting, and you froze right where you were. "Greg?" you called out. There was no one else in the building except for you and Greg, at his usual security post, and you waited with bated breath for him to return your call.

But there was no response, and all you could hear was the sounds of classical music gently floating in the background. Usually, it set you at ease while you worked through whatever you were doing in the lab, but now all it did was raise your heart rate to match the increasing tempo. It was completely dark, except for the overhead light above you, which illuminated the table you were working at and a few of the stainless steel cabinets that held tools and supplies.

Then, off to the side, you heard a rolling. An odd, wooden rolling, slowly drifting towards you. On the ground was a pencil, gently pushed towards you, playfully rolling as if perfectly in front of your toes. You hopped to your feet. "Hello?" you called, squinting in the dim light, in case anyone else was there. "Is anyone there?" you called out again. "Greg?"

Now you could really feel the thumping of your heart. The modelling lab had always been creepy late at night, but this was a new level of unease. It was as if someone was watching you, playing with their food, and you swallowed down the lump in your throat. "Is someone there?" you said to the rest of the room.

"Hey!" said a voice, and you jumped what felt like five feet into the air.

"Fuck!" you shouted, spinning around and seeing Tara behind you. She jumped at your reaction, raising her hands up. In one of them was a tray with two coffees on it. “You scared me!”

"Woah, woah, are you okay?" she asked, face etched with concern. She walked towards you slowly, and you put your hands on the edge of the table, trying to calm yourself.

"Don't just sneak up on me like that, dude," you glared at her.

"I literally didn't, I fucking announced myself, loud as can be," Tara said, rolling her eyes at you. Then, it melded into concern. "How long have you been here?" she asked, looking around the place and its emptiness.

"Since I left you at your test," you shrugged. "How'd it go by the way?" Tara's eyebrows furrowed, ignoring your question instead for one of her own.

"Did you at least eat dinner, or something?"

"Yeah," you nodded.

"Good."

“Yeah…,” you trailed off, turning back to your work. “How did you know where I was?"

“I asked Chad. He’s still a little snippy with me about, well, thinking we're together. Tried to tell me that if anyone would know, it would be me, and I said, yeah, that’s true, but it’s only been three months, now.”

“Well,” you said, gesturing around to the lab. “This is the modelling lab.” You were a bit of a nerd about the whole place, showing it off like it was your cool superhero lair.

“I know,” Tara mocked. “I saw it on the giant sign above the front door.”

“Ha ha. Does Sam know that you’re here?” You asked, grabbing your pen and resuming your work while you continued to talk to Tara. She plopped herself down on the edge of the table, letting her feet swing.

She looked a bit sheepish at the question. “Uh… no.”

“You know she’ll kill me like she did that one time, if you’re not home when she wakes up,” you frowned, wandering over to the supplies and grabbing out a box cutter to help trim the pieces you needed.

Tara nodded. “I know. But I snuck out, so I’ll sneak back in.”

You turned back around to reply, maybe say something stupid, but you had to stop yourself from laughing, when you saw her legs hanging off the counter and not reaching the ground.

“What?” Tara asked, furrowing her eyebrows. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” you said, shaking your head and returning to the table. “…Dwarf.”

“Hey!” she said, smacking you on the arm. “I brought you coffee, don’t make me take it back.”

“That’s true,” you frowned, weighing your options. “Guess I can’t make fun of you; you brought me caffeine.”

“That’s more like it."

You worked in silence for a few minutes, feeling Tara watch your every movement. It was harder to work, under her scrutiny, but you were grateful that she was there. It wasn’t lonely in there, any more. A few months ago, you would’ve hated her guts for sitting around while you attempted to work. But not with Tara anymore. Not on that day.

“This might be an all-nighter,” you warned, sending her a small smile as you sliced a piece of foam in half and went to work to attach it to your board.

“Fine with me,” Tara shrugged. She just continued to watch you, in a calm silence. “Actually, I have beef with you,” she hummed.

You laughed, looking up while you secured the base with glue. “Why’s that, Tara?”

“You got that song, stuck in my head.”

“Which one?” You asked.

“The one you sang for me. I found it online.”

“Which one?” you teased, smiling again. Your face was tired and the smile certainly didn’t help, but you couldn’t help the newfound peace washing over you again. You had completely forgotten the weird happening from earlier.

“You know, don’t play dumb.”

“No,” you shook your head. “I really don’t know.”

“You literally do,” Tara scoffed.

“Sing a little bit. Refresh my memory.”

“Nuh uh,” she said, crossing her arms. “This is a trap.”

“It isn’t,” you insisted, sticking your pinky out to her. “Swear.”

She wrapped it in her own, rolling her eyes. She definitely knew it was, but she obliged anyway. “If you need a friend, don’t look to a strangerrr. You know in the end,” her voice broke on the low note like yours did, and you laughed while heat rose to her cheeks. “I’ll always be thereeee.”

“And when you’re in doubt,” you sang back to her, in between laughs. “And when you’re in dangerrr.” You both were tone deaf and the rendition was awful, but the mood in the lab was getting lighter and lighter the longer you were together.

“Take a look all around,” Tara sang, coming back in. “And I’ll be there.”

It was impossible not to laugh at how bad it was on both sides, and you grinned at her toothily, before turning back to your work. “Thank you for reminding me.”

“You’re welcome, idiot,” she teased, nudging you in the side again.

===+++===

You went back to working on your model, finishing the first floor in about an hour. You and Tara occasionally talked now and again, but mostly she just watched you while you worked. “Why are you doing this all tonight?” she asked.

“Uh…” you stuttered. “I didn’t have time the past couple weeks…cause of… well, you.”

She shot up to her feet, mouth dropping open. “Why the hell didn’t you say no to me?! I didn’t know you had all this to do.”

You shrugged. “I never mentioned it. Plus, you were having fun. I’m glad someone was enjoying themselves.”

“Oh…” she said, and it sounded small.

“What?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

“…Nothing."

“It’s fine, Tar. Seriously.” She blinked at you.

“Tar?” she asked, looking amused.

You looked up from your work, feeling the change in the atmosphere. “What?”

“I don’t know, you’ve just never used the nickname for me, before.”

“Yeah, I guess not. Is it weird?”

“Well… no. I kind of like it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” she agreed, nodding a little. “My mom was the one who gave me the nickname Tar. Haven’t spoken to her in a little while, though.”

“Do you still miss her?” you asked, glueing your second story onto the base successfully.

“Sometimes…” she trailed off, staring out at the pitch black night through the window that hung over your workspace. "She calls me once in a while."

"Do you answer?" you asked.

"No," she admitted. "It's usually about Woodsboro. I gave up on her a few months ago, but she still calls sometimes about the town."

"You never talk about it..." you comment, trailing off with a hand on the back of your neck. "You don't have to, if you don't want to." You leaned back against the table with a curiosity, watching her face move as she struggled to answer.

"Well... it's cause I don't want to that I don't talk about it. You know how people say that shit about manifesting happiness?" you nodded, knowing what she was talking about. "Well, I keep saying I'm fine, and I'm moving on, but it just keeps following me everywhere. It's like this chronic cough I can't shake. This constant thing. No matter how much I run, it's always there. People don't see me as anything but one of the survivors."

You swallowed, feeling her words hit you. "I know what you mean." Tara's eyes snapped down to yours, but when you didn't volunteer more information, she sighed.

You frowned, turning yourself back to your work and hunching over, so she wouldn’t see the heat rising to your cheeks. “I, uh… I listened to that song you said you liked, too.”

“You did?” she asked, lighting up at the mention of it.

“Yeah… added it to my playlist… so…”

“So…” Tara laughed, amused by your awkwardness. It was somehow less awkward when you hated each other. The fact you could tolerate each other now was unusual but not unpleasant, and you still found yourself grappling with how pretty Tara’s eyes looked in lamplight. "If I get a nickname, you absolutely have to have one too."

You scoffed. "That's not at all what that means."

"You had to have had one at some point."

"No, I haven't had one," you said.

"Liar!" Tara said with a giggle, pointing at you with her finger. "You're so bad at lying it's remarkable. Now spill. What is it?"

"I'm not lying!" you insisted, but now you were laughing and it was even less convincing.

"C'mon, promise I won't say it in public— unless it's really bad."

You stared at her for a moment, when she clasped her hands together in a begging plea.

"Please?"

"No," you shook your head.

"Please?"

"Nope."

"Pleaseeee?"

"Fine," you sighed. "My family, they used to call me Duck."

"Duck?" She asked, leaning back to look at you as if the nickname would re-contextualise your entire appearance. "Where'd that come from?"

"It's dumb. I used to wear this yellow raincoat when it was storming outside and these orange booties, so my little brother Mitchie saw me, when he was like five or six, and said I was a Duck. And so I was Duck."

She smiled at you, genuinely pleased with the explanation. "That's adorable. Where is Mitchie, tonight?"

You opened your mouth but shut it. Then, you opened it again. "Probably watching cartoons, or something. Back in Nebraska." (A/N: my ass genuinely did not know that was a U.S. state until right now)

You couldn't tell her that today was the day he had died, several years ago. That a year or two before that had happened, Calvin had gone, and a few months before that, Tomas and Alisha had passed too. That Peter had gotten sick, or that Miranda had gone missing before any of that mess had happened. That you were the only one left.

It was a bad lie, and probably one you would regret later, but it was one you ushered past, and Tara didn't seem to pick up on. From one cursed person to another, you figured it was probably best that you keep your own curse to yourself. It's part of what had made you hate Tara so much at first. She walked around knowing her days were likely numbered, so carefree and careless. And then there was you, you who was so careful in order to keep living.

But you couldn't resent her for that. It had melted away with seeing the Tara underneath. The real, beautiful Tara underneath.

"Duck is good, though. I'll bring it out when I want to embarrass you," Tara smiled, inching closer on the table.

"Yeah?" you grinned back at her, standing up to gently tap against the glue. It was set, and your model was finally finished at 4:42 in the morning. Tara leaned close, watching the glue with her own eyes, cheek almost up against yours in curiosity.

You finished the thing, looking over at her and her large, warm brown eyes, staring at the model you had made with so much curiosity and genuine interest. Tara hadn't lifted a finger to help, but you couldn't help but feel like it was partially hers.

You went to pull back but found your face turning towards hers, looking at each other for a long moment. Your eyes lingered on the slope of her nose, down to the curvature of her soft lips, turned up in the corners like Tara always did when she smiled. They looked so soft, and before you knew what was happening, you could feel Tara's hands coming up to the sides of your face, thumbs gently stroking against the skin there.

You couldn't breathe, feeling the warmth of the pads of her fingers on your face and the faint brush of her breath upon your nose. "Tara," you whispered. The pull was magnetic, and just as you were about to say to hell with it all, her phone began to vibrate in her pocket, and you both leapt apart from each other.

You wandered a few feet away, trying to seem busy while she answered it. You could feel Tara watching you while she spoke on the phone, so you did your best to hide the blush that was certainly spread wide across your cheeks.

This was the very girl you had spent the past several months hating. You suddenly felt dizzy, like the world would slip out from under your feet. Tara, the very same annoying girl who had pestered with you and bickered with you. The one who had so much more to her that what you had ever thought possible. The one who drew you in. The one in search of a hook up, for which you were only the decoy. You cleared your throat, whipping around when you heard Tara say "What?!"

"What's wrong?" you asked. "What's going on?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, looking up at you like she was about to cry. "They're questioning Sam again. They think Ghostface is back."

===+++===

DUN DUN DUNNNNNN anyways my ass is going to bed now. also i do not recommend anyone lie to someone they're interested in about who they are, ESPECIALLY an attempted murder victim

[hoshigray]

Okay, here's the problem: this ask was sent to me earlier last week, and I responded to it. However, my dumbass realized hours after I posted that anon meant an nsfw thirst...I'm such a big dummy; please forgive me!!! So yeah, I deleted/archived the reply prior since it contained fluff, and here we are, rewriting a different scenario!!

A/n: Anyways, I hope y'all like this one, and happy jjk s2 release!! My friends and I are gonna be screaming at the top of our lungs throughout the entire episode :3 My hubby Toji is coming home, y'all!!!

Cw: Toji x fem! reader - minors DNI - sexual acts in a public area (grocery store) but no intercourse - grinding - breast fondling + nipple play - biting (Toji nibbles on your ears) - pet names (baby, darlin', kid, princess) - reader being a lil minx, but Toji gets ya back :3 - outside party intrusions, but y'all don't get caught - itty-bitty-tiny bit of degradation (just Toji calling your actions "whore-ish").

Wc: 1.3k

"Mmm, Y/n...Baby..."

"Mhmm?"

"Can I ask why you're grinding y'r ass on me in the middle of the snack aisle?"

The devilish smile on your lips curves up, only answering with more sways of the hips on the older man's groin, resulting in a groan suppressed by him. "What's to ask?"

It's 3 a.m.; everyone should be at home sleeping, getting ready for another day tomorrow. That's what was supposed to happen. But before you could even make it to your bed, you realized you had forgotten to grocery shop earlier today.

In a rush, you grabbed an oversized hoodie to cover up your chest and shorts and headed to the front to put on some shoes. Your boyfriend — Toji — was finishing up watching something on your television before crawling in bed with you. But plans changed when you told him you were going to the 24-hour open grocery store down the street to grab some things, prompting the man to come with you on your walk.

So now you two are in said store, pushing your cart up and down the aisles, grabbing whatever items you need based on your list. And things were going well and smoothly in the first half. That is until you arrive at the snack aisle.

Toji wanted to come to the aisle to grab some chips to leave at your place whenever he comes over — as if he already lives with you. But you don't mind and let the older man grab his snacks while you lean on the cart's handlebar, scrolling on your phone.

When he does grab the packaged item, he comes from behind to place it in the cart. And it's then you feel his jean-covered pelvis brush up on you, the zipper sliding on your shorts.

It's enough for you to stop looking at your phone and think fast, returning the favor by grinding your ass onto his groin. It was an unexpected move on your part as your boyfriend tenses at the action, but you only giggle and faux interact with your phone.

And that's how you ended up here; you pushing your ass onto Toji in a grocery store in the wee hours of the morning. You'd have to admit that you were enjoying tormenting the poor man as he's staying composed behind you, but his big hands gravitate to the dip of your hips to keep you close.

"How're you feeling back there?" You tease the man with playful banter, rocking your hips to create more friction against Toji's pelvis.

The man groans behind you, slowly grinding his hips with yours in unison. "Mmmm, you think y'r so fuckin' sly, huh, kid? Don't think I won't take these shorts of yours clean off and fuck you right here."

You cock a brow at his threat, but that's all it is: a threat. "Oh? Is that so?" You snap your ass right onto his crotch, where you can feel a tiny implication of an erection coming up. Toji hisses and bends down to your ear. "I'm up for that challenge, sir."

"Heh, actin' all whore-ish in the middle of public." His gruff voice in your eardrums gets you turned on even more. "Talkin' all high and big for your own good, princess."

You snicker to yourself and nibble on your bottom lip as you feel him bring a hand to the waistband of your shorts and slide them down slowly.

But the moment is ruined when something in your peripheral moves, causing you to straighten yourself up immediately. Toji is forced to do the same thing due to your immediate change, following where you're looking to see someone come from the corner and enter the aisle — an older woman in her pajamas and a coat.

You cough to clear your throat and act like you're looking at your phone. And Toji sneers, watching you pull back just because another person has entered the space. Hmph. So much for bein' up for a challenge.

The woman sees you two as she ascends in your direction, stopping her tracks by the side of your cart. "Oh my, I thought I was the only one here! What's a pair like you two doing out here in the late hours?"

You reply. "Oh, I could say the same for you, miss! I forgot to do my shopping earlier, so we're here doing it last minute."

"Hmm, I see. I'm in the same boat as you. My kids are supposed to go on a field trip, and I completely forgot all about it! It's tomorrow of all days, and I didn't even have the faintest idea of what to do for their lunches! So, here I am looking through..."

Toji doesn't listen to the woman chatter herself up with you because now he has the perfect distraction. While you give the other your attention, the older man slides a hand inside your his hoodie from behind, and you jerk at the sudden contact of his cold, rough fingers. Oh, you bastard...

"...figured sandwiches would be the best bet for a field trip lunch. Don't you think?"

"Hmm?" You realize the older woman asked you a question, your mind too preoccupied with Toji's hand sliding up your body. "Oh yes, sandwiches should do just fine for a field trip! Perhaps you can pack some chips to go with them."

"Ahh, you're right! I didn't think about that, but what kind of chips exactly?"

"I'd say your best bet would be the big bag filled with an assortment of chips, that way your kids can pick whichever they would like to ta—gasp!"

You're caught off guard by an abrupt grasp on your chest. Toji had his hand now on your breast, his large hand effortlessly cupping the soft mound and fondling it under the hoodie.

Attempting to shield yourself from the other woman, you rest your elbow on the handlebar and slightly turn to your side. You then give your boyfriend a mean look which is only received with a smug grin.

Oblivious, the woman asks in concern. "Are you alright, darling?"

Toji is the one who answers in your place. "Yeah, they're fine. Just a lil headache from stayin' up a too late." His disingenuous response comes out with no hesitation, the perfect lie.

"Aww, poor thing." The other shows sympathy for your false condition. "Well, I'll get going so I don't keep you up longer than you should. Thanks for the help, and drink some chamomile or peppermint tea for your headache!"

"Mmmph! I-I will! Thank you, miss!" You reply before the woman goes on her way, unaware that your whimpers failed to be bitten down as Toji grazed your nipple between his fore and middle finger.

When the woman is on the other side of the aisle, Toji leans down to your ear once more. "Like I told ya, talkin' all high and mighty for your own good."

"Shut up," you bite back, your moans coming through shivers when Toji slides his free hand to grope the other breast left unattended, putting you through more of your clandestine torture.

"Heh, I gotta do something 'bout that smart mouth of yours, brat." Toji bites on your ear, and you're quick to bring a hand to cover up any shrieks that risk leaving your mouth. His hoarse voice slides like honey into your ears, and the throbbing sensation between your legs worsens. "You're the one who was antagonizing me earlier."

"Haaah, mmm, okay, okay, I'm sorry." You hoped your pleas would stop the man from tweezing the hardened tips of your breasts so harshly, but his fingers don't stop as your hands find purchase on his jeans.

As Toji hums low to your ear, he kisses your neck while grinding against you. "Ya know, I was thinkin' of just headin' straight to bed after this. But now," his hands knead your tits in a way that has you almost melting into his hold, lucky enough to have his leg between yours to keep you steady.

"Since you wanna play like a damn kid, I'll make sure you don't get a wink of sleep when we get back, darlin'."

[macfrog]

walking through fire | one shot

just something that's been on my mind the last few weeks. i hope that you're all ok going into this difficult time of year. and if there's any part of this, big or small, that you find yourself resonating with - there will always be a warm, cozy chair in my inbox/dms, free for you to come sit, hang; we can talk about everything or nothing at all. love you guys. 🤍

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you’re neck-deep in a bout of seasonal depression. your boyfriend suggests an autumnal walk. (better than most healthcare systems offer amarite)

warnings: quite literally about depression & anxiety so please read at your own discretion. established relationship, fluffy soft!joel takes care of his girl, implied suicidal thoughts, use of medication to treat depression/anxiety, feelings of worthlessness/burdening, but hope! in the end! a wee sliver of hope!

word count: 2.7k

main masterlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🖤

November turns on itself all too quickly.

Your body feels like lead, sinking deep into the mattress. Like a broken, rusted shipwreck at the bottom of the ocean; your hand lying limp above the bedsheets like a sailor’s last attempt at reaching over the waves for help.

Joel opened the blinds today. Nuzzled into you, the scruff of his beard sharp on your numb skin, and then stood up and slowly unveiled the glaring light of white cloud. You shrunk further into the bed, your hot breath suffocating you under the sheets. Inhaling and exhaling, breathing in your own rotten air.

He pushes the door open and shuffles across to the bed. Your sea dips when he lowers into it, two arms slipping around your waist like a lifebuoy. He pulls you into his chest; his warm body melting the ice of your bones.

“Hey,” he whispers, and drags his nose across your cheek. He kisses your temple, combs his fingers through your hair. Dabs his thumb along your bottom lip and then says again, “Hey, darlin’. You awake?”

Your eyes flutter open, only enough to see the blurry shape of him; the strong curve of his shoulder, the binary of dark cotton and pale skin.

“Hi, baby. How you feelin’ this mornin’?”

The words catch on the dry cliff of your throat, dangling for a few seconds like panicking climbers, before plummeting into the abyss. You settle for an incoherent mumbling, a vibration on your lips that Joel understands through the pad of his thumb.

“Yeah,” he sniffs, “not so good, huh? That’s okay. You know how much I love you?”

And that peels your eyes open a fraction more. Only enough to sharpen the image of him, to find the dark pools of his eyes and the way the flame in them flickers as he says it.

“Love you so much,” he whispers. The tiny fire thaws the very bottom of your heart, even if only enough to keep the blood pushing heavily through your veins.

Your eyes close over again, and you take his shirt in two weak fists, pulling yourself into his body. Your head fits in the crook of his arm, burying into his side.

“You feel like leavin’ the house today?” he asks, voice sweet and earnest. “Just for a little while? We could go for a walk, could go for a drive. Just you ‘n me, sweet girl.”

You shake your head, your eyes prickling from the sincerity of his question. The guilt beginning to creep its way over your shoulders.

“No? You don’t wanna?” He lifts his head, staring out at the view from the window. “’s a nice day out. Cold, but it’s dry, ‘n the leaves are all orange and yellow, just like you like. Not even for a half hour?”

That same guilt – sneering, bullying – pokes a sharp-clawed finger in your ribs until you answer him. “Tired,” you mumble, screwing your eyes shut until you see the sudden, violent assault of stars in your vision.

“I know you’re tired, baby,” Joel says, stroking your back. “But it might do you a little good to get some fresh air. And you’d be with me, and we can come back home whenever you decide.”

Your fear and shame seem to cower beneath his words; melted by the soft timbre of his voice. They retreat inward, burrowing deep between the cage of your ribs, twisting and mangling around your pale bones.

“We can come back whenever?” you whisper, defying their threats.

“Whenever, darlin’. Promise.”

You surrender yourself, letting him take you in his arms and carry you over to your closet, where he sets you down gently. Keeping an arm around your waist, Joel waits patiently as you pick an outfit, and then helps drape it over your frame. You feel more statue than human – solid substance rather than plush flesh. Cold and brittle; the tender touch and lively glow drained from your skin the same way it drains so quickly of energy.

You’ve been fighting for years. Months and months and months of one step at a time and just keep going. Being told you’re more than what’s going on in your brain, being told not to let it become you. But there are days when you stand before the mirror, and you don’t recognize the figure staring back at you. The dark tunnels in place of eyes, the thin line of her lips.

There are days you can see the marks on your skin from how tight your anxiety and depression bind you; wrapping like ivy around your body until there’s nothing left of you to see through the dark green leaves. Just a haggard, shapeless thing. A skeleton too tired to carry the weight of yourself; a heart too weary to beat in time.

There once existed a time you had smiled, even laughed – you know it, you have the lines scored deep into your cheeks to prove it. Sometimes they ache when you think about it, like even they miss the feeling. Joel knows it, too – you sense it whenever he tells some dumb joke, sense that he’s searching your face for the slightest lift, the slightest dip of a dimple. And it fucking kills you, when you realize you have nothing sincere or true to offer him. No swollen cheeks, no flash of teeth. At best, a heavier exhale pushed from your nostrils.

It all feels so long ago, that lighter, fresher, happier you. It feels so far from your clutches. Like you’re drifting further and further from the surface, disappearing into the murky depths of your own mind.

The doctors, the articles, the fucking motivational posts on Instagram all say the same. Keep fighting it. Confront your illness. Prove it wrong. But you’re so fucking tired of fighting. Fighting it the entire drive to work, your heart threatening to burst; fighting it every conversation you have, your façade slowly cracking. Swallowing the panic like you swallow the medication; both of them sticking in your throat and refusing to go down.

There is no fighting it. There is no overcoming through confrontation. If you broke your leg, shattered every bone to dust, would they say the same? You gotta walk on it straight away to make it strong again. You don’t think so.

Joel doesn’t seem to think so, either. Joel, with a heart of molten gold, ready at every turn to let it pour onto your skin and paint it the color of sunlight when you can’t do it yourself. Joel, with his strong arms and wide reach, bundling you up over the top of all that foul ivy and snapping its thick stems with just his fingers.

Joel, who will sit at the edge of your bed and watch you take your meds; kiss your forehead and squeeze you tight when you show him your empty mouth. Joel, who will hold you in the dead of night and tell you stupid stories about his brother when they were kids, rubbing your back and chasing the dark ghosts from your mind.

Joel, who still sees something in you – whether he’s imagining it or not – and decides each day that it’s worth protecting. Worth saving. You’re worth saving, even on the days you don’t believe it yourself.

He drives for ten minutes, a little out of the suburbs and into a thicket of fire-colored leaves and solid, frozen ground. Fall sinks its teeth deep into the roots of the earth, drying up the bloom of summer and replacing it with something harder, something tougher. Nature is dying in the November breeze – the amber leaves painted the color of the trees’ blood as they fight a losing battle against the shifting of time. You feel yourself decaying with it: a drawn-out, painful surrender to the bleak days and dark nights.

Joel keeps his hand on your thigh the entire ride; you keep your fingers intertwined with his. The fluttering in your chest gets quicker and quicker, spreads its wings wider the further you feel from home. Your mouth dries up, forcing you to swallow after every third breath. But his hand stays there, planted on you like the root of an ancient tree: never shifting, no matter how strong the wind throws punches.

A shaky breath falls from your lips when he slows to a halt, the truck parked by a long wooden gate. He cuts the engine and turns to you, squeezing your leg lightly.

“We’re just gonna walk down there,” he nods out the window, “and back again. As slow as you like, ‘n we turn back when?”

“Whenever I want,” you whisper, nodding.

“Whenever you want, darlin’. Just say the word, alright? Sound good?”

You nod, blinking away the strain of tears across your vision. Your knee bounces, the metal buckles on your boots clinking in the footwell.

Joel rubs his thumb against your cheek. Lifts your free hand and places a delicate kiss to your knuckles. “I am so proud of you,” he mumbles against them, like scoring it into the bone.

You fill your cheeks, flattening your lips together, and he pulls on his door handle.

Five paces from the car, you realize how cold it is. The bitter air snaps at your cheeks, drags the salty tears from your eyes. Joel quickly fixes the collar of your jacket and pulls your scarf over your face.

“You bring gloves?” he asks.

Your head shakes in response.

“Here.” He fishes in the pockets of his tan jacket for a dark brown pair, flicking his fingers for you to hold your quivering hands out. He slips them on, all too big for you, and then knots his fingers through yours and leads you on down the sloping backroad.

Bordered by tall trees on either side, you feel secluded and hidden from the rest of the world. It fills you with equal parts comfort and terror: nobody else is here. No one can see your vacant eyes, the wet stain of fallen tears on your cheeks. Not the vice grip you have on your boyfriend or the weak quiver of your voice.

And at the same time: nobody else is here. No people, no sign of life. Just an isolated track, the looming trees overhead, the squelch of muck and the bite of fall for company.

Joel matches your pace, strolling along by your side with your arm through his and his hand resting on top of yours. He catches your glances over your shoulder, sees the jittery movements of your head as you scan the scene around you, and pats the back of your hand tenderly.

“Take a deep breath for me.”

You fill your lungs with a chilly gulp of air, pushing it back out again as steadily as you can.

“And again.”

You repeat the exercise, your chest swelling against your buttoned up coat.

“You’re doin’ great,” he says, looking down at you. “You feelin’ okay?”

“I’m – Yeah, I’m just…” you twist back to search for the wooden gate, “…can’t see the truck anymore.”

“’s right there, promise ya. You wanna go back?”

He pauses, and your boots scuff to a halt on the stony terrain. You chew the inside of your cheek, eyebrows arching to release more tears from between your lashes. “No,” you breathe, “I wanna try to go further.”

“Then let’s try to go further. Yeah?”

You nod, setting off when you realize he’s waiting for you to take the lead.

The fields on either side of you are strung with a thick blanket of mist from one end to the other, masking the trees at the opposite side and obscuring the line between earth and sky. Your body close to Joel’s, your heartbeat attempting to match the steady pace of his, you feel safe, protected. The promise that you can call it a day whenever your body begins to weigh too much, whenever your lungs begin to falter.

Somewhere between the thinning of the hedgerows, another slanted, shabby gate materializes. Its crisscross panels and worn wooden posts separating you from the first company in your twenty-minute walk.

“Joel,” you call, loosening your grip on his arm and wandering over to the long, dewy grass towards a chestnut horse, a sliver of white fur diving deep between her eyes.

She slowly thumps over, huge hooves sinking deep into the soft dirt. Her long tail swishing, navy rug wrapped around her midriff. She docks at the gate, puffing a heavy breath – hot, thick clouds shooting from each nostril.

“Hi,” you say quietly, lifting a floppy-gloved hand for her to sniff. “Joel?” you say again, glancing down at her swollen belly, the low droop of the rug. “I think she might be pregnant.”

She tosses her head up, ears flicking, and nuzzles into the soft material of Joel’s glove. You feel her wrinkled muzzle, the strong, solid bridge of her nose. She blinks slowly; huge, deep brown eyes twinkling in the late-morning light, and you swear she’s trying to communicate something to you.

“Hey, girl,” Joel says, running a careful hand down her mane.

The horse sighs serenely, eyes flitting between the two of you. Her nostrils flare gently, light brown lashes fluttering. You tilt your head, stroking her and letting her teeth graze the sleeve of your jacket. Her bulky head turns to-and-fro, glancing up and down the trail you’re stood on, contently waiting for the passage of time. Enjoying her view from the misty field before it all changes again.

Unexpected and unwelcome, the absence of compression in your chest suddenly makes itself known. Dread spills into your lungs, thick like tar. You turn on your heel and cast Joel one fleeting glance.

He catches it, and without missing a beat, asks, “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Is that okay?”

“’s more ‘n okay, baby. You did so good today. Didn’t she?” he asks the horse, who huffs another hot breath. Joel tosses a thumb towards her. “See?”

You step back over to the animal, now preparing to wander back on home, and give her one last tender stroke. She blinks twice, tosses her head a final time, and her broad body turns, thudding off back up the slope.

As he links your arms again, Joel blinks down at you, the corners of his mouth slowly lifting.

“What?” you ask, shyly.

“Look at you,” he says, nudging your shoulder with a glint in his eye. “You’re smilin’.”

Autumn flashes by as Joel drives you home – ginger and bronze and honey and cinnamon blurring into one as you pass them by. You settle back against the headrest, moving with the sway of the truck, your tired fingers tracing blind shapes on Joel’s palm.

Nature is burning. Perhaps dying is too harsh a term. Burning in preparation for the winter, when it will lay dormant and restful. Quiet, save for the crunch of snow beneath your feet. Bland, save for the sparkle of frost on your windowpanes. The droplets of beauty laced through, the little reminders that not all has been lost.

I am burning right now, the earth says, but wait until you see what I can become.

The days will turn to night. The sun will tear the sky to tatters, set the whole thing fucking ablaze, go down in a battle stained in red and orange and deep, dark blue – and she will still return, spilling golden all over the horizon. She always does.

The clouds will cover overhead, dampening the color on earth. The blues will fade to gray, the yellows will undoubtedly pale. And then the sky will clear, when it is ready; the clouds will break in two to let a ribbon of cerulean burst through.

The leaves will fall to the ground and feed the soil; new ones will sprout from buds left in their wake. The ground will thaw, will soften again in time to welcome the push of daisies and burst of heather. The horse will foal, the birds will sing to their babies, the buzz of insects will irritate your ears; the rivers will gush and the trees will sway and you will be okay again.

You will be okay again.

[semperamans]

your anon here. QUICK. don’t imagine benny coming home to his girl a little drunk. and he’s sheepish abt it, but he gets in beside her and she’s still awake. she went out to the beach with her brother that morning and boy, is she sunburned. benny can’t help but smirk.

hi sweet darlin'! we need an emoji for you or some kind of identifying thing so i know when my fave person comes in my inbox!!

"mm, benny?" your voice is coated with fatigue and, what's that? strawberry wine? he thought he heard the slight blurring of letters on your tired tongue. you smell like summer: sunscreen and salt water and sweat but beneath that benny can smell himself on you, a likely product from what transpired in the wee hours of morning, and it drives him wild. "s'me, doll. don't worry." and you look anything but worried. you're sprawled across his bed wearing that tiny little sleep set with the too big straps that slip down your shoulder and he's just a man. just a man in love with you. and when you raise your head from the pillow and give him that sleepy little smile and that look like he's the only person you want to see, well, he's glad he's already on his knees. crouched next to the bed, arms folded, cheek resting on his bicep, you can't help but think he's the sexiest, cutest thing you've ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. "come snuggle," you murmur, flinging out a hand, carefully pressing your index finger to the tip of his button nose. "you're too cute," you tell him. "gotta cuddle you or i'll die this instant." and benny is smirking because it's never just a cuddle with you, but that's okay, he'd love a repeat of love you made just that morning. "lemme shower, baby. then i'll take you up on that offer."

[brunettemarionette]

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮

☾‧₊˚ ⋅ ― female reader. no description of features. no mentions of size, race or age.

🇲​​🇦​​🇮​​🇳​ ​🇲​​🇦​​🇸​​🇹​​🇪​​🇷​​🇱​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​ 💜​🇸​​🇴​​🇦​ ​🇲​​🇦��​🇸​​🇹​​🇪​​🇷​​🇱​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​

𝗝𝗮𝘅 ☾‧₊˚ ⋅

Jax spots the guy leaning in too close to you, spouting off some pathetic attempt at a pickup line while tossing in a jab about “wannabe biker boys.” His lips twitch into a deadly smirk as he struts over, confidence oozing with every step.

“Hey, babe,” he says smoothly, wrapping an arm around your waist, his icy blue eyes locking on the clueless idiot. “This clown bothering you?”

When the guy stammers, Jax leans in, his voice dropping low. “Y’know, I’d think twice before badmouthing my club. Especially when I’m the President. But since you didn’t know…” He gives a sharp, humourless laugh. “You’ve got about three seconds to walk away before this gets messy.”

The guy practically trips over himself as he scurries off, and Jax turns back to you, flashing that charming grin. “You alright, darlin’? Let’s get outta here.”

𝗥𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽 𝗧𝗿𝗼𝗽𝗲𝘀:

Aggressively Supportive & Protective

𝗖𝗵𝗶𝗯𝘀 ☾‧₊˚ ⋅

Chibs doesn’t even bother hiding the cold steel in his gaze as he hears the man flirt with you, his Scottish accent turning sharp as glass when he interrupts.

“Yer sure talkin’ a big game for someone who doesn’t know whose girl he’s chattin’ up,” Chibs drawls, stepping between you and the idiot.

The guy scoffs, mentioning something about “bikers and daddy issues,” and that’s all it takes for Chibs’ deadly smirk to surface. “Aye, that’s cute. Now, I’ve got a wee bit of advice for ye: you leave now, or I’ll give ya somethin’ to cry about.”

The guy falters at the glint in Chibs’ eyes, backing off immediately. Once he’s gone, Chibs tilts his head toward you, his voice softening. “You good, love? Let’s grab a drink.”

𝗥𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽 𝗧𝗿𝗼𝗽𝗲𝘀:

Snarky Power Couple That Can, And Probably Will, Destroy You

𝗧𝗶𝗴  ☾‧₊˚ ⋅

Tig hears the guy’s comment about how “guys in leather are overcompensating” and loses it. He storms over, practically buzzing with energy, his wild eyes daring the guy to say another word.

“Excuse me? You got somethin’ to say about me, buddy?” Tig growls, his tone loud enough to make everyone turn and stare.

The guy freezes, trying to laugh it off, but Tig’s already in his face, pointing at you. “You see her? She’s with me. Me. So if you’re gonna keep running your mouth, you’d better hope you’re faster than I am. Spoiler alert: you’re not.”

The guy stammers out an apology and bolts, leaving Tig to turn back to you with a grin. “See that? Chased him off. No one messes with my girl.”

𝗥𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽 𝗧𝗿𝗼𝗽𝗲𝘀:

Thinks They're In Charge (Tig) x Is Actually In Charge (You)

𝗢𝗽𝗶𝗲 ☾‧₊˚ ⋅

Opie hears the guy call SAMCRO a “bunch of thugs” while shamelessly flirting with you. He clenches his fists, his jaw ticking as he approaches. He towers over the guy, his deep voice calm but dangerous.

“Got a problem with my club?” Opie asks, his sheer size and quiet intensity enough to make the guy gulp.

When the man stutters, Opie steps closer, his eyes like granite. “And you think hitting on my girl is a good idea? You’re either real stupid or looking for trouble.”

The guy quickly backpedals, muttering apologies as he slinks away. Opie watches him go, then turns to you with a small smile. “You alright? Let’s head out before I change my mind about letting him walk away.”

𝗥𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽 𝗧𝗿𝗼𝗽𝗲𝘀:

Home Is Wherever You Are

𝗛𝗮𝗽𝗽𝘆 ☾‧₊˚ ⋅

Happy doesn’t need to say much. The second he hears the guy say something about “bikers being all talk,” he strides over silently, his expression as unreadable as ever.

He steps between you and the guy, looking him up and down with cold, assessing eyes. “You like your teeth where they are?” Happy asks, his voice low and gravelly.

The guy blinks, confused, but the pure menace radiating off Happy is enough to make him reconsider whatever dumb thing he was about to say. “N-no problem, man. I was just leaving.”

Happy watches him go, then turns to you with a rare smirk. “You good? Let’s go.”

𝗥𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽 𝗧𝗿𝗼𝗽𝗲𝘀:

Unaware in public (you) x Overprotective in public (Happy)

𝗝𝘂𝗶𝗰𝗲 ☾‧₊˚ ⋅

Juice hears the guy call SAMCRO a “bunch of wannabes” while trying to charm you, and he immediately stiffens. He’s not the most intimidating at first glance, but the second he speaks, his tone is sharp.

“You might wanna rethink what you’re saying,” Juice says, stepping up beside you, his eyes narrowing. “That ‘wannabe’ club? That’s my family.”

The guy laughs nervously, trying to brush it off, but Juice isn’t backing down. “And her?” He points at you. “She’s my girl. So why don’t you take your crappy lines somewhere else before I make you regret opening your mouth?”

The guy stumbles over an apology before fleeing, and Juice exhales, turning back to you. “You okay? Let’s get out of here before I really lose it.”

𝗥𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽 𝗧𝗿𝗼𝗽𝗲𝘀:

You Fell First, But He Fell Harder

𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗺𝗲 𝗦𝗼𝗻𝗴

Bad Company by Five Finger Death Punch

[rinstaro]

OMGOMGOGMI HIIII

I MISSE DYOU SMMMM

I’m so happy ur back and and I js wanted to let u kno ur so strong bestie! <3333

now, I have but a wee thought I would like to share. An offering, if you will.

late night sleepy cuddles with sky (or really any of the boys tbh) and they sneak their hand into them Panties and start mindlessly making you cream but you can’t do anything about it because they have you in a death grip and your writhing and your legs are shaking and omg- and they just did it cause they felt like it. they were just like “omg ur literally so cute now cum you whore”

anyways that’s what’s been happening in my crusty little rat brain lately

k bye! <333

-💫

oh. you missed me? oh that makes me so happy !!!!!!!

i like this offering!!!! imma do sky and just a short twilight for this <33 thank you star

cw: overstim, mean boys, twilight is sweet but he’s really not, sky has a wet dream, fingering, coochie eating, consensual somnophilia, reader has a vagina no pronouns!

minors do not interact.

sky

sky awoke from his nap with a throbbing pain. said pain coming from his dick being so hard. he knows it’s bound to happen as a guy, but his problem is that you’re right next to him. still sleeping.

sky had dreamt of you. he dreamt that your soft, sweet body was shaking, writhing in pleasure while you called his name. he was startled when he awoke to find out that your sweet cunt was indeed not wrapped around him like a vice. he slowly sat up, gazing at your form. you looked perfect to him.

he pulled you closer to him, pressing his hard cock against your ass. he couldn't help but squeeze the soft flesh. he adored that you slept in panties, or sometimes nothing at all. he groaned at the pressure as he hid his face in your neck. one hand stayed wrapped around your waist while the other slipped into your panties.

he loved the feeling of your folds between his fingers. he sighs shakily, rubbing slow circles on your clit. you stirred only slightly, letting out sleepy little groans. sky really couldn't help himself. he began to grind into you, his dick straining against his shorts. he hissed, slightly speeding up his pace on your clit.

you began to twitch, soft whimpers leaving your lips. sky imagined how you'd whimper when he was drilling his cock into you. he let out a needy groan. he felt you grow wetter and wetter under his fingers. slowly, he slipped two fingers into your cunt, his breath hitching at just how tight you were. you stirred even more, your legs beginning to clench around his arm. okay, he's had enough. he lifts your leg, giving him as much access as he needs. he wasn't a selfish man, though. he'd let you cum before fucking your cunt.

the sudden movement jolted you awake, your eyes fluttering open. "b... baby?" your sleepy voice sends him over the edge. sky began to pump his fingers in and out of you, curling them harshly.

you clutched the sheets, body overwhelmed with such a sudden jolt of pleasure. your cunt only grew wetter as he fucked you with his fingers. "b-babe! hahh, wait-"

"come on, pretty, don't you wanna cum for me? feels good, yeah? slutty cunt's dripping."

you can only respond with a weak moan, your leg twitching in his hold. your body began to shake, your orgasm hitting you so viciously. you try to pull your leg away, but his grip only tightens. "b-babe, c-cumming! s-slow down!"

your cries fall on deaf ears, sky continuing to grind against your ass. he grunts lowly, only speeding up the pace of his hand. you squeal, hips wriggling away from his.

"pretty, so pretty, n-need you to cum some more. come on, slut, we just started. give me more."

twilight

he’s just now slipping into bed after a long days work. you blink slowly, still a little groggy but happy that he was home. his hands grasped your hips tightly. “l…link?”

as soon as his name left your lips, you were flipped over on your back and pulled closer by your thighs. “hey, darlin’. gonna cum like a whore for me, ‘kay?” your husband kissed wildly all over your neck and chest, not even giving you a chance to breathe. you writhe and moan, the sudden pleasure wracking your poor body.

“l-link! a-ahh, slow—“ you kept getting cut off by your own moans as he kissed your chest, making sure to give your hardened nipples plenty of attention. he kissed all the way down your stomach, making you jolt. then, your sleep shorts were off in an instant.

like the animal he was, he pressed his nose to your mound and inhaled. you gasped out of shock, body jerking in his hold. he does nothing but growl and pull you closer, diving in to taste your sweet cunt. he’d been dreaming about you all day. work should have never dragged on for so long. he was craving a taste of you so badly he could go mad.

your back arched and you grabbed at his hair, pulling his strands. he slurps and sucks at your wet cunt, never stopping for a moment to breathe. you could only let out weak moans at the feeling, your body being fully awake now. you jolted and squirmed from your sensitivity, but he had no plans on letting you go.

he could feel your orgasm before you can. it hits you so quickly you can barely think. “f-fuck! link!”

this does nothing to stop him. he keeps lapping at your poor cunt, desperate to have all of your cream down his throat. you push at his head, clamping your legs around his ears.

“fuckfuckfuckfuck link! e-enough!”

he pulls away from your cunt only to growl. “quiet. let me finish.” he dives right back in, showing no mercy for your sorry cunt.

[forsinnersandsaintsalike]

How they might respond to the popular ‘boots’ poem from Tik Tok

Captain John Price

As the rhythmic, almost hypnotic lines of "Boots" play, Price sits back in his chair, the cigar in his hand smoldering.

His eyes narrow, deep in thought, as the repetitive beat of the poem pulls him into memories of endless patrols and grueling marches.

"Marchin'... marchin'... marchin'..."

When the poem ends, he's silent for a moment before speaking. "Kipling knew what he was talkin' about, didn't he? That endless slog... it's somethin' only a soldier would understand. The monotony. The weight."

He takes a long drag of his cigar and glances at you. "Thanks for sharin' that, love. Strange as it sounds, it's comforting. Makes you feel like you're not the only one who's been through it."

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Ghost leans against the wall, arms crossed, as you play the recording of

"Boots." His face is unreadable beneath the mask, but his eyes flicker as the relentless cadence of the poem fills the room.

"Don't-don't-don't-don't-look at what's in front of you..."

When it's over, he lets out a soft huff.

"Kipling captured it perfectly. That feeling... when your body's numb, your mind's blank, and all you can do is keep moving. It's eerie how real it feels, even now."

He shifts his weight, glancing at you.

"Not exactly bedtime reading, but... it hits home. Thanks for that."

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

Soap listens intently, his head tilted as the relentless rhythm of the poem unfolds. By the time it's finished, he's drumming his fingers on the table, caught up in the relentless beat.

"Marchin'... marchin'... aye, it's bloody brilliant," he says with a small, bittersweet smile. "Kipling knew the life-boots on the ground, head down, keep goin' no matter what. It's a hard truth, but there's somethin' poetic about it, eh?"

He pauses, then grins at you. "You've got good taste, lass. Next time, we'll pair it with a wee dram of whisky— make it a proper soldier's night."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

As you play "Boots," Gaz leans forward, elbows on his knees, his brow furrowed. The relentless rhythm and repetition seem to strike a chord with him, pulling him into a reflective silence.

When the poem ends, he exhales deeply. "It's... heavy. That rhythm-it's like being back there, y'know? Just putting one foot in front of the other, over and over, hoping it's leading somewhere."

He looks up at you with a small smile.

"Kipling nailed it, though. Makes you appreciate the quiet moments even more. Thanks for sharing that-it's powerful."

Phillip Graves

Graves listens with an intense expression, his jaw tightening as the rhythmic lines of "Boots" play out. By the time it ends, he's leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"Damn," he mutters. "That's... accurate. Too accurate. The repetition, the monotony-it gets under your skin after a while. And Kipling? Man knew his stuff."

He gives you a nod, his expression softening. "Thanks for that, darlin'. It's a reminder of where we've been—and why we do what we do. Even if it's not pretty."

König

König listens quietly, his towering frame still, his gaze fixed on the floor as the steady cadence of "Boots" fills the room. The relentless repetition seems to resonate with him on a deep level.

When it ends, he takes a deep breath and looks at you. "It is... haunting," he says softly, his Austrian accent giving the words a weight of their own. "The endless march, the monotony-it reminds me of how the mind... shuts down sometimes. Just to survive."

He offers you a small, appreciative smile. "Thank you for sharing that.

Kipling understood soldiers, even across time. It's... comforting, in a strange way."

You play back that one part:

Try-try-try—try—to think o' something different —

Oh—my-God-keep—me from goin' lunatic!

(Boots-boots-boots-boots—

movin' up an' down again!)

There's no discharge in the war!

“What did you think of this part specifically?”

Price leans forward, rubbing his beard as he replays the words in his head.

"That part... it gets to you, doesn't it?

Tryin' to think of anything but the grind, but it's no good. War doesn't let you switch off-it keeps you trapped, even in your own mind."

He sighs, lighting a cigar. "The line 'keep me from goin' lunatic' —yeah, I've been there. Sometimes it feels like the only way to keep sane is to stop thinkin' altogether." He looks at you, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. "It's raw, but it's real. Makes you respect what we've been through-and what we survived."

Ghost stares at the floor for a long moment, his fingers twitching slightly.

''Oh—my-God—keep—me from goin' lunatic!" He repeats the line slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's the desperation in it that gets me. When you're so far gone, you're just beggin' for your mind to hold on."

He shifts uncomfortably, his gaze distant. "That line... it hits too close to home. And 'there's no discharge in the war'? Feels like a life sentence, doesn't it? Like even if you make it out, part of you never really leaves."

Soap's usual cheerfulness is tempered as he leans back, crossing his arms.

'Try-to think o' somethin' different!

Aye, l've been there. You want to escape, even just in your head, but the war doesn't let you. It follows you— boots and all."

He gives you a small, sad smile. "The whole 'movin' up an' down again' part?

That's the rhythm you can't escape.

Even when you're not marchin', it's like it's still happenin' inside you. Kipling got it spot-on, didn't he?"

Gaz exhales slowly, his brow furrowed as he considers the lines.

"Keep me from goin' lunatic! That's heavy. It's like... when you're out there, your brain tries to protect you by shutting down, but sometimes even that isn't enough."

He shakes his head. "And 'there's no discharge in the war'? That's the real kicker. It's saying there's no escape, no relief-just the same grind, over and over." He glances at you. "It's brutal, but it's honest. Makes you wonder how Kipling knew it so well."

Graves nods slowly, his jaw tightening as he repeats the lines under his breath.

''Keep me from goin' lunatic! That's the part, right there. It's like Kipling captured what it feels like to hit your breaking point but still have to keep moving. No time to process. No time to feel. Just... keep marchin'."

He lets out a dry chuckle. "And that last line-'there's no discharge in the war! Damn right there isn't. Even when you think you're out, the memories, the habits-they stick with you. Forever."

König listens to the lines again, his hands clasped tightly in front of him.

'''Try-to think o' something different.'

It's like your mind is screaming for an escape, but there's no way out. And

'keep me from goin' lunatic'-I've felt that. When the march seems endless, and you think... if I take one more step, I'll break."

He pauses, his voice softening.

''There's no discharge in the war.' That's the hardest part. Even when the war is over, it stays with you. In your head. In your body. Kipling... he understood the weight soldiers carry."

"I think it's very comforting in a way, I've never been in war not like you but I can only describe what he's feeling as...drowning. I know how it feels to drown. Drown in your own head, drown in your own emotions I know what it feels like to want to run from something that kills you but you just can't get your legs to move. I know what it feels like to feel like you're crazy or you're losing your mind. I feel sorry for you..." The room falls into a heavy silence after your words, each of them processing the depth of what you just shared.

Price's eyes soften, his cigar forgotten in the ashtray as he listens intently.

When you finish, he leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

"You've got a way with words, love," he says, his voice low and steady.

"You're right-it does feel like drowning. Like there's no way up for air, no way out."

He reaches out, placing a hand over yours. "But you're stronger than you think. I can see that in you. And for what it's worth, you're not alone in it anymore. Not with me here."

Ghost doesn't speak right away, his posture rigid, his eyes staring into a far-off place. Your words seem to cut through his armor, and when he finally looks at you, his gaze is intense.

"You don't need to feel sorry for me," he says quietly, his voice almost a whisper. "But... I get it. That feeling.

Being trapped in your own head. It's a different kind of war, but it's just as bloody."

He shifts closer, his gloved hand brushing against yours. "You're not crazy. And you're not alone. Don't ever forget that."

Soap listens with an unusual seriousness, his usual playful demeanor replaced by quiet reflection.

When you finish, he exhales deeply, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Drownin'... aye, that's a good way to put it," he murmurs. "You're not wrong -it's like sinkin' deeper and deeper, and no one sees it happenin'."

He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with a soft smile.

"But you're still here, yeah? Still fightin'. That says a hell of a lot about you. You're tougher than you give yourself credit for."

Gaz's expression is pained as he absorbs your words, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. When you finish, he shakes his head slightly, his voice thick with emotion.

"I'm sorry you've felt like that," he says softly. "You shouldn't have to carry that weight, not on your own."

He hesitates before leaning closer, his hand covering yours. "You might feel like you're drowning, but you're not alone anymore. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. We'll figure it out together, yeah?"

Graves leans back in his chair, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable as he processes your words. When he finally speaks, his voice is softer than usual.

"Damn," he mutters, shaking his head.

"I knew you were strong, but hearing that? Makes me respect you even more."

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You're right—it is like drowning. But listen to me. You don't have to fight it alone anymore. I've got you, darlin'. Always."

König's brows knit together as he listens, his large frame unusually still.

When you finish, he exhales deeply, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I didn't know you felt that way," he says, his accent heavy with emotion.

"But I understand. That feeling... it's suffocating."

He gently takes your hand in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

"You're not crazy, and you're not alone. I will always be here for you, no matter what."

[oceantornadoo]

mad max: the 141 (price x f!reader)

ch 3: johnny's home

canon-typical violence, sexual violence is referenced (but will not happen), general misogyny. the 141 are the good guys, just a bit rough around the edges

series masterlist (also has more world building info)

--

you screamed.

john woke with a start, forcing you behind him as he searched for any danger. ghost and gaz burst into the room, guns at the ready. you were shaking uncontrollably, fear coursing through your body and tightening around your throat. and suddenly, ghost, that hulk of a man who had given you grunts and gruff words, started laughing.

it was a gravelly sound, like a dirt bike over desert sand. gaz joined in, his laughter like the flow of gasoline, rich but tainted. the absolute gall of them. there had been a man, you’d seen him! he was sitting there in the corner, shaking with laughter himself while john’s grip on your waist loosened. john reached for the lightbulb near the wall, flooding the room with light.

“steamin’ jesus, lass, almos’ gave me a heart attack.” the man in the red mask huffed out in between laughs. his accent was unfamiliar to you, almost foreign. “soap, it’s good to see you.” gaz was patting him on the back while ghost shook his head, the shock of the scene still wearing off. john was still holding you, you realized, still pressing your front to his back. but now, his harsh grip was gone and replaced with a warm touch. he rubbed circles into the thin fabric of your shift, inherently calming you down. “darlin’.” john was moving you out from behind him, the tension in his shoulders releasing softly. “this is soap.” he tried to coax you towards soap, who was still catching up with ghost and gaz, but your feet stayed firmly planted. “i thought…i thought he was dead.”

“‘m alive and well. had some other business.” soap acknowledged your question. gaz made another comment under his breath and the group laughed again. you could see the day’s tension finally fading away. you’d thought the group was just harsh, beaten down by the desert sun like every other man in the wasteland, but it was clear they were just worried about soap’s business, whatever that was. john, sensing your refusal to move, left you standing as he made his way over to his men. they all straightened their back almost imperceptibly, giving him a true captain’s respect. he gave soap a couple pats to the back, almost ensuring he was truly here, and the group relaxed again.

“sorry fer scarin’ her, captain. jus’ wanted a look at the wee lass.” john looked back at you, fidgeting with the fabric of your dress as you recovered from your previous fright. “and?” soap grinned. “aye, she’s a bonnie one. you sharin’?” that was the wrong question to ask. john’s face became a mask, hard as desert stone. “no. there will be no sharing.” john looked each of his men in the eyes, making his point clear. a course of whispered “yes, sirs” reached his ear, their deference easily earned. “go’on now, back to bed. long trip in the morning. good to see you, soap.” the men nodded, taking their leave, still huddled together and shooting you glances as they left.

you were already back in the bedroll, front facing the wall as you gave john your back. he turned off the light, then climbed in, refusing to give you the space that you clearly desired. “you mad at me, sweetheart?” his large hand traveled over your hip to the bottom of your stomach, pulling you in closer to him. you shook your head, unsure why the scene had affected you so. you were practically their prisoner, yet you were mad they didn’t tell you about soap? it didn’t make sense. you were obviously suffering some delusions from being surrounded by such an oasis.

john nosed at your neck as he pulled your ass against his crotch, his body all hard against yours. “say it.” it sounded like an order, but it could have been a plea in the way he said it, his voice low in the dark. “you’re not my captain, you can’t order me around.” he chuckled behind you, the sound warming your core like the sun, making you squirm in his arms. “that’s it, hm? mad your captain didn’t clue you in?” he was almost taunting you now, that hand traveling from your stomach to the underside of your breasts. his knuckle brushed the underside of your tits so lightly, you almost thought it was a dream. “well, you lied to me too, so we’re even.” you turned around quickly, all fire now. “what are you talking about?” he gave you a small smirk, beard shifting with the movement. “you’ve been with men before.”

your jaw dropped. “i’m a virgin.” he clucked his tongue at that. “sure you are love, but you’ve been with men before. you’re too comfortable with me for that to be false.” you huffed, turning back to your original position. “so, what.” his arm snaked back around you again, that hand inching up until he was massaging your tits, like he had the right. “jus’ like to have all the facts, love.” he inched his thigh between both of yours, the meat of it pressing against your core. you bit back a moan as you tried not to hump him, willing your body to calm down. you blamed it on the adrenaline of the night’s earlier events. “i’m not going to let you fuck me.” he laughed at the sound of a curse word leaving your lips, your princess facade abandoned. “no, you’ll be begging me for it. now go-“, he pushed his thigh harder against you, leg hair providing delicious friction against your clothed clit, “to sleep.” and under your captain’s orders, you slept.

—

i’m grasping around for a plot but i just keep coming up with smutty interactions😔

[moonmaiden1996]

Bound by Fate Chapter 12

Chapter 11

The sun blazed high in the sky, but the camp remained eerily still, caught in the sluggish aftermath of three days of relentless revelry. Even Lucky Roux lay sprawled on his back, an arm draped across his eyes, too drained to muster the energy to prepare what should now pass for lunch. The line between meal times had blurred long ago, leaving you to wonder just how deep the island’s stores of alcohol truly ran.

“Come on, darlin’, take a break,” Shanks called out lazily, his voice a warm rumble. He stretched out in his hammock, patting the space beside him with an inviting grin. “Plenty of room up here.”

You didn’t look up from your work, frowning as your fingers pulled another errant thread taut. “I’d take a break if I didn’t need to finish this damn skirt. It’s your fault I didn’t get any clothes at the port.”

“You could always wear my clothes,” Shanks suggested, his grin widening into a teasing smirk.

A low whistle sounded from somewhere behind you, followed by a chorus of catcalls and laughter.

You shot him a sharp look but couldn’t hide your own smirk. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You can barely control yourself as it is.”

“What can I say?” Shanks shrugged, his tone dripping with mock innocence. “A pirate always has an eye for a beautiful woman.”

You glanced up at him, your gaze meeting his over the edge of the hammock. His red hair spilled over the side, framing a face lit with boyish amusement. Yet, at the edges of his mirth, a shadow lingered—a subtle reminder of the weight he carried beneath his easy demeanor.

“Hmmm.”

“Well, I think you need a break,” Shanks declared. In one fluid motion, he rolled out of the hammock, landing with a practiced ease that belied his size. Before you could protest, his arm was around you, and he hoisted you up as if you weighed no more than a feather.

“Shanks!” you exclaimed, your words half-scolding, half-laughing.

He ignored you, settling you into the still-warm hammock with a satisfied grin. The scent of salt and spice clung to the woven fabric, wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

“But I need to—”

“Ah, no sense arguing,” he interrupted, waving a hand dismissively toward the half-finished skirt draped over the nearby crate. The jagged stitches and mismatched patches looked like a chaotic battlefield.

“I can see why you became a dancer instead of a seamstress,” he chuckled, tilting his head as if admiring your handiwork.

You opened your mouth to retort, but his expression suddenly changed. His eyes, sharp and calculating, darted to the horizon. His grin faded, replaced by a taut stillness that sent a shiver down your spine.

“What is it?” you asked, sitting up.

Shanks didn’t respond immediately. His gaze remained fixed, narrowing. Following his line of sight, you saw nothing at first. Then, a speck appeared on the horizon, growing larger with each passing second.

The figure that emerged was dark and imposing, draped in a cloak of leather and crimson satin that billowed faintly in the breeze.

The crew shifted, tension rippling through them like a tide. Hands moved instinctively to hilts and handles, bodies poised to strike.

“This is an unusual place for a man of your… stature,” the figure spoke, his voice a deep, liquid gold that seemed to roll over the beach itself.

Shanks stepped forward, positioning himself between you and the newcomer. His posture remained loose, almost lazy, but you could sense the readiness humming beneath his movements.

“Come on, lads,” Shanks said, his tone easy but tinged with warning. “Show some respect. We’re in the presence of a mighty Warlord of the Sea.” He grinned, though his eyes didn’t leave the man. “Mihawk, I’m afraid I’m in no mood for a duel. I’m a wee bit hungover.”

“I’m not here to fight,” Mihawk replied, his tone flat, tinged with disdain. “Not when you’re half the man you used to be.”

Shanks chuckled darkly, his voice dropping low. “I could still take you. And with one arm tied behind my back.”

The crew erupted into laughter and cheers, but Shanks remained still, his sharp gaze locked onto Mihawk.

“Very droll.” Mihawk’s lips twitched, though whether it was amusement or irritation, you couldn’t tell. His golden eyes flicked to you briefly, their intensity sending a shiver down your spine. “I recently encountered someone who may interest you. I hoped to warn you before it was too late.” His gaze lingered, sharp as a blade. “But it seems I’m already too late… the pollen got you, too.”

You stared up at him, your throat dry. The enormous blade strapped to his back loomed over him like a sentinel, its presence both awe-inspiring and terrifying.

Then, your eyes fell on her—a woman, barely visible, huddling behind Mihawk. Her eyes darting nervously as she edged closer to the stranger.

“Well, it seems we have much to discuss,” Shanks said, his voice warm but carefully neutral.

“It would appear so,” Mihawk replied, his tone unreadable.

Shanks’ jovial grin returned, breaking the tension like the crack of a whip. “This calls for wine! I’ve been saving a special bottle for just such an occasion.”

“I thought you were hungover,” Mihawk muttered.

“Lighten up, you solemn old son of a gun!” Shanks clapped his hands against himself, his laughter booming.

With an audible thud, Mihawk unslung his massive sword, letting it drop into the sand. The sound reverberated, but the crew seemed to relax, tension melting away.

“Come on,” Shanks said, tugging you up by the hand. “Help me find the booze.”

Inside the dim cavern, chests and barrels were stacked haphazardly, their contents gleaming faintly in the filtered light. Shanks rummaged through them with practiced efficiency.

“I want you to stay here, just for a bit,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost coaxing. “Mihawk’s a sweetheart under all that, but he can be… a little abrasive with new people.”

“If it’s about the pollen, I should hear it too, is he dangerous?” you preened.

He paused, glancing at you. “No more dangerous than anyone else here,” he said, laughing lightly. But his smile faltered, his tone dropping as he turned back to the chests

 “That’s what worries me. Look how I got here. You saw her—she looked terrified. We have to do something.”

His arm wrapped around you, his lips brushing your forehead. He held you close for a moment, his warmth a fleeting comfort. “For now just stay in the cavern,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm. “Be a good girl for me.”And with that, Shanks strode toward the light of the cavern entrance, his swagger returning with every step.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

You lingered in the cool, oppressive shadows of the cavern for what felt like an eternity, each breath dragging under the weight of your thoughts. The rumble of Shanks and Mihawk’s voices drifted from the beach—low, indistinct murmurs, yet unmistakable. The salty scent of the ocean and the rhythmic hum of distant waves offered fleeting comfort, but the restlessness within you wouldn’t relent. Something gnawed at your core, an urge to uncover more than what was being presented. The flickering candlelight in the cave barely dispelled the unease that wrapped itself tightly around you. You knew there was more to this—more to Mihawk, more to Shanks, and more to the woman who seemed so intricately tied to their secrets.

With silent resolve, you stepped carefully toward the mouth of the cave, trying not to disturb the stillness that held the shadows in place. The cool night air slapped your face as you stepped outside, sharp and biting, but you didn’t hesitate. The rocky path beneath your feet was treacherous, but familiar. You moved swiftly, almost instinctively, your gaze fixed on the beach ahead.

Emerging onto the sand, the sight before you was exactly as you had expected. Shanks and Mihawk were hunched over a barrel of rum, their glasses still full, their laughter now a faint echo that quickly died down as their conversation deepened. The crew had quieted, their jovial energy replaced by a heavy stillness. The woman, however, sat alone on a jagged rock at the edge of the shore, her posture stiff and weary, as though waiting for something—or someone—who had yet to arrive.

You approached cautiously, a part of you pulling away, but another part—darker and more curious—drew you closer. She looked up as you neared, her eyes lighting up with a flicker of something like relief, though uncertainty lingered in her gaze.

“I thought we could have a little chat,” you said, your voice soft yet layered with unexpected vulnerability. “It’s been... strange. Surrounded by all men. I miss girl talk, like I had back on Tasora, with the girls in my dancing troupe.”

The woman’s lips quirked upward, a sad little smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “That must’ve been magical,” she replied, her voice tinged with quiet bitterness. “I never had much of a chance to be around other women. Spent most of my time buried in books, studying for my apprenticeship. The other girls didn’t really like me. They called me a ‘swot’.” She chuckled, but it was hollow, her laughter dying as quickly as it began.

You studied her for a moment, sensing the unspoken weight she carried, a story buried beneath her words. Her gaze drifted toward Mihawk, still absorbed in his conversation with Shanks. The faintest trace of affection—or perhaps something darker—flickered in her eyes.

“But I have Mihawk,” she continued, her voice quiet, almost tender. “He doesn’t talk much, but... it’s nice to have him around.”

Her words stirred something deep within you, a discomfort that settled heavy in your chest. There was an unsettling intensity to her affection, a kind of devotion that felt too consuming, too consuming to be healthy. “Does Mihawk treat you well? You can tell me if he doesn’t. I can help,” you said, your voice lowering, becoming more insistent, your eyes searching hers for any sign of hidden distress.

Her brow furrowed, confusion flickering in her eyes. “What? You think Mihawk would hurt me?” she asked, her voice faltering slightly, unsure whether to be defensive or concerned.

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat before you pushed them out, tainted with a bitter edge. “I know not all pirates are...” The phrase lingered, unfinished, a bitter taste in your mouth. “Nice,” you finished softly, the word tasting like something rancid. “Speaking from experience.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed slightly, and she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Does Shanks hurt you? Mihawk will help.”

The question struck you like a sharp slap, unexpected and chilling. For a moment, your breath caught, the words hardening on your lips. You turned sharply to look back at Shanks, whose gaze was now fixed on you, dark and unreadable. The shadows across his face deepened with something that felt too much like a warning. ‘’Mihawk doesn’t strike me as the considerate type,” you snapped, your voice sharp as you tried to regain control of the conversation.

Her eyes flicked from you to Shanks and back, studying your every movement, the tension in the air thickening. “Maybe not on the outside, but if I asked him to, he would help you, but, you’re with Shanks of your own free will, right? His not hurting ypu or anything?” she asked, her voice soft but curious, almost like a test.

You hesitated, the weight of the question sinking deep into your chest. Could you trust yourself to answer honestly? You could feel Shanks’ gaze searing into your back, even from across the beach, but you forced yourself to look away. “Well, yes i suppose i an here od my own free will and Shabks would never hurt me, I think he would rather die then do that,” you replied, the words catching slightly.

She blew out a relieved breath. “Thank god! You had me worried for a moment.  I mean, the whole pollen thing is... scary, but... it is amazing, right? I’m glad it happened. I know how Mihawk looks—like a vampire—but he’s the sweetest, most caring man you could want. He saved me.”

You nodded slowly, watching as her eyes softened. Her smile was wistful as she looked at Mihawk, the look of someone deeply in love. It wasn’t puppy love—it was adoration, as if he were her personal hero.

“Love—real love—makes heroes.”

The words hit you like a sudden chill, and you stiffened at your own words, a wave of unease crawling beneath your skin.

She blinked, startled. “What?”

“Nothing,” you muttered too quickly. “Just something the old man said...” You trailed off, quickly shifting your focus toward Mihawk and Shanks, now deep in conversation, their eyes flicking between you and the woman. The words they shared were unintelligible, but laden with meaning.

The woman leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “The old man who told you about the pollen... What was he like? I never saw him. I heard Mihawk talking about him, though... after we, you know...” Her cheeks flushed crimson, and she looked away, as though she regretted the words the moment they left her lips.

You shot her a sharp glance, an icy prickle of suspicion crawling up your spine. “No, I don’t know.”

Her flush deepened, and though her embarrassment was palpable, the curiosity in her eyes was undeniable. “You haven’t bonded with Shanks yet?”

The word bonded hit you like a cold gust of wind, unnatural and wrong. Your stomach tightened. “It was amazing,” she continued, as if lost in a memory, her voice distant. “Whatever the pollen does... it makes everything feel more intense. He did things... things I didn’t even know I could feel.” Her eyes burned with intensity, and you recoiled, the weight of her gaze pushing you away, leaving you cold and unsettled.

“Tell me everything,” you demanded, the words harsher than you intended, but desperation gnawed at you.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Time seemed to stretch as the woman slowly revealed more—enough to leave you dizzy, overwhelmed, and damn right needy.

When Mihawk and Shanks finally rose from their barrel, their conversation clearly at an end, Mihawk turned toward the woman, his presence pulling her to his side like gravity itself.

“Thanks for the drink,” Mihawk grunted, his gaze flicking between you and Shanks, calculating. “But we really must be going.”

“We’ll come visit,” the woman called over her shoulder, offering you a quick, almost forced smile before hurrying back to Mihawk’s side. Her movements were stiff, betraying the urgency she felt at wanting to return to his side.

“Will we now?” Mihawk rumbled, a note of exasperation in his voice as he pulled her toward him.

“Yes, we will,” she replied, her voice steady but with a glint in her eye that didn’t quite match Mihawk’s gruff demeanor. “Maybe when you’re all sorted. Maybe you can come to the castle. The gorillas aren’t very good company, but it will be nice to have company that talks. Your crew are also welcome.” She smiled faintly.

Mihawk rolled his eyes. “Are they?”

“Yes,” she insisted, her smile turning sly.

Shanks let out a hearty laugh, though it held something darker now. “I can see who wears the trousers in this relationship,” he quipped, his booming voice cutting through the tension before his tone shifted to something more serious. “Let me know if you hear anything else. Safe journey.”

As Mihawk and his companion moved toward the shore, Shanks’ eyes shifted toward you. An unsettling gleam flickered in them. You felt a shiver crawl up your spine, suspicion clouding your thoughts.

“What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, his voice feigning innocence.

“If you try to bite me,” you growled, your voice low but filled with warning, “I’ll slap you into next week, pervert.”

Shanks blinked, utterly confused. “Wait, what?”

Without answering, you turned sharply and stalked off, your back straight, your heart pounding in your chest. As Shanks’ confused call echoed behind you.

@commanderfreethatdust @hauntedluna

Happy New Year Everyone! I hope you have a lovely day and good luck for this upcoming year.

Thank you so much for all the comments. It made me want to edit the next chapter for today.

I couldn't resist some Mihawk action and a little hint and what the old man had been up to.

Please let me know what you think!

LIKE. COMMENT. REQUEST.

[redeyerhaenyra]

Accidents never happen

Summary: In which you accidentally call Steven Daddy... but he's into it

Warnings: Daddy kink, vulnerable sex, p in v sex, vaginal fingering, dacryphylia, lmk if I missed anything!

Notes: This is an answer to this request from @cosmicblogs on my main blog (I changed the premise just a wee bit I hope you don't mind pookie)

Wc: 1.5k

"Wot?"

Steven pulled himself reluctantly away from your where he'd buried his face inbetween your breasts. He looked so pretty- ruffled hair, flushed skin, titty drunk eyes. Steven was definitely a boob man.

You however couldn't appreciate the gorgeous scene in front you, too focused on the embarrassment churning through your body in cold waves. You could barely meet his eye, turning away and pretending you hadn't said anything.

"Wot was that, love?" Steven giggled, nosing your neck. "Hm? Did I hear you right?" "I-i didn't say anything.." "Oh I think you did darlin', yeah I think you did. Come on then, wot was that for, eh?"

Whining, you hid your face in your hands. The possibility of you having a Daddy kink was not something you wanted to think about! It was weird, and you'd half convinced yourself you didn't actually have the kink thanks to your anxiety around it. Swearing yourself to secrecy, you had promised yourself you would not, under any circumstances, utter the word "Daddy" around anyone, especially your three boyfriends! Steven least of all, he was so sweet and needy, you didn't want to taint his innocent naivety with your depraved lustings.

And yet.. in the heat of the moment, it had slipped out. Steven was moaning into your chest, palming your tits, suckling on a sensitive bud and rolling the other between his fingers. With the ripples of hot, velvet pleasure winding through you, you hadn't even realised the word begin to rise in your throat.

"D-daddy.." you had all but whimpered out, quiet, but loud enough for Steven to clock it, and this led you to your current predicament;

"Now.. I don't think I'm old enough to be going deaf love, I think I heard you call me Daddy, huh?" "No-! I didn't." Steven chuckled, and gently attempted to pry your hands away from where they covered your mortified expression.

"Aw, come on sweetheart, 's alright, come on, you're really not gonna let me look at your pretty' face?" Slowly, you took your hands away, and Steven's bright smile eased some of your worry.

"There, there's my beautiful girl." Tenderly, he cupped one of your cheeks in his big hands, and pet your skin with his thumb.

"See now, not so bad, is it?" "..Can we just forget I said that Steven?" "Why? S' not all that weird, I don't mind at all darlin' if that's what you like." You whined again, kicking your legs in frustration;

"But it's so weird!" "S' not! Besides, even it if it was, anythings' cute when you do it." "Stooopppp-" you groaned, Steven only laughed again, leaning forward to kiss your hair, and whisper into your neck from where he lay next to you;

"We can stop, if you want darlin'.. but all I'm sayin' is.. I'm not judgin' ya, okay sweetheart? Don't mind at all. Not one bit."

You peered at him suspiciously. "..Really?" "Promise! In fact.." Steven's dextrous fingers slowly danced over your nipples again, ever so gently, before travelling lower, and lower, to your pubic bone. However, even as you whimpered, and rolled your hips up to meet his fingers, he didn't touch you there, not yet.

"I quite like the idea." "You do?" Your voice was breathy, Steven swallowed your noises with a searing kiss and moaned with you as he lightly began to circle your tiny clit with his fingers, you felt his cock throb and twitch against your thigh. He pulled away, a string of saliva connecting your two tongues.

"Yeah I think I do, hm? Would you like that?" You keened, nodding furiously. "Aw, yeah? Baby wants to be taken care of by Daddy, hm? I'm sure Daddy can arrange something-"

The juxtaposition between the strength and tenderness he showed when plunging his two fingers into your greedy cunt was mind boggling, and had you crying out into the flat. The rhythm of his fingers rolled inside you like soothing warm water, again and again stroking that spongey patch inside you. This tempo continued for a few more minutes, until you reached the precipice of orgasm, cunt fluttering around Steven's fingers- but it was all taken away. You whined like a petulant child when Steven withdrew his soaked fingers from you.

"Hm? Now don't be like tha' love, come on, be a good girl for Daddy, yeah? Open your mouth, that's it- oh good girl.. don't even have to tell you what to do eh? You just know, such a good girl f'me." You had obeyed Steven's desires by sucking.his fingers into your mouth, tasting the rich, tangy flavour of your own juices. Steven moaned at the sight, and kissed your head when he felt his fingers had been thoroughly licked clean. Climbing over you to kneel between your open legs, he finally positioned his cock between your folds, notching it just under your clit. You shivered, a sudden shock of pleasure darting though you. Steven rested his hands on your knees, spreading you open further and allowing him a clearer view of his cock stuffing you to the brim.

He couldn't help himself, it seemed, as he was asking you, "You ready love?" only when he was halfway inside you. Steven always stretched you out so good, like all the boys. It was always just right. You arched your back as he finally bottomed out, Steven bringing his hand around to cup your back, and hold you firmly on his cock.

You had sex with Steven many a time before.. but this time felt different. You were, both of you, uniquely vulnerable today, having shared something so personal. The man himself needed a moment to adjust, nevermind you, it was usually like this; the hot, wet pressure of your cunny was always something Steven needed to adjust to. His laboured breathing now matched your own.

Though eventually, it was too little. You needed more, and you grabbed at his shoulder, pleading with him with the best puppy-dog eyes you could muster;

"Please Daddy," you whimpered, "Please, I need it, please-" Steven groaned, pulling back his hips before roughly rutting forward again. You cried out, louder this time, writhing against the sheets.

"Y-yeah? This what you want, little girl? This what you need?" You nodded, unable to speak as the feeling of climax mounted once again.

"Oh, baby girl, you cryin'?" He moved one of his broad hands to wipe away the tears you hadn't realised had formed, so overwhelmed by the flood of positive emotions. Now that he mentioned it, your vision was getting a little blurry..

"Ohhhhh fuck, baby, sweetheart, my precious girl, that's so hot, oh fuck- it's that good huh? Yeah? Daddy makes you feel that good?" You could only babble and hiccup in response, the mind-blowing sensation of him drilling into you over and over and over, in the vulnerable setting you had accidentally forced yourself into, was overriding all capacity for thought. Steven moaned, "Ohhh shit, I bet you said that on purpose, yeah? You just wanted to get fucked real, deep, huh?" He punctuated each word with a snapping thrust of his hips, leaving you a sobbing mess beneath him.

Soon it became too much to even look at him, his gorgeous brown eyes and dark curls above you, and so you squeezed your eyes shut. You felt him shift, and suddenly you were held close to the comforting warmth of his chest. Steven leaned down to kiss your head for the nth time that night.

"Come on baby, you can cum whenever you like sweetie, okay? Come on, I know you can do it, let go for me, let go for Daddy, thaaats it, there we go, good girl, such a good girl for Daddy..." He held you tight, rocking you through your orgasm as it hit you like a freight train. Sure, Steven blew your mind everytime he made you cum, but again, this time, so open and honest, was different. As the loud thumping of your heartbeat pulsed in your ears, and the starshattering climax wracked through your entire body, Steven followed soon after. He hunched over, whimpering and moaning in your ear as he spilled his hot ropes of cum deep inside you, rolling his hips in tandem with yours, until he propped himself up above you, huffing, his cock still twitching within you.

He gently brought you up and over, so that he lay on his back, and you on his chest, still with his dick softening inside you. Steven always glowed after an orgasm, though in your aftershocks and subspace, you didn't really have the energy to appreciate the way his skin glittered with sweat, and the way his smile light up the entire flat. He stroked your hair; "That wasn't so bad, was it? Eh?" You hummed. "See? Exactly. No need to be embarrassed about anythin', okay sweetheart?" Again you hummed, and rubbing your shoulder, Steven seemed satisfied with this answer.

"...I still think you said it on purpose." You were too weak to argue back, other than with a loud, keening whine, and a smack to his shoulder. Steven chuckled, and peppered kisses against your head, smiling down at you;

"Well, I suppose it doesn't matter now, does it?"

[training4theapocalypse]

PLEASE do what Scots actually say I’m so curious

Soap x Reader Scottish Dialogue Inspo

To celebrate Burns Night, here are some realistic smutty Scottish terms and some general stuff to do with relationships. Feel free to use this if you find it helpful 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿

Disclaimer: my tiny country is made up of countless accents and Soap is canonically from Kilmarnock but his voice actor is from Elgin so who TF knows what he’d actually say.

I also don’t think you need to write in Scots either - I’m Scottish and I don’t (unless am absolutely ragin aboot somethin’) but I can see why you’d want to for Soap’s dialogue. 

Behave yersel’

This is easy - it’s just ‘behave yourself’ but it can be used as a smutty admonishment.

“I’ll sleep on the couch - you take the bed.”

“Behave yersel’,” says Soap, unfastening his belt.

Bonny / Bonnie

Spell it whichever way you like. This is primarily an adjective but I see it used as a noun in fic. All. The. Time. It was used a long time ago as a noun - and maybe it still is further north - but where I / Soap are from it's really only used as an adjective these days.

“What do you think of the new recruit, Captain?”

“Aye, she’s bonny, awryt.”

But use this sparingly - and only to describe a person as a whole and not individual body parts. (e.g. you wouldn’t say “Your tits are so bonny.”) 

Darlin’ / Doll

The two most common pet names I hear from men here. It is ROUGH as anything and makes me melt. Ughhhh. 🥵

“D’ye like whit ye see, doll?”

Fuckin’ hell

An exclamation that’s pretty ubiquitous across the UK. Soap would 100% say this after sex or if he was surprised by something that made him horny. From clips of Soap I’ve seen I know he says “Steamin’ hell” too but I’ve never heard this IRL.

You sit in Soap’s office, perched on his desk wearing your new lingerie.

He opens the door and freezes, jaw on the floor.

“… Fuckin’ hell.”

Gads 

This is a very specific Kilmarnock / Ayrshire thing (which is where Soap’s file says he’s from). And it comes from a very old-timey phrase ‘egads!’ which is hilarious to me.

Gads can be used as an exclamation for something shocking (OR something cringe depending on the context).

“You honestly think that I snuck into your room because my bed was uncomfortable? I want you to fuck me, Soap.”

He swallows. “... Gads.” 

Gantin’ for it

AKA Gagging for it. Juvenile way to describe being horny. Soap would probably say this about himself in a jokey way. 

“You alright, Soap?”

“Aye, aye. I’ve just been gantin’ for it ever since that new lassie joined.”

Lassie / Lass

Girl. Younger. (Pop off age difference fics)

Missus

Literally “Mrs” but surprisingly not just used to refer to your wife. Really commonly used to refer to a girlfriend.

“Look, whatever the missus wants she gets. Awryt?”

Wee (insert expletive)

Literally call me whatever you want as long as you put ‘wee’ in front of it. Wee bitch, wee slag, wee slut (omggggggg). 

Soap tuts, as you writhe against his thigh. “Yer an impatient wee thing, aren’t ye?”

Anyway, that's all I've got for now- if I think of any more, I'll add to this. You don't need to credit me if you actually use this - I like to think of it as service to my country 🫡

P.S. This made me realise I've only ever had sex with Scottish people so maybe some of this is just normal sex stuff and not Scotland specific???? HAHAHAHA

P.P.S. I was getting really into the dialogue so I've written a short fic about Reader x Soap.

[spongeyspot]

Poly Relationship HCs (SFW +NSFW)

(John Marston x fem!reader x Abigail Marston)

(A/N): A little longer than I anticipated. Also, I'm terrible at editing things so if you see any spelling or grammar mistakes, please don't bite me. I'm just a wee baby

Content warning: fluff, small mentions of infidelity, polyamory, female reader, you/she pronouns

SFW

- The relationship itself had probably started when either John or Abigail had started to catch feelings

- It was probably Abigail considering how distant John was from her in the beginning

- Quite honestly would probably keep your relationship a secret during the very early stages.

- She saw how much you cared about her and her family, so it was only natural for her to start to fall in love. She fell in love with John pretty quickly, too, though he was a bit slower to warm up to the idea of having a family

- You, however, love Jack as if he were your own, which makes Abigail swoon even more. Plus, another parent figure to Jack (Who he also really likes) because her husband is kinda useless half the time? Jackpot!

- When she brought up adding you to their relationship, John was probably pretty okay with the idea, even a little excited, though if she told him that she had been seeing you secretly before that, he'd probably be a little pissy.

- After adding you to their family, things seemed to move a lot smoother. John warmed up to the idea a lot quicker than both of you had anticipated

- You usually act as a mediator for a lot of Abigail and John's fights, but knowing John he'd probably say some shit like "Look, even she's on my side!" and Abigail would get pissed at you too.

- Abigail LOVES to hold you by the fire. John usually has his arm around the both of you with you sitting in the middle.

- Would take turns having you sleep with them at night because their bedrolls weren't really big enough to fit one person, let alone three.

- When the gang moved to Shady Belle, things were a lot easier with lodging. John loses his mind every time he gets to cuddle the both of you at the same time. He's a sucker for physical touch, really.

- After chores are finished, the three of you are usually found sitting under a tree, Abigail cuddled into your side while you read a book, and John lays on his back beside you, his head resting on your thighs. His hat is usually covering his face, but when it isn't, you or Abigail absentmindedly play with his hair or massage his scalp.

- Abigail loves it when you spend time with Jack. It makes her heart swell to see him having so much fun.

- You tend to encourage John to spend time with him as well, which she also appreciates.

- Family game nights end with You and Jack teamed up and absolutely wrecking John at dominoes while Abigail watches

- Says something like "I let you win." with a roll of his eyes before sulking away

- Pet names!

- John calls you 'Baby', 'Darlin'', 'Dollface', and even 'Sugartits' if he wants to get slapped

- Abigail calls you 'Honey', 'Sweetie pie', 'Honey Bun', or 'Pretty Girl'.

- Both John and Abigail enjoy physical affection.

- John likes to kiss your hair and squeeze your thighs.

- Abigail loves to kiss you on the cheek and hold your hand.

-If John walks by you, he will throw out an affectionate compliment or two

- "God, you look pretty today, (Name)."

- Also probably pinches or slaps your ass on his way by

- He secretly loves it when you slap or pinch his ass too, though he'd never actually admit it.

- Abigail is a bit more sultry with it, then goes back to normal like she didn't just blatantly hit on you

- "Damn, well look at you, Pretty girl. Don't you look fine this mornin'... Coffee?"

- Also pinches and slaps your ass, but also gives it a good squeeze, and will sometimes hold her hand on your ass instead of on your hip if you stand side by side.

NSFW (MINORS DNI)

Content Warnings: oral sex (m + f recieving), mean!dom!abigail, dacryphilia if you squint, edging, masturbation, voyeurism, cucking if you squint, risky sex, brat tamer!Abigail, spanking, biting, hickeys, marking kink, Mommy kink, praise, breeding, creampies, cum eating

- John and Abigail are both switches.

- John tends to be a top when it's just the two of you, but when Abigail is also part of the fun, he's most likely on his back, letting you both use him however you please.

- His favorite is when he's laying on his back and both you and Abigail take turns sucking his cock, occasionally pulling away to kiss. It makes him rock hard. Never mind how it feels... he could cum from the sight alone... his favorite girls worshipping his cock with all their enthusiasm and love.

- Abigail is a Dom/top a lot of the time. She can also be pretty mean about it.

- Abigail edges you to the point where sometimes, you'll cry out for her, begging her to let you finish. Every time she finally lets you, you always feel like you cum so much harder than you ever had before.

- John loves to sit back and jerk off, watching the two of you in bed together.

- Abigail sometimes does the same, sitting aside whilst rubbing and fucking her pussy with her fingers as she watches John fuck you into his bedroll

- Abigail loves it when you act like a brat - She likes to leave your ass red and sore from spanking you, and often orders John to do the same when she watches.

- Abigail also probably bites you a leaves hickeys to stake her claim on you. Makes sure to put them where everyone can see.

- John does the same, but it's usually below where your clothes would cover them like your breasts, stomach, or thighs

- John LOVES biting you. He loves making you squirm

- Abigail lowkey has a Mommy kink

- Abigail likes to call you her Pillow Princess, pulling beautiful noises from you as she makes you cum multiple times in quick succession with just her hands. Sometimes even her words.

- "Look at you, sweetie pie. All pretty and spread open, just for me. Oh, I know you just came... but... How's about one more, huh? Can you do that for Mommy?"

- There have been times when it's been just the two of you, and she's shown far more vulnerability than she's used to. During those times, she's on her back, a hand covering her mouth as you work her open with your mouth and fingers.

- Please praise the hell out of her during these times. She really needs it.

- Even when Abigail is vulnerable with you, she is still in control almost 99.99% of the time.

- John and Abigail are both certified munches

-John loves when both of you are on top of him, riding both his dick and his face.

- He eats pussy like his life depends on it. Fr like it's his last meal.

- He also loves to watch you eat pussy.

- He loves to fuck you in the doggy style position while Abigail buries your face between her legs.

- John usually likes to have sex in the privacy of his tent/room, whereas Abigail likes risky sex. She likes the idea of there being a possibility you could be caught

- there have been numerous times when she's stuck her hand into the front of your skirts while you sat the the dining table during mealtimes. As far as you both knew, the other people sitting there had been oblivious.

- John knows. He always knows. He was watching the whole time.

- He was usually the one to instigate it, always letting Abigail know whenever you forwent bloomers. (he would hide them so you couldn't wear them)

-Though he'd probably never participate himself, he loves to watch you come undone on Abigail's fingers in public.

- John fantasizes about getting you pregnant too.

- He brought it up to Abigail as a joke, saying how nice it would be for Jack to have a sibling to play with.

- From that point on, John was told to cum inside you every chance he got, not stopping even after you're swollen and round with his baby.

-Abigail enjoys eating you out after John has cum inside you.

[jesterwriting]

jesterrr!!! my lovey dovey!! congrats on 200 !!

for the event, i was thinking perhaps ace + cowboy casanova would be a good match… heheh 🤠 no specifics in mind; do whatever you’d like!

i hope you have tons of fun with this event! ♥️

pairings: cowboy!ace x gn!reader

word count: 2.4k words

contents: cowboy ace, saloon worker reader, riding under the stars, fluff, flirting, ace is a sweetheart, first kiss, ace has a southern accent and so do you, nicknames used: sugar, sweetheart, darlin’

note: HAAAAIII LIV THANK YOU SO MUCH <33 i had so much fun with this request. i didnt know how badly i needed ace with a southern accent before i started writing this but zoo wee mama…. hes so…. hehe. i hope you enjoy reading this! <33 thank you so much for the request :3

playlist: cowboy casanova - carrie underwood

“He’s a good time Cowboy Casanova, leanin’ up against the record machine.”

done for the 200 followers event!!

The sun was down and the saloon was full. Your feet ached in your boots as you carried another round of drinks to a nearby table, offering a sweet smile and a nod to the folks sitting around it. The night was young, and you were already exhausted with the sudden influx of guests. You didn’t know why your dingy little town was so busy, considering it didn’t have much besides a ranch or two to its name, but it was flooded nonetheless.

Whiskey flowed like water here. You were nothing but a provider to the poor parched souls who wound up on your doorstep.

It had been a year since you started working at Dusty’s Saloon, aptly named for the dust that usually settled itself along the bar, and not once had it ever been so hectic. Of course, there was a fight every so often. You couldn’t mix men and beer without one brewing at least once a week. This, though? This was brand new. You caught sight of a few folks brandishing an emblem you didn’t recognize, either around their necks, on their belt buckle, or most surprisingly, tattooed on their body. Delia, your more privy coworker, would probably know what it meant. You would ask her if you had a second to yourself, but considering how the night was going, you doubted you would be able to.

“And here you are.” You set your final two tankards down on a table, meeting their thankful grins with one of your own, before you settled behind the bar. There was a short lull in your workload. Your boss was busy in the back, likely smoking, and you took the opportunity to take a short breather without one of his sharp reprimands.

If you got time to lean, you got time to clean, he’d say. If you ever heard that bullshit again, you’d show him what for, you swore on it. With a sigh, you started cleaning one of the glasses.

“Now, what’s got a pretty young thing like you lookin’ so down?”

You jumped, nearly dropping the rag you were working with. There, leaning against the counter, stood the most handsome man you had ever seen. His hair was black, deep black. The kind that looked inky under the light, styled short in the front and long in the back. He wore a tasseled vest, the musculature of his arms on display for all to see. You must have been staring because he flexed a little, his biceps bulging. When your eyes found his face, you were stunned by the constellations of freckles scattered across his cheeks and the friendly smile that adorned his lips.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” He cocked his head to the side.

It was embarrassing that you were so easy to read. Frowning, you narrowed your eyes and gestured to the spirits behind you. “What’ll you have?”

“Don’t be like that, sugar, I was only sayin’ hi.” The man put his hands up in fake surrender, a playful gleam in his eyes. The spurs of his boots jingled when he readjusted himself against the bar.

“If you were just sayin’ hi, you’d be gone already.” You couldn’t help it when your lips twitched upwards ever so slightly. He was cute and he knew it, that was the most dangerous kind of man. Lucky for him, you didn’t mind a little danger.

He ignored you and tipped the brim of his hat. “Name’s Ace.” When he was met with silence and crossed arms, he continued, “Normally, this is where you give me your name.”

“Well, you ain’t gettin’ it.”

Eyes still sparkling, Ace grinned. “Well, fair’s fair. I tried. Have a good night. Come find me if you change your mind, alright, sugar?”

“I won’t,” You called back, knowing it was a lie. He must’ve known too, because he shot you a wink before settling at a far table to sip on his drink. Cocky bastard.

It wasn’t until you started cleaning a glass did you realize a smile had split your face right in two. You felt your face warm. Too easy to read, indeed. Ace probably knew you were putty in his hands from the first hello.

You heard a whisper of your voice from the backroom. Delia was looking at you from the crack in the door, hurriedly gesturing you over. Fond, you rolled your eyes and tucked your rag into your belt loop.

“”What d’ya need, Delia?”

Before you could blink, she pulled you into the room by your lapels. It took a second for your eyes to adjust to the dim candlelight in the back, and another second to register that your friend was looking at you with a mix of fear and disbelief.

“What do you think you’re doin’ talkin’ to Fire Fist Ace?” Delia whisper-yelled.

You blinked a few times before gently unclenching her fingers from your jacket. “Fire Fist who? Honey, I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

Grabbing the back of your head, she focused your attention on the man who was pestering you at the bar. He had fallen asleep in his chair. A smile wormed its way onto your face at the sight.

“Him! Fire Fist Ace, one of Whitebeard’s boys. You don’t mess around with one of his,” She exclaimed.

“Whitebeard’s boys? I thought they were two towns over.”

“No, dummy, they’re right here in our town stirrin’ up all sorts of nonsense.” Delia turned you by your shoulders and looked you dead in the eye. “Listen to me now, Y/N, you don’t mess around with Fire Fist Ace. Girls, boys, anyone, he’ll go for ‘em all and he’ll use you and leave you out to dry. That’s what I hear.”

“Yeah, well you hear all sorts of stuff. Not all of it’s true.”

You tried not to flinch when Delia gasped so loud, a few heads turned in your direction. “Do not tell me you’re thinkin’ of foolin’ around with that boy.”

With a sheepish grin, you ducked out of her hold and spun back out to the bar. “No promises, Delia.”

Ignoring her scandalized expression, you found yourself waiting tables again. When you found yourself near Ace’s table, you set a cup of fine whiskey at his side. The chilled glass met his skin, waking him with a start.

“Oh, it’s just you, sugar,” He drawled. Ace looked down at the whiskey, smile still in place. “I didn’t order this.”

“The name’s Y/N, and it’s on the house.”

His index finger trailed circles along the rim of the glass as he stared up at you. “Pretty name for a pretty little thing like you. I like it.”

You snickered, “Didn’t ask if you liked it, though I can’t say I’m not flattered”

“Why don’t you come ridin’ with me tonight?” A few of the men at nearby tables snorted and you were reminded of his reputation. Did you really want to get involved with someone who’d only break your heart? To your surprise, the answer felt obvious. You cocked your hip to the side and gave him a smile.

“You’re lucky you’re cute, cowboy.”

The grin that bloomed across his face was boyish and sweet. “Darlin’, you’ve made me the happiest man on earth.”

—

It was late by the time you finished cleaning up. The crowd had left, likely back to Whitebeard’s camp, wherever that was. Delia left an hour ago, but not before giving you a disappointed frown. Fine, she could be disappointed all she wanted. You were ready for the whirlwind romance you’d been denied your whole life. You were young, it was time to take a chance, and if that chance was on a cowboy you met a few hours ago, so be it.

Said cowboy was asleep in his chair with his hat over his eyes. A bit of drool trickled from the corner of his mouth and onto his vest. Now that the bar wasn’t blocking you from his lower half, you noticed his belt buckle sported the same emblem as the other patrons. He was one of Whitebeard’s boys, that was for sure. A bit of trepidation swirled in your chest, easily snuffed out when you remembered how kind he’d been all night. Here's to hoping your gut was right, and Ace was the gentleman you believed him to be.

You gave him a gentle shake. Ace snorted before cracking an eye open and taking off his hat to run a hand through his hair. “Mornin’, sugar.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” You laughed.

“‘S mornin’ somewhere,'' He slurred, still half-asleep.

Giggling, you poked his cheek. “C’mon, wake up. What about that ride, cowboy?”

That got his attention. Ace perked up like a dog that just heard the word ‘treat.’ His hat was skewed, and he adjusted it with one hand, the other wrapping around your shoulders to lead you out the door. “You’re gonna have the time of your life, sugar, I can promise you that.”

You clenched your fists to keep your nerves at bay. This was so unlike you, going off with a stranger in the dead of night. Ace seemed to notice your anxiety and gave you a squeeze, body warm against your own. It was comforting. You sighed, leaning into his embrace as you approached his horse. It had a beautiful brown coat, the same color as his eyes, and black mane, almost matching his own. Once, Delia had joked that all cowboys resembled their horses. It wasn’t until you were staring at Ace under the starlight did you start to believe something so ridiculous.

You doubted he’d consider it a compliment if you compared him to a horse, so you held your tongue.

His horse whinnied when she saw you. Ace placed a comforting hand on the side of her neck, smoothing out her fur. “Hush, girl. Don’t you worry now, they’re sweet like you.”

You slid next to him and elbowed him in the ribs. “You never know, I could be gettin’ you alone just to kill you.”

Ace snickered, “Wouldn’t be the first, wouldn’t be the last, but you would be the prettiest.”

“Oh, quiet now.” A flush heated your cheeks as you lightly slapped him on the shoulder.

He seemed proud of himself for flustering you. With a practiced ease, Ace hefted himself into the saddle and scooted up so there was room for you. Patting the seat, he gave you a grin. “Need a hand, sugar?”

You had never ridden a horse before, you weren’t above admitting it. Sighing, you took his hand and tried not to think about how easily he lifted you with one arm, even with your foot in the stirrup. Once you were in the saddle, you wrapped your arms around Ace’s waist to steady yourself. He gave your thigh a final pat, then let out a loud yip, and the horse was off.

Without permission, a laugh bubbled out of your throat. You squeezed Ace, anxiety mixing with pure, unadulterated joy as the wind whipped your hair. Stars glittered overhead, the full moon casting the landscape in a silver glow. Ace was warm, and the night air was cold. Unable to stand the chill, you buried your face between his shoulder blades, ignoring the rumble of a chuckle that shook his entire body.

“Havin’ fun back there?” A bit of genuine concern leaked into his tone. “Need me to slow down?”

You wondered if he could feel your body shaking. Not from fear, but from excitement.

“Faster!” You cried.

Ace whooped, “Yeehaw!”

Laughing at the cliche, you felt your stomach drop as his horse picked up speed, dashing out of town and into the plains. The sound of hooves on hard ground echoed in your head. Adrenaline sang in your veins, making you dizzy and desperate for more. The two of you rode like this for a while before the horse slowed to a canter with an easy pull of her reins and a click of Ace’s tongue.

“Where are we?”

Ace looked back, excitement evident on his face. “Took you somewhere special to look at the stars.”

At his words, you looked up to see the entire night sky open in front of you. Countless clusters of stars formed webs, intertwining with one another in a sea of purple and blue. There were no clouds to block the view, it was a perfectly clear night, save for a few wisps here and there. You couldn’t help but gasp at the sight.

Ace slid off the saddle and offered you his hand. “Hey. No peekin’”

“How can I not? It’s beautiful.”

Unlike before when he only pulled you by your arm into the saddle, Ace’s hands gently gripped you by the waist and lifted you with an ease you weren’t expecting. You were no waif, but he was deceptively strong. He looked down at you with soft eyes, smoothing out a few strands of wind blown hair with his palm.

“You’re beautiful, sugar.”

“Why do you keep calling me that if you know my name?”

His eyes flickered to your lips. “‘Cause you’re sweet.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’ve been mouthy all damn night.”

“A man can dream.”

With that, he kissed you, lips pressed softly against yours. He tasted like whiskey and he smelled like a hearth. Cozy and warm, like home. To your surprise, the kiss was chaste, over almost as soon as it began. Ace’s cheeks were bright red when he looked down at you.

“I heard you were a real casanova, surely you can kiss better than that,” You teased the already flustered man.

Ace’s blush darkened. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Around.”

He snickered at your non-answer. “Every cowboy’s got a reputation for rollin’ around in the hay. Can I be honest with you?”

“I hope you’ve been bein’ honest with me all night, but I suppose it’s better late than never.”

Leaning down until his breath ghosted across your cheek, he whispered, “That was my first kiss.”

You smirked and pulled him closer until the two of you were nose to nose. “I think now’s as good a time as ever to get some practice in.”

“And the next night, and the next night,” Ace asked, a hopeful gleam in his eyes.

“And the night after that,” You said, bringing him in for a kiss.